Chapter Text
“Hey Samu, it’s me, Atsumu. I know ya’re busy right now, probably working at the shop, so I figured I’d leave ya this message so ya don’t forget my voice. Not that I think ya ever could, though I hope you’ll try.”
“I went out tonight. Just me and the team, nothin’ special. Ya would’ve laughed at Bo and Shoyo, the two dance like they’re being electrocuted, so when ya finally tie the knot with Suna I think they should be number 1 on yer invitation list. They make really good hype men. I also did somethin’ stupid. Ya’d be proud of me, I think. I finally stopped being a coward.” There's a pause, its end marked with a deep release of breath. “I think he hates me now, though; you should’ve seen the look on his stupid face. But whatever, it’s not like I’d ever have what ya and Suna have. We both know that I was never meant to be loved like that.”
“I wanted ya to know, I don’t blame ya. I don’t blame ya for mom, for what ya said, or for anything really. Ya were the best brother I could’ve ever asked for. I know I wasn’t, so take this as my apology that ya got the short end of the stick.”
“I also just wanted to call ya because I know ya, ya stupid scrub, and I know that if I left without leavin’ ya a goodbye message ya’d find a way to bring me back and kill me all over again, and frankly I think that would go against everythin’ I’ve been settin’ up these past couple months.”
“I love ya, Samu. I love ya so much, and I need to say these things before I go because I know that I will never get the chance to say them to you otherwise, and that’s somethin’ too cruel, even for me.”
“I never told ya about mom, or about what mom said or did. It never felt like my place to say. Ya didn’t see it, so for a long time I thought maybe if I didn’t look that hard, I wouldn’t either. But that’s the problem with being on the receivin’ end like I was; I couldn’t help but notice. It started when we were born.”
“I don’t know if Mom told ya; it doesn’t matter now, honestly.” There’s an audible wobble of Atsumu’s lip through his speech. “Please don’t tell her I told ya this, ya were never meant to find out. Dad didn’t just leave us because he couldn’t handle kids- in fact, he’d been really excited about havin’ ya.”
Atsumu remembers it like it was yesterday.
He was finally old enough to walk now, his brain finally wired enough to remember. Osamu was asleep, head placed uncomfortably on a couch cushion with some TV show on. Atsumu, on the other hand, was wide awake, always an annoyance for his poor mother, who only sought to have some alone time. Still, he was a child, and children needed their mothers, so he waddled off through the small house looking for her.
He heard the soft sobs before he saw her. He could hear the pitiful crying through the slightly ajar door. Her door was tall and brown; it loomed at the end of the hall like some kind of gate. But Atsumu hadn’t cared about the fear that the dark room brought him; all he cared about was the crying. The horrible, heart-wrenching crying that came from the woman inside, a woman who, despite rarely looking at him, was Atsumu’s world.
Crying was always to be solved with a hug, much like what he and his brother did. Anytime one cried, one would begrudgingly hug the other, and things would solve themselves. So Atsumu knew what he had to do.
He pushed open the door, a soft creaking filling the air but not stopping the cries, instead amplifying them to a degree Atsumu wasn’t capable of taking. He felt his own eyes begin to water, as if getting closer to the dark, despair-filled room was taking a physical toll on him. Still, Atsumu, even in his youth, had been stubbornly determined, so he continued, pushing through the room until he rounded the tall bed and found her.
She was small. For the first time in his life, Atsumu perceived someone as tall as his mother, as small.
She cowered, body hunched forward as if she were curled in pain. Her body shook with soft sobs, not the loud and attention-seeking cries that erupted from him and Osamu, but soft and delicate and breakable cries. He sniffled, stepping forward, his little feet too loud in a room so devoid of other noises. He felt like a rock being thrown into a still body of water.
“Mama?” His voice was quiet, seeking her attention, requesting that she stop those horrible noises that were making his nose get stuffy. She didn’t move, didn’t turn at his request or even acknowledge that he had said a word. So he spoke again. “Mama, are ya okay?” He gently touches her back, much like she did whenever Osamu cried. So he tried it on her, tried to calm her down enough to get her to stop.
Her body jolts at his touch. Her breath shutters like she were cold, like a deep rattling had broken through her chest. “Atsumu?” She asks, voice hoarse and scary. He feels his hand shake with slight fear as his body screams to back up, but he couldn’t; his mother was crying in front of him, and he wanted her to stop.
“Are ya okay, mama?” he asks quieter now. She still doesn’t look at him, instead, she unfurls, like a roly-poly, her body uncurling, lifting so that her hair covers her face, preventing the boy from seeing the source of the small droplets of tears that drip onto the picture frame in her hands.
He recognizes the picture; it's one of his mother and a man, a tall man with brown hair and brown eyes much like his own. His grandma had always mentioned how Atsumu resembled his father, something so uncanny that it was spoken with words of detest rather than love or affection, like he carried an affliction or curse. He never understood; he never thought that he looked anything like the man in the picture because his brother, his twin, was always said to look like his mother, something spoken like a prayer. He had different eyes than Atsumu, lighter in color, more grey, and maybe that’s what they meant, he wondered to himself. “Is that papa?” The word feels foreign on his tongue, heavy and strange; it rolls around his mouth like something new.
His mother shakes, she looks scary, wiry, and old, like her sorrow had aged her years into the future within an afternoon. Maybe it was the way the sun fought to bleed through the thick curtains, maybe it was the ashy tone it painted the two of them in, like they were stuck in some old film. But it scared him, it scared him so badly that he had to pull back his hand and hold it close to his chest.
He feels immense, drowning guilt for pulling away from the woman who had spent time taking care of them, but he can’t stop; he’s terrified of her.
“Yes.” She says, and he flinches at the words. Her tone is dark and foreign, not filled with the usual love and affection she tried to maintain around them. This felt like a monster, looming tall over prey. He watches as more tears drip down onto the picture, sliding off the glass front. Atsumu takes a shaky breath, unsure of what to do. “He left us.” She says quietly.
Atsumu knows this; he knows the rejection that comes with a man you’ve never met but shared looks with. He knows the feeling of walking into a classroom of students who had parents, both of them, not one of whom he felt the need to fight over with his brother. He always lost that battle, his mother scooping up his brother at every chance, leaving Atsumu to walk behind her, small fist gripping onto her shirt like some kind of afterthought.
“I know, Mama, but now ya have us.” He says softly, forcing his shaking body to move forward and wrap his arms around the defeated woman in front of him. He wants to rub off his feelings of happiness and grant them to her, to cheer her up so she would come outside and stop scaring him.
“I didn’t want ya.” She says with a voice so hollow it sounds like wind howling. It doesn’t stop the pain that blooms within him, the startling hurt that swallows his every nerve. “We didn’t want ya.” His mother’s hands clench around the photograph, tightening so much that the image shakes in her hands. “He left-” her voice rises, getting louder as Atsumu stumbles back, little legs tripping over one another as she turns to look at him, eyes peeking through long messy hair. “He left us because of ya, Atsumu.”
He doesn’t respond, not for a long while. He waits for her to realize her mistake, for her to flounder and say, both of you, you and Osamu, or I didn’t mean that, come here baby, or even just sorry. But she doesn’t say those things, she doesn’t look apologetic. Instead, her eyes harden into something solid, like speaking those words out loud were enough to make them conclusively true.
“I hate ya.” She says softly. They’re said with a bitter softness, something appearing to be sweet, but filled with such a bitter hatred that it breaks him, his small body shrivelling as any want to stay near his mother evaporates. He runs before she sees him cry, and a part of him wants to hear her run after him, to call out his name in regret. But she doesn’t; he makes it all the way to his room, to his bed, and under his sheets before he begins crying.
They aren’t loud, screaming sobs like he’s used to. Instead, they’re soft, small, and gentle.
“That was the first time Mom ever started the story. I never told ya, even as a kid I knew the effect that had on me. I never wished that on ya, so I took it. I wished it would never come up again, that I would one day forget the look in her eyes, the way her body stopped shakin’ to deliver the verdict like I was vermin. I tried. Then we were eight.”
Atsumu was sitting downstairs this time. He had been watching TV, his body curled under a blanket as he mumbled small critiques under his breath, trying his best not to laugh loudly at the show or yell too much at the parts that made him angry.
He heard his mother before he saw her. Heard the way her key struggled to fit into the lock before he heard the metal slide into the small slot. The way her heels clicked with every stumble.
Atsumu instinctively got up, moving to the kitchen knowing what this meant for the night. His mother was drunk; it was a rare sight, something that came up maybe three or four times a year, but it brought out something ugly.
So he started warming a pot of water, knowing immediately that she needed tea and maybe a bath before she was capable of talking to him like he mattered, even if it was pretend. He’d known for a while the lack of care that came with being his father’s mirror, at least in his mother’s eyes. It was strange, the odd silence that came when he thought of her now, the utter calm that replaced something that he believed should be warm.
He heard her shuffling, feet dragging as she took off her shoes and walked into the kitchen. He hears her stop at the edge of the doorway and can feel the burning heat making holes into the back of his skull.
“Where’s Osamu?” She asks, her words taking that otherworldly tone yet again.
“Suna’s house,” he says quietly, knowing exactly what this storm of events meant for him. He feels the hairs on his arms stand up the longer he can’t hear her move away. He prays quietly that she would leave, but she doesn’t.
“Why?” she asks quietly.
Atsumu clenches his jaw. “He’s studying for a test.”
“And yer not?” There’s venom to her tone, and he realizes the mistake he’s made in being honest with her.
“I studied earlier.” Not fully a lie, but he really hadn’t put his best foot forward.
“But yer watching TV.” She takes a step towards him, and he swallows hard, his hands pressing against the edge of the stove, his body demanding that he move away from the dangerous surface. He listens, taking a couple of steps away before he turns to face her.
He inhales sharply as he sees how close she’d gotten, how her eyes flare with something burning and dangerous. He steels himself, ignoring the pounding of his heart in his chest. He can barely hear his own thoughts over the roaring of blood in his ears.
“Why couldn’t ya be more like yer brother?” He’s heard this before, not only from her, but it definitely stings the most, feeling like alcohol on an open cut. “Tell me, why did ya come here? Why did ya have to ruin my life if ya weren’t even going to make up for it?” She bites, her words ramping up as she gets closer. “Yer nowhere as good as ya should be for all the damage ya have caused me.” She steps forward; he can’t move, his body locking, and he curses internally, wanting to run from the woman who still towers over him. “Yer a waste! I wish I’d never had ya because maybe he’d still be here and my life wouldn’t suck!”
She’s too close now; he can smell the booze that wafts off of her like she were an open bottle.
“Ya ruined me.” And with that, a loud, clean slap rings out through the quiet room. He barely registers the pain, the snap of his neck as his vision switches to the table in the dining room. She doesn’t speak, and neither of them moves. He can see her hand stuck in the air, and he wishes that if he were to turn, he’d see regret on her face. He wishes that her body would move, and she would cradle his head against her shoulder and repent and beg for his forgiveness. But she doesn’t; he knows she could never. He watches her arm tumble down, landing beside her, and tears fill his eyes.
He can’t stop them, both coming from the blooming pain in his cheek and the angry burning that accompanies it, but also her words, her presence, her very existence.
He turns, and he’s met with an empty hate. Eyes devoid of love. The woman in front of him isn’t a mom; it’s a stranger.
His hand slowly raises to press against his cheek; it’s sure to bloom with a mark soon, if it hadn’t already.
“Don’t fuckin’ cry. Be a man and stand up and take it.” She waits until he blinks back the tears, waits until he swallows the cries, and once his face clears, she turns and stumbles off towards her room. He doesn’t cry; he finishes making the tea, setting it on the table next to some warmed leftovers before he turns off the TV and heads for his room. He tries to sleep before he can cry, not acknowledging the sounds of her shuffling down the hall for her reward, or the sounds of his brother’s attempt at sneakily coming home late, not that anyone in the house would care. He hears their soft conversation in the hall, the soft I love yous " that are exchanged between mother and son. His cheek burns.
“It kept happening, when ya weren’t around, I became something to mock, or degrade, or hate. I hate her. I’ve never told ya this either, because what kid hates their mom?” His voice cracks, a short sob breaking through. “What normal kid hates their mom? I mean, ya love her; why couldn’t I? Why couldn’t she love me? What is so wrong about me that even from birth I couldn’t be loved?”
He stops, feeling tears trickling and sobs breaking through. He lets them pass, hiding his face in his free hand and pulling the phone away from his mouth, hoping his brother couldn’t hear the river below him.
When he finally puts the phone back to his ear, he’s cleared up a bit. “Sorry. This is meant to be a goodbye, not a pity party. I don’t know if I blame Mom, honestly. The older I get, the more I know she was just broken in a way that I didn’t know, couldn’t know. It was easy for her to take it out on me. I don’t know,” he says softly, hiding his head in his hands. “Maybe after tonight things will get better for ya two. We’ll finally see if she can be happy without me around.”
Another long pause.
“I think that’s why I loved Kita as I did. Kita was nice in a way I’d never experienced before. Ya’d never admit this, but I knew ya were falling in love with Suna in high school, and without ya, I didn’t know where I stood.” He says softly, trying his best to rein in his voice.
“If I said this to yer face I know ya’d argue that all those people who were around us were both of our friends, but I knew better. Ya never saw the way they refused to look at me in the halls, or how they scooted away from me at lunch like even being near me was something disgustin’. The volleyball team was the first time I think I’d ever felt like I had friends. Aran and Suna were my best friends, but they were the best because they were my only friends. No one else put up with me like they did. It took too much work.”
“And I knew.” he nods to himself, “I knew what kind of person I was. I think…” he hesitates. “I think a part of me needs to feel like the hate was justified. Like if I propped myself up so high and placed myself so far above everyone else that the hate would feel less like judgement and more like inferiority. Like they all hated that I succeeded. So I gave them reason to feel like that, I pushed myself until I broke and then I continued pushin’. I clung to volleyball because it was somethin’ I could fly in. Somethin’ I could soar and become so much more than just Atsumu Miya, the fuck up.”
“Kita…Kita showed me kindness, maybe even for the first time in my life. I was shown kindness for the first time in high school. How sad, right? Ya remember that day I got sick? The day I kept pushing, I tried to break another limit in hopes of reaching that elusive goal I called success. But Kita shut it down, and at first, I was mad. I was really fuckin’ mad, Samu, because I needed to win. I needed to be better to make my life matter, and here he was pushin’ me away from my goal like it was simple. But then I found that bento. And, you know, it dawned on me that bento was the kindest thing someone had done for me. No one had ever gone out of their way to care for me, so that had to have been love, right? Someone finally had to have chosen me to love.” He bites his lip. These emotions he’s feeling are long gone; he’d gotten over his crush years ago, but the bite never left.
“Then he got with Aran, and I cried. I cried like a baby, Samu. I told you that day that I was going to the convenience store to buy some snacks, but the truth was I locked myself in the locker rooms and cried, and I think it was then I understood that I was not someone to be loved. I was hard enough to like, worse to love. It would take someone of monumental and overwhelmin' strength to love me, and I didn’t imagine there was someone in the world who could do that, much less want it. So that’s why I stopped. I dated those girls for a couple of weeks, let them see how horrible dating me was, and then I let them go, let them think it was mutual and that we were both happy. I dated them to convince myself that love was just never somethin’ I’d want.”
“I was happy because at the end of the day, Kita was still kind to me, ya were still there, Suna was still his stupid self, and Aran was as reliable as always. My life was fine; maybe I’d die alone, but I’d always have ya, right?”
“Then ya told me. That…That was the worst day of my life.” A shaking breath escapes him, something deep that he’d been harboring for years. “I was losing ya. I-I don’t know. I don’t know, Samu. I know it’s stupid to think that siblings are meant to stay together forever; it’s not normal to think, but I’m not normal, and I genuinely believed we could’ve stuck it out together because ya were the only one who understood me. No one else stuck around for me. Yet, the one person I was guaranteed was leaving. I’m selfish, and horrible, and disgusting, and I wished that-” He stops, letting his head hang as guilt rips through him all over again. “I wished that ya would see what ya’d done and how ya’d messed up. I wanted ya to come back to me and realize ya’d made a mistake. But then ya were so happy, ya opened that store, and suddenly ya were so much more than ya ever were when I was around, and- I knew then that ya never needed me like I needed you. Ya didn’t need volleyball. I was never a necessity in the way that ya were to me. So I shoved it down, and smiled, and congratulated ya, and you glowed.”
“How horrible is that?” he bites his lips hard, holding back another choking sob. “How horrible am I? That I wished ya would crawl back, just looking to need me? I wanted ya to need me.”
“I’m happy that ya didn’t. That yer business is as successful as it is and that ya and Suna got together,” he says softly. “I knew ya two were bound to get together since high school. There’s just something about the two of you that completes one another. That’s why I think…I think ya’ll survive this. Yer so much more than I ever was, Samu. Yer so much stronger than me, and better than me, and just ya. Mom saw it; she knew it from the day ya were born; ya were destined to be loved. Ya found yer place with such ease, and I’m jealous, god I’m so jealous. If I had a fraction of that, maybe I wouldn’t be here. Maybe I’d be at home, sitting on the couch and just, I don’t know, sitting with someone. Anyone. Maybe they’d actually love me. I’d be chosen for once.”
“I knew then too, ya know, that Mei was never going to love me. She… Well, I knew once she put her hands on me. I know. I know what ya would say if I ever told ya, ya hated her enough, hated the way she acted and talked, and yer just a better judge of character than I ever was. Ya were right; she was using me, but ya were wrong in thinking that I didn’t know. I did. I knew better than anyone. I just didn’t care about the bruises, or the drinking, or the cheating; I just cared that she’d come back and would hug me, and say she was sorry.”
“It got really bad one night; she’d busted my lip pretty bad, and it’s so pathetic, but I grabbed her hand and begged her to stay. I begged her to turn around and just hug me. She did. She hugged me and I- I don’t know. I don’t know Samu. It felt good, like she was sayin’ sorry, like she was askin’ for forgiveness. Ya found out about something. Maybe it was the hittin’ or the cheatin’. I don’t know if it was Suna who told ya about the constant wounds when we played, or maybe Shoyo and Bo finally said something despite my beggin’. I’ve never heard ya that mad. Not ever.”
“It scared me shitless. I mean, I’ve hidden plenty from ya in the years that we’ve grown up together, but there was nothing more that I wanted to hide from ya than Mei. I wanted ya to be wrong for once in your life, to think I was actually in a good place and happy with someone who loved me and wanted me and would maybe even treat me well. But ya’d found out, and that was the worst because that meant admitting to what she was doin’, to taking a step back and knowing what I was permittin’. Ya didn’t have to yell at me; I cried enough knowin’ what I was doing to myself. But ya yelled anyway, ya yelled because I was so thick and stupid and couldn’t possibly discern what was good and bad for me. But I did what I always do. I let my mouth do all the fighting for me.”
“Ya just don’t get it Samu! Ya don’t know her, and I’m tired of ya acting like yer my fucking savior. I know what I’m doing, I’m not some drool dribbling baby ya have to call every day. I can take care of myself. I’m not some fuckin’ idiot.”
“Really, Atsumu? Really? This is what ya want to argue about? Fine, let’s actually get into it. I don’t think ya’ve ever actually taken care of yerself. Mei is only the surface. Ya don’t think I’ve noticed yer ignoring mom? Ya’ve not bothered to show up for her birthday or Christmas, making those lame ass excuses for why ya couldn't show up. Don’t act like yer this perfect display of excellence; something is going on, and if it’s not Mei, then what in the hell could be making you act like yer suddenly so much better than yer family?
“I never said I was better than ya guys?? Why the fuck would ya think that??”
Samu scoffs; it's a sound that immediately embeds itself under Atsumu’s skin and makes his face redden with anger. “Are ya thick or are ya ignoring what I just told ya? Ya know Mom at least has the courtesy of making an excuse that’s actually plausible for her friends, ya barely even do that. Don’t even get me started on our calls these past few months, or lack thereof, ever since you’ve been with that bitch, and I swear there is absolutely no way yer so thick as to let her use ya; ya’ve been a completely different person. I’ve heard enough from around the block to know that she’s a pathetic waste of space and ya’d be way better without her.”
“First of all, who are ya to call my girlfriend a bitch? Ya need to back off because this is in no way your business, Osamu. Second, Mom- well, Mom understands. She’s told me it’s completely fine that I can’t show up. It's just time that you accept that my career requires my full attention.”
“Right, so suddenly we’re chopped liver? Who cares who supported ya on the way up, now that yer there ya shouldn’t dare spend a moment with the peasantry."
“Shut the fuck up, Osamu, ya have no idea what yer talking about. I don’t care for either of ya any less; if anythin’, it’s ya who's been icin’ me out. I don’t receive calls from ya, don’t get any texts back, ya complain about me not talking to ya guys, but ya sure get to talk to Suna a lot.”
“Yer such an asshole, you know? I have a business to run, my hours run so much longer than yers. I don’t just get to wake up and play volleyball all day, ya know? My life isn’t one big fucking game.” Atsumu clenches his jaw.
“My life is not some fucking game I’m playing.”
“Really, because clearly that’s all you do. Maybe if ya thought for two seconds ya’d understand why I can’t just drop everything to be at yer beck and call. We’re not fucking children anymore, Atsumu, but somehow ya act like we’re not a day over 16. It’s pathetic.”
Ouch, Atsumu still remembers how much that one had stung. He still hears it echo in his head occasionally, a distant reminder of who he was.
“The only pathetic thing here is ya. I can’t believe yer this worked up over me not visiting mom, and now yer nosing yer way into my relationship. Give me a break; if anyone here is acting juvenile, it’s ya. Still can’t handle that I’m finally living on my own, can ya? Can't stand to see that I’m finally free from being a Miya twin?”
He hadn’t meant to say that, but the words had slipped out in an effort to make Osamu hurt as much as Atsumu did.
There's silence for a few beats too long. “Well, I’m not the one stuck with a girlfriend who doesn’t fuckin’ love them. Maybe find someone who can actually love ya before ya start talking about being juvenile. We both know ya don’t fucking love her, and the more ya let people use ya, the more hopeless ya’ll be, so just fucking get a grip and do something about yer life before ya get to a point where no one will want ya anymore, and find someone else to clean up after yer shit, cause I’m done.”
The air in his lungs evaporates. He feels like a fish gasping for air as the other end goes silent. Tears prick at the edge of Atsumu’s eyes as his face contorts into something grotesque.
“I hate ya, Samu. I hate ya, and I never want to talk to ya again. Good fucking luck, ya’ll need it.” He hung up and blocked him. Then he cried. He cried harder than he’d ever cried in his life. Full-body convulsing sobs that rang out from his very soul, crushing him like a million tons of weight. He’d crumpled to the floor like a rag doll and fallen asleep there, unable to bring himself to stand, to bear the weight any longer. It was that same day that he’d started seriously considering his plan. He couldn’t manage any of this anymore, couldn’t bear the weight of the words he knew were true.
He called out sick that week, much to the confusion of his team. He told them he had caught a bad cold, couldn’t walk, barely could talk, and needed rest. He ignored his teammates' efforts to support him, telling them instead that his girlfriend would help him. She never showed up, too busy with her own life and free time to give a shit about the unraveling mess who lay wallowing in his bed. He never even got the chance to break it off; she’d sent him three words and blocked him later that week. It was a crushing defeat, one he’d not dare utter to anyone.
When he saw Suna at their next meeting, the normally kind expression was replaced with deep and utter contempt. Atsumu deserved it, so he swallowed it and let the expression dig further into his heart until he’d collapsed into the locker room shower and covered his hand with his mouth as he sobbed yet again. The sobs were quiet but so incredibly painful that he’d had to stop talking to prevent himself from revealing his incredibly sore and hoarse throat. Things never really got better from there. Even if Suna stopped actively glaring at him, he could see it in the way he acted; Atsumu was no longer someone he liked.
For the first time in his life, Atsumu was left with the perfect time to finally do something he’d only ever dreamt of.
He picked the place, a beautiful bridge on the quiet side of town, one dark and alone. The river below was beautiful at night and was a great place to look at the moon. No one ever really drove by there either, so he knew it was perfect. Something about that ending date, a conclusive date that he could build up to, was both exhilarating and incredibly frightening, but he focused instead on making a name for himself before he left. He wanted to dedicate himself as vividly to the only thing he had left to love before he went.
So he played volleyball like he’d never before. He destroyed every game he went into, and received compliment after compliment about his playing. He pushed himself in practice and reveled in the growth it showed. In his free time, he’d binged every show he’d put off watching, and somehow, he ended up having some of the best months of his life.
He went out shopping for clothes he’d never bought before but figured, why the hell not? He said yes to every team hang out, no matter how few people were going. He vied for any chance to hang out with the only people he had left in the world, and he got closer to the one man he’d been stuck admiring from afar for so many years. He’d gotten close enough with the man that he’d even had the pleasure of becoming a frequent guest at his home.
“I don’t blame ya for our fight. I was just so angry. Angry that the reflection I saw every day in the mirror was so much worse than the one I wanted. I mean, we were supposed to be identical; for so many years, we were, even when we tried not to be. Yet, I always failed. Failed to measure up, failed to find love, to find success. I failed Samu, I failed at being a son, a lover, a brother, hell, even a person. And I took it out on ya. I was a coward who couldn’t own up to the life I’d lived, and you know, maybe that’s for the best. I wish every day my last words to ya hadn’t been so…defensively horrible. I wish I had told ya how much I love ya. I wish I told ya that not a single onigiri has measured up to yers, or that I actually really fucking missed ya and yer stupid hugs and the horrible head smacks. I missed watching ya behind the counter, and I admit, I would watch all the ads ya put online just to hear ya again. It’s pathetic. I know ya never want to hear me again. I said something unforgivable. But I hope, one day, ya’ll forgive me. Ya always were better than me.”
“I think that maybe I’d found someone, though. Ya would’ve laughed, I mean, dude, I fucking heard yer dumbass laugh in my head every time I realized how much I liked him, because ya’d called it all those years ago. Ya’d called my stupid fucking crush on fucking Sakusa Kiyoomi. Of all people, of course, it had to be that guy. The only dude who could barely stand to be in the same room as me.” He laughs softly, placing his head in his hands.
He was starting to get cold now; the river attracted a weird and eerie breeze that made his legs shiver. It probably didn’t help that somewhere behind him, he’d tossed his shoes off in his effort to get to the ledge as fast as possible. But now he was talking for so long that the need to go out while still on a buzz had died, and he was sobering up faster with every biting moment.
“I don’t know how ya figured it out because I genuinely thought I hated him. I mean, he was so snobbish in the way kids from Tokyo always are, but there was always something about him; he was shockingly pretty, and the way he plays volleyball is any setter’s dream. So when he showed up on the team, well, I didn’t think things were going to go well, but Samu…it was so much worse than I expected.”
“I love him.” The words are bright, hot against his despair, flaming and bright and burning his numbing skin. “I love his curly hair, and those two moles, and the way he touches me so gently. I mean, is that normal? Is that love? I don’t know. How horrible is that? I’m old, and I couldn’t tell ya what love is. I’m so fucking pathetic; I’m in love with my teammate. And I fell so fast and so hard I barely had time to blink. I mean, how could I not? He watched my stupid shows with me and didn’t complain. He tried to cook food, but oh my gosh, he nearly burned down the kitchen; it was so utterly endearing I couldn’t help but laugh. Of course, though, I ruined that too. I kissed him tonight, right in the middle of the bar. Ya should’ve seen him, the look in his eyes. God, I am the biggest fuck up in history. I should’ve offed myself years ago.”
The music was loud, pumping through Atsumu’s ears and drowning out any thoughts of what was coming for him. Shoyo and Bokuto were well past drunk, with Hinata on Bokuto’s shoulders, Bokuto's shirt was somehow off and wrapped around his forehead like some kind of bandana, and you know, Atsumu can’t remember the last time he’d laughed this hard. Tears cascading down his face in droves as he curls over, trying to keep some kind of rhythm to the music but failing spectacularly. Somewhere off to the side, he can hear Meian and Tomas cackling like a pair of witches, and he fears he’s not much better. The two looked like some kind of messed-up snowman.
Atsumu was so happy, so glad that this was his last night, so happy that he’d managed to pull everyone together for one last night, even Sakusa.
His eyes dart to the man sitting at the table Atsumu had rented; he catches his eyes immediately, and his laughter subsides for a bright, warm smile. He dances a little longer, downing more drinks like he was dying of thirst. Each minute that passes is another that contributes to his rising confidence. He knows what he has to do to leave without any regrets. So with a final hour of dancing, he finally thinks he’s ready.
He stumbles over to the table, thinking quietly of all the objects he’d given off.
It felt like a waste to keep his things; he’d rather have them in the hands of the people he loved more than life itself instead of wasting away in his room. He’d even gone the extra mile and shipped off some things to Aran and Kita. Suna and Osamu would just have to wait for theirs. He felt bad, but their things would soon come in the mail, hopefully long enough away from tonight that they’d only be left with his ghost.
He’d given Shoyo some of his volleyball merchandise, things he’d spent years collecting like an obsessive hobby. He’d tried to give it back, claiming it was too much to take, but relented once Atsumu insisted on it. He gave Bokuto spare clothing of his, ones Bokuto had commented on in the past; it felt right even though he knew Bokuto was larger than he was. He gave the others smaller items, a watch, some books, and blankets. He claimed he was doing a wardrobe makeover, a life redecorating. And that was true in a sense, except the redecorating meant tearing down and making the house disappear.
He left Sakusa his fox plush, something he treasured deeply. He knew Sakusa would probably tuck it away somewhere in the back of his closet; he probably would never look at it again, but he knew Sakusa would take care of it. No matter what, that fox would stay clean and perfect, and that felt right to Atsumu. He knew Sakusa would be the one to protect something so precious to him.
When he finally got to the table, Sakusa was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you planning on trying to get alcohol poisoning?” He asks as Atsumu reaches for another glass of something Hinata had left behind. He didn’t care what it was, only that it eased the fear in his heart. Atsumu smiles as he downs it, setting the glass down hard before he turns back to the floor, watching as the others formed a congo line and screamed a drunken chant. He was sure it had something to do with their team, but he couldn’t quite make out the words.
“Somethin’ like that,” he says softly, a bright smile on his lips. He can feel the tension grow in Sakusa’s shoulders.
“You seem to be having a good night. Did you invite us all out here just so we could carry you home?” Sakusa asks, with a bit of sarcasm in his voice. Atsumu can’t help but laugh, turning to look at the man who made his heart race like a horse. Even in the crazy lighting, Sakusa Kiyoomi always looked beautiful. Atsumu wasn’t sure why he hadn’t noticed it when he was younger. He’d been stupidly prideful and blinded by his need for success. But he’d realized now that there wasn’t much higher to go, and even still nothing had changed, so the only thing left to give out was him. Maybe that was when he noticed, really truly saw the man with onyx hair and eyes to match, the man with the most perfect mole-spotted skin. He finally saw the softness in his actions, the kindness that came with his bite, and the way he went out of his way to care for his found family in the most unappreciated ways.
Atsumu wondered if he’d love loudly or quietly. Would he want to hug like he did when they were alone out in public, or would he be someone who needed the comfort of privacy to express his feelings? Whatever it was, Atsumu was sure it was precious; it had to be precious to be loved by someone as wonderful as Kiyoomi.
“I just needed one night together.” He says finally, stopping his staring and reaching for another glass. Sakusa stops him, instead handing him the drink in his hand. Atsumu has to swallow down the utter delight that courses through his veins as he accepts, sipping the drink slowly. He’s a bit bummed to find it's water, but he refuses to deny the offering.
“The team hangs out all the time, though. What are you talking about?” Sakusa laughs with a bit of disbelief in his voice. Atsumu nods, his lips tugging in a way that feels like a child trying to be secretive.
“I just think I’m going to miss things like this.” He says softly. “With the off-season coming up, I just wanted to make sure I got one last good look at everyone together.” Sakusa pauses before nodding, almost like he was too tired to fight.
Atsumu takes another sip of the cold drink, feeling the tasteless water trickle down his throat.
“Ya remember training camp? How the two of us used to fight all the time?” Atsumu asks softly, and for a second he wonders if he was too quiet before he hears a small laugh.
“Yeah, because you had one of the biggest heads I’d ever seen, and you were an utter prick to boot.” Atsumu smiles. He knew he hadn’t been the best then, but it had been his first time without Osamu, and while it was no excuse, he was grappling with the realization of just how lost he was. If that Atsumu had seen their relationship today, he would’ve broken into a million pieces.
“Ya weren’t much better, ya know. I never really understood the term "stick up the ass” till I met ya Omi, I mean seriously, I thought ya were trying to explode me in yer mind.” Sakusa laughs; it’s a beautiful sound that Atsumu tries to replay over and over in his head.
“Who says I wasn’t?” Atsumu grins, but he can’t bring himself to retort because the warmth in Sakusa’s eyes was all too gorgeous. He felt his hands tighten around the cup in his hands as his eyes flickered for a fraction of a second to his lips. When had he pulled down his mask?
“I am sorry.” He says bluntly, and he watches as a look of confusion flashes on Sakusa’s face. “Just, fer everythin’.” Atsumu says, letting out a shaky breath. He needs to apologize tonight for what’s to come. He needs to say it now because even if he’d overestimated his worth in Sakusa’s eyes, his conscience would never rest easy if there was even a chance he was going to hurt Sakusa without saying sorry. “I was an asshole as a kid-”
“You still are,” Sakusa says with a smirk. Atsumu knows it’s a joke, but it stings even more than he realized.
“Yeah,” he nods. “But um, ya didn’t deserve any of the shit I put ya through. I was confused, and without Osamu, I guess it just hadn’t hit me how much damage control he did on my behalf.” He takes a shaky sip, remembering the horrible guilt that swarmed his every dream. The exhaustion on Osamu’s face even as the words left Atsumu’s mouth as he prepared to apologize yet again. He never deserved Osamu’s benevolence; he wasn't worth any of the trouble that he’d put Osamu through, and that was a regret that he could never settle. “So I’m sorry. I am really glad that I got to meet you again later. High school me would probably flip out if I told him ya and I were friends.” Atsumu smiles brightly, chuckling at his own imagination. High school him would also vomit if he knew the feelings Atsumu harbored towards the tall man.
Sakusa chuckles. “I think I would’ve cursed out the person who told me. It felt so impossible back then.” Atsumu nods. He’s nearing the end of his drink now. “But I’m glad we’re friends too, Atsumu.” He can’t stop choking on his breath at the mention of his name. His voice was beautiful, and Atsumu’s name on his lips was like a drug.
He watches the malicious smile on Sakusa’s face, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, but Atsumu just hopes that his face isn’t as blatantly red as he thinks it may be.
“That means a lot Omi,” He says with a look of utter hopeless admiration.
There’s a pause before Atsumu swallows hard and looks at the drink in his hands. “I just need to say, thank ya for yer kindness. I know it takes a lot to hang out with someone like me, and I know I can be a handful, so I appreciate how much you stick around. I really admire ya, yer an amazing volleyball player, and one of the smartest guys I know. I hope that ya find success in life and keep inspiring people in a way I never could, Omi. Also, look after Bokuto and Shoyo when I’m not around. I get worried about them, you know, they really look up to ya as well, and I think that ya guys could really help one another.”
There’s an awkward pause. “Why are you talking like you’re dying?” Atsumu lets out a hollow breath as he blinks quickly, hoping to push back the tears in his eyes.
He tries for a laugh, but is unsure of how it actually sounds. “I just, I dunno, maybe it’s the alcohol making me emotional or whatever,” he says flatly, trying his best to pull away from the sudden pain in his heart. He really was going to miss them. All of them. He was gonna miss Shoyo’s stupid laughter, and Bokuto’s giant bear hugs, he was going to miss the quiet talks he shared with Meian, and the singing with Tomas on the bus when they were travelling, he was going to miss seeing Aran and Kita and he never did get to visit their farm, he’s going to miss Suna’s stupid banter, and he’s going to miss Osamu. His lip wobbles violently as the tears reappear. When did he have so much to miss?
“Atsumu?” Sakusa moves forward, gently grabbing Atsumu’s arms, his hands soft against Atsumu’s skin. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t keep having this conversation. Every word with this man was breaking his resolve, a resolve that had been built over months. He refused to let one night get the better of him. He needed to say his piece and leave; he couldn’t let himself attach himself any more.
“I love ya,” he says finally. He looks up and finds Sakusa, whose eyes seem to search Atsumu’s. His expression is blank, and Atsumu cannot tell if that’s a good or bad thing. He’s not sure he wants to know. He looks down at his lips and waits, waits for Sakusa to pull back, waits for him to push away Atsumu and yell about how disgusting he is. When none of those things happen, he leans in slowly, waiting for the pull away, waiting for anything. But it doesn’t come; instead, their lips meet.
It’s soft and careful. Cautious in a way that Atsumu thought all first kisses should be. It was unlike any first kiss he’d ever had, and this one felt so right. He doesn’t realize he’s deepening the kiss until he feels the hands release his arms and press against his chest. The push is finally coming.
He spares one glance at Sakusa, and it’s not a smile. His eyes are wide and shocked, no warmth in his expression. Atsumu knew this was coming and had been bracing himself for this very look all night. But God, did it hurt. He felt each second tighten the hand around his heart until it was crushed and bleeding.
“I’m sorry, Sakusa.” He steps back, running a hand through his hair as he chugs one of the cups on the table. He doesn’t care for the taste, doesn’t care to glance at the still frozen Sakusa. He doesn’t bother doing anything besides grabbing his phone from the table and walking onto the dance floor. His goodbyes are quick from there, a hug here, a high five there. The cold night air makes him shiver as he steps outside. He barely remembers calling for a cab, barely remembers giving him the address of the closest convenience store near the bridge. He remembers the drifting of the buildings outside the window as he thought back to his home.
It was clean. Everything was packaged into boxes with names labeling each person they were designated to. He didn’t need his family to go through any troubles because of his decision, so he’d spent the week before tonight preparing. There was a thick stack of envelopes on his kitchen table, each addressed to someone, one for each of the team members, Coach Foster, Sakusa got two, Suna, Kita, Oikawa, and Iwazumi, Akkashi, even people from high school, people he had vague memories of. He left one for Osamu, though that was the largest, filled with all of Atsumu’s favorite images he’d printed out with a snotty nose and eyes red and thick with tears. It also held a copy of his will, letting Osamu know that his savings all went to him and Suna in hopes of finally getting them to settle down. He even left one for his mother.
It was an apology, a sorry for the damage he’d left her with. He wondered if she’d be happy with his choice tonight, or if she’d be angry at him for wasting all the effort she put into him, or maybe she’d think nothing of it, just a problem solving itself.
He tipped the man in the cab with almost everything left in his wallet, ducked into the convenience store for a couple more drinks and some of his favorite snacks. Then he walked. He stumbled into the night until he found the edge of the bridge. His shoes were off as fast as he could; he let this tumble on the sidewalk behind him. He didn’t care to put them together all neat because that was never him. He was never put together, so it felt fitting that they were the final reminders of his mess of a life.
Then he opened his phone, opened his brother’s contact, which had been unblocked for two months now, and he dialed. Of course it didn’t get picked up; he didn’t need to know why, and he spoke.
“Ya’ll probably call me a coward for this. I know I am. But I also think I fought, I fought hard to make it this long and far, and I think 26 years is enough time to finally decide that enough is enough, and I am not a necessary part of this world. So I’m sorry, I’m taking the easy way out, but I think I’m happy with this. I think this is something I finally won’t regret.”
“Now, give me a second because I need to read a couple of things. I know ya probably already cut me out of yer wedding, but damn it yer older brother is a sensitive drunk and, I know yer friends ain’t nearly as funny as I am.”
He clears his throat, trying his best to sound as happy as he would’ve been on the day his brother finally got married. He pictures it now, standing on a stage in his tux, microphone in hand, as his brother rolls his eyes at his cheesy intro music he’d pay the DJ to play. He imagines all the people celebrating his brother, Kita, and Aran, their volleyball teammates from high school, Komori, and maybe even Sakusa. He allows himself the guilty pleasure of imagining that Sakusa had shown up not as Komori’s plus one, but his own. He imagines the soft smile that rises onto Sakusa’s lips as he waits for something stupid to fly out of Atsumu’s lips.
“Hey everyone! I know it’s probably been a long time since any of ya’ve heard my voice, especially considering the two idiots we’re celebrating tonight have no sense of urgency, so buckle in because I’m going to give ya a speech ya won’t forget.”
“I knew that Suna was the one for my brother the day I saw the videos he took of us fighting. If I had any on my phone right now, I’d make sure to cite my sources, but Suna has probably long since deleted any evidence. Or at least, that’s what he’ll tell ya. It was a sunny July day, and Samu and I were fighting over the last popsicle. I knew I’d lost the minute Mom stepped out, so I tried to console myself by stealing Suna’s phone and showing off my clear fighting superiority.”
“Except, the only thing that Suna had caught wasn’t my super catastrophic punches or my dazzling face; no, it was Osamu. He was sweating and disgusting, and yet Suna’s video centered around him. That was when I noticed the way he’d look at him, with those sickly sweet eyes and how he’d always leave the last onigiri for Samu.”
“It only got grosser the older they got, and I couldn’t have been happier. Suna was practically all my brother talked about, and while it was definitely annoying, the smile it left radiating on my brother’s face was something I wouldn’t trade for the world.”
“I don’t believe in soulmates. I think that it’s stupid and always leaves ya wondering if ya’ve made the right choice, but despite my disbelief, I know Suna and my brother are soulmates. People with that much kindness and tolerance for me deserve one another. Plus, it helps that two of my favorite people on earth get to make each other happier every day. I’m remiss that I’ll never get to watch Samu get a dad bod or see the horrible monster the two are going to adopt, but I am happy knowing that they’ll be together. I am happy that I got to see their love blossom and that I know without a shadow of a doubt in my heart that Osamu is going to be marrying someone worthy of continuing the Miya name. I hope he takes-” he stops himself. “I hope Suna knows how much it will mean to me that the Miya family becomes a family of three again, so please treat my brother with the love he deserves. I love both of ya, I love both of ya more than ya two could ever know. If I could wish happiness on anyone, it would be ya two, ya fight for everything ya get, and ya deserve every good thing that comes your way. I’m sure that by now, ya’ve expanded Onigiri Miya, and if I don’t have an onigiri named after me yet, I’m going to find a way to sue, mark my words.” He pauses.
“I love ya both so much, I hope ya two never stop making each other smile. One day ya’ll have to show me yer rings because unfortunately I know they’ll be the prettiest rings I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait for that day. I love ya both, have a good night everyone, enjoy the celebrations and make sure it’s a night my brother can never forget.”
He lets things go quiet for a moment as he pushes back more crying. He hadn’t expected to sob as hard as he did, but he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t believe he was going to miss that. It takes a couple of seconds before he manages to pull himself together.
“I love ya, Samu, and I think if I talk anymore I’m going to regret it, so I just need ya to know I love ya. I wish things could’ve been different; maybe if I’d not been such an asshole, we wouldn’t be in this situation, but I can’t think of a way to get better, so I need ya to know I love ya. I can be happy with myself if ya can just do that one thing. Even if ya don’t forgive me, even if we never see each other again, as long as ya remember how much ya mean to me, I can live with everything else.”
“Goodbye, Samu. Please be happy now that I’m gone.”
The soft beeping of the call ending is immediately swallowed by silence. Atsumu stares at his phone for a moment before shutting it off and tossing it behind him, letting the metal and glass crack as they tumble somewhere with his shoes.
He lets the tears fall freely now as he turns and grabs the drinks he’d prepared. He cracks one open and sips, staring up at the beautiful moon, tall and bright, letting tears trickle down his face.