Chapter Text
Miya Atsumu’s been asking… weird.
Maybe that’s the wrong word to use, but it’s the best Kiyoomi can come up with to describe how his boyfriend’s been behaving recently.
It started out with how much he was interacting with others, how much he was seemingly struggling to answer a text or even come to practice on time.
At first Kiyoomi even thought he might have been depressed, the blonde was showing so many symptoms of it.
He has some experience himself back in university, when he was suddenly alone and surrounded by strangers he knew nothing about.
Atsumu was exhausted, to say the least. He perpetually had eyebags darkening the hollows of his face and his shoulders remained permanently slumped, like he was carrying the weight of the world against them and struggling to stay standing.
Kiyoomi’s usual texts good morning and night went unanswered, or at best reacted to with some basic emoji.
Worst of all, he hardly had any energy or passion while at work. Atsumu loves volleyball, lives and breathes for it like any other person does for oxygen. It was alarming to see him behave like some pre-programmed robot, like a shell pretending to be the man he calls his lover.
Kiyoomi was getting ready to say something, step in somehow in a way he was afraid to do sooner.
Their relationship is so new, he was afraid to do something wrong, to push the man too far and lead to them falling apart.
But, right when he made the decision to confront him about it, or bring his twin into the fold and see if he could bring some life into the blonde, it stopped.
And not in a way that’s faked, Kiyoomi’s been watching Atsumu long enough to know when he’s faking something and when it’s genuine emotion. It was real, like a flip had been switched and suddenly Atsumu had life in him again, passion and drive and determination where there was nothing a mere twenty-four hours ago.
Kiyoomi tried bringing it up, asking what exactly happened, but Atsumu just waved it off. Said he was emotional about something but it’s nothing to worry about anymore, that he found a professional who’s helping him and that he’s got virtual appointments with them pretty often.
While a little upset that his boyfriend didn’t feel like he could confide in him during such a hard time for himself, Kiyoomi was just relieved that Atsumu was speaking with someone who could help him through whatever he’s dealing with. Something Kiyoomi desperately needed years ago when he was going through the worst of his depression.
Sure it was strange that the blonde was seemingly over it so quickly, but Kiyoomi isn’t exactly the best judge of the emotions of other people or how they operate. He’s always been a bit strange himself in the emotional department and just accepts that Atsumu must be too.
If that had been it, Kiyoomi wouldn’t have spent anymore time thinking on it, but his brief depressive episode only evolved from there.
The first real sign that something’s wrong happens at practice, the team fresh into the day and expected to be back on the court after a short break.
“Atsumu, pay attention!”
Or at least that’s how it should have been, except Atsumu’s been spacey the entire day.
“Atsumu, the ball!” Inunaki shouts, sprinting to try and catch it before it falls.
“Tsum Tsum, you’re serve time!” Bokuto yells, watching the eight seconds quickly fall to zero as Atsumu just stands there, staring blankly at the ball in his hands.
It goes like this until break, when Coach Foster pulls Atsumu aside and demands to speak with him.
Kiyoomi sits on a bench and watches from the sidelines, a towel wrapped around his neck as he sips at his water bottle. The blonde and coach have a short back and forth before the elder shoos Atsumu back to the others.
Whatever he says must be good enough to get a pass to keep playing, usually behavior like that would be met with a demand to take sick leave and to not return until the player’s got their head on straight.
“Miya?” He questions when Atsumu gets closer to him, a hand reaching out and brushing against the back of his tanned palm.
Atsumu just stands there, eyes looking at something far away that Kiyoomi can’t see.
“Miya?” He tries again, watching closely at the blonde visibly startles and turns his head to beam at Kiyoomi.
“Sorry, were ya sayin’ somethin’ Omi? I got a bit zoned out there fer a second.” He awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck, laughing like there was nothing wrong with him at all.
“It’s nothing. Here,” Kiyoomi grabs Atsumu’s usual water bottle and holds it out, waiting expectantly for the blonde to take it from him.
“Hmm?” He blinks, like he’s confused at what’s being presented to him. “Nah, I’m gonna get a sealed one from the back. Don’t know what could be in the water here, ya know?”
Well that just killed Kiyoomi’s thirst. He sets his own bottle aside and looks back towards Atsumu. “Grab me one too.”
“Sure thing, Omi!”
The zoning out, much like the depressive episode, only lasted a few days. Quickly being replaced by another behavior, one stranger than the last.
Atsumu, no matter how often he was invited, refused to go out after dark.
Always, without fail, the blonde would claim he had something to do, or that he was waiting for something to come to him and had to be home or he’d miss it.
Or, more recently, that he needed to speak with the professional who’s been helping him.
“Atsumu-san, please come with, you haven’t been going out with us in weeks!” Hinata cries, the four of the monster generation gathered around the gym doors and the redhead tried to convince the blonde to come out for drinks with him and Bokuto.
“No can do, it’s gettin’ pretty late as it is, I wanna be home.”
“Late? The sun’s barely started setting. Tsum Tsum, we just miss you and I swear it will be fun. I’ll even buy your drinks.” Bokuto whines in response.
The sun was setting, and as it is, it’s later than Kiyoomi’s seen Atsumu be out in the past few days.
The blonde glances at the sun anxiously, denying the duo one final time before latching onto Kiyoomi’s sleeve and practically dragging the taller man back to his apartment.
While Atsumu had been strange about what time to be home by recently, he’s also insisted that Kiyoomi stay with him most evenings, the taller only leaving once it was getting late and both wanted to head to bed.
Or, to be better said, Kiyoomi lets himself out because come ten o’clock, Atsumu glues himself in front of his tv and obsessively watching an old rerun of a show that’s constantly airing on his smart tv’s cable extension.
Channel one-hundred and ninety-three. Some stupid sitcom that wasn’t good enough to be on any major platform starts airing one of it’s few episodes and for whatever reason his boyfriend is practically obsessed with it, demanding that he absolutely could not miss it when it airs.
He never kicks Kiyoomi out, but by ten he’s usually gone or leaving, saying goodbye to a distracted Atsumu as he sits mere feet away from the screen, golden eyes never looking away.
Maybe he should have recognized something was really wrong then, and tried to do more to help.
His behaviors only get more erratic after he starts watching the program obsessively. Kiyoomi watches him dump out his water when he thinks no one is watching, muttering to himself frantically about something being in it.
Which is strange, but Kiyoomi’s done the same when he feels the water bottle might not have been cleaned enough and bacteria is contaminating it, so he figures it’s a recent health concern that he’s picked up.
Then he stops showering at the gym, claiming that there was something wrong with the water that was irritating his skin and prefers the filtered one at his apartment.
Kiyoomi watches the frantic arm movements as Atsumu explains as a pit starts to form in his stomach. He’s quick to pull him aside after his rant starts building up to some higher level that feels close to bursting into something cataclysmic.
His hand wraps around the blonde’s arm, Kiyoomi yanking him out of the locker room where the rest of the team was watching his rant with varying levels of worry and confusion.
“Atsumu,” He says once the doors close behind them and they’re in the empty hallways. “What’s happening, why are you freaking out about the water now when you’ve been fine with it until now?”
The blonde lets out a bark of laughter, eyes flicking over Kiyoomi’s shoulder before boring into his own dark pair.
“Omi, shit, don’t freak out at what I’m about ta tell ya but I’m kinda losin’ my shit.”
“Um, okay?”
“The water in the gym, it’s got a slow actin’ poison in it.”
“...What?”
He must take Kiyoomi’s disbelief the wrong way because he barrels on. “Yeah, they’ve been tryin’ ta get me, puttin’ shit in my water here and gettin’ inta the filters. They got somethin’ in there, it’s makin’ me sick every time I drink it or shower here.”
What the fuck?
“Atsumu–” Kiyoomi’s heart drops as the blond interrupts him.
“I found somethin’, it’s somethin’ they didn’t want me ta find and now they’re tryin’ ta get me. But it hasn’t gotten any farther than the water. I’m waitin’ fer the message that tells me when they step up ta their next move.”
Kiyoomi feels sick, hands trembling at the look in Atsumu’s eyes, how completely he believes every word he’s saying.
“That doesn’t make any sense, no one else is getting sick from the water. Atsumu, what’s going on?”
“That doesn’t matter, they got my DNA and made the poison so that it specifically will hurt me. I know they did, my comb was missin’ fer a few days and when I found it again a strand of hair was missin’ from the bristles. They got it and are usin’ it ta find ways ta hurt me.”
“That’s insane, Atsumu, that sounds crazy.”
“I know, I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth! Omi, please believe me, I’ve been dealin’ with this on my own fer so long and I really need yer help.” The blonde’s panting by the time he’s done with his rant, shoulders shaking with exertion.
Kiyoomi just nods, the weight in his stomach only growing larger with every word. Fuck, what is he supposed to do in this situation?
“Okay, okay fine. If they are poisoning the water, then how did you find out?”
“The messages, Omi. The one’s I’ve been watchin’ every night. Fuck, yer there fer some of ‘em!”
“The what?”
“Fuck Omi! The messages, they play fer me every night, they tell me when they’re makin’ a move against me, when I need ta stop drinkin’ water or stop showerin’ here or stop goin’ out at night!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Atsumu listen to me, I think you might need help–”
“How could ya not know what I’m talkin’ about, ten at night, every night? Don’t look at me like I’m the insane one here!”
Ten o’clock.
Kiyoomi realizes with dawning horror that the messages, the thing Atsumu’s been getting each night that’s supposedly been feeding his boyfriend messages is that same fucking tv program that plays reruns each night.
Nausea violently punches against Kiyoomi’s stomach, hands coming and wrapping around himself and he tries to breathe through it.
Fuck, Atusmi needs help. He needs help that Kiyoomi can’t give him.
“Fine, fine you’re not insane, I promise. What about the professional you’ve been speaking with, do they have anything to say about all this?”
God he hopes that Atsumu’s therapist is able to talk him out of this, Kiyoomi really does not know what to do in this situation.
“What are ya talkin’ about, Omi? That is the professional I’ve been talkin’ with. They’re the ones warnin’ me.”
A full shudder runs across Kiyoomi at his words, at the realization that this has been going on for weeks now, that Atsumu’s been deluded into thinking that some mysterious entity is out to end him for all this time and he didn’t even notice how bad his boyfriend had gotten.
“Atsumu, please listen to me. I think you’re sick, I’m not sure what with, but if you come with me we can go to the hospital and find out.”
Kiyoomi reaches out his hand, terrified that touching him without permission could set something off, causing him to run away from him.
In the end, that didn’t matter.
“They got ta ya too, huh?” Atsumu whimpers, the look of betrayal in his eyes stabbing Kiyoomi through his aching heart.
“Atsumu…”
“No, they got ya too! They got ya and now yer gonna let them take me!”
Atsumu’s hands come up, and for one fleeting moment Kiyoomi hopes, prays that it means that he’ll take his hand despite the venomous words he was just spitting at him.
Instead he’s shoved back first onto the ground, and by the time Kiyoomi sits up, the front doors are already swinging shut.
“Fuck, fuck!” He cries, hastily scrambling up and tripping his way to the door Atsumu just left mere moments ago.
Outside is chaos, the evening rush in full swing. Kiyoomi whips his head back and forth, desperately searching for any sight of blonde hair or tanned skin, but finds nothing.
His chest heaves as the first tears slip down his face, sobs tearing out from this throat as he searches in vain for any hint of where his boyfriend might have gone, long legs carrying him through the streets of Osaka as his frantic shouts of Atsumu’s name echo through the ocean of people crowding around him.
—
Kiyoomi doesn’t give up until night’s long since fallen, the bright lights of a city still awake blinding him as he ends his futile search.
By the time nights completely falls on the city, Kiyoomi’s running back to the gym to grab his forgotten phone, desperate to get in touch with someone who could potentially know where Atsumu is.
Hopefully this was just some minor episode or something. Hopefully he went to someone he knows, someone like his brother.
The building is long since empty when Kiyoomi crashes through the front doors, feet carrying him to the locker room without any conscious thought on his part other than to hurry, hurry, hurry. His phone is lying right where he left it, on the bench connected to his assigned locker.
When he opens it he sees a few messages from the team’s chat but notices with a sinking stomach that there’s nothing from Atsumu.
Kiyoomi shakes his head, opening his phone and quickly scrolling to where he has Osamu’s contact information saved.
It only rings twice before the line beeps and he hears a familiar Kansai dialect being spoken through the phone.
“Hey, Sakusa-san. What can I do fer ya?”
“Osamu-san, have you heard from Atsumu?” Kiyoomi pants through the phone, fighting to regain the air he used up on his sprint here.
“Um, no. Are ya okay, ya sound like ya just ran a marathon.” He awkwardly laughs.
“Oh god, oh god. Fuck!”
“Yer worryin’ me, Sakusa-san. What’s happenin’?”
“Atusmu, fuck he’s sick or–or something like it. Like delusion and running around Osaka in just his practice clothes.”
“Is that all, are ya sure he didn’t just get drunk or somethin’?”
“No! No he was sober, but he was saying all this insane shit, talking about how someone’s after him and plotting to poison his water.” A sob rips free from this throat. “He was saying that he’s been getting messages for some fucking TV program every night that’s telling him all this and he ran away after telling me and I don’t know what to do or where to find him.”
Silence.
Not the kind that fills with disbelief for your words, but the stunned kind. The kind that knows something’s horribly wrong.
“Okay. Okay I believe ya. Yer not the kind of person ta make this kind of fucked up shit up. Did ya try callin’ him?”
“I just got to my phone for the first time since he left, I’ve been running around trying to find him and left my phone in the gym.”
“I’ll try, let me put ya on hold.” Kiyoomi hears the sound of an engine starting faintly in the background before there’s a short beep and the emptiness of a held call.
Suddenly, blaring against the cold metal of a nearby bench, a phone starts ringing.
Kiyoomi jumps up and runs over to it, heart sinking when he recognizes the photo of him and his boyfriend as Atsumu’s lockscreen.
He left his phone here.
Kiyoomi forcefully ends the held call and shouts at Osamu, “His phone’s here, fuck it’s here!”
“Motherfucker! Shit, shit, shit. Kiyoomi meet me at his place, please fuck, please gods don’t let anything have happened ta him.”
Kiyoomi silently begs the same, pleading for any god that’s listening to ensure that Atsumu’s safe and in his right mind, that he’s back home and waiting for Kiyoomi to find him.
He walked to the gym this morning and Atsumu lives the farthest out of the team by foot, so by the time he’s able to run to Atsumu’s apartment, Osamu’s already speeding into the parking lot, making incredible time from Hyogo.
The twin hardly stops to park his car before they’re both tearing up the stairs, taking them two at a time the entire run up to his floor.
They’re both out of breath by the time they make it to the door, Osamu already grabbing his key and forcing the door open.
Osamu swings the door forward, slamming it against the wall with an oppressive bang and he trips over himself trying to get into the apartment.
The scent of rotting food hits Kiyoomi like a wall, the man covering his nose and trying to not gag against the horrible scent.
It smelled like someone hadn't been here in months, not like Atsumu just forgot something and left it out overnight.
Fuck, how bad had it gotten without Kiyoomi being able to tell, that a man like Atsumu who was so strict about his apartment’s cleanliness had it like this?
“Tsumu! Tsumu!”
He barrels through all of the rooms, trembling when he runs back to the front room where Kiyoomi still stands hunched over and desperately trying to breathe.
The dark haired twin collapses, knees banging onto the wood with a harsh thunk as he starts tearing up.
“Please,” He begs, “Please I can’t do it. I can’t see if there’s a note somewhere.”
Kiyoomi’s heart stops at his words, knowing that Osamu’s already feared the worst and expects his brother to have gone somewhere to end his own life.
Kiyoomi wishes he had reassurances to give him, that he could tell him that there’s no way Atsumu would ever consider killing himself.
But if the past few hours has taught Kiyoomi anything, it’s that he really, truly, does not understand where Atsumu’s head’s at.
In the end there’s no note.
—
After the first twenty-four hours they put in a missing person’s report.
After fourty-eight, they fear he might have left the city completely.
And after seventy-two they get a hit from one of the fans that Atsumu’s been seen going into a motel room three days ago and not being seen coming out since.
—
The motel is a decrepit thing, the kind that takes cash payments and doesn’t ask questions of the kinds of guests they have staying there.
It really is the best kind of place that Atsumu could have chosen to hide out if he really thinks that someone is trying to get to him.
The front desk had no problem giving up Atsumu’s room information once she saw the identical man standing in front of her, demanding to know which room his twin is hiding out in.
It also helps that Atsumu was apparently a day behind on his payment, thank god they got here before they found a way to kick him onto the streets.
Atsumu’s on the fifth floor, a cold room in the cheapest part of the building due to how outdated the furnishing and plumbing was, not to mention the cracks and leaks that drip down from the roof just a ceiling away from it.
The door opens with a creak, old wood hardly holding onto the rusted hinges.
The room is dark, the only light being the faint moonbeams that shine through the window, the curtains left open.
It’s empty upon first glance, and Kiyoomi only has a moment to freak out before his eyes fall on Atsumu’s crumpled form, lying prone on the ground.
“Oh gods, oh my gods.” Osamu cries, sprinting over to his brother and frantically grabbing his arm to check his pulse.
Kiyoomi wastes no time, whipping out his phone and dialing emergency services.
“Hello, what’s your emergency?"
“Yes, my boyfriend, he’s been missing for three days and we just found him. He’s unconscious on the ground in a motel.”
“Okay, did you check his pulse?”
“Yes, umm, yes it’s good.” He looks over to Osmau who nods in confirmation, tears streaming down his face.
“Okay, we’re sending someone to your location now, please just keep an eye on his vitals and update the paramedics when they arrive.”
“Thank you.”
Movement on the ground catches Kiyoomi’s attention and he's quick to toss his phone to the side, tripping as he collapses on the ground next to Atsumu who’s slowly blinking his eyes open.
“Tsumu! Fuck, are ya okay?”
Kiyoomi holds his breath, praying silently that whatever had been going on is over now, that Atsumu’s going to finally be lucid and okay.
“What’s happenin’? Why are ya here, how did ya find me?” Atsumu whispers, eyes growing wider as he takes in the two people there with him.
“We’ve been lookin’ fer days, fuck don’t run off like that.” Osamu replies.
“No. No, no, no, no, Samu ya can’t be there, they’re gonna come after ya if yer here with me!”
His faint hopes are immediately tossed out the window at the blonde’s words.
“What are ya talkin’ about, no one’s after ya, look we’re gonna get ya home, okay? Sakusa-san and I are gonna get ya help.”
“No! No, you don’t get it, they’re going to kill me! They’re gonna kill me if they find me!”
“Who? Who could possibly wanna kill ya Tsumu?” Osmau yells, hands coming up and clinging to his brother’s shoulders.
Atsumu fights against the hold, trying his best to free himself. Kiyoomi subtly positions himself in front of the door to make sure he isn’t able to slip past him again.
“I have proof! Ya don’t believe me but I have proof!” Atsumu squirms free enough to grab onto a stack of papers, ripped from the free motel notepads they keep in the rooms. “See, it’s all here, I’m tellin’ the truth.”
“Atsumu…”
The papers, held tightly in Atsumu’s grip and scattered around the floor, are covered in obscure drawings of scribbled out figures, incomprehensible words scattered in between the scrawled drawings.
They’re nothing.
“See, they’ve been followin’ me, tryin’ ta kill me but I ran away from ‘em! I’m hidin’ here so they can’t get ta me, but they’ll be back soon, especially since yer here and know where I am!”
“How… How is this proof, Tsumu, that looks like nothin’ but scribbles.”
“No look!” He shoves one of the papers in Osamu’s face, frantically pointing at one of the scribbled ink creatures. “They’ve been watchin’ me, poisonin’ me, but the messages were able ta tell me that so I knew ta get out before they could get me!”
“What messages?”
“The TV obviously! Every night they’d play it and they’d change the message for me, they were lettin’ me know that they’re gonna get me!”
Kiyoomi feels sick, nausea and acid burning against the back of his throat.
He’s terrified, hands trembling and he repeats like a monta in his head how he doesn’t know what to do.
“What are ya gonna do now, huh Tsumu? What was yer plan?” Osmau cries. “If this was true, which it’s not, were ya just gonna go on the run with no money, no phone, and no plan? Ya need help, let Sakusa and I help ya, please.”
Atsumu shoves against Osamu, hands colliding with anything he’s able to grab onto. Kiyoomi can only watch in horror, air getting thinner with every breath, as the twins in front of him dissolve into a fist fight, Atsumu changing over and over again how it’s real, it’s real. It’s real.
Sirens sound out from downstairs, the paramedics finally, finally here. Kiyoomi allows himself a breath of relief, assurance that they’ll be able to figure this out now that people who can actually help Atsumu are here.
That is, until, Atsumu suddenly makes a break for the window, hands trying to open the latch with shaking hands as he hysterically sobs.
“Atsumu!”
They both jump and the blonde, grabbing onto him and forcing the struggling man down against the ground, trying with every ounce of strength to keep him from doing something horrible.
“Yer with them, I knew it! I knew it! Fuck ya! Yer gonna let them kill me!” He sobs.
“Stop, Tsumu! Please stop!”
“I shouldn’t have trusted ya, I hate ya! I hate ya! I hate ya!”
“Yer gonna die if ya jump out the window, please Tsumu!” Osamu shouts, trying to hold onto Atsumu.
“They’re gonna kill me, yer gonna let them kill me! Please, please Samu, they're gonna kill me!” Atsumu just continues to cry, like he can’t hear their words at all.
The paramedics suddenly burst in, taking in the scene and quickly coming to help hold down a struggling Atsumu.
One of them grabs a needle, prepping Atsumu’s arm and sticking it in. Kiyoomi watches in horror as the blonde’s movements gradually slow until he’s lying flat on his back, only able to cry and beg them to not let them kill him.
Kiyoomi looks up and sees Osamu, really sees him, for the first time since this all started.
He’s wrecked, eyes red and puffy and he sobs at the still form of his brother, rendered immobile by whatever the paramedics gave him.
Emergency services load Atsumu onto a stretcher, securing him in place with straps and getting his vitals taken down.
Kiyoomi’s only able to hear bits and pieces about how he’s malnourished and dehydrated, like he hasn’t eaten at all in days. That his heart rate is irregular and eyes respond strangely to light.
“Hey, it’s okay, we’re going to get him help.” One of the women says to them, standing close to where Osamu and Kiyoomi are still crouched on the floor.
“My brother, he’s sick, please tell me ya can help him.” Osamu begs.
“He’ll be fine. From what we can gather, it looks like he was having a psychotic episode, but we’ll need to get him a psychiatric evaluation at the hospital to make sure he’s not a danger to himself or others.”
“Is…” Kiyoomi starts, clearing his throat before continuing. “Is this going to be something permanent? How he’s been acting I mean.”
“I’m not sure, even if it is an underlying condition that triggered the episode, it’s not something that’s going on twenty-four seven. But like I said, we’ll know once he gets evaluated. For now, one of you can ride in the ambulance with us, the other can follow with a police officer right behind us.”
It’s not even a question as to who gets to ride in the ambulance with Atsumu, Osamu quickly scrambling to his feet and following his brother out of the room.
Leaving Kiyoomi, who stands and waits for the police officer to pick him up, struggling to breath in the room covered in proof of Atsumu’s condition.