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“Sakusa—“
“No. Go away Komori,” Kiyoomi replied coldly. Tears spilled uncontrollably from his eyes as he packed up his things.
Let’s rewind a little.
Kiyoomi was 6 years old when he stumbled upon two identical boys by the swings. They noticed him, and the one with the lighter hair smiled and waved him over. Reluctantly, he approached them.
“Hello! ‘M Miya Atsumu, and Miya Osamu, my brother!”
The boy said, gesturing to his carbon copy next to him, before continuing to speak. “What’s your name?”
“I’m.. Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
“Nice to meet’ya Sakusa-kun!”
“Likewise, Miya-san and.. Miya-san?”
“Just call us by our first names,” the other boy finally spoke up.
Kiyoomi replied hesitantly, “ah.. okay. You can call me by my first name too then, I suppose.”
“Nice to meet’ya, Kiyoomi-kun.”
He’d learned a lot about the twins in their first meeting. He learned they were from Hyogo, and only in Tokyo for their mother’s business trip. He learned they both liked volleyball, which was something he shared with them. He observed that the twins were polar opposites personality-wise, despite being almost identical except for slight differences in their hair and eye color.
Soon, Osamu-san turned into ‘Samu, Atsumu-kun turned into ‘Tsumu and Kiyoomi-kun turned into Omi. They’d become a lot closer, to the point where their mothers had exchanged contacts to set up playdates when the twins went back to Hyogo. Eventually, they did go back to Hyogo. It was hard, but it didn’t matter. They video called almost daily, and met up most weekends if not every.
As the year blurred past, weekends became sacred. The long train rides between Hyogo to Tokyo had basically become second nature to the three.
After they’d finished elementary and had gone into a summer break before middle school, they found each other staying at each other's houses for months at a time. For the first month, Kiyoomi basically lived in the Miya household. The second month was where he went home, but the twins wouldn’t stop crying (read, Atsumu cried while Osamu sulked) which led to their mother permitting them to stay at the Sakusa household.
Atsumu and Kiyoomi had eventually become closer; a lot closer. So close that they sat together at the exact park, on the exact swings that they’d met. It was the evening, and the two had snuck out past bed time.
“Hey, ‘Tsumu?”
“Yes Omi?”
“I like you. Like how mama likes papa.”
“Oh. I love you too Omi!”
Their families found it absolutely adorable at breakfast the next morning, when the pair confessed their relationship with linked hands. They have a lifetime ahead of them, they thought.
They thought they had a lifetime ahead of them.
The accident happened in middle school. It wasn’t dramatic— it didn’t even make the local news. It was just a rainy Tuesday morning where the twins were on their way to school, a blind spot at an intersection, and a screeching of tires that fractured their lives into before and after. Osamu walked away with a fractured collarbone and a handful of scrapes. Atsumu didn’t walk away at all.
When the news reached Tokyo, Kiyoomi dropped his glass of water. It shattered against the kitchen tiles, but he didn't even blink at the mess. He was on the next bullet train to Hyogo, his chest tightening with every mile.
The hospital smelled like bleach, rubbing alcohol, and sadness. In the intensive care unit, Atsumu looked small, hooked up to machines, a ventilator breathing for him. The doctors called it a severe traumatic brain injury, they called it a coma. They told the families to prepare for the worst.
Kiyoomi sat by the bedside, staring at the heart monitor. Slowly, trembling, Kiyoomi slipped his fingers into Atsumu's. He didn't care about the germs. He just wanted his Tsumu back.
"Wake up," Kiyoomi whispered into the sterile air. "Please."
Atsumu didn't squeeze back.
Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. The bright, loud boy who filled every room with laughter was replaced by a steady, rhythmic beep.
By the time high school rolled around, something in Kiyoomi and Osamu had permanently hardened. They had grown up, but they had grown up bitter. Osamu stayed in Hyogo to attend Inarizaki, while Kiyoomi went to Itachiyama in Tokyo.
They became the "Mean Twins" of the high school volleyball circuit even though they played for different schools, and absolutely hated it. They’re not twins. Osamu and Atsumu are twins. People need to get it right.
Osamu, once the quieter but sarcastic twin, became entirely unapproachable. He played volleyball like a man possessed, his eyes cold and refusing to let anyone fill the empty space on the court where his brother should have been. If teammates tried to invite him out, he shut them down with a glare.
Kiyoomi became even more reclusive. His misophobia, once a manageable quirk, mutated into a fierce shield against the world. He wore his mask higher. His glares became sharper. He hated the noise of the crowds, the meaningless chatter of his teammates.
Every single night, without fail, Kiyoomi and Osamu video-called. They didn't talk about volleyball. They just sat in silence on the phone, doing homework or staring at their screens, finding a twisted sense of comfort in knowing the other person was carrying the exact same void.
They were dead to the world, waiting for a ghost to wake up.
Which brings us back to the present. The mid-summer practice match between Itachiyama and Inarizaki.
They’d been mid-set, when Osamu’s phone began to ring. He looked over at the bench and froze. He shared a glance with Kiyoomi, before rushing over to take the call.
His face went grim and tears filled his eyes. “Kiyoomi!” he called the spiker over, still listening to the doctor speak. After he put the phone down, tears began to spill from his eyes. His teammates wanted to comfort him, but it seemed the only person who could was right in front of him. “Pack your things. ‘Tsumu’s givin’ up.”
“What?”
“He.. is givin’ up.” Osamu’s voice cracked as he spoke, tears already starting to spill.
The pair began to pack quickly, ignoring the concerned and questioning stares from their teammates.
“Miya-san, what is happening? Are ye havin’ an emergency— and what is Sakusa’s connection to this?” Osamu ignored his captain.
“Sakusa!—“ Komori tried, approaching his crying cousin.
“No. Go away, Komori.” Kiyoomi’s glare was ice cold, but the crack in his voice betrayed him. The tears began to flow freely as he packed his things.
“Miya-san, please don’t ignore Shinsuke. We need to know why you’re leaving and what’s happening!—“ Aran started, but was cut off when the curly-haired spiker began to speak. “Iizuna-san, Kita-san, Osamu and I have to leave— family emergency! ‘Samu, hurry up, let's go!”
“Comin’!”
The childhood best friends rushed out, both crying, leaving their confused teammates and coaches back in the gym.
The ICU was absolute chaos.
The moment the pair burst through the doors, they’d been too late. The comatose boy had begun to flatline. Doctors surrounded him and tried to save him while nurses pushed the two out of the room.
Osamu had curled up into a ball, sobbing and covering his ears to hide the sound of his brother dying in the next room. On the other hand, Kiyoomi was frozen. He was still standing in front of the hospital door where the nurse had pushed him to.
The sound of the machine echoed in his head. It was a sickening, long beep.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, a doctor finally opened the door. “He’s stable. Still comatose, but stable.” They both let out a breath they didn’t know they’d been holding.
Kiyoomi went on the next bullet train back to Tokyo, thinking the love of his life was slipping away. Little did he know, two hours he left, the boy opened his eyes.
“—mu? Tsumu? Tsumu! Tsumu, yer awake!”
“S.. Samu?”
Atsumu opened his eyes for the first time in two years.
“Tsumu! We- we gotta call a nurse! We need to tell Kiyoomi— we hafta call mom-“
“Osamu! Calm down! First, call a nurse. Then, call mama and papa. But, don’t tell Omi yet.”
“Tsumu are you crazy?! Kiyo is broken right now, he thinks you’re dying!”
“Yes, but if he knows I’m awake he’ll drop everything to take care of me! I can recover and study for now, then maybe.. surprise him later?”
“Fine.”
“Kiyoomi,” Osamu broke the silence in his and Kiyoomi’s nightly call. “Tsumu— he..”
The spiker began to panic. “What?! Is he okay? The doctors said he was stable!”
“He is! They’re movin’ him to a different facility for patient care— they run a real strict program. No visitors outside o’ immediate family. I’m so sorry, Kiyoomi.”
“Oh. It’s okay, Osamu. Tell me how he’s doing, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The first two months were torture for Atsumu. The hands that used to set volleyballs struggled to keep grip on a plastic cup. His legs felt like lead weights, he could barely even sit up on his own. Despite all of this, he refused to give up. He worked hard even outside of therapy hours, and slowly but surely regained strength.
The second two months got better. The boy could run around like he used to. He’d become stronger than most people his age who don’t do sports consistently. The setter dyed his hair blond to match his brother, but Osamu messed up and made it yellow. Atsumu started to catch up on his studies with a private tutor, learning all his studies from what he missed in middle school all the way to second year of high school. It helped that he was a quick academic learner— he even managed to cram a few lessons that even Kita hadn’t learned yet.
The third two months was what made Mrs. Miya break down crying. The moment she saw her previously comatose son chasing his brother around and playing volleyball like he used to, she couldn’t help but break down sobbing.
“Don’t cry mama! ‘M all good now!” Atsumu beamed, basically vibrating with happiness.
The boy had made a miraculous recovery in just the span of 6 months. He’d stayed out of school for another two weeks just so his doctors could make sure he was cleared, and immediately joined the Inarizaki volleyball team when he was.
To say the team was shocked when they found out Osamu had a twin was an understatement.
Kita stared after having opened the gym doors. “Miya-san..? Why is your hair yellow?”
The rest of the team looked up and began crowding them.
“‘M not ‘Samu! My name’s Miya Atsumu!”
“Miya-san—“ Akagi tried to speak but he was cut off.
“Tsumu! I told ya not to run off like that!”
“Oh, shut up ya scrub! Let me live a little!”
Suna was frozen in place, phone being kept away in his pocket. “Miya-san..? There’s.. two of you?”
“From now on, just call me Osamu. T’s my twin brother, Atsumu.”
“Hello y’all!” Atsumu beamed. “I play setter! And I’m better than ‘Samu!”
“Shut up! No yer not!”
“Ms. Honey said I’m better than ya, and I’ve only been playing for 6 months FROM SCRATCH!”
The Inarizaki team learned of their story, and Atsumu made his brother apologize for his behavior.
Now, all they had to do was set up a practice match with Itachiyama, and their plan could go into action.
To say Kiyoomi was crushed by the news was an understatement.
The fact that his lover nearly died was enough, but he would be getting sent away as well. Kiyoomi was so overcome with grief, thinking Atsumu would stay in his coma for even longer, that he’d thrown himself into sports and studying. He stopped talking to his parents, he stopped talking to Komori (not that he ever did anyway), he only trained and trained. I need to win nationals. For Atsumu, he thought.
He played volleyball with all his might, but was destroying himself from the inside. His grades were plummeting because all he could think about was Atsumu. He began skipping meals and obsessively cleaning despite his body’s protests. All he wanted to do was dig a hole and stay in there until Atsumu woke up. The poor boy could barely sleep at night either— sleeping late thinking about Atsumu and waking up early wanting to train for Atsumu. He missed him so goddamn much.
Osamu caught on in month four.
“Kiyoomi, go to sleep.”
“What?” Kiyoomi asked, looking up from his textbook.
“I said go to sleep. Ya look like death, yer math book is upside down and yer house clothes haven’t changed since last week. Tsumu’s gonna be fine.”
“B-but— he flatlined—“
“‘S stable now. Very stable, trust me. Don’t make me go over there and take care of ya like a child.”
“Okay. Bye ‘Samu.”
“G’night, ‘Yomi.”
Kiyoomi chuckled after ending the call. He wondered how Osamu noticed he’d flinched every time he was called Omi. It reminded him too much of Atsumu— so the grey haired twin began calling him Yomi instead. It was similar enough, but still different.
Atsumu on the other hand, had been setting a volleyball quietly on the other side of the room. “So. ‘Yomi? What, are ya dating ma boyfriend now?” The blond chuckled.
“Oh fuck ya! He didn’t like Omi because ye came up with it. Reminded ‘m too much of ya.”
“Anyway, ‘s coach done setting up the camp with Itachi yet?”
“Patience, ‘Tsumu.”
“Ughhhhh!”
“A training camp with Inarizaki next weekend huh..? I guess I’ll be seeing Osamu,” Kiyoomi mumbled before drifting off to sleep the next night, having received the news from Iizuna. He’d been the only person in Tokyo he didn’t ignore.
The following weekend, the misophobic spiker found himself sitting on a bus on the way to Hyogo. His mask was on high, his back was straight and his headphones were on.
He was in the same city as Atsumu. Maybe he could pass by the facility later..? No! Snap out of it Kiyoomi, no outside visitors allowed. Osamu told you that.
“-sa? Sakusa-san?” Komori’s voice rang out. His hand was frozen in the air, hesitating to tap his cousin’s shoulder. “Yes?”
“Do you want a snack? My mom packed it for me to give to you— auntie said it’s your favorite.”
“No. Thank you.”
After weeks of malnutrition, the spiker had finally begun having two full meals daily, and got a good night’s rest nightly. After all, he couldn’t go to Hyogo and play volleyball looking like a skeleton.
The Inarizaki gym was absolute chaos. Atsumu was hiding in the storage room, Aran was trying to get him out, and Osamu was trying to stop him.
“Atsumu! Come on!” Aran tried again, pulling Atsumu’s arm.
Atsumu pouted and pulled away “Aran-kun, noo!”
“Behave, all of ye. Itachiyama is here. Atsumu, get out of the storage room.”
“But Kita-san! I hafta surprise him!”
“But Kita-san, he needs to surprise him!”
The twins spoke in unison.
Suna raised an eyebrow, chewing mint gum. “Surprise who? ”
“Don’t think they’re gonna tell us. Just wait for now, I guess,” Akagi patted the middle blocker on the back. “Got another piece of gum?”
Kiyoomi strode in, trailing the rest of the team. They’d bowed entering to show respect to their host, already going to change in the locker room. Kiyoomi had seen Osamu, who smiled at him. It seemed really genuine, I’ll ask him about it later.
Osamu’d started stretching with someone else, which was a bit of a problem for Kiyoomi. Osamu always stretched with him, but he can deal with this. Just ask Komori, or Iizuna-san. It’s not that hard, Kiyoomi. Goodness Osamu, why’d you have to do this to me?
“Omi-kun! Need help stretching?”
Kiyoomi’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He whipped around, seeing the love of his life running toward him. His hair was badly bleached, but he was still the most beautiful person in the world.
Komori tried to stop the setter. “W-wait! Don’t approach him— he’s really misophobic!”
“At..sumu?”
The spiker couldn’t believe it. He looked around for the cameras, but only found Osamu’s happy gaze.
“That’s me! Aren’t ya gonna say hi, Omi-Omi?” The faux-blond teased. His hands were behind his back, face lifted into the grin that Kiyoomi missed so much. A hand extended into his hair. “You’re real. Atsumu, you’re awake!”
Kiyoomi’s body betrayed his brain and crashed into his lover before his mind could race, holding him so tightly it looked painful. Tears pooled and fell from his eyes as he kissed his setter’s forehead. He’s awake. He’s actually awake.
“Hehe! Yer squishin’ me, ya big baby”
Kiyoomi’s fingers dug into the fabric of Atsumu’s Inarizaki jersey, his knuckles turning stark white. He didn't care about the sweat. He didn't care about the germs. He didn't care that the entire Itachiyama and Inarizaki teams were staring at them with their jaws dropped.
He just needed to hold him. He needed to prove to his own hands that this wasn't a cruel, vivid dream born from months of sleep deprivation and grief.
“Tsu, you’re awake! Are you okay? Can you even play volleyball? Are you sure? Don’t overwork yourself! When did you wake up? How—“
“Kiyo, give it a rest!” Osamu cut in, chuckling as his brother got dizzy from Kiyoomi shaking him by the shoulders. “He woke up around 7 months ago. After he flatlined, he woke up. Said he wanted to keep it a surprise from you.”
Kiyoomi simply stood there, hands holding the shoulders of a blond copy of Osamu Miya with a death grip. “What the fuck?!” Komori asked, still absolutely flabbergasted.
Kiyoomi pulled his mask down, ignoring the germs and the eyes of 50 people staring at him, and kissed his lover who’d been asleep for two whole years.
Pulling away, Kiyoomi finally let a chuckle slip. “Your hair looks ridiculous.”
Atsumu’s eyes lit up like stars. “I know, ‘Samu botched it so bad! Ye still love me though!”
Kiyoomi smiled, poking his lover straight in the forehead. “of course I do, stupid.”