Archive of Our Own

“I like ya!”

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“I know this might sound strange, but… I like you.”

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Atsumu

Rule number one: never confess first. Wait for someone to confess to you.

“But what if nobody ever confesses to me?” a young Atsumu—around thirteen or fourteen at the time—had asked his twin brother, who was reading aloud from a teen magazine that had suddenly become ridiculously popular. Atsumu was already starting to hate whatever that stupid “How to Win Your First Love” section was trying to teach, and he was regretting giving the idiot Osamu a handful of coins from his savings just so he could buy that garbage. “It doesn’t even make sense. At some point, one of the two people’s gotta confess, right? What if the person I like reads that crap too and do—”

Atsumu’s voice was cut off by his own yelp of pain when Osamu threw a stuffed animal straight at his face.

“Shut up, dumbass. Lemme keep readin’,” the other boy complained without even looking at him, eyes still glued to the open magazine in his hands.

Atsumu shot him an ugly glare and rubbed the sore side of his face with a pout before grabbing the plushie and hugging it against himself, half squishing it under his body as he lay sprawled on his stomach across the bed, with Osamu sitting at the corner.

“Rule number two: act cold; never let ‘em see you’re in lo—” Osamu frowned, then snapped the magazine shut and tossed it onto the floor carelessly. “What a load of shit.”

“That’s exactly what I’m sayin’!”

And Atsumu was definitely going to do the complete opposite of every single “rule” that useless magazine preached, especially considering it cost way more money than it deserved.

He had faith in himself (even if Osamu was always telling him he was going to end up alone forever because of his shitty personality).

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A few years later, Atsumu fell in love. Or at least, he thought he did.

Well, over the years he’d liked plenty of people and then stopped liking them just as fast; he’d even tried dating someone about a year and a half ago, but that hadn’t lasted more than two weeks simply because Atsumu had never felt that “spark” everyone kept talking about.

But now, being much more mature—according to himself and absolutely nobody else—Atsumu felt like love had finally come into his life in the form of Kita Shinsuke. His captain. Oh God, he was gonna blush just from thinking of Kita as his…

“You okay? Ya look spaced out.”

Aran pulled him out of his daydream while they were in the high school gym, taking a break before practice started up again. Atsumu blinked a few times to reorient himself and looked around: the rest of his teammates sprawled across the floor resting just like him, Osamu chatting with Suna, Kita drinking from his water bottle while looking so handsome, and proper, and neat, and—

Atsumu sighed before finally focusing on the older boy in front of him. Aran tilted his head slightly, looking a little concerned, then placed a hand against Atsumu’s forehead.

“Atsumu?”

The blond blinked again and sat up straight.

“I’m fine!” he exclaimed with an easy smile.

Aran didn’t look convinced in the slightest, so Atsumu reassured him.

“Just kinda distracted, that’s all, but I’m fine,” he brushed it off with a wave of his hand, and Aran finally gave up, standing and offering Atsumu a hand so he could get up too.

“The bleach chemicals finally melted what was left of yer brain,” the ace said casually before walking off to talk to the captain, leaving behind a deeply offended Atsumu, who immediately ran a hand through his sweaty hair.

Yeah, maybe it was chick-yellow blond, but it looked great on him!

His mom always told him he looked handsome and also… well, actually, only his mom said that, but that was still better than nothing!

Inevitably, his gaze drifted back to Kita, who was now smiling faintly at whatever Aran had just told him, and Atsumu’s annoyed expression softened surprisingly fast. He smiled, completely lovestruck, hoping he didn’t look like a complete idiot right there on the gym floor.

Alright. He’d decided that today, the second practice ended, he was going to confess to Kita.

Atsumu was brave and a little reckless, sure, but he was also ridiculously handsome; the countless fangirls who clearly didn’t only like him because he was a good player proved that every single day. If that many girls could like him, then why wouldn’t Kita?

It’d be kinda illogical otherwise, right? Atsumu was probably exactly his type.

Kita was smart, calm, hardworking, perfect… In some ways, his personality was completely different from Atsumu’s, even if they were similar here and there, and inside his very capable seventeen-year-old brain, Atsumu firmly believed in that theory about opposites, or attraction, or whatever the hell it was called. That theory—which, to him, was an absolute truth—that opposites attract.

Atsumu always did his job well, and even if sometimes he got impulsive and pulled plays straight out of his ass just to look cool, Kita never really scolded him much. Actually, he barely ever did. Kita was just so gentle and nice…

How wasn’t Atsumu supposed to fall in love with him?

Practice ended, and Atsumu wasted no time telling his brother to head home first because he had something he needed to talk about with “Kita-san.” Osamu mocked him for it, Atsumu smacked him across the back, and his irritating copy finally left together with Suna.

Atsumu inhaled and exhaled once, twice, three… eight… twelve times until the frantic pounding of his heart calmed down a little before finally meeting his captain in the locker room.

“Kita-san, thanks for stayin’,” Atsumu said shyly. The older boy nodded, looking at him with quiet interest, clearly waiting for him to continue. “T-there’s somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ to tell ya for a while now.”

Kita’s eyes seemed to study him carefully. Atsumu could feel his face getting hotter and hotter, and he could only hope he wasn’t turning red like a damn tomato.

“And what is it, Atsumu?”

Kita always asked such straightforward questions. He always cared about what his teammates had to say, always paid attention, was always present. He was an excellent captain and—

Atsumu cleared his throat, dragging himself back to reality for what had to be the hundredth time that afternoon.

“Yeah, uh…” He clenched his fists. His ears had to be red too, he just knew it. He figured it was now or never, so he stopped stalling. “I like ya! P-please go out with me!”

Maybe he’d expected an immediate answer from Kita, or maybe he hadn’t. Atsumu just hadn’t expected to get rejected. He hadn’t even considered that this could happen because… why would it?

“Atsumu, I’m flattered, but…”

Atsumu’s mind went blank.

“I can’t return your feelings, alright? I’m sorry. You’re a good kid.” His beloved Kita-san rejected him kindly, wearing a soft smile so faint it was almost imperceptible. But Atsumu noticed it.

He couldn’t say a single thing, and Kita left after reminding him not to forget to turn off the lights and lock up properly before going home.

The blond collapsed onto one of the locker room benches and buried his face in his hands. He had never felt so miserable. His heart felt crushed, just like the rest of him. Life was truly hard and cruel. Completely unfair. He didn’t deserve to get his heart broken—

The click of a camera followed by muffled snickering made him lift his head and look around for the source of the noise. At the doorway, he caught sight of blurry figures scrambling away, and with all the heaviness in the world weighing down his body, Atsumu got up and walked toward them, switching off the locker room lights on his way out, just like Kita had asked.

To his surprise, the idiot Osamu was standing there together with the moron Sunarin, both very obviously laughing at him. Rintarou still had his stupid phone in hand, and Atsumu snatched it away easily since the cat-eyed bastard was too busy laughing with Osamu to even resist. He checked the gallery and found the pictures they’d taken seconds after his rejection. As he deleted them, he realized he hadn’t cried. Even though he definitely wanted to.

More than anything, though… he just felt drained.

And he still felt that way the very next day, when all his teammates were clapping and congratulating him after their coach proudly announced: “You’ve been selected for the All-Japan Youth Intensive Training Camp!” Atsumu truly was grateful for the opportunity. He was happy. He rubbed it in his brother’s and friends’ faces immediately afterward.

But something inside him felt wrong.

He felt too sad.

Even though he acted otherwise around everyone else, the truth was that he wasn’t nearly as excited as he should’ve been, and that was… wrong.

Anyway, a few days later, after a long train ride, Atsumu arrived at the facility where the training camp would be held. The supposedly best players in Japan were all there, the ones headed to Nationals and who knew what else.

Ah, and there was also that first-year setter from the team that had somehow beaten Shiratorizawa against all odds. Atsumu kinda wanted to room with him just so he could mess with him a little.

Then there was Hoshiumi from Kamomedai too; Atsumu wouldn’t have minded sharing a room with him either, but from what he’d seen of the white-haired boy, he seemed like the type to talk a lot. And while Miya liked talking too, his sleeping hours were sacred, and he wouldn’t survive rooming with someone who couldn’t stay quiet. Though, well, he was just assuming.

There were also two guys from Itachiyama there: Komori, a libero that was way too tall for a libero, and Sakusa, some guy who looked permanently disgusted with everything and everyone around him. Honestly, he also looked sick. Why else would he be wearing a face mask while looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else? Komori, on the other hand, was really nice and friendly. He’d started conversations with Atsumu—and basically everyone else—the second they’d arrived. Atsumu felt comfortable around him almost immediately and secretly crossed his fingers hoping they’d end up as roommates. He’d even mentioned it to him, but—

“Oh… that would’ve been really fun, honestly, but my roommate’s already my cousin,” Komori told him apologetically.

The blond frowned, not understanding the “cousin” part at first until he connected the dots and assumed he meant Sakusa, since he was the only one there who never left Komori’s side. Atsumu had originally figured it was just because they were teammates, but them being family definitely explained the clinginess better.

“Huh? How d’ya know already?” Atsumu asked, tilting his head.

“Well, everyone got told who they’d be sharing rooms with before coming here… didn’t they tell you?” Komori tilted his head in the exact same way, and the two stared at each other in mutual confusion.

So, in the end, Komori accompanied the Hyogo boy to speak with the organizers, who had apparently made the tiny little mistake of not assigning Atsumu a room or consequently, a roommate. And for someone who’d already been feeling down for days, that was just another blow. Seriously, why did this kinda stuff always happen to him?!

“Komori-kun, the room assigned to Itachiyama is the most spacious one,” one of the coaches said while reading through the list in his hands and marking a few things down with a pen. “Do you think Sakusa-kun and you could let Miya-kun stay with you two?”

Atsumu didn’t even need to give Komori a pleading look because the libero immediately let out an excited squeal and clapped his hands.

“Yes!” Then he turned toward the setter with a huge smile. “We’re gonna have so much fun!”

Atsumu smiled too and decided to trust him, right until they got to the room, which was already dark. Atsumu had the futon they’d provided him folded under one arm, the bag carrying all his belongings slung over his shoulder and already starting to weigh on him. The moment they stepped fully inside and Komori switched on the light so Atsumu could see where he’d be laying the futon down, Sakusa spoke from the top bunk on the right side of the room.

“What is he doing here?”

He looked down at them with his brows furrowed in obvious displeasure.

“Ah, well, Miya-kun hadn’t been assigned a room, so he ended up with us,” Komori explained while helping Atsumu spread the futon out on the floor, leaving a good amount of space between it and the bunk bed so they could still move around comfortably. “It’s great, don’t you think, Kiyo—”

“No,” the dark-haired boy interrupted flatly.

The blond looked up from the floor with immediate defiance.

And, well… now that he was finally seeing Sakusa without a mask, Atsumu had to admit the guy was handsome, but that didn’t make him any less of an asshole. Seriously… what did he even gain from being so rude? He didn’t even know Atsumu in the first place, so why act like that? If he’d been less tired, Atsumu probably would’ve snapped back with a few biting comments toward Itachiyama’s stupid ace. But he didn’t. The second the futon was properly laid out, he just collapsed onto it and fell asleep within seconds, still wearing the same clothes he’d arrived in.

Tomorrow he’d worry about hygiene, and about the pretentious jerk currently staring at him with the most disgusted expression Miya had ever received in his life.

Not that he noticed. He was already asleep.

“Aw, stop looking at him like that. He came from really far away,” Komori told his cousin with a small smile.

“That’s even more reason he should’ve showered before going to sleep…” Sakusa glanced one last time at the very asleep Miya before settling back into his bed. “You are going to turn off the light, right?”

It wasn’t really a question so much as a reminder aimed at Komori.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Komori switched off the room light and carefully crossed the room without stepping on Atsumu. He opened the bathroom door attached to the room—a special request from the Itachiyama coaches, who were well aware of Sakusa’s particularities—and glanced back over his shoulder, though in the darkness it was basically impossible to tell where exactly his cousin was.

“I’m gonna go take a bath. Goodnight, Kiyoomi.”

“Goodnight,” the other replied before finally closing his eyes.

Although… it wasn’t like he could actually sleep and rest properly anyway.

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Kiyoomi

Sakusa Kiyoomi had a huge problem.

Well… actually, he had many problems. So many, in fact, that he could probably make a list long enough to fill three and a half pages. Still, one of his biggest issues was that he thought too much. Yes, he was analytical, brilliant in many ways, but that didn’t change the fact that he had a tendency to overthink things to an almost obsessive degree. Or, rather, a very obsessive degree.

For the past few weeks, he’d been feeling more bored and irritable than usual, and although the people around him hadn’t noticed—because to them “Sakusa is always like that”—he certainly had. And the reason behind his bad moods was so stupid that he struggled to even accept it himself.

A lot of people called Kiyoomi a genius, or a monster, but there had always been one person who couldn’t care less about those titles. Ever since he was a child, Sakusa had been used to rivals being overly cautious around him during matches, and eventually it became boring. Not because the teams they faced were weak, but because in the end, his team always won. Very quickly.  Because of that, there were seasons where volleyball became exhausting, where he felt completely unmotivated because he already knew the outcome before the match even started. Until he met him:

Ushijima Wakatoshi.

A left-handed spiker with way too much power behind his hits.

Honestly, he had too much power in general, and every single time they faced each other in a match, Kiyoomi felt electricity running through every inch of his body. He’d find himself smiling during games, always catching Ushiwaka’s gaze from the other side of the net, the other boy looking like he was having the time of his life too. And because he was an overly withdrawn teenager with probably only one actual friend (who, unfortunately, was also his cousin, which somehow made the whole thing even more pathetic and depressing), the dark-haired boy felt his heart lose control for the first time in his life.

Every time he played against Ushiwaka, he noticed new things about him that only made him like him more: his nails were always polished and clean, he somehow seemed to grow at least half a centimeter every time they met, his voice kept getting deeper, he never changed his hairstyle, and he had a surprisingly gentle side when it came to his Shiratorizawa teammates.

Once, Ushijima had even bought Sakusa a pudding after they ran into each other at a convenience store following a practice match between their teams.

After a few years, Kiyoomi had grown more than comfortable with his “crush,” and sometimes he even thought he’d probably spend the rest of his life this way, quietly and hopelessly in love with Wakatoshi.

Unfortunately for him, one day Komori discovered this particular “weakness” after catching him zooming in on a picture of Ushijima that had been posted by the training camp they’d attended weeks earlier.

“Do you like Ushiwaka?” the libero had asked without hesitation.

Kiyoomi nearly dropped his phone and awkwardly fumbled to catch it. He pressed the power button once to shut the screen off and frowned at his cousin.

“No?”

“Whoa, I never thought you’d actually like someone… wait, do you only get attracted to players who give you trouble on the court, or—”

Sakusa closed his eyes and sighed, accepting his terrible fate. He couldn’t lie to Komori.

“I like that he’s… stoic,” he muttered.

After a few seconds, he opened his eyes again and fixed his gaze anywhere in the Itachiyama gym that wasn’t Motoya’s stupid face. The boy raised an eyebrow and stared at him for a few moments, clearly waiting for him to elaborate, but the spiker stayed silent, suddenly very interested in the white court lines beneath his feet.

“Stoic,” Komori repeated, trying and failing to make sense of that answer. “Right…” The boy narrowed his eyes, deeply confused. Motoya was always confused when it came to Kiyoomi. “You two are equally weird. You’d fit together pretty well; you’d make a good couple.”

Those words. Those damned words about them being a “good couple” were what led Kiyoomi to make one of the worst decisions of his sixteen years of life. Because of them, because of his own stupidity for listening to his cousin and actually gaining courage from it, he’d spent the last few months dragging around a miserable sense of disappointment.

And the closer Nationals got, the worse Sakusa felt, because he would have to face Ushijima again. Face to face.

It had all happened one afternoon, a few weeks before the Spring High Preliminaries. Japan’s Top 3 high school volleyball aces had gathered in Tokyo for a short interview and photoshoot that would later be published in a sports magazine. Ushijima had come to Tokyo alone that time and would be returning to Miyagi early the next morning; Sakusa wanted to spend as much time by his side as possible, embarrassing as it felt, so he invited him out to eat at one of the few restaurants that met his cleanliness standards.

“I accept. I’m suffering from a voracious hunger,” Wakatoshi had replied to the invitation.

Sakusa loved how direct his way of speaking was, almost robotic at times. It was charming.

The restaurant wasn’t far from the building where the interview and photoshoot had taken place, so they walked there together, side by side with a reasonable distance between their bodies. Kiyoomi disliked physical contact immensely, but he supposed he wouldn’t mind too much if his shoulder brushed against Ushijima’s.

Once inside, they sat at one of the tables furthest from everyone else, pressed against a wall at Sakusa’s request. Wakatoshi sat across from him, and they sank into a relatively comfortable silence while looking over the menu.

After placing their orders, they talked about trivial things—mostly Nationals, which would be the next competition where they’d see each other again.

“I’m certain our teams will end up facing each other,” Sakusa told him as he removed his white mask, folding it neatly in half before slipping it into his pants pocket.

“That would certainly be a rewarding experience,” Ushijima nodded. “However, Shiratorizawa will win Nationals this year.”

The corners of Kiyoomi’s lips lifted just slightly. He noticed Wakatoshi’s did too.

“I don’t think so,” Sakusa teased.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a waiter approaching with their food, so he pulled out the small bottle of hand sanitizer he always carried in his bag and squeezed a few drops onto his palm. Once he finished cleaning his hands, he offered some to Ushijima, who accepted without complaint.

With the food finally on the table, they ate in silence, though every now and then the younger boy would steal discreet little glances at the Miyagi ace, who didn’t seem to notice. To Kiyoomi, there was something especially beautiful about the way Ushijima used only his left hand for everything while his right rested idly on top of the table.

Eventually, Sakusa insisted on paying since he’d been the one to invite him, but Ushiwaka refused, claiming it was his responsibility. They argued for several minutes, and the only compromise they reached was Wakatoshi handing the dark-haired boy a few bills to cover half the meal. Defeated, Sakusa finished paying, and the two of them left the restaurant together, once again walking side by side in synchronized steps.

Sakusa realized that Ushijima’s constant presence didn’t bother him at all. Ushijima never mocked his issues with germs, never invaded his personal space, and respected him with an almost elegant sort of ease. Damn it. Kiyoomi could maybe admit that he was in love with Ushijima.

As they crossed through a nearly empty park on the way to the hotel where Shiratorizawa’s captain would be staying, Sakusa decided it was time. He gradually slowed his pace until he came to a complete stop. The other boy walked a few more steps before noticing, then stopped as well and turned around to face Kiyoomi.

“Is something wrong, Sakusa?”

His heartbeat skyrocketed to inhuman levels with those piercing olive-colored eyes fixed solely on him. Would he sound insane if he admitted out loud that he wanted to be the only person Ushijima ever looked at like that?

Kiyoomi cleared his throat and forced himself to return the stare.

“Wakatoshi, there’s something I want to tell you,” he murmured. His palms were sweaty, which disgusted him, so he wiped them against his pants. “I know this might sound strange, but… I like you,” he admitted, lowering his head, suddenly incapable of looking Ushijima in the eyes anymore.

And for the first time ever, Ushijima Wakatoshi seemed speechless. He simply stared at Kiyoomi without any visible expression until, after a painfully long minute of sepulchral silence, he finally said:

“How troublesome. I’m currently seeing someone. My apologies, Sakusa.”

Getting hit in the face with a volleyball hurt less.

“Of course. It’s not a problem,” Sakusa forced himself to say, and thank God for his mask hiding the pathetic blush spread across his face. “See you at Nationals. Goodbye.”

He turned around and immediately started walking quickly in the opposite direction from Wakatoshi’s hotel. Not even for a fraction of a second did he look back to see whether the older boy had stayed there watching him flee, or whether he’d simply turned around as well and calmly continued toward his hotel, completely unaffected by the ridiculous thing Sakusa had just done.

Who was Kiyoomi trying to fool? Obviously Ushijima hadn’t even spared him one last glance before continuing on his way.

And for some strange reason, the second-year boy’s chest was filled with an awful feeling. A feeling that didn’t disappear even later, when he and his cousin were informed that they’d both been selected for the All-Japan Youth Intensive Training Camp.

It didn’t surprise him in the slightest, he’d expected it already, but the real problem was that he would have to see Wakatoshi again for the first time since his confession. Except… he didn’t. Representing Miyagi instead was a first-year setter from a team Kiyoomi hadn’t heard about in years. Which meant Shiratorizawa had lost.

Wait… Shiratorizawa had lost!? Seriously!? So he wouldn’t be facing Wakatoshi at Nationals!? It was a relief, but also a disappointment. This was going to be the most boring tournament of his life.

“Was Wakatoshi sick?” he couldn’t help asking the Karasuno boy, who immediately gave him an offended look for obvious reasons.

Regardless, Sakusa didn’t care.

He followed Motoya closely through the massive training facilities where the camp was being held. His extroverted cousin kept stopping every few minutes to enthusiastically chat with practically every single person there, and Sakusa was already exhausted. Even without participating in the conversations, simply being surrounded by so many people drained all of his energy.

He headed back to his room first, inspected everything carefully to make sure it was clean, and once he confirmed it was a safe environment, he carried his belongings into the bathroom. He removed his mask and tossed it into the trash can before pausing for a few seconds to stare at his reflection in the mirror.

He noticed he was frowning, so he consciously relaxed his expression and took a deep breath. Alright. He wouldn’t be seeing Ushijima, and that was good. Wakatoshi had rejected him, and Kiyoomi had learned that he did not handle those kinds of things very well, but it was time to start getting over it.

Difficult, considering he’d been in love for around three years. But not impossible.

Nationals were getting closer and closer, which meant he needed to focus and improve his mood. Itachiyama had to win. And meanwhile, he would give this intensive camp everything he had so he’d be fully prepared.

“You can do this, Kiyoomi,” he whispered to his reflection.

He took a meticulous shower and changed into his fluffy pink pajamas, his favorite pair for nights spent away from home. After turning off all the lights, he climbed into the top bunk since he preferred being as far away from the inevitably dirty floor as possible, preparing himself to rest.

If he even could.

Lately, ever since that humiliating rejection, sleeping had become difficult. He figured it was just his dramatic teenage hormones acting up, but regardless, it was annoying. Just as he was finally beginning to drift off, the bedroom light suddenly flicked on, startling him awake.

He pushed himself up slightly, ready to glare at his idiot cousin and say a few choice words, only to discover that it wasn’t just Komori standing there, but also—

Miya Atsumu. A seventeen-year-old prodigy setter from Hyogo. He was a little arrogant, though admittedly his skills were impressive. His team was Inarizaki, one of the top contenders or something along those lines, and if Sakusa allowed himself to actually look at him properly, he could somewhat understand why Miya was so conceited.

Of course, Kiyoomi didn’t particularly like him because of his attitude, but that still didn’t mean Miya looked bad. Actually, he looked too good. Not as good as Ushijima, obviously, but still good. The only thing ruining it was that horrendous blond hair that would look especially awful paired with an Itachiyama uniform.

Still, no matter how attractive Miya might’ve been, Sakusa could barely tolerate sharing a room with his cousin as it was. The moment he noticed the intruder carrying a futon, he stared at it before shifting his attention to Motoya.

“What is he doing here?”

He pretended not to notice the offended grimace the boy from Hyogo immediately made.

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Atsumu

It wasn’t the first time Atsumu had seen Kiyoomi, but it was the first time he’d been able to see his face from up close and in detail.

During the other training camps he’d attended over the past year, Sakusa had either been wearing a mask or was too far away while playing, so Atsumu had never really thought of him as especially handsome.

Until now. Sweet holy mother of God, Sakusa Kiyoomi was ridiculously pretty. So pretty that it annoyed Atsumu, because his eyes kept drifting toward the outside hitter against his own will. Maybe what attracted him most about the curly-haired boy was how meticulous he was; he reminded Atsumu a little of Kita.

Yeah, that had to be it, because aside from being pretty and organized, Sakusa didn’t have a single other good quality. His personality was absolute garbage. Too rude, too blunt, he was seriously irritating! Atsumu already had one person criticizing him twenty-four hours a day back home, and now he had another one in Tokyo too? What a nightmare.

“That set was too high,” Sakusa told him in the dullest tone of voice Atsumu had ever heard in his life. “It made it difficult to hit. Fix that.”

“Excuse me?” Atsumu hadn’t known it was possible to feel this offended. Mentally cursing the coach who’d forced them to practice together, he took a deep breath to stop himself from exploding. Then he flashed Sakusa a little smile, causing the other boy’s frown to deepen somehow. “Alright, Omi-kun!”

“Don’t call me that,” the younger boy muttered before jogging back toward the end of the court and grabbing another volleyball from the cart overflowing with them. He tossed the ball high into the air before starting his approach, eyes locked onto the blue-and-yellow ball in complete concentration.

Atsumu scoffed and barely even moved, only taking a few casual steps toward where the ball would fall before effortlessly setting it to Kiyoomi at the perfect moment.

Applause sounded from the neighboring court, instantly inflating his ego, and with a much brighter grin, Atsumu glanced over. Komori was clapping for them and giving two enthusiastic thumbs-ups, which made the blond laugh quietly.

Sakusa’s spike earned praise from the observing coaches, and the setter could practically feel their eyes fixed on the two of them.

“Nice kill,” Atsumu told Sakusa. The spiker merely looked at him while wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, saying absolutely nothing before jogging back to the end of the court once again to grab another ball from the cart. Atsumu stared after him with his mouth hanging open in an offended grimace before finally huffing, shaking his head and planting his hands on his hips. “What an asshole.”

At lunchtime, Atsumu bounced between a few tables, chatting with different guys. He also sat down for about three minutes just to annoy Kageyama, and when the younger boy started looking genuinely furious, the Inarizaki setter made up some stupid excuse, grabbed his tray, and headed over to sit with his roommates, dropping down beside Komori.

“Miya-kun, hi!” the thick-eyebrowed boy greeted him with his usual friendliness.

Atsumu was starting to find it difficult to believe that this angel was actually related by blood to… that other guy sitting across from him, glaring like Atsumu had personally offended his entire lineage. Miya let out a quiet snort of laughter and ignored him, listening as the libero asked him about what he was eating.

Every now and then, while Motoya and Atsumu chatted animatedly, the blond would sneak little glances at Kiyoomi, finding the way he ate strangely odd. He almost looked disgusted by the food. Or maybe Sakusa simply looked disgusted by absolutely everything all the time. Atsumu didn’t want to make assumptions about him, but he was pretty sure the rude bastard had several things wrong inside his head.

As he continued talking to Komori, splitting his attention between the boy and his cousin, Atsumu accidentally made eye contact with the latter and suddenly found himself unable to look away. Sakusa’s eyes were dark, like some sort of void slowly swallowing Miya whole.

The strange trance shattered the moment the dark-haired boy finished eating, slipped his mask back on, and abruptly stood up with his tray in hand.

“I’m going to shower,” he said curtly.

The statement was clearly directed more at Komori than Atsumu, but the blond still waved cheerfully at him anyway.

“See ya~”

Sakusa merely rolled his eyes before finally leaving.

Bastard, Atsumu thought while watching him slowly disappear from the cafeteria after returning his tray.

“Ah, right, Miya-kun, I forgot to tell you,” Motoya spoke up again, pulling Atsumu’s attention back to him. “Tonight I’m going home to sleep there. My mom woke up with a cold, and I wanna take care of her tonight. You can sleep in my bed if you want!”

“You’re such a good son, Komo-kyun~” Atsumu affectionately ruffled his hair. “Alright then. See ya tomorrow, and I hope your mom gets better soon.”

After exchanging a few more words, everyone eventually went their separate ways, and that was when, while Atsumu rested before going to practice serves with Kageyama, a horrifying realization struck him: He was going to spend the night alone with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

There was no way he’d have a peaceful night knowing that only a few meters away would be some guy who apparently hated him just for existing. And even though Motoya had offered Atsumu his bed, he absolutely wasn’t going to use it. Knowing how dramatic Sakusa was, the guy would probably start an argument over that alone, and as much as the setter occasionally loved conflict and genuinely didn’t know when to stop being annoying, he didn’t want to fight with Kiyoomi.

He had a feeling the guy was stubborn enough to never let him win, and, well… Atsumu hated losing at anything.

“Miya-san, are we practicing yet?”

The quiet voice of the Miyagi first-year pulled Atsumu out of his thoughts, and he sat up properly after having been sprawled across the floor. The younger boy stood in front of him, stretching.

“We ate like…” Atsumu glanced toward the nearest clock on the wall before looking back at Kageyama, who had also turned to stare at the clock. “six minutes ago. D’ya wanna throw up and feel miserable, Tobio-kun?”

The boy frowned before looking back at Miya.

“How did you read that?” he muttered, then turned toward the clock again while absentmindedly massaging his wrists.

Atsumu sighed and shook his head before springing to his feet. He seriously didn’t understand how the hell Kageyama Tobio managed to be such an incredible volleyball genius while also being a complete idiot at literally everything else. Maybe he used up all of his brainpower on the sport and didn’t have a single brain cell left for everyday life. Honestly, he could probably become a fascinating scientific case study. The blond swallowed down several insults aimed at the younger boy and then spent the next ten minutes teaching him how to read an analog clock, all while thinking that if his Kita-san had been there, he definitely would’ve helped Kageyama stop being an ignorant dumbass who couldn’t read clocks at the ripe old age of sixteen.

The hours passed quickly between the coaches’ lessons and more free practice among the players. Sakusa had returned after showering, and when it was finally time for dinner and then bed, he disappeared again because apparently he needed another shower.

Atsumu ate dinner alongside the rest of the guys, though he genuinely missed Komori’s dumb jokes and pointless teasing. He walked back toward the rooms with Hoshiumi since theirs were in the same hallway, and after exchanging a few short goodnights, they each headed into their respective rooms.

Unlike the previous night, the room was lit up this time.

Kiyoomi wasn’t in bed but inside the bathroom doing something with the door left open. Atsumu couldn’t quite tell what, though judging by the way he stood in front of the sink, he guessed the guy was cleaning it.

“I’m back, Omi-omi,” he greeted, though he didn’t actually expect a response anymore. He was already getting used to Sakusa’s dryness and the uncomfortable silences that seemed to rule over his existence.

But against all odds, Kiyoomi answered.

“You’re back late.” Then, after a few seconds, he added while leaning slightly out of the bathroom doorway: “And don’t call me that, Miya.”

He was already wearing his pajamas, his curly hair still slightly damp, and for once he wasn’t wearing a mask. He looked weirdly squishable, but Atsumu would never, ever admit that. Never.

Atsumu stammered out a few incoherent things in the most pathetic way imaginable, disturbed by the stupid rapid pounding of his own heart, before eventually blurting out: “Are ya gonna be much longer in the bathroom? I wanna shower.”

Kiyoomi stared at him for far too long, long enough that Miya started feeling slightly uncomfortable and oddly exposed beneath his gaze.

“You shower?”

…Huh? Was that supposed to be a joke? Did Sakusa Kiyoomi make jokes?

Atsumu couldn’t tell if he was imagining it or if the corners of Kiyoomi’s lips had genuinely lifted ever so slightly into the tiniest smile imaginable. His eyes narrowed faintly too, his expression finally softening for once.

“O-of course I shower, dumbass,” Atsumu shot back, suddenly nervous for reasons he couldn’t explain.

Heat spread across his cheeks when Sakusa’s faintly malicious little smile widened as he stepped back into the bathroom.

“Good. I was going to kick you out of the room if you didn’t.”

His voice sounded slightly farther away now, but Atsumu still heard every word perfectly clearly.

Snorting softly and feeling something in his chest that wasn’t exactly pleasant but wasn’t entirely unpleasant either, Miya crouched down in front of his bag and started pulling out his toiletries, towel, and pajamas, leaving them on top of the futon he had already unfolded. He sat on the floor and used his phone while Kiyoomi was in the bathroom.

He took the chance to send a few messages to his mom, to Osamu, to Rintarou, and to some of his other friends. He chatted with Aran for a while too, and once there was nobody left to reply to, he opened the chat he had with Kita, staring longingly at their short conversations. Atsumu would usually send up to eight messages in a row, and his captain would only answer with one or two. Sometimes he’d just leave him on read. Sighing, the blond locked his phone and tossed it aside before hugging his legs and resting his head on his knees.

“Before you leave, clean everything again. Don’t leave the place a mess,” Sakusa said as he turned off the bathroom light and stepped out. He fell silent for a moment, standing in the middle of the room while looking at Miya. “What’s wrong with you?”

Feeling oddly heavy, Atsumu got to his feet and shook his head with a smile.

“Nothin’ at all. I’m just tired, that’s it.” He stretched his arms over his head, eyes slipping shut.

When he opened them again, Sakusa was staring fixedly at his stomach for some reason. Confused, Atsumu ran a hand over his abdomen, and only then did the dark-haired finally look away, clearing his throat.

“Well,” Kiyoomi nodded, “go take your bath.”

“Yes, sir,” Atsumu sang teasingly, letting out a small laugh afterward. He grabbed all his things and headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it with uneven breaths.

Uh… what the hell had just happened!?

Sakusa Kiyoomi had totally been staring at his abs when Atsumu’s T-shirt had ridden up a little while he stretched, it had been so obvious! And on top of that, they’d had their first “normal” conversation since arriving at the training camp. Sakusa hadn’t acted quite so much like an asshole, and he’d actually been… kind of pleasant.

The atmosphere in the room had felt strange, but not in an uncomfortable way. More like… light. So weird.

Really weird.

…

Atsumu was excited.

────────

Kiyoomi

Miya Atsumu was hot.

Kiyoomi dragged a hand down his face, frustrated that he even had to acknowledge such a reality. How the hell did that arrogant blond manage to have abs that defined when he ate like there was no tomorrow? Still, he hoped Atsumu hadn’t noticed him staring because… well, that would not have been an ideal situation.

He wasn’t exactly the most talkative person in the world, but Atsumu interested him; strictly because of his incredible talent, of course, and absolutely not for any other reason. He had spent several alarmingly long minutes that afternoon watching him practice serves alongside that guy from the team that had beaten Ushiwaka, and while the kid from Miyagi had a pretty good jump serve, Sakusa had only paid attention to Atsumu.

The way he prepared himself and inhaled before jumping, whether it was for a float serve or a jump serve. He was a powerful attacker, someone who could easily thrive in almost any position, but Kiyoomi had to admit setter suited him perfectly. It absolutely did not have anything to do with the fact that their plays could work well together. That would make no sense. Why would Kiyoomi care about something like that? Ridiculous.

He simply… knew how to recognize good players.

Besides, practicing with Atsumu wasn’t all that boring. Which was somewhat alarming, because the main reason Sakusa had started liking Ushijima in the first place was precisely because the Shiratorizawa captain made volleyball fun.

But again, Kiyoomi did not like Miya Atsumu. He merely found him interesting as a player.

And besides, if Ushijima Wakatoshi could be considered the Tokyo boy’s “ideal type,” then Atsumu was the complete opposite: loud, arrogant, constantly making stupid jokes, always acting like he was better than everyone else…

Although, well, compared to Ushijima in that regard, he also thought he was the best. The difference was that he actually had reasons for it, he was literally part of the U-19 national team. And he was amazing, an incredible attacker, though his receives could still improve and—

Sakusa swallowed down a groan of exasperation and sat on Motoya’s bed, clasping his hands together in his lap. He stared at the ceiling and sighed, exhausted by his own thoughts.

He needed to stop thinking so much about Wakatoshi… and Atsumu too, obviously.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and Atsumu stepped out with steam curling out behind him, muttering something under his breath that sounded like, “Fuckin’ hell, it’s hot.”

Kiyoomi lifted his gaze toward him, blinking a few times as he returned to reality, and quietly examined the blond. Atsumu was wearing loose dark red pants that reached past his knees and an equally baggy black T-shirt, drying his hair with a white towel draped around his neck.

“Did you clean the bathroom?” he asked, because staying silent somehow felt wrong.

Without being invited, Miya sat down beside him on the bottom bunk, though he kept a reasonable amount of distance between them. Otherwise, Kiyoomi might’ve shoved him away.

“Do ya think I’m some kinda pig, Omi?” Atsumu replied with a lazy grin instead of an answer.

Sakusa rolled his eyes, mostly because of the ridiculous nickname Miya seemed obsessed with using.

“Maybe.”

“Yer offendin’ me!” Atsumu whined dramatically. He pressed both hands to his chest and looked at him with a fake offended pout. “Didja know I’m the officially certified cleaner of my house? I leave everythin’ spotless, not a speck’a dirt!” Sakusa made a quiet little noise like he didn’t believe him, and Miya laughed. “Ya don’t believe me? Let’s call ’Samu.”

He got up and threw himself onto his futon, grabbed something from it, then sat back down beside Sakusa all within seconds. This time, though, he was a little closer. Barely a few centimeters more than before. Kiyoomi… didn’t dislike the closeness. Not entirely, at least.

“Who’s ‘Samu’?” he asked while the other boy tapped away at his phone screen.

“My brother,” Atsumu answered distractedly. From the corner of his eye, Kiyoomi watched him start a call and immediately put it on speaker. The line was answered after two rings. “Asshole, why d’ya take so long t’answer me?”

“Don’t wanna talk to ya, dumbass,” his brother replied. “I’m here with Sunarin.”

“Hey, ’Tsumu,” another voice Sakusa didn’t recognize chimed in, “how’s Tokyo treatin’ ya?”

“Great. Finally gettin’ a break from all’a yer annoying asses,” he replied intelligently, and Kiyoomi realized Miya wasn’t only an idiot with him. Apparently, that was simply his entire personality. “Anyway, ’Samu?”

“Yeah?”

“Ain’t it true that I always clean at home and leave everythin’ absolutely spotless? My roommate doesn’t believe me.” Then golden eyes met Kiyoomi’s dark ones, and they stared at each other. Kiyoomi felt strangely unable to escape Atsumu’s gaze — attentive and bright and unfairly pretty.

“Clean? The house is always a pigsty because’a you,” his brother answered with a laugh. More laughter echoed in the background, and Atsumu glared at his phone screen.

“Oi, Osamu, ya damn liar!” he yelled. “Tell ’im the truth, shitface.”

“We got the same face, dumbass,” Osamu muttered from the other side of the call, though he cleared his throat afterward. “It’s true. ’Tsumu’s a freak about cleaning. Huge pain in the ass—”

“’Kay, ya don’t gotta say so much extra shit either,” Atsumu interrupted. “Anyway, that’s all. Bye, ’Samu.”

“Later. Stay over there in Tokyo—”

“This asshole,” the blond finished for him before tossing his phone across the room. Miraculously, it landed on top of the futon instead of the floor. Then he turned back toward Sakusa with a stupidly pleased grin. “See? ’Samu never lies.” And even though Kiyoomi remembered perfectly well that Atsumu’s brother had, in fact, lied before telling the truth, he chose not to mention it. “He cooks, and I clean,” Atsumu continued. “’Cause our ma works a lot.”

“I see.” Kiyoomi nodded. “You’re twins, right?” The question left his mouth before he really thought about it. He didn’t regret asking either way.

“Yup,” the boy confirmed. “What about you, Omi? Got siblings?”

Kiyoomi nodded in response but didn’t add anything else, and Atsumu understood immediately. When the seconds began stretching out too slowly and the silence started turning awkward, Miya spoke again, staring vaguely at a random spot across the room. “When we see each other at Nationals, I’ll introduce ya to ’Samu and my friends. And if we end up playin’ against yer team, we’re gonna kick yer asses.”

Kiyoomi scoffed, his lips curling into a smile that, to begin with, had absolutely no reason to exist.

He didn’t even know why he suddenly felt so comfortable around Atsumu. It had simply… happened. If he tried finding a logical explanation, maybe it was because Komori wasn’t in the room that night. And sure, that theory would make sense if Sakusa loved bedtime conversations.

Except he didn’t. So then… why exactly was he trying to get closer to Atsumu?

If he really stopped to analyze it properly… He had no idea.

“Keep dreaming,” he finally said, watching Atsumu while the blond wasn’t looking back at him. “Your serves are… powerful.”

His gaze briefly dropped to Atsumu’s hands. They looked rough, slightly calloused, but nice nonetheless, steady and firm. And the best detail, without question, was that his nails were trimmed and clean, impeccable. Sakusa found himself oddly pleased by that.

“I know. Someday I’m gonna have the best serve in all of Japan, and nobody’ll be able t’do shit about it.” Atsumu shrugged with a grin. Kiyoomi laughed again, surprised by the boy’s overwhelming confidence. Then those pretty pale eyes met his once more. “This mornin’ I hated ya, Omi, but now I get that yer just an idiot.” He smiled lazily. “Yer not mean.”

Kiyoomi’s heart jumped painfully in his chest. At least, that was what it felt like. Too many strange emotions crowded inside him all at once, though what unsettled him most was how incapable he seemed of looking away from Atsumu.

“You thought I was mean?”

“Obviously! Ya were a fuckin’ asshole t’me yesterday and earlier today too, and ya kept lookin’ at me like this—” Atsumu made a horrible, painfully inaccurate imitation of Kiyoomi’s usual expression. Apparently, according to him, it was Sakusa’s “normal face”: brows furrowed and lips slightly pouty. Apparently other people did not perceive it well. “So I figured ya hated me, even though I dunno why, since we’d never even talked before, but whatever! I hadta stop myself from hittin’ ya a couple times too.”

“You wanted to hit me?” And even though he tried not to sound offended, Kiyoomi failed miserably.

Miya let out an amused little laugh and raised both hands in surrender.

“Only ’cause ya treated me like shit. But forget that, now I figured out yer actually nice when ya wanna be.” At that, Kiyoomi clicked his tongue and shot him an irritated look, which only made Atsumu laugh again. Then he held out a hand toward him. “You should gimme yer number, so we can text all the time ’til we see each other again.”

“I’m not letting you touch my phone. Just tell me your number,” the dark-haired boy replied, grabbing his phone from behind him on the mattress.

“Oh? So ya do want my number?”

“I’m not guaranteeing I’ll reply to your messages someday, but…”

And, unsurprisingly, Atsumu laughed again. Kiyoomi liked his laugh. Probably too much.

During the following weeks, they didn’t go a single day without talking, even if their conversations were fleeting more often than not.

Every time Kiyoomi’s phone vibrated with a notification, he’d open it with quiet anticipation, hoping it would be another message from Atsumu. Not that he would necessarily reply, but he would spend a concerning amount of time staring at it anyway, as though he could somehow see the other boy’s face through the message bubble and whatever stupid thing had been written there.

────────

Miya Atsumu
Omi-kun
I fell during practice today
Busted my ass :(
It hurts soooo bad
Do somethin’
Send me good vibes
7:43 p.m

Kiyoomi
Go to hell, Miya
7:59 p.m

────────

Miya Atsumu
We had a setting competition this afternoon
Guess who won ;)
9:56 p.m

Kiyoomi
Your brother?
10:01 p.m

Miya Atsumu
OMI!!!!!
Yer so mean
Rude ass
Obviously I won!!!!
’Samu ain’t even as good as me, y’know?
What’s wrong with you
I hate ya
10:02 p.m

Kiyoomi
Then stop texting me
10:03 p.m

Miya Atsumu
Does it bother ya when I text you?????
Idiot
10:03 p.m

Miya Atsumu
OI
10:06 p.m

Miya Atsumu
OIIIIII
OMI
OMI-KUN
OMI-OMI
SAKUSA
10:10 p.m

Kiyoomi
What do you want?
10:11 p.m

Miya Atsumu
Don’t leave me on read!!!!!!
10:15 p.m

Kiyoomi
...
10:17 p.m

Miya Atsumu
WHAT ARE THREE DOTS SUPPOSED TO MEAN????????
Asshole
Yer such a bad friend
10:18 p.m

Kiyoomi
I’m technically not leaving you on read with that
Be grateful
10:18 p.m

────────

Miya Atsumu
See ya tomorrow Omiiii
Nationals are finally hereeeee
I’m excited
1:28 p.m

Kiyoomi
It’s unfortunate our teams won’t be facing each other yet
1:30 p.m

Miya Atsumu
Awww do ya wanna play with me?
I mean
Against me?
Yer kinda sweet
Omi-kun
1:31 p.m

Kiyoomi
Can you read?
1:33 p.m

Miya Atsumu
I disappeared
Sorry
6:34 p.m

Miya Atsumu
Anyway yeah I can read
Dumbass
I just understood it differently
Like you’re excited t’play against me
6:35 p.m

Kiyoomi
It would be fun
6:40 p.m

Miya Atsumu
Then let’s meet there
Further ahead
After we beat all the weaker teams
(⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)
6:41 p.m

Kiyoomi
Something someone who’ll probably lose in the early rounds would say
6:42 p.m

Miya Atsumu
WHY DO YA LIKE INSULTIN’ ME SO MUCH!?!?!?!?!?!
Stupid asshole
I hate ya
6:43 p.m

Kiyoomi
See you tomorrow, Miya
Good luck
7:17 p.m

Miya Atsumu
Night Omi
Good luck!!!
(⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~
7:38 p.m

────────

Atsumu

The big day had finally arrived, and Atsumu was ecstatic.

He greeted a few of the boys from the training camp whenever he ran into them in the hallways of the facility where the National Tournament would be held. Still, there was only one person he actually cared about seeing.

Which was exactly why he immediately spotted him standing in the middle of a large group of boys wearing Itachiyama’s hideous neon yellow-and-green jackets. Sakusa was practically glued to the wall, as if he wanted to merge with it, wearing a white mask while the zipper of his jacket was pulled all the way up to his chin. And of course, he had that expression like he hated everybody alive.

Atsumu grinned and waved his hand enthusiastically at him. Luckily, Kiyoomi noticed him and briefly lifted his left hand in acknowledgment. There were too many people between them for Miya to easily walk over, so he pulled his phone from his pocket and texted him while stepping away from the crowd.

Tsumu
Omi
Wanna get outta here for a bit?
Ya look miserable lol
7:02 a.m

Omi
I can’t
My team’s starting stretches in a few minutes
But honestly I’d like to
7:02 a.m

Tsumu
Wahhh that sucks
Then when ya get a break?
7:02 a.m

Omi
I’ll let you know
7:03 a.m

Tsumu
Nice
Please don’t pass out thinkin’ about all the germs floatin’ around in the air
7:03 a.m

Omi
Shut up
Don’t mention it
Fuck
Bastard
Now I can’t stop thinking about it
7:04 a.m

Tsumu
That’s what ya get for not bein’ able t’come with me
:p
7:04 a.m

Omi
Go to hell, Miya
7:05 a.m

“Miya-kun!” Atsumu lifted his gaze from his phone at the sound of the cheerful voice. He slipped the device back into the pocket of his red jersey and flashed the other boy a bright smile. “Morning! How are you?”

“Great. Really lookin’ forward t’winnin’,” he replied to Komori, who smiled back at him. “I was just textin’ yer cousin, actually. Wanted t’drag him away from that crowd, but he said they’re aboutta start stretchin’ soon.”

“Ah, yeah. We’re not playing today, but we still have to loosen up a little,” Komori confirmed with a small nod and smile. “But you were texting him? Seriously? That’s kinda weird…” He puffed out his cheeks thoughtfully. “Kiyoomi hates texting basically everyone. He only does phone calls. I guess he really likes you.”

“Oh,” Miya mumbled, unable to come up with anything else to say.

That had completely caught him off guard. What the hell?

“Motoya, quit yapping and get over here already! You’re the only one missing!” Someone shouted a few meters behind Atsumu, and the libero standing in front of him glanced over his shoulder with an expression of pure fear.

“Ah, it’s the captain. Well! See ya later, Miya-kun!” He rushed off immediately, and Atsumu watched him go, only to witness Komori getting scolded by another tall blond guy as they walked in the opposite direction. That guy was Iizuna Tsukasa — Itachiyama’s captain and setter. A really talented setter; Atsumu wanted to play against him.

Still, his mind was completely stuck on what Komori had said about Sakusa: “He hates texting everyone except you, ’Tsumu.” Well, those hadn’t been his exact words, but that had basically been the message!

What was that even supposed to mean?

Atsumu hadn’t had a single phone call with Sakusa during all this time because he genuinely preferred texting over calling. The only people he ever actually called were Osamu and his mom whenever he was away from them.

So according to what Komori had said… Kiyoomi was putting up with something he disliked just because of Atsumu. Which was… weird. Miya had no idea how he was supposed to feel about that.

Was Atsumu… special? Oh God, he was gonna start blushing. He pressed both hands against his cheeks, feeling how warm they’d gotten, and kept jogging toward where his team was gathered with a tiny smile tugging at his lips. He spent the next several minutes looking downright lovestruck while everyone else joked around and chatted. He barely paid attention to the matches they went to watch, and he certainly wasn’t focused while stretching beside Suna.

“Earth to ’Tsumu,” someone whispered into his ear. Atsumu jumped violently, snapping back to reality. He shot Suna a dirty look as the middle blocker sat beside him on the gym floor. “What’s wrong with ya?” the boy asked while stretching his fingers.

Miya sighed.

“I think I like someone.”

“Kita-san? Yeah, we already know.” Atsumu flushed furiously at that and shoved the brown-haired boy, who toppled sideways onto the floor laughing. “Oi, it’s not exactly a secret!”

“Shut up!” Atsumu kicked him lightly, which only made the middle blocker laugh harder. “And it ain’t him,” he added quietly.

Rintarou sat up immediately, suddenly interested.

“Oh? Then who?” Atsumu looked away, deliberately ignoring him, and the other boy whined before scooting closer and grabbing him by the shoulders to shake him aggressively. “’Tsumu, that’s not fair— ’Samu!” he shouted suddenly, calling over Atsumu’s twin, who was stretching on the other side of the gym with Oomimi. Osamu jogged over immediately and dropped onto the floor beside Suna, casually resting a hand on his thigh. Atsumu noticed, but he wisely chose not to comment on it. “Didja know ’Tsumu likes someone who isn’t Kita-san?”

“Impossible,” Osamu said instantly. “’Tsumu wants t’marry Kita-san.”

“It’s not like that!” Atsumu screeched, covering his face with both hands. “I don’t like him at all!” He almost yelled that Kita had rejected him already, but thankfully stopped himself in time. His brother and Sunarin already knew, and that alone was torture enough. He did not need the rest of the team finding out too. Atsumu lowered his hands and puffed out his cheeks. “Ya don’t know the person I like. And… and I don’t even know if I actually like him or if I just—”

“Is it that ‘Omi’ ya keep texting?” Osamu interrupted. Atsumu nearly choked on his own spit in shock. The gray-haired boy grinned victoriously. “Knew it.”

“How the hell—”

“Yer always starin’ at yer phone with this stupid look on yer face. Only other time I ever saw ya do that was with Kita-san.” Osamu shrugged almost lazily while his twin felt like his entire world was collapsing around him. Worst of all, Suna was there too, listening to everything and quietly laughing at Atsumu under his breath. Atsumu knew, deep in his soul, that neither his brother nor that asshole Rintarou would ever let him live this down. “I dunno why ya call someone ‘Omi,’ and if that’s actually his real name then honestly… damn, that’s rough,” Osamu continued thoughtfully. “But the only person I can think of is—”

Atsumu immediately lunged forward and clamped a hand over his brother’s mouth. Osamu instantly tried to yank him off while Suna somehow produced his phone from nowhere and started recording the violence while laughing.

“Don’t you dare—” And then Atsumu got violently thrown backward by Osamu. “Ow!” He let out a dramatic yelp as he landed flat on his back.

“The guy ya like is that top three ace dude, isn’t it?” Osamu asked while Atsumu sat back up with a pained grimace. “What was his name again…?” he muttered more to himself than anyone else.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” Rintarou supplied helpfully, eyes fixed on his phone screen. “He’s actually here in this gym right now. All of Itachiyama came even though they aren’t playing today.”

Where Suna had gotten that information from, nobody knew.

“Were ya born to stalk me or somethin’?” Atsumu muttered suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at Suna, who just laughed again without even bothering to look at him. “Yer scary, Sunarin.”

“And ya like Sakusa Kiyoomi,” Osamu shot back in defense of Rintarou. “Yer blushing all the way down yer neck too… take a picture, Rin.”

“I’m sick of both of ya!”

Finally, the person most bullied in the entire world —namely Miya Atsumu— got up and stomped away to the other side of the gym. He stopped near Aran and Kita, who were quietly talking to each other.

He started stretching on his own, beginning with his neck and then his shoulders, and no matter how hard he tried, he could only think about two things: Sakusa apparently only enjoyed texting him (nobody had actually confirmed that, but Atsumu believed it wholeheartedly), and Osamu and Rintarou were his greatest enemies.

Still, overhearing part of the conversation between his captain and the team’s ace instantly wiped away every thought that had been tormenting him throughout his stretching session.

“On our anniversary…” Aran had murmured softly, catching the attention of the younger boy standing with his back turned toward them.

Anniversary? Atsumu thought. Team anniversary or…?

“My grandma wants to cook dinner for us,” Kita replied in an equally quiet voice, or well, quieter than usual for him. “And she said you can stay over that night since she’ll be attending a spiritual retreat for elderly people.”

Right. Atsumu was now paying more attention to them than to literally anything else. He stretched his hips terribly, making movements so pathetic that if anyone had actually been watching him closely, they probably would’ve mocked him for the rest of his life. But that didn’t matter.

Miya needed to know what those two were talking about because he really didn’t like the conclusions forming in his head. If two plus two equaled four, then analyzing every interaction between Aran and the captain over the past year led to exactly the same answer. They were dating.

Obviously! It seemed so painfully clear now that Atsumu actually thought about it. Shinsuke barely talked to anyone outside of club activities, but he was always with Aran no matter what. They constantly had “private” conversations, and Kita had way more physical contact with Aran than with literally anyone else.

It was shocking. Interesting too, but… Atsumu hated it. He was supposed to be over Kita rejecting him already, so then… Why did it feel so awful knowing he had a boyfriend? And worse, that the boyfriend was Aran?

“Aw, c’mon…” he muttered under his breath, sick of himself. He couldn’t stand being there anymore.

Atsumu slipped away from his team and wandered through several hallways searching for emergency exits until he finally found one and pushed the door open. The cold January air hit him immediately alongside the sunlight. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jersey and sighed, leaning against the wall beside the metal door.

Just then, his phone vibrated with a notification.

He pulled it out and checked the screen, expecting it to be another message from his mother in the family group chat wishing him and Osamu luck at Nationals.

Instead—

Omi
Where are you?
I went to where your team was practicing and you weren’t there
3:48 p.m

Tsumu
Came outside t’get some air
3:48 p.m

Omi
Are you okay?
3:48 p.m

Atsumu let out a quiet laugh and typed out a reply.

Tsumu
Come here
I’m outside on one side of the building
Just look for one of the emergency exits near where my team was
I suck at givin’ directions
Sorry Omi
3:49 p.m

Omi
I think I understood
I think
3:49 p.m

Tsumu
Then come ;))
I’ll wait for ya
3:49 p.m

Omi
Fine
3:50 p.m

After that last message, Atsumu slipped his phone back into his pocket and glanced around, trying to clear his thoughts before Sakusa arrived.

Fuck, if he liked spending time with Omi this much, then why the hell was he still wasting his feelings on Kita!? Nothing was ever going to happen between them. Their relationship would never become anything more than captain and setter. So what exactly was Atsumu hoping for? And what the hell did he actually want?

A minute later, the door beside him opened.

Black curls. Eyes just as dark. Two beauty marks on his forehead, briefly visible when he pushed one curl away with a finger. A white face mask. And that hideous, exhausting, absolutely awful neon yellow-and-green Itachiyama uniform. God, it was terrible. Even if it made his pale skin stand out far too much, Sakusa Kiyoomi still looked… good. Presentable, at the very least.

“Here.” That was his incredible greeting, though the blond couldn’t even complain because Sakusa pulled an onigiri out of his jacket pocket and held it out toward Atsumu, who took it immediately without hiding his surprise. “I stopped by the konbini earlier and… well, it’d be rude not to bring you something.”

Blinking in disbelief, Miya unwrapped the onigiri and swallowed it in two bites, stuffing the wrapper into his pocket to throw away later.

Sakusa didn’t look at him even once.

How weird.

“Thanks, Omi,” he tried saying with his mouth still full.

Finally, Kiyoomi glanced at him from the corner of his eye with an expression beneath the mask that practically screamed disgust.

“Finish swallowing before you speak.”

So Atsumu did exactly that, and once he finished, he smiled.

“Thanks, Omi,” he repeated. “Didja already eat?” When the other boy nodded, Atsumu smiled again, pushing his shoulder off the wall so he could properly face Kiyoomi. “Did ya get tired of watchin’ the matches an’ that’s why ya wanted t’see me?”

Sakusa scoffed softly.

“You think very highly of yourself.”

“Then why were ya lookin’ for me?” Atsumu shot back immediately with a question Kiyoomi clearly wasn’t prepared to answer. At least, not right away. “We’re playing Karasuno tomorrow,” Atsumu continued. “Y’know, Tobio-kun’s team.”

“Ah. The ones who beat Wakatoshi,” Sakusa murmured, mostly to himself, and Atsumu nodded. Then silence settled briefly between them until Kiyoomi shifted to mirror Atsumu’s position, leaving the two of them facing each other directly now. “Miya, you…” He hesitated slightly. “You look sick.” …Huh? “Even over text, you seemed… different. Are you okay?”

Holy shit. Atsumu had absolutely no idea how to answer that, so the only thing he managed to say was:

“Why? Worried about me?”

And, of course, Sakusa Kiyoomi frowned immediately.

────────

Kiyoomi

“I just think you’re acting weird now,” Sakusa answered after letting out a quiet huff. His gaze swept briefly over Miya before dropping toward the ground. “You were more energetic this morning.”

Atsumu hummed, arms crossed over his chest, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes narrowed as though he were genuinely reflecting on the shift in his mood from seven in the morning up until now. Kiyoomi hoped he actually was thinking about it, because receiving a real answer would be nice.

“It’s just exhaustion,” Miya finally replied with a shrug, brushing it off. Kiyoomi felt his brows furrow further. He wasn’t convinced in the slightest. “And do you feel better than earlier?” Atsumu asked.

Sakusa disliked the abrupt change of subject, though he chose not to mention it.

“As long as I stay away from crowds, I’m fine,” he said, crossing his arms too. “I wanted to watch some matches, but there weren’t many open seats, so…”

“So ya came lookin’ for me,” Atsumu finished for him, making Kiyoomi sigh in defeat. The Inarizaki setter let out a soft laugh, and Sakusa could feel those bright eyes fixed on him. “Ya like bein’ around me. Can’t deny it, Omi.”

Kiyoomi’s heart immediately started beating too fast, like he was in the middle of an important match. It was strange and uncomfortable. He hated it. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to look back at the boy in front of him.

“My teammates wanted to stay and watch the matches, and unfortunately the only person here I know besides them is you,” he excused flatly.

The blond’s stupid grin widened.

“Sure, whatever helps ya sleep at night, Omi.” Was he mocking him? What an idiot. Miya Atsumu was a complete idiot. “You have to come cheer for us tomorrow, okay?”

“I don’t want to,” the dark-haired boy replied, grateful for the mask hiding his small smile. Though judging by the way his brows softened, maybe Atsumu had noticed it anyway. Miya seemed to notice everything. “I guess I could watch part of the first or last set… if there aren’t too many people,” he added after considering it for a few seconds.

The setter looked more than pleased by that answer.

At least he looks happier now.

“The gym’s gonna be packed, Omi-omi. The Miya twins are playin’, after all,” Atsumu replied matter-of-factly. “And obviously most people are gonna come see me. I mean…” He pointed at his own face with that lazy grin seemingly always stuck there. “Look at me.”

“I don’t know. I think most of your fans are actually there for your brother…”

“Me an’ him got the exact same face!”

“Definitely not the same personality…”

Atsumu made an annoyed sound and rolled his eyes.

“Ya don’t know ’Samu well enough t’say he’s better than me, and I’m tellin’ ya right now he isn’t.”

“Knowing you, I’ve already learned not to trust your judgment,” the dark-haired boy replied. Maybe the mask had suddenly become more of a problem than a comfort. Kiyoomi was smiling. Actually smiling.

He genuinely enjoyed talking to Atsumu —teasing him too— and part of him wanted the boy from Hyogo to know that, while another part desperately didn’t. Still, he removed the mask and folded it in half before slipping it into his pocket.

Miya stared at him immediately, far too focused on something about Sakusa’s face. Uncomfortable, Kiyoomi ran a hand through his hair and looked literally anywhere else besides the blond standing in front of him.

“Do I have something on my face, Miya?” he muttered, lowering his gaze toward his sneakers.

“Hey, don’t look down,” Atsumu complained. When Kiyoomi looked back at him, the blond was pouting. “Why d’ya hate showin’ yer face so much when yer this pretty?” And he didn’t even need an answer because Miya seemed to realize what he’d just said almost immediately afterward. He started stammering out a flood of incoherent nonsense while a blush rapidly spread across his cheeks and ears, until he finally managed to force out something understandable: “Uh, I mean… ya’d probably have more fans if ya stopped wearin’ that mask.”

Sakusa’s lips curved almost imperceptibly at one corner into the faintest little smile.

“I don’t want or need fans,” he said. “And not wearing a mask feels… wrong. There’s too much contamination everywhere.”

Miya nodded. Kiyoomi didn’t know if he truly understood, but he hoped he did and wasn’t secretly thinking he was some kind of freak the way most people seemed to.

“If that’s what makes ya comfortable, then I can’t judge ya for it,” Atsumu told him.

Only then did Kiyoomi fully realize that the boy’s voice, even with that thick accent of his, was genuinely pleasant. Sweet, almost. A very pretty voice, as long as he wasn’t yelling stupid things.

Maybe he would regret the thought that crossed his mind right then, the one that felt like a strange tingling in his stomach and at the tips of his fingers. The horrible realization. Or perhaps understanding that he was starting to like Miya Atsumu. Just a little. Nothing to worry about since it could never compare to what he’d once felt for Wakatoshi…

Right?

But even with Shiratorizawa’s captain, he had never reached this level of “friendship”, or whatever this thing with Miya was supposed to be.

Damn it.

What exactly had he gotten himself into?

────────

Inarizaki lost against Karasuno.

When Kiyoomi found out, the very first thing he wanted to do was find Atsumu and talk to him, maybe comfort him somehow even though he honestly had no idea how to do that. Still, he figured the blond was probably spending time with his team, so he didn’t want to intrude.

A while later, after sending Komori to investigate when Inarizaki would be heading home, Sakusa used the spare minutes to send Miya a message.

Kiyoomi
Did you leave already?
4:49 p.m

He knew perfectly well Atsumu was still somewhere inside the gym, but Miya didn’t need to know that.

Miya Atsumu
In a bit
Why?
4:52 p.m

Kiyoomi
Do you have time?
I have a few free minutes
4:52 p.m

Miya Atsumu
For what?
Wait
Ya wanna see me???
Aw Omi-kyun
Yer adorable
Do ya feel bad for me?
4:53 p.m

Kiyoomi
Who do you think you are?
I just want to get some air
4:53 p.m

Miya Atsumu
Guess that’d probably do me good too
Meet at the same place as yesterday?
You’ll get bonus points if ya bring me another onigiri
4:54 p.m

Sakusa looked down at the onigiri in his hand —the one he had literally just bought for Atsumu— and nearly threw it into the trash. He didn’t. Instead, he sighed and typed out another reply.

Kiyoomi
I’m heading there now
Don’t take too long
4:55 p.m

Miya Atsumu
Desperate t’see me?
So cute
4:55 p.m

Kiyoomi
You act very confident over text and then blush when you say those things to my face
4:55 p.m

Miya Atsumu
Hey
What’re ya talkin’ about?
I don’t blush
Never blushed once in my life
Omi
Omi-kun
Look, idiot
I DO NOT BLUSH!!!
4:56 p.m

Miya Atsumu
Why aren’t ya answering????
Hey
Don’t go gettin’ the wrong idea
Omi
Hey
4:57 p.m

Kiyoomi smiled and slipped his phone into his pocket as he started walking toward their meeting spot, feeling the repeated vibrations from Atsumu’s spam messages buzzing nonstop against his leg.

When he arrived at the spot, Miya still wasn’t there yet, so Kiyoomi waited patiently, tossing the onigiri in his hand up and catching it again as though it were a ball. Then he realized he probably shouldn’t be playing with food, even if it was wrapped, and stopped immediately, mentally scolding himself for it. And right in the middle of quietly lecturing himself under his breath, the person who had unfortunately, and somehow, started to become special to him finally appeared.

“Hey, Omi, ya can’t just say stuff like that. How dare ya accuse me of blushin’? I wasn’t! Especially not ‘cause of you.” Atsumu let out a laugh and planted his hands on his hips dramatically. “I mean, why would I—”

“Shut up and take your onigiri.”

He tossed the snack toward him, and Atsumu —being both a volleyball setter and a complete food fanatic— caught it perfectly midair without losing his offended expression.

“This,” he said while holding up the onigiri, “does not earn ya extra points anymore, just so ya know.”

“I’m not interested in points, thanks,” Sakusa replied with a shrug and a small smile. That was exactly when Atsumu stopped unwrapping the little “gift” and stared directly at his face. “What?” Kiyoomi asked immediately, defensive.

“You’re not wearing yer mask today…” Atsumu tilted his head slightly. “Am I not a biohazard anymore?”

Sakusa scoffed.

“Go to hell. I’ll put it back on right now—”

“No!” Atsumu yelped. “You gotta… breathe for a while. Ya can’t do that properly wearin’ that thing twenty-four-seven.”

And as if to physically stop himself from talking further, he took a huge bite of the onigiri and looked down at the ground.

Kiyoomi smiled again.

And from that point onward, how things ended up the way they did afterward, Kiyoomi has never really been able to explain to himself.

They simply started walking once Atsumu finished eating the onigiri, and they talked about the match. Or rather, the blond talked about it. About the improvised but successful quick attacks he’d done with his twin. About how he’d told some “Shoyo-kun” that someday he’d set for him right in front of his current setter. About how “Kita-san” had smiled and said something really nice afterward…

Sakusa mostly just listened without adding much because he genuinely liked being like this. Listening to Atsumu’s voice was strangely enjoyable entertainment. Without noticing, they eventually ended up sitting beside each other on a bench outside the gym.

The distance between them was still polite enough that their shoulders didn’t touch, but Kiyoomi couldn’t help noticing that if he shifted just a few centimeters to the left, he’d be pressed against Atsumu. And the thought didn’t bother him at all.

Naturally, the conversation slowly shifted until they started talking about their lives. Atsumu looked genuinely excited while talking about his family: his brother, his mother, his teammates who felt like cousins to him. But Sakusa could never return that same level of warmth. Not with parents who had been absent for practically his entire life and still continued to be. Not with older siblings whose age gap with him was far too large for any real closeness to exist between them. The only part of his family he truly liked was the side Motoya came from. Komori’s sisters were kind cousins Kiyoomi appreciated, and Motoya’s mother had taken care of him far more than his own parents ever had.

When he told Atsumu that, he hadn’t expected such a soft reaction in return.

“Omi-omi, I have t’take ya to Hyogo someday! It’s awful ya hadta grow up like that!” Atsumu exclaimed. “I swear my ma’s gonna be the sweetest woman ya ever meet. And well, ’Samu’s kind of a piece of shit, but he ain’t bad… not as great as me, obviously, but…” And just like that, Kiyoomi smiled again. For what had to be the tenth time in the single hour they’d spent talking.

Yeah… He liked Miya Atsumu.

Unfortunately.

Before long, they somehow ended up talking about love and romance, and Sakusa figured that was probably the exact moment things started going wrong. He couldn’t even remember who had brought up the topic first, but by the time he realized how deep into the conversation they already were, there was no escaping it anymore. At some point, they had unconsciously drifted closer together, leaning toward each other without even noticing. Kiyoomi felt drawn toward Atsumu’s pretty pale eyes, sweet and dangerous all at once, like a honey trap.

“I’ve never actually been in a relationship,” Sakusa admitted, contributing quietly to the conversation. “I never even tried either. I had a pretty bad experience after getting rejected.” Too late to regret confessing that now, so he simply kept talking as if it didn’t bother him. “He… had a partner. Or well, has one,” he corrected himself before letting out a low, bitter laugh. “I don’t even know why I confessed in the first place.”

“Oh…” Atsumu murmured softly, his gaze flickering between Kiyoomi’s eyes and lips. “Y’know, I think yer right. I once read in a magazine that ya should ‘never confess first,’ and I ignored it. Turns out they were right. I never shoulda done it either…” His voice dropped quieter. “He’s got someone too. Our situations are pretty similar, Omi-kun.”

“That doesn’t comfort me in… absolutely any way, thanks,” Sakusa tried joking, though he sounded far too serious for it to work. “I don’t even know what I expected from confessing anyway. I mean, I have no idea how relationships are supposed to work. I only know how they shouldn’t work after seeing what little I have of my parents’ marriage.”

At that, Atsumu laughed, and Kiyoomi found himself laughing too just from watching him.

“Maybe ya just hoped to… I dunno, feel wanted back.” His eyes met Sakusa’s again. “In the end, that’s all any of us really want.” A pause. “To be loved.”

And then, almost like metal being dragged toward a magnet, they started leaning closer. Closer. And closer. Their faces hovered only inches apart now, lips nearly brushing. Atsumu moved first toward him. Or maybe it had been Sakusa. Neither of them truly knew.

Both held their breath at the exact same moment and closed their eyes, simply letting themselves fall into it. What they both remembered afterward was the briefest kiss imaginable—

And then immediately jerking away to opposite ends of the bench as though the other person had suddenly become toxic.

Neither of them spoke for a long while after that. They only listened to the distant sounds of entire teams arriving and leaving the gymnasium, the busy streets nearby, and the quiet noises of the surrounding nature.

Then a familiar ringtone suddenly broke the silence, and at last Kiyoomi looked back at Atsumu, who fumbled his phone out of his pocket with noticeably shaking hands before answering the call.

“What? Ah… already? Yeah, okay, I got it! Ya don’t gotta yell at me.” He let out a deep breath, and after exchanging several more insults with the person on the other end of the line —whom Sakusa could safely assume was Atsumu’s twin— the blond finally stood up, looking at Kiyoomi with something that could only be described as shyness. “S-so, uh… I’m gonna go.”

“Goodbye.”

Atsumu intertwined his hands behind his back and opened and closed his mouth several times before finally managing to think of something to say.

“Omi-kun, that thing that happened was… that wasn’t anythin’, okay? It was just the heat of the moment and… y’know, hormones and…”

“I understand, Miya. I feel the same way.”

“I don’t like ya, okay? Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t like ya at all. Gross. Nope. Don’t like ya.”

Sakusa pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers before nodding and standing up as well. He pulled his mask from his pocket and put it back on while answering Atsumu.

“That’s a relief to hear, because I don’t like you either,” he lied. “The idea is inconceivable. Why would I like you? It makes no sense.”

“Exactly!” Atsumu let out a nervous little laugh. “Glad we got that cleared up. Well, I gotta go before they leave me stranded here in Tokyo and… and we don’t want that, right? See ya, Omi!” Without waiting another second, he spun around and bolted off exactly like a criminal fleeing from the police.

Kiyoomi watched him disappear into the distance, thinking that was probably the end of their friendship.

And honestly, he wasn’t wrong.

────────

“Promise me ya won’t ditch. I’ll hate ya if ya do.”

────────

“I’m not promising anything. Sorry.”

────────

Atsumu

A year had passed since his team had been swept out of Nationals on the second day. But this time, things would be different. Atsumu, now captain of Inarizaki, was far too confident for history to repeat itself.

His team was still a powerhouse, the “surprise” attacks between him and his twin had been perfected, and most importantly: they had won every single match on day two. Last year’s bad luck wouldn’t catch up to them again. Or at least, that was what he believed right until he walked out of the showers and ran straight into Komori and Sakusa.

“Miya-kun, hey!” As always, the libero greeted him brightly and warmly. “Congrats on making it to the next round. Your matches were incredible.”

“Thanks a lot. I got to watch one of yours too, and lemme tell ya, yer digs are somethin’ to envy,” Atsumu replied without sparing even a glance toward the curly-haired black-haired boy standing silently behind Komori like a shadow.

Good job, ’Tsumu. Ignore him as much as possible.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t flatter me like that.” Komori laughed shyly, pressing both hands against his blushing cheeks before suddenly widening his eyes as if remembering something important. “Oh! I also wanted to congratulate you on getting recruited.”

“Awh, ya heard about that? Thanks, Komori-kun.” The setter smiled. “I signed the contract a few days ago.”

“You’re not going to university?”

Atsumu hadn’t heard Kiyoomi’s voice in 366 days.

He had forgotten just how low it was, how serious his tone sounded. What he hadn’t forgotten was the way it sent chills through him, and not in a bad way.

The moment he looked away from Komori and finally toward Sakusa, who as usual was wearing a white mask, Atsumu felt something inside him that he had buried a long time ago.

Shit.

No, this couldn’t be happening.

There was no way he still liked Sakusa. An entire year had passed already, how the hell had he not managed to get over him? Well… maybe it was because they had liked each other and it had been painfully obvious, and because they were both idiots they’d ruined things before they even properly started.

But still. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way anymore. A year was a whole year. Practically a lifetime. So why the hell was his heart still speeding up because of Sakusa? So stupid.

“Nah,” he finally answered after clearing his throat, trying to look as natural as possible. Kiyoomi’s inquisitive stare didn’t disappear. “What about you, Omi-kun? I’m guessin’ ya got offers to go pro too.”

“My parents are forcing me to go to university, and honestly, I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” Sakusa replied before shrugging lightly. After a brief pause, he continued, “It’s a university with a strong volleyball program. I made sure of that before applying.”

“But don’t ya think it’s kind of a waste of time?” Miya asked, genuinely curious. Though a second later, he realized the comment had probably been out of line judging by the way Sakusa looked at him. Besides, they weren’t even friends anymore, so why should Atsumu care what Omi decided to do with his life? Before Sakusa could answer, Atsumu shook his head. “Forget it. So what’re ya gonna study?”

“International business.”

“Of course. Very Omi of you.”

That was where Atsumu decided to end the conversation before shifting his attention back to Komori, whom he had almost forgotten entirely. The poor libero looked painfully uncomfortable, trapped between the nearly tangible tension hanging between Atsumu and his cousin. Honestly, Miya felt a little bad for making things awkward with Sakusa while Komori was standing right there, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

And after Nationals ended completely, the days that followed for Atsumu passed by so quickly —and became so overwhelmingly busy— that he almost managed to forget about that interaction he’d had with Kiyoomi in Tokyo.

Or at least, that was what he wanted to convince himself of.

His life sped by in a blur of classes, club practices, and his approaching graduation, which arrived far sooner than he expected. Suddenly, he was standing outside Inarizaki High with a diploma in his hand alongside the rest of the third-years while his mother took pictures of Osamu and Rintarou, who had finally decided to reveal their painfully obvious relationship.

“So handsome,” Mrs. Miya praised the two boys, snapping endless photos on her phone while they changed poses every time a click sounded.

Atsumu pretended to gag when, for their final pose, Suna kissed his brother on the cheek.

“Ugh, get a room,” he muttered in disgust.

Immediately afterward, his mother smacked him on the head.

“Stop being so indecent, ’Tsumu,” she scolded while slipping her phone back into her purse. “How can ya yell somethin’ like that to yer brother right in front of the school?”

“I didn’t yell!” he protested, rubbing the sore spot on his head.

He clicked his tongue when he heard Rintarou laughing at him. Atsumu shot him an annoyed look, then glanced at his brother, who was giving him an expression identical to his own. The two of them had been clashing more often than usual ever since Osamu decided not to continue volleyball and instead pursue his dream of becoming a chef. Honestly, Atsumu loved knowing his precious twin would be happy chasing his goals, but—

Why did he have to leave him behind!? They were supposed to be a duo.

And in barely a month, Atsumu would be moving to Osaka, where his team’s headquarters were located. For the first time in his life, he’d be far away from his family for long periods of time and… He really wasn’t taking it well. If only it were somehow possible for Osamu to be both a chef and a volleyball player at the same time…

“What’re ya starin’ at?” Osamu asked, crossing his arms.

Atsumu scoffed.

“Nothin’. Yer ugly face bores me,” he replied before starting toward his mother’s car and hooking himself onto her arm.

Behind them, Suna walked beside Osamu while holding his hand.

“We literally have the same face—”

“You’re the prettier one, ’Samu,” Rintarou interrupted before Osamu could finish.

A scandalized noise escaped Atsumu instantly, and he quickened his pace so abruptly he nearly dragged his poor mother along with him while she cursed at him repeatedly and struggled to keep up.

And then a month passed.

Atsumu moved away and prepared to debut the following season. He spent his first week in Osaka decorating his apartment inside the building where most of his future teammates lived, including Bokuto Koutaro, former captain of Fukurodani and already a Jackals player for nearly a year now.

Since Bokuto was the most familiar face Atsumu had there, the two quickly became friends and started spending lots of time together both during team practices and on their days off. Bokuto showed him around the city, took him to what had become Atsumu’s favorite restaurants, and even introduced him to his boyfriend, Akaashi, who had once been Fukurodani’s setter. Akaashi usually came to Osaka on weekends to visit Bokuto whenever he had breaks from university classes.

Four days before Atsumu’s official professional debut, Bokuto invited him to Tokyo with him.

This time it was Bokuto’s turn to visit his boyfriend since Akaashi’s university was holding a festival. Figuring it would help distract him from his nerves, Atsumu agreed, packed a sports bag, and boarded the shinkansen early that morning alongside Koutaro.

They arrived three or four hours later, and the first thing they did —obviously— was stop at a restaurant for a proper breakfast.

“I used to come here all the time with the guys after school,” Bokuto said after taking the first bite of his food. “I swear this is the best place in the whole city.”

Atsumu nodded, though he didn’t really believe him. Bokuto said that about every single place that served even remotely decent food.

“Do ya miss Tokyo a lot, Bokkun?”

“Nah, I don’t really care about living far away,” Bokuto admitted. “What I do miss is bein’ with all my friends every day. And I miss seeing Keiji every day too, and my parents, and…” He smiled. “Maybe I do miss my city. Huh. Never thought about it like that before.” That made Miya laugh, though at the same time it left him thoughtful.

Maybe he would never completely stop missing Hyogo. He visited often, of course, but it still wasn’t the same. He even missed school, which he never thought would happen. He missed the sound of the bell signaling the end of break and having to return to class — boring as it had been, at least his brother and friends had always been there, only a few desks away. God, he was feeling nostalgic.

His mood stayed strange even while he was at the university with Bokuto and Akaashi, wandering through the different souvenir and food stalls at the festival. Even though he was enjoying himself, a large part of his mind remained somewhere far away, still trying to process the fact that he was about to become a professional player and would have less and less time to see the people he loved.

And when he noticed a familiar figure standing a few meters away in front of one of the booths, his first thought was that he had imagined it. A cruel trick played by his sad, nostalgic brain. But no. He froze in place as the sounds of voices, music, and traffic around him slowly blurred together until they disappeared completely.

Out of everyone in Tokyo…

Sakusa Kiyoomi was standing there only a few steps away.

Atsumu had no idea what possessed him to close the distance and stand beside him. Maybe it was the result of his messy, slightly miserable thoughts. Or maybe he simply felt confident enough to believe Kiyoomi wouldn’t reject him. Either way, once he was already standing there, backing out would’ve been painfully obvious, so he flashed his best smile and looked him in the face.

“Hey, Omi. Long time no see.”

“Miya,” Sakusa answered dryly, looking entirely unimpressed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you live on the other side of the country?”

“Quit exaggeratin’. I don’t live that far away, just a few hours,” Atsumu replied, already knowing Kiyoomi was probably making some kind of face beneath that white mask of his. His furrowed brows said enough. “And this is a friend’s university. He invited me to the festival.” Which, by the way, reminded him that he had completely lost Bokuto and Akaashi somewhere in the crowd and now had absolutely no clue where they were. Instinctively, he glanced around, hoping to at least spot the tops of their heads somewhere nearby. “So ya study here too, Omi-kun?”

“No, but my university is ‘partnered’ with this one, so they forced every club member to attend the event,” Sakusa explained, clearly irritated.

Atsumu stopped his desperate search for the two lovebirds and looked back at Kiyoomi properly, noticing how tense he seemed. Of course. There was no way he’d feel okay in a place this crowded.

“Guess yer new teammates still don’t really know ya that well yet, huh?” Miya murmured, feeling stupidly worried about Omi for reasons he didn’t even understand himself. “Do ya wanna—” He stopped before finishing the sentence, lips pressing into a thin line. Then he shook his head. “Forget it.”

Sakusa stared directly into his eyes. And again, just like countless times the year before, Atsumu felt himself sinking into those dark eyes. Except now, beneath all the festival lights, he realized Kiyoomi’s eyes weren’t actually black at all. They were the deepest brown he had ever seen.

“What were you going to say, Miya?”

Goddammit. Who exactly was he trying to fool? Himself? What an idiot. Atsumu was still completely crazy about Sakusa Kiyoomi. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get him out of his head. That had never happened before. Not even with Kita.

“Do ya wanna get away from all this for a bit?” he finally asked, resignedly finishing the question he’d left hanging earlier. “Ya look sick.”

And even though the last time they had gone out together for “fresh air,” everything had gone completely to hell—

Kiyoomi agreed. Atsumu was honestly surprised that he did.

They found a bench beneath a large tree that cast a delicious shade, and sat as far apart as possible, at opposite ends of it. Atsumu really wasn’t used to silence, and he couldn’t stand it when it got this awkward, so out of sheer nerves, he spoke.

“My debut’s on Saturday,” he said, and for a few seconds, added nothing else. “I’m invitin’ ya. Oh, and tell Komori-kun to come too. It’ll be fun.”

“Hm, I don’t know,” the dark-haired man replied. “I’ll tell Motoya, but as for me…”

“Oh, c’mon, Omi, are ya still holdin’ a grudge over last year? Seriously?”

Fuck, why the hell did he say that!?

But, like always, it was far too late to take it back, so as he felt himself starting to blush —first across his cheeks, then spreading down his neck and all the way to the tips of his ears— he held Sakusa’s gaze. After a moment, Sakusa let out a small sound that, to Atsumu, almost sounded like a laugh.

“It’s not because of that, and I’m not holding a grudge,” he clarified, though judging by Atsumu’s pout, it was obvious he didn’t fully believe him. “It’s just that I have classes on Saturday mornings, so I’m not sure I’ll make it in time. Still, I appreciate the invitation.”

“Ya can make it, I believe in ya!” Miya insisted. “When the game’s over, we’re gonna celebrate at one of the best restaurants in all of Osaka, and the team’s coverin’ everything! How could ya miss that?” If he were being honest with himself, Atsumu couldn’t really say why he wanted Kiyoomi to come watch his debut so badly. He wouldn’t gain anything from it, and it wouldn’t erase the fact that their friendship had fallen apart after a kiss, but… maybe he just wanted to recover a little of what they’d lost. At least one tiny microscopic piece of it. “Promise me ya won’t ditch. I’ll hate ya if ya do.” Sakusa rolled his eyes at that, and Atsumu grinned, pressing his palms together. “Please, Omi-omi? Will ya come?”

“I’m not promising anything. Sorry,” the other man said. “But…” and once again, Atsumu felt hope bloom inside him, “I’ll do my best. Happy now, Miya?”

He would never dare say it out loud, but he was happy. Too happy, honestly. He’d just had a relatively normal conversation with Kiyoomi, and somehow, they’d managed to push past the tension that had invaded every single one of their brief encounters since “the incident” (meaning: the kiss that happened that winter afternoon at Nationals during their second year).

“It’s not like you’re that important,” was all he replied with an obvious lie. He clearly heard Sakusa scoff.

“You literally just begged me—”

“I do not beg!”

They spent a pleasant afternoon together, talking about a little bit of everything, joking around, and bringing all those fond memories back to Atsumu’s mind, which made him think that maybe not everything was lost after all.

Until (spoiler alert!) his debut came that weekend, and Sakusa Kiyoomi never showed up.

What a disappointment.

────────

Kiyoomi

He still didn’t know how to feel about university. It was a different environment, and people definitely didn’t treat him with the same consideration they had in high school. And his volleyball teammates? He didn’t even want to think about them — they were disgusting. The only reason he hadn’t quit the team was because he had no intention of ever taking a break from volleyball.

But Kiyoomi was genuinely infuriated by the mocking comments about his hygiene rules, by how the guys refused to respect his personal space, and of course, by the fact that the only reason they accepted him on the team was because of his “prestigious title” as one of the top three aces in all of Japan’s high school boys’ volleyball.

He had moved into the university dorms alone, since the different clubs offered half-price housing to their members, and that had been the only change that didn’t weigh on him too heavily. He’d practically grown up alone at his parents’ house anyway; now the only difference was that he lived somewhere smaller, with annoying neighbors beside him and across the hall. At least he lived on the top floor, the fourth, so no one was stomping around above his apartment.

Even though the second half of his first semester was just about to begin, he still hadn’t made any friends. And while he still talked to Motoya regularly, it wasn’t the same anymore because of the “distance.” Though honestly, he didn’t even want friends if nobody was likable enough.

His days were spent bouncing between painfully boring two- or three-hour lectures that drained every last bit of his energy and will to live, only for him to recover some of it later at volleyball practice around six in the evening, and then lose all motivation again when his incompetent teammates patted his back, shoved him around, and looked at him like he was insane whenever Kiyoomi complained.

Overall, his university experience had been complete garbage.

Which was why he ended up on a Tuesday at two in the afternoon, beneath a scorching sun and surrounded by a crowd of booths and people at a university partnered with his own. He was wearing one of his team uniform shirts along with black jeans and white sneakers. Apparently, every club member from his university had been required to attend this stupid festival to support the clubs there, but in the nearly five hours Sakusa had spent at the event, all he’d done was watch his teammates flirt with the girls and guys running the different stands.

Just two more hours and I can leave, he thought, glancing down at his wristwatch. They’d arrived at the university with one of their professors, who was supposed to gather everyone at four in the afternoon to take attendance, which would serve as their excuse for missing all their classes that day. Kiyoomi had tried several times to find the professor, failing every attempt because the man seemed to have vanished somewhere within the enormous campus.

Just as he was about to head to the meeting point and wait somewhere with fewer people until it was time to go home, a head of blond hair —now an actual normal blond instead of that horrifying neon yellow— entered his line of sight.

“Hey, Omi. Long time no see.”

It was like a beam of sunlight stabbing directly into his eyes. Miya Atsumu, smiling, and definitely looking more handsome than before even though only a few months had passed since the last time they’d seen each other.

“Miya.” And even though he’d meant to say a proper greeting, that was all that came out while he was still caught in his stupor. Hopefully he didn’t look like an idiot; he trusted his face mask was doing a good enough job hiding most of his expression. “What are you doing here? Don’t you live on the other side of the country?” he asked, unable to hold back his curiosity. Out of all the places he had, or hadn’t, expected to run into Atsumu, it happened here, in Tokyo, while attending a festival he never would’ve gone to on his own in the first place.

He looked Miya up and down, taking advantage of how distracted the blond seemed while glancing around as if searching for someone. Every time Atsumu looked back at him, Sakusa did his best to appear unaffected. He liked Atsumu’s new hairstyle; besides the color being infinitely better, he didn’t style it like an emo anymore.

And before he knew it, he was sitting on a bench beneath the pleasant shade of a tree, somewhere far from the crowds and overwhelming noise. More surprising than that: he was sitting beside Atsumu.

He couldn’t help but bitterly remember how, a year earlier in a rather similar place, he’d shared his first kiss with this same boy, who was now excitedly telling him about how he’d be debuting as a professional player in only four days. Atsumu had invited him to his first match several times, and Kiyoomi had turned him down each time because he knew it would be difficult to travel all the way to Osaka on Saturday only to return that same day or on Sunday. But then he’d seen those beautiful, shining eyes, the soft and earnest expression on the setter’s face, his hands pressed together in plea, and he gave in. He wasn’t going to promise anything, but… he would do everything in his power to make it there.

The time he spent with Atsumu before returning to his apartment had been incredible. They talked like old friends and managed to face the tension that had always lingered between them ever since the fateful day of the kiss. That was why Kiyoomi had genuinely wanted to attend the boy’s debut, and afterward, talk with him just like they had that day. It had felt so good that he wanted to experience it again.

Damn it. He still liked Miya Atsumu. Why? Out of the millions of people in this damned world he could’ve fallen for, it had to be Atsumu? Seriously? Fuck, couldn’t he just go back to liking Wakatoshi and call it a day?

What torture.

Saturday arrived, and Kiyoomi cursed when four in the afternoon came around and he was still stuck at the university. Even though his Saturday classes ended at two, he had forgotten he’d made a commitment to a professor and some classmates to attend a workshop. A workshop that was dragging on for far too long — it was only supposed to last an hour and a half, but the hands on the watch around his wrist kept moving forward and he was still there, sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair, when by now he should’ve already been on the shinkansen headed to Osaka.

The match started at six.

“It’s not a big deal if you’re late. Miya-kun probably won’t mind,” Komori told him from the other side of the line while Sakusa stormed into his apartment like a whirlwind, only to grab his travel bag and rush back out with his phone in hand. “I can feel your stress all the way from here. Calm down.”

“What if the match is already over by the time I get there?” he asked while ordering a taxi through an app. After the longest fifteen seconds of his life, a driver accepted the ride to the station, and Kiyoomi hurried down the stairs toward the entrance of the small apartment building.

“Breathe, for God’s sake. If you keep acting like this, you’re just gonna attract bad luck.”

The dark-haired man scoffed. His cousin was not helping.

“The taxi’ll be here in four minutes. How long did it take you to get to Osaka?”

“About two and a half hours, I think,” the man replied. There were tons of voices in the background. “Wah, this place is packed. Good thing Miya-kun saved us seats close to the court,” Komori muttered. “Anyway, Kiyoomi, even if you don’t make it for the start of the match, everything’ll be fine. Stop being so uptight.”

After clicking his tongue, Sakusa hung up and impatiently waited for the taxi to arrive.

Once he got to the station, he stared in horror at the screen showing that the next train to Osaka would leave in twenty-five minutes, and feeling like his head was about to explode from stress, he sat down to wait.

Thousands of questions swarmed through his mind, making him feel worse with every passing second: What if I don’t make it in time to see the match? What if Miya gets angry at me? What if I’m too late and he actually starts hating me? What am I supposed to do if Miya hates me? I don’t want him to hate me. How am I supposed to apologize for being late? Will I even be able to look him in the eye again?

He didn’t relax for a single moment during the trip to the other city, and once he took a taxi to the gymnasium where the match was being held, he couldn’t stop looking at pictures and videos of it on social media. His heart lurched when he saw that Atsumu’s team, the MSBY Black Jackals, had already won the match in the second set, and an entire hour had passed since then.

He hadn’t made it in time to watch the match. Sure, he hadn’t made any promises, but even so, he felt terrible, as though he’d just committed the worst betrayal imaginable.

Still, he entered the gym after showing his ticket. The place was already starting to empty out, leaving only a few reporters and a handful of fans waiting around in hopes of catching their favorite players at some point. Kiyoomi walked halfheartedly toward his seat beside Komori, who was still sitting there on his phone.

“Hey, you made it.”

Sakusa sighed.

“Is he still here?”

“All the players are in the locker rooms right now, and Miya-kun told me they’re leaving through the back entrance to head to the restaurant,” Motoya answered. “His friends from Inarizaki came too, they’re really nice! Oh, and during the entire match, Miya-kun kept looking over here,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “So, what’s going on with you two? He looked pretty down when he couldn’t find you here.”

That completely shattered Kiyoomi, and he stood up with his head lowered.

“I’m going back to Tokyo.”

“What—”

“Tell Miya that… I couldn’t come because of university, and that I’m really sorry, please.” He turned around and started walking away. He heard Komori stand up behind him and follow after him.

“Kiyoomi! You literally just got here! Are you insane?” the boy screeched. “How are you just gonna leave like that? Miya-kun’s gonna come out of the locker room any minute now. C’mon, we’re supposed to have dinner with him and his teammates, that’s the whole reason he invited us!”

“You go,” Kiyoomi replied flatly.

“Hey… hey! Are you seriously leaving!?”

He said nothing else and walked out of the enormous gym feeling like absolute trash. He’d traveled all this way, spent money, and stressed himself out more than ever before, but none of that mattered. The only thing he knew for certain was that he didn’t want to see the disappointed look on Atsumu’s face.

Or no…

In reality, Sakusa was just a coward who felt too ashamed for arriving so late, so he preferred pretending he had never shown up at all. And honestly, there were thousands of reasons to stay, countless reasons, and maybe only one or two to leave, yet Kiyoomi still wanted to run away.

Maybe… he had never truly been prepared to face Miya again now that they were so unbalanced, standing on completely different levels — one officially a professional volleyball player, and the other just a regular university student.

What incredible stupidity. Kiyoomi Sakusa was unbelievably, unbelievably stupid.

────────

“You’re acting strange.”

────────

“You’re overreacting.”

────────

Atsumu

Over the past few years, Miya Atsumu —the Black Jackals’ number 13 and the team’s starting setter— had stolen millions of hearts all around the world. Not just because of his looks, but because of his charisma and confidence during interviews, his funny and chaotic social media posts, and of course, his incredible talent in the sport.

Sometimes, his life almost felt like a fantasy. And he really was happy! He had fulfilled his dream of becoming a professional player, things were going great at work, he occasionally went out drinking with his friends, and every now and then he took home some handsome guy he’d flirted with at a bar whose name he wouldn’t even remember the next morning. He was living his youth to the fullest, trying to focus only on the things that made him happy.

Because whenever he stopped to think about how much he missed his brother or his mother, and his friends too, now that they’d all gone down their own paths… he got sad and moody, just like he was now, sprawled across his mattress with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. His entire apartment was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the night outside slipping through the curtains.

He wanted so badly to go back home, walk into Osamu’s restaurant, and eat whatever his twin felt like making for him. He desperately wanted to hear his mom scolding him for driving like a maniac. He wanted to see Suna just to annoy him, and visit Kita’s farm. He also wanted to talk to Aran in person since they hadn’t done that in months… but everyone was so busy working, just like he was.

His phone buzzed beside him on the bed with a notification, and Atsumu patted around the mattress until he found it. He squeezed his eyes shut when the high brightness of the screen hit him, then blinked a few times until he adjusted; even then, he lowered the brightness all the way down. He had three new messages from Bokuto.

Bokkun
Tsum-Tsum
Wanna go drink?
8:56 p.m.

Bokkun
Bet ya can’t guess who’s gonna start playin’ with us next season
8:57 p.m.

Tsumu
What does one thing gotta do with the other?
And yeah, I need a drink
But I don’t wanna go out
Come to my apt
And who’s gonna play with us?
Coach hasn’t mentioned anything
8:58 p.m.

Bokkun
He did mention it
When you were in the restroom takin’ a shit
That’s why I’m tellin’ ya to guess lol
Ahh and I’m the one who’s gotta go to your place???
Do ya know how exhausted I’ve been with Kaashi’s move and all that?
You come to ours instead
8:59 p.m.

Tsumu
Then I’ll drink alone :p
I don’t feel like goin’ out Bokkun
Don’t do this to me
Pleaseeee
9:00 p.m.

In response, Bokuto sent him a selfie making a pout, and Atsumu snorted.

Tsumu
Ya think that’s gonna convince me?
Ugly
9:02 p.m.

Bokkun
I’ll pay for a taxi to pick ya up and take ya back home
So ya don’t gotta waste gas
Sounds like a good plan, right?
9:03 p.m.

Tsumu
As if I can’t afford a taxi myself
9:03 p.m.

Bokkun
I’ll buy absolutely all your favorite drinks
And
I’ll buy ya dinner
Whatever ya want
The most expensive and delicious thing in Higashiosaka
9:05 p.m.

Tsumu
Order my taxi already
9:08 p.m.

With that, Atsumu got up from his bed and walked over to his closet to change into something more presentable.

Ever since Bokuto had moved into a bigger place the year before, Miya had spent several nights like this: visiting his friend, getting drunk with him, and then returning to his tiny apartment in the building where the team lived; and vice versa too, since Koutarou often came over to visit him. Atsumu didn’t really feel like moving out of there; it was comfortable, he lived alone, and it was less than ten minutes away from the team’s main training center, but he still understood why Koutarou had left. Bokuto was ready to start a family now; Akaashi had just graduated from university and gotten a good job offer in Osaka, so he was moving to the city with his boyfriend.

Anyway, when he arrived at Bokuto’s new place —a building much taller and more modern than his own— he knocked on the door, which was opened immediately by the man himself.

“Tsum-Tsum!” he greeted him with tears in his eyes. Walking inside and kicking off his shoes, the blond returned the older man’s hug with a laugh.

“Are ya already drunk?” he asked as he pulled away. Koutarou shook his head, and the two of them headed into the living room, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, which held a closed pizza box from the most expensive pizza place in the city and several cans of different alcoholic drinks. “Where’s Akaashi?” Atsumu asked, confused when he didn’t see the dark-haired man anywhere around. He waited for his friend’s answer while opening the pizza box eagerly, stomach growling.

“He left for Tokyo a little while ago,” he sniffled, grabbing a slice and taking a small bite before continuing his drama. “He’s gotta take care of some stuff, so he won’t be back for two weeks.”

“And you’re crying over that?”

“Of course I am!” Bokuto wailed. “You’ve never had a boyfriend you loved that much, so you don’t get it.”

Atsumu laughed at him mockingly and kept eating his pizza without another comment, but those words did make him think a little about his life. And what Bokuto had said was true; he’d never had a serious relationship, just one boyfriend that lasted less than two weeks when he was fifteen or sixteen, and nothing but hookups throughout adulthood. He’d genuinely liked “Kita-san” a lot too, to the point where he thought he was in love with him, but if he really stopped to do the math, he’d only ever fallen in love (or something close to it) with one person: Sakusa Kiyoomi.

A person he didn’t even want to remember.

Call him childish and bitter if you wanted, but his heart still ached a little every damn time he remembered how Omi… no, Kiyoomi, hadn’t shown up to watch his debut match. His biggest disappointment wasn’t even that Kiyoomi had missed the game itself, but finding out that Sakusa had made it all the way to Osaka only to go back to Tokyo without saying a single word to him, and Atsumu had learned all of that through Komori. Even years later, he still couldn’t understand the logic behind that stupid, and irresistibly handsome, dark-haired man making that trip for absolutely nothing. But what he did understand was that, in the end, Kiyoomi was just another person who went far away, right when Atsumu thought he would stay.

After they’d had a few drinks, Atsumu suddenly remembered something.

“Hey, who were ya talkin’ about in those messages?” he asked Bokuto, who had gone from sitting on the floor to sprawling across the couch Atsumu was leaning against.

“Messages?” Bokuto mumbled, sounding confused. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked his chat with Miya, trying to remember until it finally clicked. “Ah! I wanted you to guess who our next teammate’s gonna be.”

“Ugh, just tell me already. My head’s fucked,” the setter complained before taking another sip from his canned drink.

“That takes all the fun outta it,” Bokuto said. “C’mon, I know you can guess,” he insisted, shaking the younger man by the shoulder. “I’ll give you a hint, okay? It’s a guy you know, he’s from Tokyo just like me, and… uh… wait, what was I talking about again?”

“Damn, ya get even dumber than usual when yer drunk.” Atsumu let out a snort of laughter that quickly infected Koutarou too. “Just tell me who the new guy is already! And he better not be a setter, ‘cause—”

“Oh, right, did you guess yet?” At Atsumu’s negative response, Bokuto sighed. “How have you not figured it out? It’s Sakusa, the guy from Itachiyama!”

Huh?

…Huh!?

A few days later, Sakusa Kiyoomi stood in front of him once again after what felt like centuries.

He was definitely taller now, well over one ninety, his hair still pitch-black and curly, only slightly shorter and styled differently, and his overall build looked broader too. But the one thing that hadn’t changed at all was his gaze, dark and deep like an abyss.

He was introduced to the team and warmly welcomed by everyone. Atsumu forced on his best fake smiles, threw out a few of his usual nonsensical jokes that only made Koutarou laugh, and then focused solely on service practice, delivering his most aggressive serves yet, enough to make more than a few of his teammates glance at him with concern.

Because, fuck, he was furious. Had Sakusa seriously stood him up years ago only to show up now acting like nothing had happened while looking that gorgeous? What an asshole. And on top of that, joining Atsumu’s team too… the audacity.

“Miya, you’re gonna break your hand if you keep that up,” Meian warned casually while passing by him. Atsumu only rolled his eyes without listening and continued serving, even when Inunaki stepped to the other side of the net to receive them.

By the end of practice, Kiyoomi was the first one to head to the showers, so Atsumu took the opportunity and decided he’d be the last one to go in just to avoid running into him. While the rest of his teammates got ready to head home, he lingered around the court until he assumed nobody else was left.

He took a shower that did absolutely nothing to ease the tension wound through every inch of his body, and when he walked into the locker room, he failed to hold back a yelp at the sight of a figure sitting on the bench between the lockers.

“Miya.”

“Omi, Jesus, ya scared me!” Atsumu let out a nervous laugh, pressing a hand against his chest as he felt his racing heartbeat, which he desperately hoped was only because of the scare and not because of Sakusa’s presence itself. Receiving no response other than the dark-haired man’s fixed, scrutinizing stare and just like Atsumu remembered, he was wearing a white face mask, Miya headed toward his locker and pulled out his bag with his clothes. There was no way he planned on removing the towel tied around his waist in front of the guy he’d once been in love with and definitely no longer felt anything for. “So why’re ya still here? Thought you’d be home by now,” he asked, hoping he could somehow make him leave, running a small white towel through his damp hair to dry it better.

He clearly noticed the way Kiyoomi looked him up and down.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Atsumu had to clear his throat before he choked on his own saliva. He prayed his smile looked real as he walked toward Sakusa and sat down beside him on the bench.

“So? Tell me, is this about the team or—”

“You’re acting strange,” Kiyoomi said, making Atsumu freeze in place. Sakusa tilted his head slightly, faintly frowning. “Is something wrong?”

“Strange? Me?” He let out another nervous laugh and scratched the back of his neck. “Why d’ya say that? I’m more normal than ever.”

He seriously did not understand that man. Did Sakusa genuinely expect Atsumu to treat him the same way he had back in their second year after all the awkward shit that had happened between them? Not just the kiss that made them lose contact, but also the stunt Sakusa pulled on the day of Atsumu’s debut. Because of him, what was supposed to be the happiest night of his life had turned into garbage, all because “Omi” hadn’t even been willing to face him.

Ugh, he was such a fucking inconsiderate asshole.

“That’s not it,” Sakusa denied. “You’re acting weird. Is this just your personality now, or…”

“Excuse me?” Okay, now Atsumu was getting a little pissed. “First of all, it’s been years since we last saw each other, so obviously I’ve changed. But again, I don’t know what ya mean by ‘acting weird.’”

“I feel like you have some kind of issue with me.” As always, Kiyoomi looked completely unaffected, just as serious as Atsumu vividly remembered. “I know when your smiles are fake.”

Oh. Son of a—

“Maybe ya think that because it’s been forever since we’ve seen each other. That’s understandable,” Miya replied, trying to stay calm.

“Just tell me. What did I do that’s making you act like this?”

“Are ya seriously gonna keep pushing this? It’s nothing, Omi, you’re imagining things.” He forced another calm laugh. “You’re overreacting.”

Then Kiyoomi opened his mouth to say something else, something that would probably make Atsumu furious beyond belief, but thankfully, the locker room door opened and someone poked their head inside: the night guard.

“We’re about to turn off the lights and lock up. Please leave as soon as possible,” he told them kindly, and Atsumu shot to his feet.

“Yes!” Never in his life had he been so happy to get kicked out of somewhere. The guard smiled and closed the door again.

And not even a second later, the towel slipped from Miya’s hips, falling around his ankles and leaving him completely naked in front of Sakusa Kiyoomi himself, who stared at him expressionlessly while standing up and slinging his gym bag over his shoulder.

“Good night, Miya. See you tomorrow,” he said with complete normalcy before walking out of the locker room, leaving Atsumu alone to have the biggest mental breakdown of his twenty-two years of life.

This had to be some kind of sick joke. There was no way this was actually his new reality.

Fuck.

────────

“Ya comin’ with me?”

────────

“I suppose I don’t really have another option.”

────────

Kiyoomi

Now he lived in Osaka, which felt strange. He had never spent this much time away from Tokyo before, and knowing his new “home” was a city several hours away from the one where he grew up left a bitter feeling in his chest. But that was just how his life had turned out… more or less.

During his final semester of university, he started receiving countless offers from professional teams after standing out so much as a player both in high school and in college. Of course, staying true to his personality, Kiyoomi carefully analyzed every proposal, though he would be lying if he said he hadn’t had one specific team in mind from the very beginning. A team that had contacted him as well, and even though he had received a couple of objectively better offers, that was the only team he truly wanted to join: the MSBY Black Jackals.

Not because Miya Atsumu played for them, of course not. Kiyoomi simply liked the team. They had a very strong foundation and… well, maybe the final push had been knowing that if he joined the Jackals, it would mean playing alongside Atsumu.

But now that he was moving into the building where some of his teammates lived, he was starting to reconsider his decision-making skills. Maybe he had rushed into choosing this team, because he hadn’t considered the fact that he would probably end up seeing Miya naked on multiple occasions. And obviously, for nearly everyone else, that was completely normal.

“Why be embarrassed? We’ve all got the same thing hanging between our legs.”

People said things like that all the time, and everyone was so used to going to hot springs with their friends, but Kiyoomi wasn’t. He didn’t like seeing people naked, and he especially didn’t want to see the dick of the guy he liked—

No, impossible. Years had passed. Kiyoomi didn’t like him anymore. Absolutely not. Sakusa was already an adult, mature man now, not some stupid sixteen-year-old teenager.

Once he finished moving in, he spent an entire day cleaning every corner of his new apartment. He had replaced many of the things that already came with the place, like the couch in the living room, every rug, the mirrors in the bedroom and bathroom, and of course, the bed. He had spent an absurd amount of money on all of that, but he didn’t mind. He also knew that, because of his contract, if he ever moved out, he would have to leave all those things behind in the apartment, but that didn’t bother him either. Anything to stay somewhere he genuinely felt comfortable.

He cleaned every shelf, vacuumed the entire apartment, mopped the whole place, and finally tossed all his sheets into the wash while taking a long, well-deserved shower. Once he was finally done with all the chores and his sheets were drying, he made himself a simple dinner because he honestly wasn’t much of a cook, but he still didn’t know Osaka’s restaurants well enough to risk ordering delivery.

He sighed in satisfaction as he dropped onto the couch in the tiny living room after finishing dinner and washing the dishes, and for the first time all day, he checked his phone. He had notifications from his few social media accounts and several messages from Komori.

Motoya
I hope you didn’t forget about tomorrow
I swear I’ll kill you
6:29 p.m.

Kiyoomi
Don’t text me things like this.
7:34 p.m.

Motoya
Finally, you answer
See you tomorrowww
I’m so excited
I saved you a seat next to Mom and my sisters
7:35 p.m.

Kiyoomi
Alright.
7:35 p.m.

The next morning, carrying his usual travel bag, Sakusa boarded the train first thing in the morning since he planned to have breakfast with his cousin once he arrived in Shizuoka. Motoya gave him a small tour of the city he lived in now before taking him to an apartment complex fairly similar to the one Kiyoomi had moved into in Osaka. Some of Motoya’s EJP teammates were hanging around in the common area chatting, and the man joined them while introducing Sakusa in the process.

Once he became far too uncomfortable being there, he asked his cousin for the keys to his apartment and headed upstairs. He sat down on the couch and within minutes fell completely asleep. And for some reason he didn’t even want to understand, his final thought before drifting off had been: Will Miya come to today’s match?

Which was entirely possible, considering one of Atsumu’s best friends was Motoya’s teammate. Damn it, Kiyoomi still wasn’t ready to face him after seeing his private parts the last time they’d interacted two days ago.

A few hours later, he was already at the gym where the EJP Raijin would be playing against another team Sakusa couldn’t care less about. He sat in the family section beside his aunt and cousins, and by some cruel twist of fate, seated in the row directly in front of theirs, slightly to the right, was Miya Atsumu himself alongside his twin, who was dressed head to toe in Raijin merchandise, and next to them sat several young men Kiyoomi recognized as former Inarizaki teammates. Atsumu was also wearing a yellow Raijin cap and wouldn’t stop shouting every single time his friend, number 7, made even the smallest play.

At one point, Kiyoomi realized he had barely paid attention to the match at all because he’d spent most of it stealing glances at Miya.

How pathetic.

The game ended with his cousin’s team winning, and he was genuinely happy for him — mostly because now they would head back to the apartment and he wouldn’t have to see Atsumu anymore. Until Komori sent him a threatening text.

Motoya
Don’t even think about skipping our celebration dinner
8:12 p.m.

And that was how Sakusa ended up at a luxurious restaurant with every member of the EJP Raijin, along with all the friends and family of the team. Obviously, not everyone could fit at the same table, so Kiyoomi simply headed toward Motoya’s and left his phone on one of the chairs so nobody would take the seat. He knew his aunt and cousins had to return to Tokyo, so they wouldn’t be joining dinner, but then… why was the table so long? Big enough for around ten people to sit comfortably.

Unfortunately, Sakusa didn’t pay much attention to that detail and went to the bathroom to wash his hands. By the time he returned to his cousin’s table, it was already full, and to make things worse, Suna Rintarou and all his friends were sitting there too — including, obviously, Miya Atsumu.

What a surprise.

The worst part was that the blond was seated right next to the chair Kiyoomi had reserved for himself.

Again, he was an adult, so he wasn’t about to show any discomfort. He knew how to control his emotions, and he didn’t feel anything for Atsumu anymore, just a little awkwardness after having seen him naked, but nothing major. He’d have to get used to it anyway if they were going to spend their entire careers on the same team.

He remained quiet while the others at the table excitedly talked about the match, praising both Komori’s and Suna’s skills. Only now did Kiyoomi realize the two had become very close over the last couple of years. After the food came the drinks, and the volume of everyone’s voices tripled. Even though he wasn’t much of a drinker, Sakusa ordered something mild and sipped it slowly, mentally congratulating himself for managing to ignore Miya the entire time they’d been sitting side by side.

That was until…

“Omi-kun, why’re ya so quiet?” He immediately turned at the sound of the setter’s soft voice. Atsumu was smiling at him, cheeks slightly flushed. Maybe he was a little drunk, though Kiyoomi couldn’t really tell for sure. “Ya haven’t said a single word since we got here.”

“I have nothing to say,” he replied seriously. Atsumu raised his eyebrows, though he didn’t look impressed in the slightest, and took another sip from his glass.

“Your debut’s gettin’ close,” Atsumu said after a moment, and Kiyoomi nodded. “I’ll make sure to give ya every single set, okay?”

“Thank you,” Sakusa answered simply, thinking that wasn’t necessary but not daring to say it out loud. He couldn’t escape the blond’s pretty eyes, but he also didn’t want to stop looking at them, so he forced himself to continue the conversation. “Did you and your brother come to Shizuoka by train?”

“Nah, he picked me up in his car,” Atsumu replied before downing another drink. “He drives like a damn maniac, ya have no idea.”

“I don’t know why I feel like you’re talking about yourself,” Kiyoomi joked, earning a small laugh from Miya. “And are you staying at Suna’s apartment? I’m staying with Motoya at his place.”

“Hm, actually, ’Samu and I booked a hotel room, but he’s spendin’ the night with his boyfriend,” he said with a disgusted grimace. “So I guess I’ll be alone until it’s time to head back to Osaka.”

“Oh, I see.”

Once again, a heavy silence settled between them, the two simply staring at each other as if there were countless things left unsaid, yet neither of them had the slightest clue where to begin. In the middle of it, Kiyoomi finished his drink, finding the brief burn in his throat oddly pleasant. Setting the glass back down on the table, he turned toward Atsumu again, only to find him still watching him with his cheek resting against his hand and a dopey smile on his face.

"The moles on yer forehead always seemed cute to me."

"Really?" Out of habit, Sakusa brushed a finger over the marks on his forehead. "I’ve never heard anyone call moles cute before... I assume that was supposed to be a compliment. Thank you."

"'Course it was a compliment, Omi!" Atsumu puffed out his cheeks in a pout. "And I forgot ta say I’m glad ta see ya without a mask for once. Finally." He winked, and Kiyoomi felt his heart stop for at least a second. Miya was... beautiful. "Ya always look sick wearin’ that thing."

"It’s to protect myself from pollution and illnesses," Sakusa pointed out. "All of you should be doing the same."

"Nope, sounds awful." Miya shook his head. "Hey, Omi-kun, there’s somethin’ I wanna tell ya. Dunno why, but I really wanna say it. Can I?" When Kiyoomi merely shrugged, Atsumu adjusted himself in his chair without changing positions. From the black-haired man’s perspective, Miya looked especially pretty like that, his cheek pressed into his hand. He looked... adorable. "So, d’ya remember when we used ta talk a lot back in high school? God, ya have no idea how much I liked ya." He let out a ridiculous laugh, though Kiyoomi’s expression didn’t change at all. He didn’t find it funny. He felt like he was about to die right there. Besides, where the hell was all this coming from? Why was Atsumu confessing things like this now?

There was no doubt anymore that he was drunk.

Then again, it wasn’t like Kiyoomi was doing much better. During his university years, he had discovered he didn’t exactly have the best alcohol tolerance either, though he could usually maintain some level of self-control.

Sometimes.

"And... wait, d’ya remember when we kissed? I spent years thinkin’ about that. Hell, I think I still do!" Miya huffed as he continued, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop onto the table. Then he leaned his head closer toward Sakusa. "For a long time, I thought there’d only ever been one person I truly liked... that guy over there," he tried to whisper, leaning close to Kiyoomi’s ear. Kiyoomi genuinely hated whispers. They disgusted him, especially when someone got too close to his ear. The sensation was repulsive.

But with Miya... he didn’t mind it at all.

"My old captain, Kita-san." Subtly, Kiyoomi glanced toward the calm-faced young man Atsumu had motioned to. Kita sat on the other side of the table, smiling at something the others were saying. "But nah. The way I liked ya was way stronger. Like, a thousand times stronger. I think I was in love with ya," Atsumu admitted, pulling back slightly just so he could look him in the eyes.

There were countless ways Sakusa could respond to that. Or he could simply choose not to respond at all and spare himself the awkwardness. But the alcohol was already taking effect in his system, so instead, he spoke quietly.

"I liked you too. A lot," he confessed, feeling himself blush down to his core. "For most of my life, I thought I was incapable of falling in love, but then I started liking Wakatoshi—"

"Wait, Wakatoshi as in Ushiwaka!?" Atsumu interrupted with a shriek. Sakusa let out a soft laugh and nodded, causing the blond to slap both hands over his mouth in shock. "Ya liked that guy? That’s terrifying."

"It was fun being around him," Kiyoomi defended himself, earning a look from Miya as if he’d completely lost his mind. Atsumu then gestured for him to keep going. "As I was saying..." He cleared his throat. "After he told me he was seeing someone, I got discouraged until... you showed up." And suddenly, Kiyoomi couldn’t keep meeting Atsumu’s gaze anymore. He picked up his empty glass and started absentmindedly tapping it with his fingers. "I suppose what I felt for you was love... or something very close to it."

Miya didn’t say anything for a long while, and for a moment, Sakusa thought he had fallen asleep, until suddenly, the blond grabbed a bottle of water and chugged the whole thing in one go. After that, he stood from the table, and Kiyoomi followed his every movement with his eyes, raising an eyebrow when Atsumu leaned down toward his brother to whisper something to him. Osamu, who hadn’t lifted his head from his pillow for even a second—a.k.a. Suna’s shoulder—mumbled a few rather unpleasant things at him. Still, his expression softened afterward, and he handed Atsumu a set of keys.

And after that bizarre interaction Kiyoomi hadn’t understood at all, Miya returned to his side.

"Ya comin’ with me?"

"Where?"

"To the hotel I’m stayin’ at," Atsumu answered. "Like I told ya, Osamu ain’t spendin’ the night there, and I’ve got his car keys."

"You're drunk. You can’t, and shouldn’t, drive like this."

"Bah, don’t even worry about it. I don’t get drunk that easy, Omi," Atsumu told him with that dangerously attractive smile that always made him melt. "So? Wanna come with me and get outta this crowded place? I know ya do."

Kiyoomi pretended to think about it for... two seconds before nodding with fake resignation.

"I suppose I don’t really have another option."

Liar. You have way too many. Why are you even going with him? Why did he even invite you? What the hell?

And that was how Sakusa Kiyoomi ended up in the passenger seat beside a supposedly not at all drunk Miya Atsumu, inside his brother’s car—a discontinued old model from some brand that no longer existed. Atsumu was a terrible driver, exactly the way Kiyoomi had imagined he’d be, though he couldn’t criticize him too much considering he himself didn’t even know how to drive.

It wasn’t until Miya parked in the hotel’s underground garage that Sakusa realized he had made a terribly impulsive decision.

And he was terrified.

Why the hell had he agreed to this?

────────

Atsumu

Atsumu might’ve fucked up.

He realized that while handing Sakusa one of the small water bottles from the mini fridge included in the room. The black-haired man accepted it while sitting on the edge of the bed and took a long drink without letting his lips touch the bottle. Once he finished, he capped it again and set it down on the floor beside him with stiff, awkward movements that Atsumu, of course, noticed immediately. It was painfully obvious that they were both uncomfortable.

"Yer head feelin’ a little clearer now?" he tried to lighten the mood, sitting down on the opposite side of the bed.

Kiyoomi sighed and turned to look at him, his hands intertwined neatly on his lap.

"I wasn’t drunk," he said, brows slightly furrowed along with his lips. His pretty, thin, delicate lips.

"Sure," Atsumu replied unconvincingly.

Then they just stared at each other in silence. Sakusa looked like he wanted to ask him in forty different ways why exactly he had invited him to his hotel room, and honestly, Atsumu hoped he wouldn’t ask because he had no clue how to answer. Maybe he had been a little drunk back at the restaurant when they talked. And with how heated the conversation had gotten—talking about feelings and their past together—he had wanted... something.

Something he didn’t even understand anymore.

A few seconds later, Kiyoomi let out a soft laugh and moved closer to Atsumu. Not close enough for them to touch, but close. Closer than they had been since that time they met again in Tokyo at Akaashi’s university festival. Maybe even closer than when they kissed back at Nationals during their second year.

"Miya." Sakusa’s voice once again flooded all of Atsumu’s senses. Their eyes locked. "What exactly were you expecting when you invited me here?"

"And what were ya expecting when ya accepted?" Since he had no idea what else to say, he chose to fake composure and throw another question back at him in a cowardly move. The corners of Sakusa’s lips lifted into something almost resembling a smile.

"I don’t know..." Sakusa admitted thoughtfully, stretching his arms behind himself against the mattress as he leaned back slightly, gaze drifting toward the utterly uninteresting ceiling.

"Guess we’re in the same boat then," Atsumu finally muttered, absentmindedly biting his lower lip while fidgeting with his fingers. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, pushing him to keep talking, to actually be honest. "Hey, Omi... about what happened a few days ago..."

"When I saw you naked? Don’t worry about it. I assume that’ll become a normal occurrence now, won’t it?"

Uh, that wasn’t what Atsumu had meant at all.

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath before opening them again, clearing his throat in the process. Unable to look Sakusa in the eyes while feeling his entire face and neck heating up, he focused instead on the dark TV screen across from the bed.

"W-well, what I mean is... ya told me I’d been actin’ weird around ya. And even though I spent a long time denyin’ it and convincin’ myself that wasn’t true... maybe I have been kinda... uncomfortable around ya."

Kiyoomi sat up properly again and moved just a little closer to Atsumu, close enough that Atsumu could feel traces of his body heat. His heartbeat sped up painfully, pressure tightening in his chest. Inevitably, their eyes met again.

"Why?" Sakusa asked. Serious. Direct. Yet there was unmistakable emotion in his voice.

"Well..." Atsumu rocked his feet back and forth as a pathetic attempt to calm himself down. "I was really hurt ‘cause ya didn’t come to my pro debut. And before ya say anything, I know ya never promised ya would, but it still hurt knowin’ ya did show up and then left right away without even tellin’ me." Now he felt embarrassed for admitting it. But there was no taking it back anymore. He stopped moving his legs entirely, planting both feet firmly on the floor. "The worst part is that I had ta hear about it from someone else. It felt like... like I didn’t matter to ya at all."

"Oh..." What a brilliant response from Kiyoomi. It only made Atsumu feel even more pathetic. He was about two seconds away from kicking him out of the room when Sakusa spoke again. "That day, I acted like a coward. I was extremely embarrassed for arriving late. I felt like I had failed you. And then I realized we were in completely different stages of our lives." He paused briefly. "I don’t know why it mattered to me so much, but I suddenly felt inferior. Like I wasn’t worthy of seeing you." His gaze lowered for a second before returning to Atsumu’s face. "I’m truly sorry for hurting you."

Uh… Omi had felt unworthy of seeing me!? Me!? Seriously!?

Clearly, Atsumu had run out of words. Noticing this, Sakusa kept talking.

“I still had feelings for you back then, and after disappointing you like that, I figured you’d never wanna see me again, so I thought it’d be better if I distanced myself first,” he confessed without changing expression, though the way he kept rubbing his hands against his pants, like he was trying to dry sweaty palms, made Atsumu assume he was at least a little nervous. “I know I acted like an idiot.”

Seeing him like that affected Atsumu in ways he hadn’t even imagined. Kiyoomi looked stressed, angry at himself, even sad. Atsumu wanted to consume him whole.

“Omi…” he murmured. “I dunno why, but hearin’ ya say all that just makes me wanna kiss ya.”

And then came a long pause where time seemed to stop for them. The only thing either of them could swear they heard were the loud beats of their own hearts.

“Why don’t you?” When the black-haired man spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, and that was all Atsumu needed before lunging at him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and crashing their lips together.

The feeling was incredible, like electric currents running through every inch of his body. His tongue slipped into Sakusa’s mouth, teasing against his for a moment before fully tasting him, drawing a muffled moan out of the man that only turned him on more.

Atsumu had kissed a fair number of men since moving to Osaka at eighteen, but honestly, none of them had ever made him feel as comfortable and fired up as Kiyoomi did. Maybe it was because he’d wanted him like this ever since before their friendship had fallen apart because of both their stupidity. Atsumu suddenly opened his eyes, only then realizing he’d closed them at some point, and immediately pulled away from Kiyoomi when he remembered that their once-beautiful friendship had gone to shit because of a kiss exactly like this one. Sakusa stared at him, confused, cheeks flushed red and lips slightly swollen the same color.

“Omi, this… this isn’t—”

“You’re hard,” the other interrupted, glancing down at his crotch before looking back into his eyes. Mortified, Atsumu crossed his legs, though the pressure only made him want more. Even so, he said nothing to Kiyoomi, who sighed. “Are you seriously gonna back out now? After this?”

And then it was Sakusa who leaned in to kiss him again, one hand on his neck while the other rested on his thigh, stroking him softly in a way that had Miya panting and squirming, begging for more.

Before either of them realized it, Atsumu had ended up lying back on the bed with Kiyoomi on top of him, the two of them kissing and touching each other everywhere. When they finally pulled apart to catch some air, the blond yanked his shirt off and tossed it onto the floor, making Sakusa bring curious hands to his chest, squeezing his pecs.

“Fuck, Omi,” Miya muttered, arching his back against the mattress.

Sakusa smiled before lowering his face toward his again, chasing his lips for another kiss.

Piece by piece, they discarded their clothes until both of them were down to just their boxers, and it was right when Atsumu hooked two fingers into the waistband of Kiyoomi’s underwear to pull them off that the younger man pulled back a little, sitting on his lap and grabbing Atsumu’s hands after moving them away.

“I’m not gonna fuck you.”

“Uh?”

“Before you think I don’t want to, that’s not it. I do want to fuck you,” he clarified immediately after seeing Atsumu’s offended expression. “But it grosses me out because we haven’t showered in hours, we don’t have protection, or do you?” When the blond shook his head, Kiyoomi continued. “And we haven’t exchanged STI test results either… you have gotten tested before, right?” The black-haired man raised an eyebrow suspiciously, making Atsumu snort.

“Course I have, Omi-omi,” he answered, intertwining their fingers together. “I’ve always tested negative for everythin’, but I’ll get another one done if it’ll make ya feel better.”

“Perfect.” Sakusa nodded. “I’ll get tested again too… uh…” Their hands were still laced together, and honestly, he didn’t want to let go, but at the same time he couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room: Atsumu’s damn erection. “You probably want to go take care of that in the bathroom, huh?”

“Ya don’t wanna watch me do it?” He winked, and Kiyoomi scoffed, rolling off him and lying down beside him on the bed. “I’m kiddin’, Omi. Though ya already saw me naked once, so—”

“Go fuck yourself, Miya. Literally.”

Atsumu let out a small laugh and climbed out of bed, walking a few steps before locking himself inside the bathroom. The moment they’d just shared felt surreal, and just imagining things going back to being awkward, or even worse than before, after that… heated encounter was enough to kill a good chunk of his arousal.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked wrecked even though they hadn’t gone further than kisses and touching, and he felt way too good, but at the same time, the thought of how Sakusa might react to everything they’d just done—and to how casually they’d talked about sex—once they returned to the “real world” terrified him.

For the record, Miya had tried to stop things, and it was Sakusa who kept going, so… this time, it wouldn’t be his fault if the bond they’d barely managed to recover ended up breaking apart again. And if that happened, Atsumu would honestly rather move to another continent altogether, because there was no way in hell he’d survive being on the same team as Kiyoomi while the two of them lived in constant tension.

At the same time, he also had no real idea how things would continue if they both reacted positively and didn’t make a huge deal out of what had happened. What then? Would they start dating? That felt way too rushed. Would they become friends with benefits? That was probably the most likely outcome, and while the idea of having Omi all to himself for a few nights excited Atsumu, it also scared him because… well, everyone always said becoming friends with benefits was the worst decision a person could make.

But what Atsumu truly wanted—what he wanted with Omi—was to… honestly, he didn’t even know. He just knew he wanted to be by his side without everything feeling tense or awkward. He wanted to talk to him naturally, the way they had that night. He wanted to… have him to himself, even if he didn’t fully understand what that actually meant.

The real question was: did Kiyoomi want the same things with him?

He didn’t even touch himself, because his “little friend” went back to sleep all on its own after Atsumu got lost in his thoughts, and after splashing some water on his face to freshen up, he stepped out of the bathroom in a strange mood. Kiyoomi was already dressed again, sitting on the edge of the bed just like he had been when they first arrived at the hotel.

“Ya abandonin’ me already, Omi-kun?” he asked, picking his pants up off the floor and pulling them on before sitting beside him. To hell with personal space, Atsumu deliberately pressed himself against him and, in one very calculated motion, rested a hand on his thigh. He smiled when Sakusa didn’t even try to move away.

“I should go back to Motoya’s apartment. I didn’t even tell him I wouldn’t be spending the night there.”

Miya wanted to tell him to stay. They didn’t have to do anything—just lie together in bed, maybe share a few kisses and stories. But he felt like insisting might ruin whatever it was they’d built that night, so he simply nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Want me to drive ya?”

“Uh, I think I’d rather call a taxi.”

“A taxi at this hour? No way.” Atsumu sprang to his feet, grabbed his shirt off the floor, and pulled it on before searching for his brother’s car keys on the nightstand. “C’mon, Omi-omi.”

Reluctantly, Sakusa stood up too, and the two of them left the room together.

The drive back was peaceful—if “peaceful” was even a word that could be used when talking about Miya Atsumu behind the wheel. The streets were mostly empty, and he’d turned on a radio station that was playing eighties songs, though with how old the car was, static was what came through most of the time. Still, it wasn’t too annoying. Every now and then, Atsumu snuck glances at Kiyoomi, who sat in the passenger seat staring out the window while clutching the seatbelt with both hands.

Atsumu let out a quiet laugh and shook his head, steering with only one hand on the wheel. So dramatic, Omi, he thought.

He slammed on the brakes in front of the building where Komori lived, and where Osamu probably was staying too, assuming Suna hadn’t dragged him off to some luxury motel already. Sakusa muttered a curse under his breath at Miya’s recklessness, and Atsumu only answered with a small laugh. After unbuckling his seatbelt, Kiyoomi stayed sitting there for a moment, staring at Atsumu before getting out of the car, like he was trying to figure out what to say.

“Omi? Somethin’ wrong?” Atsumu tilted his head when the other man seemed frozen in a trance.

“Miya…” Kiyoomi blinked and cleared his throat. “Thanks for bringing me back. And… thanks for tonight.”

Atsumu’s heart had never raced this hard before.

Well, no, that was a lie. It always felt like this whenever he was with Kiyoomi.

“No problem, Omi. Always at yer service.”

What happened next was unexpected, or maybe not really. Either way, it left Atsumu holding his breath and clenching his fists in his lap. Kiyoomi leaned toward him, cradling his face in those long, beautiful hands, and pressed the chastest kiss imaginable against his lips, one Atsumu didn’t dare ruin.

They both let out shaky breaths when they pulled apart, but Sakusa still didn’t let him go. His gaze lingered on Miya’s lips before drifting up to his eyes, thumbs brushing lightly against his cheeks.

“See you on Monday,” he said in the softest voice Atsumu had ever heard from him, finally pulling away. Atsumu could only react by awkwardly waving his hand side to side as Kiyoomi stepped out of the car.

They said goodbye one last time through the car windows, and Atsumu drove off once Kiyoomi disappeared into the building. He turned the radio volume up as he sped down the road, like he wanted it to match the pounding of his heart, and ran a hand down his face, realizing he was smiling without even trying to.

What a night.

────────

Kiyoomi

The weeks that followed that night in Shizuoka were... strange. Not entirely awkward and unpleasant, but not exactly comfortable or pleasant either. His relationship with Miya had settled somewhere in the middle; in some ways, it resembled what they’d had as teenagers, constantly texting each other, except now there was the added detail that whenever they were alone, they kissed. At that point, it was painfully obvious neither of them had truly gotten over or left behind the feelings they’d once had for each other, but they were both still just as cowardly, so they preferred to ignore it and avoid talking about it altogether.

And honestly, that worked perfectly for them ninety-nine percent of the time. But during the rare moments that belonged to the remaining one percent, things like long, heavy silences, fleeting glances, and stupid excuses to escape each other’s presence happened.

All in all, it was a very peculiar relationship-not-relationship, but Kiyoomi wasn’t sure he wanted to change it. He didn’t feel like he’d be good enough to handle all the responsibilities and commitments that came with a real relationship, yet he liked Atsumu far too much to let go of whatever this was between them. He had let him slip away several times in the past when he’d been right within reach, and those were experiences he had no intention of repeating.

In the middle of this new dynamic beginning between them, he finally debuted as the Jackals’ #15, an outside hitter, and became an overwhelming success from his very first match. Interviews started pouring in, along with calls, advertisements, and an exhausting schedule that, between games and conversations, would eventually drive him insane. Even though he’d always been prone to stress, the kind he felt in the days after his professional debut could only be compared to when he’d had to defend his university thesis.

After a long day, he arrived at his apartment completely exhausted. Rain poured heavily outside, the sound serving as background noise as he stepped into the dark, empty place that greeted him the same way it always did. He didn’t even make dinner, which was usually the first step in his nightly routine before showering. Instead, he went straight to the bathroom to wash up. Once he finished, he collapsed onto his bed and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep. But minutes passed and he couldn’t do it. Then an hour. Then two. And he was still lying there on his back, fully aware of his surroundings, listening to the distant sounds of the highway and the occasional jingle of keys from neighbors walking down the hallway toward their apartments.

When he got tired of being unable to rest, he grabbed his phone and texted his most frequent contact. The flashes of lightning were almost imperceptible through the thick, dark curtains covering his bedroom windows.

Kiyoomi
Are you awake?
12:54 a.m.

Miya Atsumu
Yup
Can’t sleep
Same for ya?
12:55 a.m.

Kiyoomi
Yes. I’m exhausted
Can we talk for a bit, maybe?
12:55 a.m.

Miya Atsumu
Come down to my apt
If ya want
I know ya don’t like havin’ visitors at yours lol
12:55 a.m.

Kiyoomi
Thank you
I’ll be there shortly
12:56 a.m.

With a new excitement bubbling in his chest, the heaviness faded away. He smiled genuinely when he looked at himself in the mirror before leaving, fixing his curls slightly and making sure his moles were visible, knowing how much Miya liked them.

He slipped on a pair of sandals while standing in the genkan and left his apartment, locking the door behind him with the keychain Atsumu had brought him as a souvenir from Hyogo dangling from his keys. He walked down two flights of stairs and made his way through the hallway until he reached the third and final door on the second floor of the building.

The home of the team’s starting setter.

“You’re here.” Sakusa jumped slightly when the door swung open and a very smiley, messy-haired Miya peeked out. “Been waitin’ for ya. C’mon in.” He stepped aside so the black-haired man could stand in the genkan. “Crazy rain tonight, huh?” he commented while Kiyoomi entered, then closed the door behind him.

Atsumu, who kept a pair of house slippers specifically for him in the shoe cabinet, because he knew his dear teammate would never walk barefoot in someone else’s home, placed them in front of him, and Kiyoomi slipped his feet into them before finally stepping farther into the apartment, which, as usual, was considerably clean. One of Miya’s most pleasant qualities was definitely that: he never kept his space dirty. He was enthusiastic about cleaning, and although his level would never quite reach Kiyoomi’s, they were almost evenly matched.

“Ya want somethin’ to eat?” Atsumu asked while heading toward the kitchen. Kiyoomi followed him and sat down on one of the two stools in front of the counter.

“No, thank you,” he replied, not because he wasn’t hungry, but because Atsumu’s cooking sucked. Knowing that, the blond placed one hand on his hip and set a paper bag down in front of Sakusa with the other.

“‘Samu’s onigiri. He stopped by earlier.”

Kiyoomi let out a quiet laugh and immediately accepted the bag, opening it right away.

“If that’s the case, then I can’t refuse.”

Miya Osamu was an excellent chef; Sakusa knew that if he ever bothered visiting Hyogo someday, his first destination would be Onigiri Miya. Every time Osamu visited his twin, he’d leave behind a few prepared dishes and side dishes, which Atsumu, of course, shared with Kiyoomi who, to absolutely no one’s surprise (...or maybe yes?), wasn’t exactly the world’s greatest cook either. Better than Atsumu? Of course. But not by much. The two of them together in a kitchen was probably a recipe for disaster.

The blond leaned against the counter, resting his elbows on it, and watched with a smile as Sakusa devoured the onigiri he’d saved for him. During the time they’d spent being whatever it was they were, Kiyoomi had noticed the way Miya’s gazes toward him kept growing softer and more affectionate, and it didn’t disgust him at all. Not even a little. Though it did scare him. In a hypothetical situation where Atsumu wanted to have an actual, “official” relationship with him, he wouldn’t know how to respond.

“Yer really stressed out, huh?” Atsumu asked once he finished eating, the two of them walking side by side toward the living room couch. As usual, Kiyoomi sat on one end and Atsumu on the other, only to throw his legs across Sakusa’s lap. The first time he’d done it, Kiyoomi had shoved them off in disgust, but now... he didn’t mind at all. On the contrary, he liked it.

“Yes,” he admitted before sighing. Distractedly, he started stroking one of Atsumu’s legs from the ankle to just beneath the knee with his hand. “I didn’t expect it to be this much. I haven’t even been able to sleep properly.”

“Nah, it’s ‘cause yer handsome, Omi. That’s why they’re givin’ ya so much attention,” Atsumu said with a laugh. Kiyoomi shot him an irritated look. “Next week’ll be better, and the weeks after that even more so.” He smiled, tapping Sakusa’s lap twice with his foot, and Kiyoomi nodded. “Just hang in there a few more days, okay?”

“If you say so...”

And he kept caressing Atsumu’s leg, not knowing what else to say, the action helping him relax. Just having Miya there with him was enough to make him feel comforted, especially paired with the pleasant sound of the rain, which had softened considerably during that time.

“Want me to give ya a massage, Omi-omi?” Kiyoomi stopped moving when he heard Atsumu suddenly say that and looked at him. The blond offered him a hand, which Kiyoomi accepted, only to be pulled toward him with surprising force. His face collided with Atsumu’s chest. “Aw, ya look cute there,” the setter teased, running a hand through his curly hair.

Sakusa huffed and turned around, pressing his back against the shorter man’s chest instead. Miya adjusted himself more comfortably behind him and placed one hand on each of his shoulders before beginning to press carefully, as if testing the waters. At first, his movements were slow, almost uncertain; his thumbs barely sank into the tension gathered in Kiyoomi’s muscles, gliding from the base of his neck to his shoulders in a steady rhythm.

“Yer way too stiff,” he murmured near his ear. Too close. The warmth of his breath sent chills down the back of Kiyoomi’s neck, who didn’t respond, though his breathing subtly changed, becoming deeper. Little by little, his body began relaxing beneath the setter’s rough yet gentle hands, experienced after all.

Encouraged by the positive reaction, Miya applied a little more pressure, tracing small circles with his thumbs over certain spots, undoing invisible knots one by one. His hands moved up and down calmly, firm but careful, keeping a rhythm that became almost hypnotic.

What delighted Kiyoomi the most was that the silence between them wasn’t awkward. Quite the opposite. He ended up letting his body lean back slightly, unconsciously resting fully against Atsumu’s chest, and closed his eyes for a moment.

“It’s not bad,” he admitted quietly.

Atsumu smiled, just a little.

“‘Not bad’?” he repeated before snorting softly. “Yer so demanding, Omi.”

But he didn’t stop. Not even when Kiyoomi had already gone completely relaxed beneath his hands. His movements shifted to different spots without losing any of their gentleness, and before Kiyoomi realized it, Atsumu had his right hand tangled in his soft dark hair while his left slowly guided him to turn around, holding his face with tenderness.

Opening his eyes, Sakusa silently complied with what Miya was asking of him, facing him and understanding his intentions immediately. They stared at each other for a few seconds, words unnecessary the entire time. Then, after focusing on Atsumu’s plump pink lips, Kiyoomi finally leaned down over him to kiss him, holding his breath in anticipation without even noticing it himself. It started as nothing more than a soft brush of lips, while he fully turned around on top of the other man, his legs trapped between the black-haired man’s knees. One of his hands settled firmly on Miya’s waist while the other slid to the back of his neck, lifting him slightly from the couch to make reaching his lips easier.

Kissing had become something “normal” for them, just like physical touch and teasing each other had, yet it never stopped feeling intimate. Neither of them could truly get used to that perfect sensation that only existed whenever their lips met. A feeling neither had ever experienced with anyone else.

Atsumu smelled incredible, touched by the faint scent of a soft cologne he’d probably put on after showering. Kiyoomi pulled away from his lips and instead left a trail of kisses along the blond’s cheek, earning a pleased response as Atsumu placed both hands against his back. Then he moved to kiss his neck, because he knew how much Atsumu liked it. He didn’t dare leave marks on his skin, no matter how many times Atsumu had told him he wouldn’t mind a few hickeys here and there. It was just that Kiyoomi preferred to keep those kinds of things intimate, only “for them.”

Even through their pajamas, he could feel the warmth radiating from Atsumu’s body perfectly, and it felt so good. So right. So comforting on that cold, rainy night.

He eventually buried his face in Atsumu’s neck and let all his weight fall on top of him. Atsumu let out a pleased hum and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa murmured after a long while, sounding a little sleepy. He pressed a small kiss to Miya’s neck, making him shiver faintly. Kiyoomi smiled at the involuntary reaction and lifted himself just enough to look him in the face. “Should we go to bed?”

And that suggestion would’ve meant something already “typical” for Atsumu if not for one tiny detail. One so small Kiyoomi himself hadn’t even paid attention to it, but to Atsumu, it meant the world. For the first time since they’d started talking again five years ago or more, Sakusa Kiyoomi had called him by his name instead of simply “Miya.”

Unable to stop himself, his eyes filled with tears as he nodded, though none of them fell. Concerned, Kiyoomi caressed his face with one hand, silently asking what was wrong, but Atsumu brushed it off and kissed his cheek instead, distracting him enough as he said:

“C’mon, let’s go.”

────────

Atsumu

Atsumu had definitely fucked up.

He realized that when he woke up on his day off thanks to the sunlight filtering through his stupidly sheer curtains (he was seriously considering replacing them with blackout ones already), and found someone sleeping beside him with their back turned. Someone half-naked, wearing only a pair of Atsumu’s boxers, with messy jet-black hair and red scratch marks scattered across the pale skin of his mole-covered back.

He had finally slept with Omi, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that he could feel something huge and overwhelming growing in his chest more and more with every passing second. It was terrifying, strange, new, a little uncomfortable, but at the same time… freeing.

He was in love with Kiyoomi. Completely, hopelessly in love.

He hadn’t come to that conclusion just because of the incredible sex they’d had earlier that morning, nor because of the caresses or the lingering looks that said more than a thousand words ever could. No, there was only one thing that had made Miya think I love him I wanna marry him I want him in my life forever I love him I love him I love him I love him, and it had been the fact that Kiyoomi had finally called him by his first name after years. And damn, the way “Atsumu” sounded in that delicious voice.

He sat up in bed, rubbing at his eyes with his fists before yawning and stretching. Memories of what had happened with Sakusa came crashing into him one after another, and he smiled.

Afterward, they’d showered together because Kiyoomi absolutely was not going to sleep sweaty and covered in bodily fluids. Under the running water, they’d shared soft kisses and smiles, nothing more, and then after changing the sheets, they’d curled up together like a loving couple until they eventually drifted apart in their sleep, since neither of them stayed particularly still once unconscious.

The current question was: What now?

It was obvious to him, and he was sure it was obvious to Sakusa too, that whatever this relationship was had gotten much closer to dating than anything else. Labels had never really mattered much to Atsumu before, until now. He wanted so badly to give what they had a name, but he was terrified everything would go downhill from there. He loved Kiyoomi—he had literally just realized it—and he didn’t know if the other man felt the same way, but he had to feel something similar.

The thing was, Atsumu didn’t want to be with anyone else anymore. Just Kiyoomi. That was the main reason he wanted to put a “title” on their relationship. No more parties, no more random guys to spend the night with, no more shameless flirting with every person he crossed paths with. He wanted to save every little part of himself for Kiyoomi and nobody else. He wanted to belong to him just as much as he felt Kiyoomi belonged to him, even though he hadn’t received the slightest confirmation of that.

As he got out of bed, Sakusa woke up too, and Atsumu immediately found himself staring at him like an idiot. Before opening his eyes, Kiyoomi rolled around in bed a few times while stretching and yawning, and only once he sat up did he properly greet the new day with his usual expression of exhaustion and irritation. His gaze landed on the blond, lingering over his toned stomach and then his thighs, where a few faint purple marks were visible.

“Oh,” Kiyoomi murmured, getting out of bed and walking around it toward Atsumu. He knelt in front of him, and Atsumu bit his lip, his brain instantly jumping to something way too obscene, but what he expected never came. Instead, Kiyoomi gently brushed his fingers over the small hickeys. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking up at his face. “I don’t like leaving marks on you.”

“I like ’em,” Atsumu hurried to say, chest rising and falling quickly. He wanted to smack himself in the head right then and there for getting turned on over absolutely nothing, but honestly, he couldn’t even blame himself. Omi was way too hot. “Don’t worry about it,” he added, inevitably running a hand through Sakusa’s curls. The man responded by placing both hands on Atsumu’s hips before leaning in and pressing a slow kiss to his stomach. Atsumu gasped, blushing furiously, and cursed under his breath when Kiyoomi pulled away with a small, mischievous smile. “That’s playin’ dirty, Omi,” he complained, following after him when the other headed to the bathroom.

“What do you want for breakfast today? I’ll make it,” Sakusa asked, ignoring the previous comment while squeezing toothpaste onto his toothbrush.

A brand-new toothbrush, of course. The night before, he’d been far too busy to go back to his apartment and grab his own, so Atsumu had handed him one from a pack he’d bought who-knew-how-long ago and never opened. And Atsumu already knew that the toothbrush Sakusa was using right now would stay beside his own in the little cup above the sink for a very long time.

“I’d rather starve than eat yer cookin’,” he replied, grabbing his own toothbrush too.

Standing there in front of the mirror, shoulder to shoulder with Kiyoomi, both of them brushing their teeth together, felt way too domestic. The thought scared him.

But at the same time, it thrilled him.

New experiences were always scary, but that didn’t make them unpleasant.

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and said nothing back. Once they finished brushing their teeth, they headed to the kitchen together, and Atsumu watched him closely while he checked through the pantry and fridge.

“You have bread, and you have eggs,” Sakusa said, placing a few things down on the counter. Miya drifted closer to him, not consciously, but because his body simply felt drawn to the other man. He slung an arm over Kiyoomi’s shoulders in a half-hug. “We can make breakfast with that.”

“Toast?” Atsumu let out a small laugh. “Ya don’t know how to cook anythin’ else?”

“Enough to survive,” Kiyoomi huffed, turning fully toward him. Atsumu loosened his hold just as Kiyoomi placed a firm hand on his waist while the other gently brushed against his cheek, completely melting him. “Take it or leave it, Atsumu.”

He had to physically stop himself from trembling at hearing it again like that. Atsumu. Fucking Sakusa Kiyoomi was calling him by his first name so naturally, so freely. Atsumu genuinely felt like he could propose marriage right then and there.

“Alright, Omi-omi,” he tried to sound normal and not affected at all, letting out a small laugh as he stepped away from the taller man. “Toast it is.”

And while they made breakfast together—nearly setting the kitchen on fire a couple of times—Atsumu couldn’t stop thinking about one single thing: he loved Kiyoomi.

He kept thinking the same thing while they ate breakfast, and later when they sat together on the living room couch to relax. Also when one thing led to another and they ended up doing sinful, adult things on that very same couch. And again while they showered together afterward.

He loved him. He truly loved him. He couldn’t remember a recent moment when he hadn’t loved him.

It was Atsumu’s day off, but not Kiyoomi’s, so around lunchtime he had to leave for work, much to his own reluctance. They walked hand in hand all the way to the genkan, and there, after giving him a small kiss on the lips, Sakusa told him something that drove him even crazier:

“I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

How was Atsumu not supposed to fall completely for him? Kiyoomi was… he was so much to him that there simply weren’t enough words to describe it properly. He was everything Atsumu had ever needed.

True to Sakusa’s words, those “sleepovers” became routine for the two of them. Sometimes they spent the night at Atsumu’s apartment, other times at Kiyoomi’s, depending on the vibes of the day.

At practice, they couldn’t stop sneaking little glances and subtle smiles at each other. And in the locker room, they always had to force themselves to stay calm so they wouldn’t end up touching each other in front of the rest of their teammates.

One moment Atsumu knew he’d never forget was the time Kiyoomi had stayed behind waiting for him in the locker room. Atsumu usually showered after everyone else, while Kiyoomi was always the first one in, so if he wanted to go home with the setter, he had to wait for him.

After getting dressed, just when they were about to leave, somehow they’d started kissing like they could never get enough of each other. They were so wrapped up in their own bubble that they didn’t even hear the door open, only—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bokuto had muttered before immediately fleeing.

After that day, every single Jackal knew about Miya and Sakusa’s “sort-of relationship,” but there was still something that bothered Atsumu a little: while everyone else now assumed he and Kiyoomi were dating, the two of them were so comfortable stuck in that limbo between being and not being that they never actually moved forward.

And Atsumu decided that needed to change already. Even if he was scared. Even if it could ruin everything they’d built and rebuilt so carefully over and over again.

“Omi, would ya like to go to Hyogo with me?” he asked one night, both of them sprawled out on his bed after a long day. Atsumu traced circles over Kiyoomi’s bare chest with his finger, over the skin dotted with moles like a constellation of stars.

Sakusa didn’t answer, and Atsumu had to look up at his face to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep yet. The man looked thoughtful, eyes fixed on the ceiling, until he finally lowered them to meet Atsumu’s.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I want ya to meet my ’Ma, and ’Samu’s restaurant too,” he replied. Kiyoomi’s hand caught his and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it that made Atsumu blush. “What d’ya think?”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi finally said.

Atsumu smiled, relieved, but the relief was quickly replaced with terror. He’d already fucked up by falling in love, what if he fucked up again by confessing? God, that was terrifying. He didn’t want to lose Omi. That would be such a waste.

He shook his head to chase away those stupid thoughts and curled up closer against Sakusa, hoping he’d still get to be in this exact same position with him after finally telling him everything he felt.

────────

Kiyoomi

Even though Hyogo Prefecture was relatively close now that he lived in Osaka, Kiyoomi had never actually visited it before. The only things he knew about the place were the stories Miya told him about his hometown and the nearby cities, so he truly appreciated the little trip the blond had taken him on.

Atsumu showed him his old high school, Inarizaki, and Kiyoomi listened attentively to every story he told. Afterward, they passed through Atsumu’s favorite park, where they sat together on a bench chatting for a while, and later in the afternoon, he finally took him to “the best restaurant in the entire prefecture”: Onigiri Miya. Sakusa wasn’t going to deny that this was the place he’d been most excited to visit during their short weekend trip.

As soon as they entered the restaurant, Osamu greeted them and led them to a table slightly farther away from the others, exactly the way Sakusa liked it. He looked at Atsumu with his heart beating faster while the man joked around with his twin, thinking about how considerate he’d been to plan all of this beforehand.

They both ordered their meals. Atsumu picked his favorite, fatty tuna, along with way too many other things that would probably end up giving him a stomachache later, while Kiyoomi simply told Osamu to give him the restaurant’s most popular dish at the moment plus one personal recommendation, because anything made by that man’s hands was bound to be good.

If only Atsumu had the same talent…

“Thank you very much, Osamu-san,” Kiyoomi bowed as much as he could from his seat after the twin personally brought over their food, and the young man answered with a kind smile.

“No problem.” He finished setting the plates on the table with the kind of practiced skill that made it obvious he’d spent plenty of time working as a waiter before becoming a chef. Before heading back to the kitchen, Osamu smacked Atsumu upside the head. “Ya better eat all of it.”

“Did ya really have to hit me for that!?” Atsumu shouted, rubbing the spot he’d been hit, only to get smacked again, this time on the shoulder. “Ouch! What was that for!?”

“Don’t yell in my restaurant, dumb blond,” he replied before smiling at Sakusa once again and finally returning to work.

Kiyoomi let out a small laugh as he removed his mask and tucked it away. Atsumu looked at him like a man betrayed by the person he trusted most while rubbing at his injuries.

“Are ya laughin’ at me, Omi-omi? Seriously?”

“Not at all,” Kiyoomi answered, unable to stop smiling.

Miya huffed and pressed his hands together, saying begrudgingly, “Thanks for the food.”

“Thanks for the food,” Sakusa repeated, only starting to eat after Atsumu took the first bite of his meal.

A few minutes passed in a comfortable silence, the two of them eating while sneaking glances at each other every now and then. Sakusa simply couldn’t stop looking at Miya; there was something… mesmerizing about him. About everything. Even while eating with puffed-up cheeks, he still looked cute.

Kiyoomi wanted him in every possible way. It was even possible that he loved him. He wasn’t sure he had ever truly loved anyone in his life before, but whenever he thought about volleyball, his chest filled with an overwhelmingly pleasant feeling—and the same thing happened whenever he thought about Atsumu. That was why he believed he might love him. Or rather, it wasn’t just a belief. Deep down, he knew. Halfway, at least. Still, saying it out loud terrified him too much, so for now, he kept it to himself.

Just as he was sinking deeper into his thoughts, Atsumu cleared his throat, pulling his attention back to the present.

“Omi,” he said, “now that I think about it, ‘Samu was always ‘Osamu-san’ to ya. Why!?” he whined, still sounding a little sulky. Sakusa smiled, thinking he looked especially adorable with his lips puffed out like that.

“That’s because you were ‘Miya.’ Calling both of you the same thing would’ve been confusing,” he explained before taking another bite of food. Atsumu huffed, fiddling with the glass filled with his favorite juice.

Another short silence followed while the blond seemed to think about something, and the moment Kiyoomi saw that faintly mischievous smile appear on his face, he immediately understood where this was going. So he simply waited for the “attack.”

“So what changed now, huh? Why ain’t I ‘Miya’ anymore?” Atsumu asked, still smiling as he stared directly into Sakusa’s eyes with that unfairly pretty gaze of his.

“It just happened.” Kiyoomi shrugged and smiled the same way in return, catching Atsumu completely off guard. “Why? Do you want to go back to being ‘Miya’?”

“Ya know that’s not what I mean!” the other exclaimed, blushing instantly. Kiyoomi’s smile widened when he noticed the pink tint reaching all the way to the tips of Atsumu’s ears. Atsumu covered his face with both hands and lightly kicked his legs beneath the table. “Quit laughin’, would ya! Shut up!”

“I’m not laughing,” Sakusa replied, very clearly laughing.

He laughed far too much whenever he was with Atsumu, which was… strange. It wasn’t like Kiyoomi was completely expressionless or incapable of feeling emotions; it was simply harder for him than it was for most people to show them. He often felt like something held him back, as if there were some invisible barrier in his mind and heart keeping him from expressing himself fully. Maybe it was because of the way he’d been raised. He had never received affection from the people closest to him. In fact, he couldn’t even remember ever seeing his parents or siblings smile, not even after he developed his “defect,” his “problem” with germs and “obsession” with cleanliness.

But Atsumu was like a wrecking ball. As if his mere existence was enough to shatter every barrier Sakusa had built around himself. And although it left him defenseless, it also allowed him to taste something he once thought only volleyball could give him:

Happiness.

Having that gorgeous man right in front of him—blushing like crazy and avoiding his gaze at all costs—made Kiyoomi realize something: Atsumu meant far too much to him. Miya Atsumu had stolen his heart in every possible way, and he didn’t seem to have any intention of giving it back. Fine. Whatever. Kiyoomi didn’t really care, as long as Atsumu didn’t break it.

Once they finished eating, they spent a while longer wandering around the city. By the time night fell, they arrived at the final stop of the trip: the house where Atsumu and Osamu had grown up. It was a single-story home with a traditional design, and even from the outside it looked warm and welcoming, so different from the tall, gloomy apartment tower Sakusa had lived in his entire life before university.

“I’m home, Ma!” Atsumu called as he walked in, kicking off his shoes at the genkan before stepping inside with the kind of ease only someone in their own home could have. “Brought Omi with me, remember? Told ya he’d be comin’ with me, didn’t I?” His voice faded the farther he went into the house, but Sakusa noticed how his Kansai dialect became even thicker now that he was truly home. It was adorable.

Kiyoomi pulled out the house slippers he’d brought in his bag and slipped them on before finally stepping into the Miya household.

“Sorry for intruding,” he murmured, holding his bag with both hands, looking slightly self-conscious.

“Oh! So you’re Omi-chan!” A woman around her forties or fifties emerged from what Kiyoomi assumed was the kitchen, wearing an apron with World’s Best Mama Bear written across it in a truly awful font. Sakusa gave a stiff bow to Mrs. Miya, who looked like the living female version of her two sons. “It’s so nice finally meetin’ ya. That idiot ’Tsumu’s always talkin’ about you,” she said with a smile. “C’mon into the kitchen, I’m makin’ dinner. Just leave your bag wherever, make yourself at home, sweetheart.”

“Thank you very much,” he replied, blushing faintly. He carefully set his bag beside the living room sofa before following her into the kitchen. Atsumu was already sitting on a stool, stuffing his face with something, and Kiyoomi took the seat beside him. “What are you eating?”

“Fatty tuna,” Atsumu answered after swallowing his bite. Kiyoomi stared at him, frowning.

“Don’t you ever get tired of eating the same thing?”

“Oh, shove it up yer—”

“No cussin’ in my house.” Atsumu was interrupted and smacked on the head by his mother at the exact same time. “And show some respect to guests, too.”

“Why’s everyone so dead set on hittin’ me today!?” the setter complained, clutching his head. “Omi, I think we oughta head back to Osaka. My family doesn’t appreciate me enough.”

Sakusa smiled beneath his mask, and he knew Miya had noticed, because his expression softened and, little by little, he started smiling too.

Dinner with the two of them was pleasant. Mrs. Miya shared all sorts of funny and embarrassing stories about her son, even going into detail about how, during his second year of high school, Atsumu had practically been glued to his phone, texting someone named “Omi.” That made both of them blush, though no one commented on it. Sakusa didn’t talk much—he honestly didn’t think he had much to say—but he loved listening to Atsumu and his mother talk and watching them interact. It filled his chest with a warm, pleasant feeling.

After washing the dishes together and taking their baths, it was finally time to sleep. Kiyoomi assumed he’d be staying in the guest room, naturally, but instead Atsumu dragged him into what used to be his and Osamu’s bedroom and locked the door behind them.

“You’re sleepin’ here with me,” Atsumu declared. “’Sides, Osamu ain’t stayin’ over tonight anyway. Sunarin’s visitin’ or somethin’. Yuck.” He pretended to gag, earning a small laugh from Kiyoomi, who stood by the doorway watching as Miya took a quick lap around the small room before plopping down onto the bottom bunk and patting the spot beside him in invitation. Sakusa sat down next to him, their shoulders and knees brushing together. “This kinda reminds me of the Training Camp, don’t ya think?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Back then, you were one of the few people outside my team who treated me like a normal person.”

“Well, ya are a normal person, Omi-omi,” Atsumu replied matter-of-factly, wearing a little smile that Kiyoomi unconsciously mirrored. Atsumu was so kind and genuine. Kiyoomi loved him. Damn it, he loved him. “Though back then, I used ta think you were super hot, but your personality ruined it all.” Before Sakusa could respond, Atsumu kept going. “Course, that changed once we started talkin’ more and became friends. It was real nice, don’t ya think? That we met back then… and then found each other again now, too.”

He was right. If the universe kept bringing them together, then it had to mean something—or at least, that was what Kiyoomi believed. Even if their friendship in the past had been interrupted by stupid reasons and pointless misunderstandings, they were meant to stay in each other’s lives. Whether as friends, teammates, or even neighbors.

But Kiyoomi wanted something more.

The problem was that he had something close to trauma when it came to confessing his feelings. He never wanted to go through that again. Though if it was for Atsumu… maybe he could reconsider.

“Atsumu.”

“Hm?”

Say it, Kiyoomi. You can do this.

He opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the right words, but he couldn’t. In the end, he simply stood up.

“I… I’m going to sleep now. Good night.”

“Oh, okay. Night, Omi.”

Kiyoomi leaned down to press a kiss to the blond’s cheek before climbing the small ladder up to the top bunk, but sleep never came.

He wanted to tell him how he felt. He needed to.

He just didn’t know how.

────────

Atsumu

He couldn’t sleep. He was lying in the bed that had been his for eighteen years, staring blankly at the underside of the bunk above him, where Sakusa was probably sleeping soundly. Atsumu desperately wanted to sleep too, he was exhausted, but something wouldn’t let him.

Of course, that “something” was none other than the guilt eating him alive. He had made up this little trip to Hyogo just to confess his feelings to Kiyoomi, and in only a few hours they’d be heading back to Osaka, and he hadn’t done a damn thing. He’d tried, he really had, but every time he got close to saying the “magic words,” he froze.

When they passed by Inarizaki, he’d wanted to tell him that he’d been kind of in love with him ever since high school, but he got embarrassed and stayed quiet instead. Later, when they sat together at the park for a while, he wanted to tell him he’d never truly regretted that first kiss they shared, even if it had caused the first crack in their friendship, but then he thought bringing that up would just be digging too much into the past, so he said nothing. Finally, at Osamu’s restaurant, he’d wanted to say it thousands of times, but he simply couldn’t, so he just kept eating and eating, and when he finally got a real opportunity...

“So what changed now, huh? Why ain’t I ‘Miya’ anymore?” he’d asked Kiyoomi, trying to sound as seductive as possible, but the idiot man he loved had only shrugged and smiled at him with such wicked amusement that Atsumu had to fight the urge to curl into himself right there in his seat.

“It just happened. Why? Do you want to go back to being ‘Miya’?”

“Ya know that’s not what I mean!” he’d shouted, wanting to rip his own skin off. His confession attempt had been ruined, this time by Sakusa himself! What a load of crap. Atsumu knew he was blushing all over, and hell, if someone checked his balls, those were probably red too. Hearing Kiyoomi laugh quietly under his breath did absolutely nothing to make him feel better. “Quit laughin’, would ya! Shut up!”

Then night fell, and they arrived at his house. They’d had a great time with his mother, even if she personally took it upon herself to stomp all over Atsumu’s dignity throughout dinner, and afterward the two of them were finally alone while washing the dishes together. In that quiet moment, Atsumu found himself thinking about what a good day they’d had, and he realized he wanted to have days like this with Kiyoomi over and over again. He wanted to tell him that he loved him, that he didn’t have eyes for anyone else and never really had. That the “crush” he’d had on him in high school had never actually faded, and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him.

But once again, he couldn’t say a thing. He was scared.

And that was how he ended up sprawled across his bed, feeling like the dumbest, most cowardly man in the world. He was terrified of Kiyoomi reacting badly, and he was terrified of just how deeply he loved him. He was only turning twenty-three in a few months—how could he possibly be sure he was going to love just one man for the rest of his life?

Well, that question didn’t even make sense, because he was sure.

And if he got rejected, he wouldn’t know what to do. He only knew he’d sink so deep that maybe he’d never be able to crawl out of that hole again. He just didn’t want to lose himself. But he also didn’t want to lose the chance to have Kiyoomi—to be with him.

He closed his eyes and sighed, trying to fall asleep. He counted sheep. Didn’t work. He imagined himself scoring hundreds of service aces one after another. Didn’t work either. He even tried remembering those painfully boring history lectures from his first year of high school, taught by that old teacher who spoke unbelievably slowly, and that didn’t work either. Damn it, he had to drive for hours the next day to get back to Osaka—he needed proper rest. Sakusa didn’t even know how to drive, so there was no way Atsumu was trusting his precious car to him, especially when it was way nicer and more modern than the piece of junk Osamu drove around.

Suddenly, he heard movement above him, followed by the sound of someone climbing down from the top bunk. At first, he assumed Sakusa just needed to pee and was heading to the bathroom, but no.

The mattress dipped as Kiyoomi sat down on Atsumu’s bed, and Atsumu didn’t dare open his eyes.

A soft hand brushed his bangs away from his forehead, and Miya held his breath.

“Are you asleep?” Sakusa whispered. For some reason, Atsumu didn’t answer. One of Kiyoomi’s fingers gently stroked his cheek. “So pretty…”

Okay, now Atsumu really wanted to cry. He still didn’t know why.

“Atsumu, I love you.”

There was no way he was imagining that. Atsumu might’ve been crazy, but not that crazy, and his hearing worked just fine. He shot upright so suddenly that Kiyoomi startled a little, and the second Atsumu opened his eyes, tears began spilling out.

“Omi!” he wailed, throwing himself at him and wrapping him in a tight hug. “Ya beat me to it!”

“I knew you weren’t asleep, damn it,” the dark-haired man muttered, hugging him back. “Why are you crying, Atsumu?”

“’Cause ya said ya love me!” he sobbed. “Ya have no idea… no idea how badly I wanted ta hear that.” He tightened his grip, afraid Kiyoomi might try to pull away from him. “I love ya too, Omi. I love ya. I’ve wanted ta tell ya for so long, but I was scared I’d scare ya off and you’d leave and… and hate me, and… I didn’t wanna lose ya.” He pulled back just enough to look at his face. Atsumu knew he looked awful, he always looked ugly when he cried, his mom and brother told him that all the time, but then why was Kiyoomi looking at him like he was the most precious treasure in the world? And why was Kiyoomi crying too? He looked beautiful. “Don’t cry, yer gonna make me cry more.”

“You’re already crying, idiot,” Kiyoomi replied in a tone so unbearably affectionate that Atsumu felt like someone was squeezing his heart in their hand. Sakusa cradled his face gently, trying to wipe away his tears with his thumbs, which was completely pointless since they kept falling nonstop. “I love you, Atsumu. Thank you… for everything.” Then he kissed him softly on the lips, which only made Atsumu cry even harder. Kiyoomi couldn’t stop crying either, though unlike Atsumu, he did it quietly.

“It feels so damn good gettin’ it out. I dunno how I kept it in for so long,” Atsumu said shakily. “I’m gonna tell ya ‘I love ya’ so many times you’ll get sick of me.”

“It’s impossible for me to get sick of you, Atsumu.”

That only triggered another wave of tears from the blond, who hugged him again and buried his face in Sakusa’s neck.

They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for several long minutes, not saying anything in particular, just stroking each other’s backs and listening to one another cry softly. Atsumu felt like he was floating. Had he really been that terrified over this? It was almost funny. And then he remembered a recurring thought, one that came and went, one that sometimes scared him but made him happy just imagining it.

“Omi,” he murmured, voice trembling. He finally pulled back a little, though he kept holding onto Kiyoomi’s hands. “Would ya wanna marry me?”

“Huh?”

“I know we ain’t even boyfriends yet, but…” Atsumu smiled just a little and looked him straight in the eyes. Tears were still slipping from Sakusa’s beautiful dark eyes, and his cheeks, ears, and neck were flushed pink. “I don’t want anyone else. You’re… the only thing livin’ in my head, Omi. Dunno about you, but I… wanna spend the rest of my life by your side. We’re both still young, and I get that decisions like this are hard at our age, but…”

“Atsumu.” Sakusa’s fingers tilted his face upward, resting gently beneath his chin, and only then did Atsumu realize he’d lowered his head a little. Their eyes met again, and Kiyoomi was smiling. “I feel the same way,” he admitted. “This whole time, I thought thinking like that made me too extreme. You have no idea how relieved I am to know we’re on the same page.”

Atsumu wanted to fuck him right then and there. It was just that—damn it, Kiyoomi was made for him. There was no one else in the world who could make Atsumu feel like this. It was only Kiyoomi and him, meant for each other and no one else.

“So, does that mean ya accept my proposal, Sakusa Kiyoomi?” He took Kiyoomi’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, just the way Kiyoomi always did with him. The younger man nodded and leaned in to kiss him again, this time with more passion and less tenderness.

When they pulled apart, Sakusa practically melted on top of Miya, and the two of them ended up lying together on the small bed that was far too narrow for two grown athletes.

“So where are we gonna live now that we’re engaged, Atsumu?”

“We gotta find a bigger place, don’t we?” He intertwined their fingers and rested both their hands over his chest. “Y’know, I’ve never really had a boyfriend before, but now all of a sudden I’ve got a fiancé… feels weird.”

“You already regretting it?” Sakusa teased with a small smile. Atsumu shook his head immediately.

“Not at all. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he replied with complete honesty. “I love ya, Omi. First thing we’re doin’ tomorrow when we get back to Osaka is goin’ to a jewelry store.”

“Okay,” Sakusa answered, snuggling even closer against Atsumu. “How do you think our families and the team will react to this? They’re going to be pretty shocked.”

“Yeah, but I don’t care. The only opinion I care about when it comes to our relationship is yours.”

Kiyoomi didn’t answer right away, and Atsumu smiled to himself, thinking maybe he’d gotten flustered or something. After a minute or two, Sakusa lifted himself slightly just to give him another kiss before settling back down again.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And with those words lingering in his mind, along with the incredible new feeling filling his entire body, Atsumu was finally able to fall asleep. Of course, having his fiancé’s warmth beside him was a nice bonus too.

────────

“I’m taking driving lessons. I can’t keep living like this,” Sakusa said, clutching his seatbelt with both hands as if his life depended on it.

Atsumu scoffed, steering with only one hand while the other rested on Kiyoomi’s thigh.

“Yer so dramatic, Omi. I don’t drive that bad.”

“Next time, I’m taking the train.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Atsumu laughed. “Look, we’re already back in Osaka. Ya think we would’ve gotten here this fast on a train? Be grateful for my amazin’ driving skills!”

Kiyoomi gave him the most disgusted look imaginable.

“I’m really going to marry you?”

“Yep, and ya love me just as much as I love ya.” Atsumu nodded, taking his eyes off the road to look at him instead. Sakusa stared back, entirely unimpressed.

“Eyes on the road, Miya.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Ya just distract me, you’re too—oh, shit!” He barely swerved out of the way of another car. “Whew, that was close, huh, Omi?”

“Pull the damn car over.”

And that was how they ended up arriving separately at the jewelry store where they’d have their engagement rings made. That very same day, Kiyoomi signed himself up for driving lessons, swearing he would never again get into a car driven by his fiancé.

Years later, that vow still stood strong, and Kiyoomi officially became the designated driver of the Miya-Sakusa household. He hadn’t been Atsumu’s passenger in three years, and he planned to keep it that way for the rest of his life.

“Yer only problem is that ya drive way too slow, Omi,” Atsumu told him as they both stepped out of the car at the same time. Kiyoomi ignored him and headed for the trunk to grab both their bags. “When I used ta drive—”

“You risked your life, I know,” Sakusa interrupted, already walking ahead toward the building where the National Team would be holding their Olympic training camp.

“Hey, don’t leave me behind!” Atsumu shouted, running after him.

Japan’s national team was made up of some of the best players in the country, and the funny thing was that most of them had faced each other at least once back when they were still students.

The atmosphere was always lively and pleasant, since the entire team got along surprisingly well. As they entered the gym, Sakusa greeted a few friends he ran into on the way to the locker room and placed both his and Miya’s bags into their respective lockers before heading out to the court. Practice hadn’t started yet, but all their teammates were already gathered around chatting.

“Aw, Tsum-Tsum’s husband is here!” Bokuto shouted from the floor, where he was stretching beside Atsumu. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and started his own stretching routine, completely ignoring the teasing from the rest of the team, who mocked them every single time they showed up together for absolutely no reason.

They weren’t even the only married couple there! Hinata and Kageyama were married too, and nobody ever teased them about it!

“Omi, yer gonna get a headache if ya keep makin’ that face.” Atsumu walked over and ran his thumb gently between Kiyoomi’s brows. Sakusa hadn’t even realized he’d been frowning. “Bad mood today, huh?”

“Shut up,” he huffed.

Atsumu grinned, and just to annoy him further, planted a kiss right on his lips in front of everyone. The entire gym immediately erupted into laughter and shrieks like a bunch of teenagers.

“Love ya, Omi,” Atsumu sang teasingly when he noticed Sakusa’s face growing progressively redder and redder, nearly matching the color of their uniforms.

Kiyoomi sighed, trying to calm himself down and ignore the fact that literally all of his teammates were staring at him.

Still, he accepted it. This was his life ever since he’d said “yes.” Loud, fun, occasionally irritating, and sometimes it even forced him out of his comfort zone. But Kiyoomi wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, and he knew Atsumu felt the same.

The universe had given them another chance after years of pushing and pulling, and they intended to make the most of it.

Because they would never let each other go again.

T H E  E N D