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The first thing that Atsumu understood as he woke up was that everything was the wrong color. The ceiling was too flat and was white instead of the beige color the gym was. Plus, there weren’t any volleyballs stuck on the ceiling. The second thing that he understood was that he wasn’t able to wiggle the toes in his right foot. Upon trying again, he realized that he wasn’t able to feel his right foot at all.
“Mr. Miya,” the doctor said, coming into the room, his tone sympathetic and careful, “You’re at Osaka General. You were in a car accident. Do you remember anything?”
Atsumu tried to process all the information just given to him, but couldn’t remember anything more than headlights blinking at him, and a horn, and then quiet.
"Where's—" His mouth was thick and it was hard to form words. "Where's 'Samu."
"Your twin’s in the waiting room. He's been here for the past two day." The doctor said, before glancing at a chart, and something in the set of her shoulders told Atsumu, even before she said the next part, that the news underneath the chart wasn't the kind that got better with more careful phrasing. "Mr. Miya, I need to talk to you about the extent of the injury to your leg."
"M’kay." He said, trying to sit up. His body didn't cooperate the way he expected it to, and that alone should have told him something, if his brain would process fast enough.
“You sustained significant trauma along your lower spine, right leg and right arm in the collision. We were able to stabilize the fracture in your spine surgically, as well as fixing your right arm, but there’s substantial nerve damage, especially in your right leg. I have to be honest with you. Seeing the location and the significance of your injuries, a full return to competitive athletics, especially at the level that you’re playing at, isn’t something that we can promise or hope for too much.”
The words felt like someone stabbed Atsumu a hundred times, over and over again as each word processed in his head.
"What are you sayin'." His voice came out flat, careful, like he was testing whether saying it out loud himself might make it less true. "Are you sayin' I can't play volleyball again?"
"I'm saying it's very unlikely. I'm so sorry." The doctor's voice was gentle, the way voices did around wounds that weren't going to close. "We'll do everything we can to help you regain as much mobility as possible for daily life. But professional-level jumping, the kind of lateral movement your position requires — that's not something the nerve damage is going to allow."
“I can get physical therapy. Oikawa was able to and now he’s playing beach volleyball and going to the Olympics, why can’t I?” Atsumu asked, desperate for any way to play volleyball again.
The doctor smiled at him sympathetically and shook his head, “I would actually recommend doing physical therapy, but with the way that your leg healed over, it isn’t possible to do all of the jumping and stretching and moving that’s required. Ever”
Atsumu looked back up at the wrong-colored ceiling and said nothing at all, because there wasn't anything in him yet capable of forming a response to a sentence that had just quietly ended the only life he'd ever actually wanted.
He laid there, not responding to anything the doctor was asking, until finally, the doctor left the room. A few minutes later the door opened again, and in walked Osamu, who took one look at his face and sat down.
"Tsumu." He pulled a chair up beside the bed, close, the way he always did when something had gone wrong enough that distance stopped feeling like an option. "Hey. Look at me."
Atsumu didn’t look at him. He was still staring at the small crack in the ceiling that broke up the even white, like if he just kept staring at the ceiling, then maybe he’d wake up and he would be passed out on the gym floor or in bed with Kiyoomi.
“They said it’s over,” he finally said, voice hollow and quiet, none of the excited energy that he usually carried, “Volleyball, I mean. They say it’s because of nerve damage. Can’t play again, especially not at the level. Ever.”
Osamu didn't say anything for a moment. There wasn't anything to say that wouldn't sound cheap against the size of what had just been taken.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll be here for you, no matter what, we’ll find something even better,” Osamu said, desperate, taking his hand.
Atsumu didn't cry, not yet. He just kept staring at the ceiling, silent, some vital wiring in him having gone dark in a way that had nothing to do with the nerve damage in his leg and everything to do with the sudden, total absence of the only shape his life had ever taken.
Two days later, Sakusa finally came to visit, coming straight from practice, his hair still wet from a shower he’d clearly rushed through to get there faster.
He froze in the doorway when he saw Atsumu, who was sitting up in bed, stretching his legs and arms as much as he could, and going through the basic mobility exercises that his physical therapist had recommended. Sakusa watched for a couple moments as Atsumu kept going though he exercises, and when he stretched his right leg a little too much, he watched as the physical therapist steadied him enough to lower his leg back down through the movement that would have taken no thought at all just three days ago.
"Om!." Atsumu's voice came out too bright, too immediately performing normally as he noticed Sakusa standing there. "Hey. You didn't have to come straight from practice."
“Of course I came. I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier.” Sakusa said, crossing the room and sitting in the chair Osamu sat in and for a moment, it was all quiet, and then the physical therapist let herself out of the room to give the two of them privacy.
"How's the team," Atsumu said, because it was easier than any of the other available subjects.
"Fine. Bokuto asked about you every five minutes at practice, if that's what you're asking." Sakusa's eyes kept drifting, despite himself, to the brace still on Atsumu's leg. "How are you?"
"Been better." Atsumu's laugh came out wrong, thin. "Doctors say I'm not playin' again. Least not like before."
Sakusa suddenly went deathly still. "What does that mean?"
"Means what it sounds like, Omi." Atsumu looked away, out the window, at nothing. "Means I'm done. My dream of securing an Olympic Gold is gone for good. No more playing professionally for me, maybe not even casually."
Sakusa sat there, not knowing what to say for that. The two of them got together because of volleyball, and volleyball was supposed to be theirs forever. He didn’;t think anyone would ever be able to take that away from them, especially not Atsumu, who was so physically fit and strong that everyone thought he’d be playing volleyball well into his forties and fifties. They sat there in silence for almost an hour, before Sakusa eventually spoke up.
"I have practice again tomorrow," he said quietly, like the sentence embarrassed him even as he said it. "Early. I should probably—"
"Yeah." Atsumu's voice had gone flat again. "Go. I’ll be fine."
Sakusa left and it became clear, even if the two of them weren’t talking about it, that Sakusa’s visits were getting shorter and further apart as MSBY’s schedule picked up again, Atsumu’s texts now getting answered hours or even days after he sent them.
He didn't tell Sakusa he was leaving. He wrote it down instead, on a piece of hospital stationary, because some cowardly, protective part of him understood that if he tried to say it out loud he wouldn't be able to get through it, and worse, some part of him was afraid that if he heard Sakusa's actual voice arguing against it, he might let himself be talked out of the one decision he still had the power to make on his own.
Omi —
I'm going to stay with Samu for a while. I think it's better if we don't do this anymore. You've got a season to focus on and I don't want to be something you're worrying about from the bench. This isn't your fault. I just can't be someone you have to keep checking in on right now. I'm sorry.
— Atsumu
He left it on the kitchen counter of the apartment they'd shared, folded once, and was gone with Osamu's help before Sakusa got back from evening practice, and he didn't let himself think too hard about what Sakusa's face must have looked like reading it, because thinking about it felt like a door he didn't have the strength left to walk back through.
Osamu’s apartment was smaller than the one Atsumu and Sakusa shared, since it was right above his shop. Instead of everything being completely tidy and neat, there were pillows on the floor, dust on the cabinets that were never used, and the kitchen had bits of food that didn’t get cleaned up. Sun lived three hours away by train, and visited two times a month furing weekends, meaning that the apartment was empty and cold during hours Osamu worked, and Atsumu had no idea what to do with himself.
Those first few weeks were the worst. He didn’t do anything, choosing instead to sleep late, avoid the calls that his worried teammates gave him, with Bokuto and Hinata always acting so enthused, full of exclamation points and asking when he would come back so he could do something fun with them. Atsumu didn’t have the heart to reply back and tell them there was no back, and that he would never be on the court again.
“You gotta eat something,” Osamu said, walking into the living area and spotted Atsumu on the couch, buried deep under blankets, and set down a container of minced tuna onigiri – Atsumu’s favorite, “You didn’t touch breakfast, and I can still see the lunch I made you sitting on the table.”
"’M not hungry."
"You said that yesterday."
"Guess I'm consistent." Atsumu didn't look up from the ceiling he'd apparently decided was more interesting than anything actually in the room.
Osamu sat down next to him, quiet for a moment, weighing something. "You wanna talk about it?"
"No."
"Tsumu—"
"I said no, 'Samu." Atsumu said, voice cracking with anger. “I don’t wanna talk about it. I don’t want to ta,k about what the doctor said, I don’t wanna talk about physical therapy, I don’t want to talk about Omi, and I definitely don’t want to talk about the fact that my career is over. If you keep pushing, I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”
Osamu went quiet at that. It wasn't an empty threat, and they both knew it. Atsumu had never been someone who bluffed when he was hurting, he just left, the way he'd left the apartment with Sakusa, the way he'd stop answering calls, the way withdrawal had always been his first and most reliable defense.
"Okay," Osamu said finally, careful, dialing himself back. "Okay. I'm not gonna push.Just know that I’ll be there no matter what."
He didn't push after that, or at least not directly. He just kept making food Atsumu used to devour, and snacks that Osamu used to steal from him, and the television was on more often, childhood shows that the two used to love. Osamu also started convincing Atsumu to just come sit in the shop while Osamu worked, with Atsumu eventually helping Osamu with simple tasks that didn’t require much moving.
Suna noticed it too, on the weekends he traveled to Osaka. He didn’t push either, instead choosing to show Atsumu how much he cared in his own way, by showing him pictures of Osamu for blackmail, watching the reality TV shows that they would argue about for hours and showing him his favorite tiktoks on his phone.
Before Atsumu knew it, months had passed. He went to physical therapy, silent car rides with Osamu turning into car rides where they’d sing at the top of their lungs. His legs slowly improved to the point where he could walk up stairs, and even take off the brace in the house. But the therapist was careful, always making sure to remind Atsumu that he has to be careful, and not to do anything reckless such as trying to play volleyball again.
He didn’t watch volleyball. He couldn’t. Any time he saw something about volleyball, he just closed the tab and went hollow with longing.
Sakusa texted a lot, in the beginning. Most were short messages that Atsumu never read. The messages consisted of everything from I miss you, can we talk to I’m sorry, please hear me out. The team misse–. Over time, the texts went from every day, to once every three days, to once a week until finally they stopped coming all together. As much as it hurt, Atsumu knew that it was for the best, that Sakusa deserved to actually be able to focus on his season,and Atsumu would just be dragging him down. Besides, they bonded over volleyball, so there was no way their relationship could ever go back to what it used to be. They’d always be longing for what it was like, and would end up hating each other and themselves.
He didn't fully believe it. He just needed, some days, to believe it enough to get through the day.
While Osamu kept quiet through it all, Suna decided that enough was enough and the next time he visited, he sat next to Atsumu, quietly.
“You know, he still asks about you,” Suna finally spoke up, still looking at his phone, “Every time we play against each other, he asks how you’re doing. I never really know what to tell him.”
“Tell him I’m fine.” Atsumu said, voice flat and sharp.
“I don’t think you are though.” Suna said, not in a mean way, just with that blunt tone that Suna spoke most of the time, the same tone that made Atsumu want to be friends with him when they first met, “And I think you know that. I think he knows that too, which is probably why he keeps checking with me.”
Atsumu didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn't speak. He just rests his head on Suna’s shoulder and watches Suna scroll through Instagram, closing his eyes whenever something about volleyball comes up.
"I'm not tryin' to push you into doing anything you’re not ready to do," Suna added, after a moment. "But for what it's worth, he doesn't sound like someone who's moved on. He sounds like someone waitin' for you."
The weather changed from snowy evening to cold spring morning when Sakusa showed up. He went to Osamu’s shop, but instead of picking up and order, he went up to Osamu. He stood there, waiting until Osamu noticed him before speaking.
“Is he here?” he asked, voice desperate.
Osamu looked at him for a moment, weighing something in his mind before smiling slightly, “Upstairs in the living room.”
Sakusa nodded in thanks once before rushing up the stairs and opening the door without hesitation.
Atsumu looked up from the couch and went very still.
“Omi?” his voice was barely a whisper, but Sakusa heard it anyway, “What are you doi–”
“I’m done waiting for you to text me back,” Sakusa said, his voice cracking, something it never does. Sakusa was usually put together. “I know that you read my texts, and I talked to Suna. He told me why you decided that leaving me was the best thing for me, not you. I let you break up with me to give you some space, and I've been giving you space for seven months now, and I'm not doing it anymore.”
"Omi, I—"
“You don't get to decide that you’re too much to love right now,” Sakusa was shaking slightly, “I don't care that you can’t play. Volleyball might be the reason we became friends, but I love you for more than just your volleyball skills. I love you Atsumu, even if you can never play volleyball again, even if you can’t ever walk again, I don’t care, I just want you. I know I don’t say it a lot but I loved you before the crash and I love you just as much now. You decided that we were over and you didn’t ever give me the chance to tell you that I didn’t want it to be over for us. That I was willing to fight for us.”
By the end of Sakusa’s speech, Atsumu’s eyes were wet, but he didn’t bother wiping them away. “I didn’t wan’ ta hold you back, being stuck takin’ care of someone who can’t give you anything back any longer. Didn't want you to be forced to skip practice if i’m having an off day, or go to practice constantly worrying about me while i’m sitting here useless.”
"You're not useless." Sakusa crossed the room, knelt down in front of where Atsumu sat, closer than he'd let himself get in months. "You're grieving something enormous, and you have every right to be, but you don't get to grieve it by throwing away the one thing in your life that was never about volleyball in the first place. Please. Come back. Let me actually be there this time, properly, not squeezed in between practices. I'll make the time. I should've made it before."
Atsumu didn't say anything for a long moment. He just looked at him — soaked, wrung out, more open than Atsumu had ever seen him let himself be in public — and something in his chest, some long-held tight thing, finally gave way.
"Okay," he said, barely a whisper. "Okay, Omi. Yeah."
Sakusa exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for seven months, and pulled him into a careful, fierce hug, and neither of them said anything else for a long time, the rain still going outside, and Atsumu noticed Osamu walking in, looking worried, then relieved, and going back downstairs to give them space.
Epilogue
The gym was loud in a way that used to be Atsumu’s favorite sound in the entire world, sneakers squeaking, the roar of the crowd, volleyball being bumped and hit against players hands. Atsumu sat in the crowd, right next to Osamu’s Onigiri stand, his MSBY jersey folded up in his lap as he watched his old team play against Suna’s team.
Sakusa went back to serve, and Atsumu caught him looking through the crowd, and when Sakusa noticed him, he watched as his entire face erupted into a huge smile before looking back at the other end of the court to serve. His serve was clean and perfectly placed, and the ball got returned on the first touch, causing most of the crowd to stand up. Atsumu watched ever second of the game, unable to tear his eyes away. He caught sight of the new setter, at how well the team seemed to work with him, and tore his gaze away before his eyes would tear up.
MSBY won the set, and with it the championship trophy. Sakusa found him outside afterwards, medal around his neck, and smile at him as a thanks for coming, and Atsumu smiled back, hobbling over to kiss his cheek, because he loved him so much, and was so glad they managed to fix their issues.
But the smile didn't reach all the way down. It never did anymore, not here, not in this gym, not with a ball in play. He clapped along with everyone else, and cheered when he was supposed to cheer, and felt Osamu's hand land briefly on his shoulder the way it always did during matches now, a quiet checking-in neither of them ever spoke about out loud.
He watched every rally as if he was analyzing what he would have done differently, as if his mind was begging him to get back on that court, but his body was screaming the opposite. His leg didn’t hurt too much anymore, only when he twisted it a little too much or ran for a little too long, but this was the most that it would ever heal. No amount of time, or love, or physical therapy or anything else would ever get his body back into the shape it once was.
That was the worst part of all of this, that the grief would never completely disappear, instead living inside him forever, and even if it fades, it would just come back any time he sees his face in a newspaper about what happened, or visits the MSBY gym to cheer on his old team. He was doing better though, helping Osamu work at the shop. He had Sakusa back, properly this time, and they reserved at least one evening a week for the two of them where they would turn off their phones and have a date night for the two of them. He had his old teammates, and his brother and Suna, and the rest of Iniarizaki who heard what had happened and showed up for him when he needed them.
And yet, every single time he sat in these stands and watched the ball cross a net, he would have that same feeling in his chest that he knew would never be healed.
He clapped until his hands hurt. He meant it, yet it still wasn't enough to fill the shape of what he'd lost.
Somewhere underneath all of the noise, underneath the life he’d spent ages building out of the wreckage of the one that he’d actually wanted, Atsumu let the thought surface once more.
What I wouldn't give for one more chance to play.
He always tried to let the thought go, but he was never quite able to. Even if it left, it would always come back and he knew that. He just sat with it now, and kept watching a game that he knew he would never be able to play again.