Chapter Text
Soulmates.
Kiyoomi knows what it means, of course. It’s all everyone else can talk about, all that he’s ever heard of as he grew up. He remembers searching up the word when he was younger – probably when he was around four years old – and if you went by the dictionary, the word soulmates can be defined as a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner. At four years old, Kiyoomi didn’t really understand what any of that meant. All he knew was that it was someone important, like his mom and dad. Someone who would love him unconditionally, for all that he is. Or so his mom said.
In this world, a tattoo appears imprinted on your wrist on your 12th birthday. It would have something to do with your soulmate, like their birthday, or their initials, maybe even a little symbol that represents them. Kiyoomi has grown up with everyone looking forward to the day they turn twelve, the day they’re one step closer to finding the person meant for them. He remembers when it was Motoya's turn to get his soulmate mark, and the loud, excited screech that rang across the room when he got not one, but two tattoos, right beside each other.
Kiyoomi remembers it. One was a small fox, the other a string of numbers. 100595, if memory serves him right.
But on Kiyoomi’s 12th birthday, his wrist remains blank.
Kiyoomi doesn’t know what that means for him, It wasn’t something that ever happened before. What he does remember is the way his parents had held him the minute the clock struck midnight and no mark had revealed itself on the inside of his wrist, the way his mom had assured him that everything would be okay in wavering breaths, her tears starting to soak into his hair. He remembers how his older siblings had looked on from beside him, shaking their heads sadly, like Kiyoomi was already doomed to have no one love him in the end, not like that.
Loveless.
On Kiyoomi’s 12th birthday, he starts wondering whether he was destined to simply be alone.
He wasn’t needed, he learned quickly. He wasn’t meant for love, is what he picked up on too. He wasn’t enough. To the point where even the universe couldn’t find someone for him, even when there’s 7.8 billion people in this godforsaken world.
He does his research that day, spends hours on end trying to figure out if something went wrong with his mark. He was taught to believe in soulmates. He’s spent his whole life watching his parents fall in love again and again, every day, watched them love each other no matter what happened, no matter the cost. Love was something he was taught to believe in, wanted to believe in.
Kiyoomi isn’t the easiest person to be with, he knows. Even at twelve, he sees the way people strayed away from him, sees the way they give him weird looks, and sometimes, when it’s a particularly bad day, he sees exasperation paint his parents faces when he throws another one of his so-called fits. His sister says they’re tantrums. Sometimes, his brother reprimands him for being an ungrateful brat, for making it so hard on their parents who deserve so much better than a spoiled child who kicks and cries when things don’t go his way.
Researching doesn’t tell him much, to Kiyoomi’s disappointment. Most are things he’s already heard of before, like how it’s perfectly normal for people to date others that aren’t their soulmates before they eventually do find the one destined for them, the one destined to maybe not be their first love, but their greatest love.
There's also research about soulmates who fall out of love, whether on good terms or not, and anecdotes about betrayal and cheating, though it's very few. Some of these people found others they soon grew to be fond of, some still live in heartbreak. The rest are all just theories, but Kiyoomi needs facts and figures. He’s even ventured into the deep end of Reddit and Quora and all that, but he’s never seen anyone who didn’t receive their mark like clockwork. He discovers people with marks that fade, marks that show up a few minutes early or a few minutes late – he even reads about people with more than one mark, just like Motoya – but it’s devastatingly rare. Some have speculated that if a person doesn’t get their tattoo, then their soulmate has probably died already, or maybe they just aren’t in this lifetime.
Reading that just made Kiyoomi sick to his gut.
It certainly didn’t make him feel better to have that idea planted in his head, that maybe there was someone out there for him, only for them not to be in this very plane of existence. Kiyoomi learns that the universe is a cruel and fickle thing.
The week after his birthday, once he’s gotten over the initial shock of it all, he takes the trip to Motoya’s house. Motoya doesn’t react the way his family did. He simply smiles, gently takes Kiyoomi’s wrist, and plants a soft kiss on the inside of the skin.
“That’s okay, Kiyoomi,” he assures comfortingly as he drags Kiyoomi into his room. “I can love you just like a soulmate. I can even love you enough for the both of us!”
Kiyoomi nearly cries on the spot.
He doesn’t though, but he does allow himself to pout a little. “That doesn’t even make sense, Motoya. You’re my cousin,” he points out. “It won’t be the same,”
But all Motoya does is shake his head. The next words he says are words that Kiyoomi reminds himself of when it’s getting hard again, when his feelings overwhelm each and every one of his senses and it gets hard to breathe.
“There are many forms of love, Kiyoomi. I may have a soulmate, but you’re my cousin. I may not love you in that way – that would be kinda gross actually – but I care for you all the same.” Maybe Kiyoomi does cry a little at that moment, but Motoya reaches out for him and ruffles his hair fondly. “I’ll always be there for you, alright? Don’t ever forget that. And even if you do forget, I’ll whack it into your head as many times as I should.”
“That would hurt, idiot,” Kiyoomi mutters. He’s sniffling now. Motoya hands him a tissue, and Kiyoomi gratefully takes it. There’s a pause, a comforting lull in the silence, and then Kiyoomi asks, “Do you wanna play volleyball now?”
“Hell yeah." Motoya agrees with a grin. "Wanna sleepover too?”
“That would be nice. And don’t say hell, Toya. Mom says that’s a bad word.”
Motoya snorts. “Yeah, but you just said it.”
And so, the week after Kiyoomi’s 12th birthday, he relearns the fact that there are people who would maybe, hopefully, stay by his side.
The universe is a cruel and fickle thing. Kiyoomi dares to hope anyway.
At thirteen, Kiyoomi discovers the terms asexual and aromantic.
Asexual, a person who has no sexual feelings or desires, or one who is not sexually attracted to anyone Aromantic, a person who experiences little to no romantic attraction to others. Kiyoomi wonders if he fits into any of these terms. He wonders if it has something to do with his missing soulmate mark.
But that wouldn’t make much sense. There’s a girl in Kiyoomi’s class who openly identifies as aromantic, and once he had gathered up enough courage to ask about her mark, he finds out she does have one – a soulmate that is. Kiyoomi had asked how that worked, and she kindly explained how, even if she doesn’t experience any romantic feelings, her soulmate is one that is platonic. She then pointed to a boy with bright brown eyes seated at the back of the cafeteria, and Kiyoomi remembers the pride in her voice and the smile on her face when she declared, “You see that guy with long dark hair, with the blue water bottle? Yeah, that’s my soulmate.”
Kiyoomi then finds himself unable to sleep on several nights, questioning if he really is asexual. He’s pretty sure he isn’t aromantic; he’s had crushes before, mere infatuations really. This train of thought makes him realize he’s only ever liked boys before.
Then he frowns and thinks, Am I gay?
He takes multiple quizzes on his phone. And then he registers the fact that no straight person would be looking up tests to figure out their sexual orientation. He thinks about how no straight person would be questioning their sexuality this much either.
So he’s gay. He’s got that figured out. It doesn’t come as much of a surprise to him really, when he remembers how his sister had briefly dated another girl before. He wonders if this means he should come out to his family. After another round of contemplation, he decides on putting it off for the next morning.
Then what about asexual?
He tries running the idea in his head. Then, he pulls up his phone again and starts digging deep into the topic. The label does give him some comfort in a way, like he can finally identify as something he could never quite put his finger on.
A glance at his bedside clock tells him it’s nearing 2 in the morning. He imagines sex with a girl, then with a boy. Both make him grimace under his covers, and he shakes his head as if to erase the thought away from his brain. Another couple minutes later, and he finally drifts off to sleep to the conclusion that, yeah, maybe he does fall somewhere on the asexual spectrum.
Breakfast is usually a quiet affair, so when Kiyoomi clears his throat, it instantly gets everyone’s attention.
He sets his fork down. “I think I’m gay,” Swallowing thickly, he adds, “And asexual.”
From the corner of his eye, he sees his brother scowl. “How does that even work?” he asks, and Kiyoomi winces.
“Can't you learn how to read a room ? ” his sister, Kanade, hisses. She turns to Kiyoomi with a soft smile, and Kiyoomi holds his breath. “Thanks for telling us. Kiyo. We really appreciate it. And I’m here too, in case you wanna talk about it, alright?”
He nods thankfully. His parents aren’t as supportive, his mother huffing out a sigh and rubbing her temple with her fingertips. “You probably influenced him into thinking this way, Kanade. Maybe this is why his wrist is still empty.”
Kanade glares, but she knows better than to talk back. Kiyoomi knows too. She’s been through this same argument when she came out years earlier, after all
His father simply shoots him with an, “Are you sure?” Kiyoomi wisely chooses not to reply.
When breakfast ends, his sister catches him before he leaves for school, engulfing him in a hug. She kisses his forehead too, and apologizes for the rest of their family. Kiyoomi breathes in her vanilla shampoo one last time before finally letting the tears fall freely from his cheeks.
“I’m gay,” he tells Motoya later that day during lunch. They’re on school grounds, perched on the grass, with several other students loitering around, but Kiyoomi can’t bring it in him to care. He takes a bite out of his bento box. “And asexual, I think.”
Motoya blinks in surprise, probably taken aback from the sudden confession, before the start of an excited grin creeps up his face. “That’s great, Kiyo! Have you told your family yet?”
Kiyoomi’s chewing slows, before he swallows. “I have.”
“And they’re okay with it… right?”
When he shrugs, Motoya’s smile slips off his face, before he lights up again. “That’s okay. You have your sister, yeah?”
He thinks back to vanilla shampoo and the warmth of his sister’s arms and nods.
Motoya seems satisfied with that, crossing his arms and leaning back on the wall behind him. “Good. Your brother’s a bit of a jerk, no offense, but you have me now too.”
He smiles thankfully at that, and Motoya nudges him happily and asks if he's got enough energy left to help Motoya practice his receives.
Kiyoomi doesn’t realize the weight of those words, or how much his cousin had meant it until two weeks later, when he stays back even after the bell rings and everyone starts packing up their books. He’s on cleanup duty today, and he bites back a sigh as his eyes scan the classroom, stray bits of pieces of paper littering the floor.
Once almost everyone has left, he makes quick work of cleaning up as best as he can. Motoya told him he’ll be waiting for him by the gate, and Kiyoomi has no intention of holding him back. On the blackboard are the names Sakusa Kiyoomi and Nakamura Hitomi. Judging from how empty the hallways look, he guesses he’ll be doing this alone today.
Which is why, when the classroom door slams open around 10 minutes later, Kiyoomi startles from where he’s wiping down the desks. He glances up, only to tilt his head in confusion at the three other boys he sees blocking the door. He doesn’t recognize them. They’re certainly not from his grade either.
“Can I help you with something?” he asks, setting the cloth aside. He hopes they won’t stay too long. He’s starting to feel dirty, and he’s itching for a shower.
The tallest boy, around a couple inches taller than Kiyoomi from the looks of it, simply looks back at the other two with him. Suddenly, Kiyoomi feels a wave of trepidation washing over him, and his breathing quickens when one of them, a boy with dirty blonde hair, locks the door behind him.
Click.
Kiyoomi’s skin crawls. Something’s not right. He needs to call Motoya.
He lunges for his bag, but even from all those years of volleyball, fear weighs him down. The tallest boy gets to him first, grabbing harshly for his arm and slamming his body against the nearest wall. Hard . Choking out a strangled gasp, Kiyoomi feels tears prick at the corner of his eyes from the impact of his back on the solid surface, The start of an ugly bruise starts to bloom on his spine.
“Will you look at that,” tallest boy sneers with a condescending smirk. Kiyoomi glares up at him, shaking his wrist away from the boy’s grasp, but he knows its a losing game. He doesn’t realize he’s started crying until the boy yanks at his curls and knocks his head back at the wall. Something wet starts to mat the back of his hair. Kiyoomi hopes it isn’t blood.
The thought makes panic flare inside of him. He needs to breathe.
“Hey, Mizuki, Kurai,” the boy laughs, a cruel smirk playing at his lips when Kiyoomi flinches as the other boys draw closer. “Take a look at this. The gay bitch is crying.”
Oh.
So this is what it’s all about.
Distantly, Kiyoomi hears the other boys howl in laughter, even more so when he’s forcefully shoved to the ground. A kick to his head. One to his ribs. But the pain barely registers, all he can feel is the blood dripping onto his clothes and how he hasn’t mopped the floors yet, and the only thought running through his head is dirtydirtydirtydirtydirtydirty,
“What is it, bitch?” he hears someone taunt. Kiyoomi clutches at his side. Are his ribs broken? He can’t breathe, can’t breathe, his lungs must have collapsed on him, why can’t he breathe? Kiyoomi rasps out in pain when there’s another blow to his side. “Where’s your cousin now?”
“Does he really have no soulmate mark?” another grating voice falls to his ears. “What, is he so worthless that the world can’t even find a single person for him?” There’s a hand on his hair again, and Kiyoomi feels himself being pushed onto his knees. He doesn’t mean to, but a whimper is punched out of him, and he hears another round of raucous laughter.
“What a fucking cockslut. Look at the way he’s-”
Crash.
Glass, Kiyoomi recognizes faintly. That’s the sound of glass shattering.
Even through the haze of the pain leaving his body aching almost unbearably, a single, glaring thought slowly squirms it's way into the front of his muddled brain. Did something break?
He frowns. He's aware of how his breaths are coming in quicker, like he's forcing himself to swallow down gulps of air into his lungs, but even that becomes too torturous to do. His vision is starting to blur too, spots of red dancing in his eyes and black murking the edges of his sight. Oh God. He tries to inhale, exhale, but he thinks he might pass out.
And then-
"Get the fuck away from my cousin!"
Motoya.
Kiyoomi almost sobs in relief.
The hand on his hair lets go almost immediately, but not before he's shoved to the ground one last time. Kiyoomi hears a ruckus going on around him at the sheer volume of Motoya's voice, shoes squeaking across the floor and the sound of bodies bumping into nearby desks.
"Shit, how the fuck did he-"
"We need to go, before we get caught-"
The door slams shut, the footsteps pounding against the floor growing fainter. A soft groan leaves Kiyoomi's lips when he feels Motoya drop to his knees with a thud, lifting him gently and cradling his head in his arms.
"Oh fuck, Kiyoomi, oh God," Motoya's crying now, panicked in a way he's never heard before. Kiyoomi's heart hurts. He's never seen Motoya cry before. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have left you–"
"Toya," Kiyoomi manages out, shaking his head. "It's okay. Please don't cry."
Motoya lets out a wet laugh. If anything, what Kiyoomi's said only makes him cry more. "Fuck, Kiyo. I'm taking you to the hospital, okay? Remember that girl you talked to before? Her name's Juri, she's down by the gates right now and she has an older brother. We're gonna drive you there. Can you stay with me for a bit longer?"
Kiyoomi can barely register the words as soon as they leave Motoya's mouth. He's speaking frantically, his words rushed, but Kiyoomi understands the gist of it and he nods.
"I'm heavy," he mutters, as Motoya hoists him up onto his back. His throat feels so dry. He wonders if there's any water left in his bag. "You might hurt yourself. I can walk, Toya."
"You’re literally bleeding, Kiyoomi," Motoya chides. "And I’m still taller and bigger than you. We'll be there in no time. Just hold on, okay?"
Motoya takes off sprinting down the hallways and down the stairs, and Kiyoomi thinks his ribs are broken, if the throbbing sting he feels to his side is any indication of it. Once they're out the front doors, the afternoon sunlight is too harsh, too bright, and Kiyoomi buries his face into the crook of Motoya's neck.
"Juri!" he hears Motoya yell. There's a commotion off to Kiyoomi's side, and he hears a stifled gasp trickle its way into his ears.
"What happened to him?" asks Juri shakily. There's an unfamiliar figure beside her. Through the corners of his vision, Kiyoomi guesses it's her brother.
"I'll explain everything once we're on the way," Motoya replies hurriedly, and there's barely-concealed anger simmering beneath his tone at his next words. "I know who those assholes were. They're gonna pay for this."
Kiyoomi feels like he's floating in and out of his body. He knows when Motoya gently places him in the car, and he knows how they're speeding down the street, Motoya's voice unsteady as he explains, but Kiyoomi can't really feel any of it. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out.
Everything that happens after is a blur. They're in the hospital, then they're in a big white room, then he feels his clothes get taken off of him and he thinks finally.
He must have passed out at some point, because when his eyes flutter open again, the sun is setting outside the window beside him, painting the sky in orange and yellow and pink.
"Kiyoomi?"
Motoya's voice. Slowly, Kiyoomi turns his head, and he watches the way Motoya breaks into a grin and his shoulders sag in relief.
Despite himself, Kiyoomi feels himself crack a smile too. "Hi."
"You're finally awake," Motoya laughs shakily, running a trembling hand through his hair. "I was worried out of my ass here. How are you feeling?"
"Horrible, to be honest."
Motoya looks a little sad at that, and Kiyoomi regrets saying it. "I'm really sorry, Kiyo," he says, gaze downcast on the sheets of the hospital bed. "Your sister was here earlier, but she had to leave for her part-time job. I helped wash you up, though."
"Thanks, Toya," Kiyoomi breathes out. He eyes the bandages wrapped around his torso. "Did I, uh… "
"Yeah," his cousin confirms softly. "The doctor said we're lucky because there's no major or fatal injuries, but you do have a few bruises and broke a few ribs too." Motoya points at his head, and Kiyoomi reaches up to feel cloth over his hair too. "Your head was bleeding earlier, but thank fuck it wasn't anything serious. The nurse cleaned up the wound, and it'll hurt a bit when you press on it too hard, but you should be okay. It's the ribs that'll take a while to heal… 6 weeks, the doctor said. And even after that, we gotta be careful to not strain yourself."
Kiyoomi feels his heart drop to his stomach. "6 weeks?" he asks. "But… what about school? And volleyball?"
Shaking his head in resignation, Motoya says, "That should be the least of your worries, Kiyo. I'll come over everyday to send you notes from school – though that'll probably mean I'll have to actually start listening to our teachers. And as for volleyball, well, it isn't going anywhere, Just focus on healing, alright?" He smiles, reaching out for Kiyoomi's hand. "Once you do that, you'll be better in no time."
"Yeah." Kiyoomi forces down the bile in his throat and squeezes Motoya's hand. "Yeah, you're right."
"Of course I am, idiot. And as for those absolute fucking bastards who had the audacity to do this-" Kiyoomi winces a little at that, and Motoya grins sheepishly in apology, before continuing, "-they're suspended now. Honestly, they deserved an even worse punishment, but they have to repeat a grade and I guess sitting through Reiko-sensei's math class for a whole year again is punishment enough. Though if I see their ugly faces ever again, I might actually beat them to a pulp on the spot."
Kiyoomi manages a little laugh at that, until he remembers about his broken ribs and how it hurts to even wheeze. A smile flickers through Motoya's lips for a brief second, but his face falls and his voice turns serious once more. "But, frankly Kiyo, I'm really sorry this happened." He rubs his neck, avoiding Kiyoomi's gaze. "And I understand if you're mad."
"You're stupid," Kiyoomi huffs, which only earns him a bewildered look in return. "Why would I be mad?"
"Well- I- You know-"
"Toya."
Motoya gulps. "Yeah?"
"I don't blame you," Kiyoomi states firmly. "I didn't back then, and I won't now. You came in the end, and that's all that really matters."
To Kiyoomi's surprise, Motoya's entire face scrunches up, like he might actually start crying. He sniffles, grabbing for a tissue and blowing into it. "Screw you, Kiyoomi."
"Excuse me?"
"When did you get so smart?" Motoya accuses, and Kiyoomi stares in shock.
"Did you think I was stupid before then?"
"Not like that." Motoya rolls his eyes. "I'm supposed to be the older, wiser one out of the both of us. I'm supposed to be giving you advice and saying all these clever things while you look on with that sparkle in your eye ."
"I'm not seven years old anymore, Motoya," Kiyoomi counters with a frown pulling on his lips. "And you're barely a year older than me, so I doubt it even counts."
His cousin waves his hand offhandedly. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Actually, it's getting late, do you wanna eat something? I can bring in something, and I think your sister's gonna arrive soon too."
"Food would be nice right now," Kiyoomi says with a nod. He didn't realize just how hungry he was until Motoya brought it up.
Motoya shoots him a thumbs up and an obnoxious wink. "Roger that. I have sanitizer and disinfectant wipes too, and you can watch me wash my hands."
The next few weeks that follow nearly have Kiyoomi dying of boredom. He never really liked hospitals, always filled with screaming babies and sickly people, but now he's starting to absolutely despise it. Both his parents have gotten bigger, better, more important job offers in the last year, so they're never around, always travelling to different countries too. His brother had just recently graduated from college, and is now apparently way too busy looking for a job to drop in for a visit.
His sister tries to see him as much as she can, but Kiyoomi can tell she's exhausted. He's seen the toll that university has taken on her, and he thinks wow, college sounds even worse than this place.
His only saving grace is Motoya. A constant in his life, but he'd never get caught saying it out loud. His cousin comes in everyday, without fail, sometimes with his parents too. He makes sure Kiyoomi isn't behind in school, and he keeps him updated on volleyball and how practice isn't the same when he's not around, and he talks and talks and fills the deafening silence that takes up half of Kiyoomi's day.
The day he's discharged from the hospital, Kiyoomi makes the decision to wear a black bracelet around his left wrist, just to hide the fact that there's nothing there. When he plays volleyball, he replaces it for one of those wrist sweatbands, with the excuse of how he prefers not to have the sweat from his arm drip down to his hands. He starts wearing masks more often too, the fear of getting sick and contaminated having grown over the course of six weeks. He's seen families crying over dead loved ones, people's hopes and dreams being crushed and trampled down with a single diagnosis, the tired eyes and slumped shoulders, and he thinks about how he doesn't ever want to be in this place ever again.
At thirteen, Kiyoomi learns to hide a part of himself from the world. Because while the universe may be a cruel and fickle thing, he learns that there are people in this world who are even worse.
"Fukurodani, Nekoma, or Itachiyama?"
Kiyoomi looks up from where he'd been reading from his laptop. It's the month after he and Motoya had graduated from middle school, and today they're in Kiyoomi's room, papers and brochures strewn all over his bed as they choose which high school to enroll in.
"I think I'll go for Itachiyama," Kiyoomi decides, turning to Motoya. "What do you think?"
Humming in contemplation, Motoya says, "I'm not sure. Fukurodani seems pretty cool, but I think their entrance exam is pretty hard. Their volleyball team has Bokuto Koutarou though."
Bokuto Koutarou. Kiyoomi knows him, of course, from the several high school volleyball magazines he owns. A rising star, the magazines say, with undeniable raw talent and he's hard-working to boot, although he's infamous for his somewhat frequent mood swings. Kiyoomi would like to play against him one day.
"And Nekoma?" he asks.
"Nekoma seems neat too. They're best known for their unbreakable defense, or so they say." Motoya purses his lips. "Logically speaking, I guess it'd be a good choice for me as a libero, but I feel like all of their players are already great in defense, so I might not contribute much to the team."
"Oh, I get that," Kiyoomi agrees. He glances back at the Itachiyama website open on his laptop screen. Motoya leans in closer, peering at the website too.
"Itachiyama, huh?" he muses, and Kiyoomi nods. "You know, you might just be right for this one. From what I've heard, it excels both in academics and extracurricular activities. Also, Tsukasa Iizuna is on the team. I've read how he won the best setter award in last year's Junior Olympic Cup."
Kiyoomi didn't know this. "Really?" he asks, and Motoya nods enthusiastically.
"They're known to be a powerhouse school too, one of the best in Tokyo. They have all these scholarships, and I've seen the school a couple times and it's huge," Motoya adds, spreading his arms all the way as if to indicate how big it is, before his face scrunches up. He sighs dramatically and flops himself back down on Kiyoomi's pillows. "Ugh. Wait. I just remembered how ugly their uniforms are. It won't match my hair at all."
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Kiyoomi grabs for a pillow and whacks his cousin in the face with it. "Don't be picky, Toya. You just said all these amazing things about the school – us having to wear the uniforms is a small price to pay."
"I'm gonna look like a fucking banana," Motoya mourns. His voice is muffled from the pillow he hasn't moved away from his face, and Kiyoomi shoots him a deadpan look.
"You'll look fine. Think about how I would look. I'll be sending out all these telepathic waves for people to stay away while looking like some sort of neon eyesore."
This rips a laugh out of Motoya, and Kiyoomi lets a smile slip out of him too.
The month after Kiyoomi’s 14th birthday, they start their first year of high school in Itachiyama Institute. Eventually, he and Motoya make a name for themselves in the high school volleyball world, Kiyoomi with his weirdly flexible wrists that can put a nasty spin on each one of his spikes, and Motoya with his steady, consistent receives, picking up just when everyone thinks the ball would drop on their side of the court. Even as first-years, they’re put in the starting lineup soon enough, and Kiyoomi feels alive .
His new teammates don’t push him around too much, nor do they overstep boundaries, something that Kiyoomi’s eternally grateful for. He can tell they’re itching to know what his soulmate mark is – there was a whole conversation in the locker rooms one day on the team’s different soulmate tattoos, and Kiyoomi even sees one guy have a whole mark of a rose take up almost half of his forearm – but they respect his space and know not to prod.
Motoya really wasn't lying when he said Itachiyama was a powerhouse school. Quickly enough, Kiyoomi sees just how powerful and talented their volleyball team is, known throughout Tokyo for both their unbreakable offense and defense. They become a heavy favourite to win in Nationals, and it surprises no one when they secure a spot in the Interhigh National Tournament. In the semi-finals, Kiyoomi gives it his all, only to be frustratingly disappointed when the other team gives up halfway.
Itachiyama wins, 2 to 0.
The finals roll around in the blink of an eye, and that's when Kiyoomi meets them.
Or rather, him.
Miya Atsumu, twin brother of Miya Osamu. He's seen recordings of Inarizaki's matches, since their coach had constantly reminded them just how much of a powerhouse Inarizaki High also was, and Kiyoomi doesn’t doubt it one bit. Back then, he and Motoya had shared a thrilled little look, determined to crush them and steal the title of champions.
But now…
At fourteen, Kiyoomi sees Miya Atsumu on the other side of the court and thinks suddenly, quietly, he's beautiful.
"Hey," Motoya whispers to Kiyoomi just minutes before the match starts, leaning close into his ear. "I feel a little weird."
"What?" Kiyoomi hisses. "Don't tell me you're sick, Motoya, I swear I'm gonna kick your sorry ass-"
"No, no, nothing like that!" Motoya yelps. Some of their teammates throw them questioning glances, but they ignore them for the most part, too absorbed in doing their warmups properly. "It's just… I feel tingly."
Kiyoomi arches an unimpressed brow. "Tingly."
"Don't look at me like I'm stupid, Kiyoomi," his cousin whines. He rubs at his wrist, right where his soulmate tattoo is, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. It worries Kiyoomi; he's never seen Motoya look so on edge. "My mark kinda burns. I think… I think they're here."
A heartbeat passes, then two, and it takes a while for Kiyoomi to get his mouth working again from the revelation. He inhales sharply, looking Motoya straight in the eye. "You're sure about this?"
Motoya nods. "Positive. My guess is one of the guys from Inarizaki. I felt this kind of… overwhelming sensation when they walked in, and not because all their fangirls kept screaming or whatever." And then, more to himself than Kiyoomi, Motoya mutters, "I've got to talk to one of them after the match."
"After we beat them," Kiyoomi says, and it's not a question. A small smirk creeps on his cousin's face, and Motoya nods again.
"After we beat them."
The whistle blows. Miya Atsumu is first to serve. It shocks Kiyoomi when the ball slams onto the floor beside him before he has time to react, just by the line that would have declared it out-of-bounds. He glances up, heart slamming against his chest even when they've barely started, and he catches the slow, almost lazy way Atsumu smirks. At him. He vaguely hears Motoya say don't mind, but Kiyoomi's vision has tunnelled in on Atsumu's gleaming hazel eyes and the way he spins the ball in his hands. From all around them, the crowd goes wild, girls screaming Atsumu's name and waving their banners. Kiyoomi reminds himself to breathe.
Atsumu serves again, but this time, Kiyoomi bumps it in a clean receive. The adrenaline has begun to rush over him like one big tidal wave, and he feels his blood pumping, his senses starting to work overtime like it usually does when he hones his focus on nothing else but the match around him. Iizuna sets, and Kiyoomi blends in with the other spikers on the left before he jumps, higher than the rest, and spikes. The ball makes a clear, resounding sound all throughout the stadium. Itachiyama scores the point, the crowd cheers, and Kiyoomi lands back on the ground with a self-satisfied grin.
"Holy fuck," he hears Atsumu laugh, just a few feet away. Kiyoomi swiftly turns his head at the sound, narrowing his gaze, only to find Atsumu looking back at him. There's a hidden fire in his eye, one that Kiyoomi recognizes. He's seen it in himself too, after all. "That was kinda cool, huh, 'Samu?"
Kiyoomi doesn't look long enough to know if Miya Osamu responded back. Adjusting the sweatband on his wrist, he sucks in a quiet breath. The match continues from there, the tension palpable as both teams steadily rack up points, and Inarizaki puts up a good fight. Still, it's not enough. It's a battle of stamina, of wits, and by the time the fifth set begins and each team has scored two sets each, Kiyoomi can catch the way Atsumu's sets get sloppier, more frenzied.
He's not any better, of course. The fourth set had gone on a ridiculously intense rally, only being broken when Itachiyama finally stole the last point, 36 to 34. Kiyoomi can feel his thighs burn and strain with each jump he does, his wrists aching with each different spin he puts in his spikes.
When Itachiyama reaches matchpoint in the fifth set, Kiyoomi can barely think. His lungs are begging for air, his throat closing up, and for the first time in playing volleyball, he feels exhausted. Both teams have already used all their time-outs, and he feels the pressure intensify by another hundred degrees. They're all tense and their bodies pushed beyond their limits, but Kiyoomi refuses to let this win slip by his fingers when it's already so tantalizingly close.
Atsumu sets to Suna Rintarou. Motoya bumps it, but it's messy, and Kiyoomi watches with bated breath as Iizuna attempts a setter dump, only for Kita Shinsuke to pick the ball back up. It travels to Miya Osamu, who yells as he sets it to Ojiro Aran. Kiyoomi braces himself as he watches Inarizaki's ace run towards the curve of the ball, and he thinks, now.
He forces his legs to jump with full strength one final time, arms outstretched above him. One of his teammates must have sensed it too, because he's right there beside Kiyoomi, and just when Kiyoomi thinks gravity's about to pull a sick joke on him, he feels it.
The ball, smacking hard against his palm.
His eyes follow the way the ball falls to the ground. He hears Atsumu shout in a panic as he dives to the floor, but it's a futile attempt. The ball rolls away, and Kiyoomi finally lets his lungs breathe a little easier.
They've won. They've won the tournament.
People on the stands go absolutely feral, screaming out different names, but Kiyoomi can barely register any of it. Not with the way Miya Atsumu is looking at him, his eyes filled with something like awe even when he just lost, and it almost seems genuine. Kiyoomi doesn't want to believe it. He averts his gaze.
He tries to focus on the adrenaline rush lighting each of his nerves aflame, the way he and Motoya and their team get to take the trophy when they're just in their first year. It's exhilarating, he tries to convince himself.
When their teams line up on both sides of the net, Atsumu holds his hand out to him. "Good game," he congratulates with that same, almost-genuine smile again, and Kiyoomi glances down. He hadn't noticed it before, but Atsumu's wearing a sweatband too. Fleetingly, he thinks he might dare to hope, that maybe, just maybe…
Osamu moves in beside his brother, and he smiles at Kiyoomi too. "You played amazing," he's saying, but Kiyoomi sees the way he's got on a sweatband covering his wrist as well and he reprimands himself for being so goddamn stupid. A glance around the Inarizaki team shows that Kita Shinsuke wears one too, and Kiyoomi nearly kicks himself because, duh, they're fucking athletes. Hell, even his captain owns one, and Kiyoomi knows full well what his soulmate mark is. Just because he wears a sweatband and is apparently the only one in this world to not have a soulmate mark doesn't, shouldn't mean anything.
"Hey!" Motoya exclaims with a grin, sidling up by his side. "Sorry, Kiyoomi here doesn't really do handshakes, but that was an amazing game! Both of you played ridiculously well."
Atsumu's face lights up. Kiyoomi clenches his fist. "We could say the same about you, but we're definitely beating ya next time," he replies with a wink, and, oh, he's got a Kansai accent. Kiyoomi turns his head to the side, in fear of revealing something he's not even sure of yet.
Their coaches soon call them for their cooldown stretches, and Atsumu and his brother bid them goodbye. Motoya waves back, but Kiyoomi's already got his back turned. There are girls squealing out Atsumu's and Osamu's names, and he glances back once to see Atsumu soaking it all up.
Kiyoomi's gulping down from his water bottle when Motoya joins him again. Wiping a hand across his lips, he asks, "Did you find out who it is? Your soulmate?"
"Not a fucking clue," is what Motoya breathes out. He sighs, smiling tiredly. "But it's fine. I've got time to figure it out. At least I got a hint now."
Kiyoomi smiles quietly back, and he tries to be happy for his cousin for finding his soulmate so early on – maybe even having found the both of them. He knows people don't usually find their soulmates until much later in life, and sometimes, if fate felt particularly evil, people would have known their soulmate their entire life, or would have run into them a couple of times, without even realizing it.
Fourteen years old isn't much of a big deal to most people. But at fourteen, Motoya thinks he's found one, if not both of his soulmates in Inarizaki High. At fourteen, Kiyoomi meets Miya Atsumu and is left thinking of the way Atsumu had beamed at him under the fluorescent stadium lights.
There's a stinging in his chest that he desperately represses far, far down, because for all of Atsumu's grins and eyes that seem to shine, Kiyoomi knows he isn't even a star in Miya Atsumu's entire orbit.
At his second year of high school, Kiyoomi earns a reputation for himself as one of the top three aces in the entire country. For the first time in months, he gets a rushed call from his parents who's probably off in America or somewhere, congratulating him for such a feat. There's an unspoken apology in the call when his mom tells him how proud she is, an apology for all the birthdays and achievements they weren't there for. Kiyoomi doesn't mind as much now that he's older; he's got Motoya, and Motoya's parents and sisters are a second home to him.
"No fucking way," Motoya says around a breathless laugh one day, holding up Volleyball Monthly with outstretched arms. "Look at this, Kiyoomi! We're famous!"
"Famous to other high school volleyball players in Japan, Toya, not to the whole world," Kiyoomi reasons, and Motoya clicks his tongue at his lack of enthusiasm.
"It's still a big deal, Kiyo, give us some credit! Take a look at this." Motoya extends the magazine out to him, and Kiyoomi feigns great reluctance before snatching it up for himself. Sue him, but he's curious too. He peers into the page Motoya's got it open on, only to be greeted with the sight of himself in mid-air, ready to spike a ball, his form taking up the whole paper.
"Huh," is all he says, and he doesn't even have to look to his side to know Motoya's grinning. "How did they take that picture of me? I actually look... kinda cool."
"No shit, Sherlock," his cousin huffs, before reading the text by his picture out loud. "'Sakusa Kiyoomi, aged 15 from Itachiyama Institute, known to be the only second year in the entirety of Japan's top three aces. With his powerful spikes, flexible wrists, and clean receives, he's said to be a terrifying opponent to go up against, and is well on his way to becoming an incredible all-rounder. He's shown tremendous growth throughout his years of playing volleyball, having played the sport in his middle school as well, and we look forward to seeing more of this talented young man's amazing progress in future matches.' "
"Okay, that's hyping me up way too much," Kiyoomi puts in, once Motoya had finished reading. "Do they need to exaggerate it like that?"
"You're so stupid, Kiyoomi," Motoya groans. He flaps the magazine with his hand and exclaims, "Everything they've said is true! You are getting better at your receives – thanks to me, of course – and your spikes and serves are somehow becoming both consistent and unpredictable all at the same time. Consistent for us maybe, but unpredictable for everyone else."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Kiyoomi glances at their several notebooks and worksheets spread across Motoya's desk table. So much for doing their homework. "What do they say about you? Weren't you proclaimed as best libero?"
Motoya's entire face brightens up as he cracks a smug smile. "I thought you'd never ask," he says, flipping the pages. Once he's apparently landed on the one he wants, he clears his throat. "Okay, I don't get to have a full page to myself like you, Mr. All-Star-'' Kiyoomi rolls his eyes at that, "-but they do say this."
"'Komori Motoya, aged 16 from Itachiyama Institute, is well-known across various schools for his remarkable skills as a libero in one of Japan's best schools. Only a second-year, he's already snagged the number one spot for top liberos in the country, and it's well-deserved too.” There's a flush high on Motoya's cheeks as he continues to read, and Kiyoomi can't help it when pride blooms in his chest as he listens on. " 'Also the cousin of Sakusa Kiyoomi, – oh, come on, why'd they have to mention you? – Komori Motoya is catching the attention of several scouts and recruits from all over Japan, and we all anticipate the growth and development of such a star player.'"
There's a sparkle in his eye when he's done, turning to Kiyoomi with a wide grin. "So? Isn't this a pretty big deal? We've got scouts watching us, Kiyo!"
“Yeah, alright,” he admits in defeat, though there’s an intoxicating kind of thrill that jolts down his spine. He’s never been one for attention, but to be acknowledged for his talent and hardwork – it’s different.
"Oh, Kiyo, look who's on the next page!" Motoya blurts out excitedly. "It's the Miya twins!"
Kiyoomi freezes.
His entire body goes ramrod straight for the briefest of seconds at that, the name bringing back another torrent of unfamiliar, unwanted emotions he's trampled on for the past six months or so. Motoya doesn't seem to notice though, too engrossed at the article, so Kiyoomi quietly clears the bile from his throat and asks, "The ones from Inarizaki, right?"
"Yeah, we played against them during the Interhigh!" Motoya pauses for a bit, before a wicked grin splits through his face and he says, "Can't wait to go up against them again, just so I can see the looks on their stupid faces when we pound them into the dirt."
"And because you think they're your soulmates, and you’ve been positively itching to see them again, right?"
“That too,” Motoya agrees with a laugh. “Okay, okay, so for them it says, ‘Miya Arsumu and Miya Osamu, the incredibly talented brothers from Inarizaki High are vastly known for their spiker-setter dynamics. At just 16 years old, Miya Atsumu has already been claimed as Japan’s best high school setter, as well as his insanely powerful serves. His twin brother, Miya Osamu, is not far behind at all, known to be a formidable wing-spiker too. We wouldn’t be surprised at all if one, if not both of them, get invited to All-Japan Youth Intensive Training Camp this December, and we excitedly await to see more of them on the court.’”
By the end of it. Kiyoomi can tell his cousin is nearly vibrating out of his seat in excitement. Motoya flips to more pages, saying, “There’s also Ushijima Wakatoshi – that guy you somehow kept in touch with after running into him the bathrooms during middle school, I hated receiving his spikes, damnit – Bokuto Koutarou, Kageyama Tobio, and Wakatsu Kiryu, just to name a few.”
“I’d like to play against all of them soon,” Kiyoomi hums. “You think we’d get an invite to the All-Japan Youth Training Camp?”
Motoya grins crookedly. “Of course we will,” he boasts confidently, and finally puts the magazine aside. “Hey, do you know they call us ‘The Monster Generation ’?
“Sounds tacky.”
“Cool, Kiyoomi, it’s cool,” Motoya corrects, and Kiyoomi huffs out an exasperated laugh.
The next few months pass by in a blur of homeroom classes and volleyball practice, and when December sneaks by with it’s frigid air and freezing weather, they do get an invite to the All-Japan Youth Training Camp. Their teammates aren’t surprised to hear it, but they celebrate with their coaches anyway after practice runs a little late at a nearby barbeque place.
Kiyoomi’s parents hear about the news too from Motoya’s mom, video calling him one night as he lies bundled up in blankets on his bed, his sister snoring softly from the next room. They promise they’ll be in Tokyo in time for New Year’s, and Kiyoomi supposes it's their own way of making up for their constant absence. He sleeps a little easier that night.
The next morning, Kanade treats him to breakfast. Kiyoomi chooses a sushi place just a few blocks down from their apartment, one he knows is clean. Watching them make the food itself was definitely a plus point.
His sister catches him up on how things are going for her in university, talking about this specifically bitchy professor. Her words, not Kiyoomi’s. She tells him of her roommates, and how there’s this girl in her lecture hall with the prettiest brown eyes and dyed blonde hair who she highly suspects is her soulmate. Kiyoomi’s eyes widen at that, and he tells her to shoot her damn shot already.
In turn, he talks about class, about volleyball. He tells her how he’s doing incredible in English, but Motoya has to help him out a lot for math. He mentions Ushijima Wakatoshi, a guy he met in middle school and still keeps in touch with. He tells her of how he’s practicing this new serve, and how he’s confident he could nail it down before the training camp starts.
It’s not perfect. Hell, Kiyoomi’s life has been far from perfect, but he thinks of how things are looking up and he smiles from behind his mask as they walk back home.
Naturally, things take a downward turn from there.
“We’re not roommates?” Kiyoomi asks with a frown and a furrow in his brows, the day he and Motoya arrive at Ajinomoto National Training Center. Today marks day one of their week-long training camp, and Kiyoomi already wants to catch the next train and speed away from here and into the comfort of his own room. He glares at his name on the paper, as if it could possibly change through sheer frustration.
“Guess not,” Motoya replies back with a shrug. He turns away from the bulletin board of their rooming arrangements and flashes him a hopeful smile, “But, hey, this could be a good thing! I mean, Miya Atsumu, right? And I get to be with Kourai-kun!”
Kiyoomi’s scowl must come off too strong, because even with his mask on, Motoya winces. “Can’t we ask them to change it?”
Shaking his head, Motoya says, “That’ll probably leave a bad impression of us. Come on, it won’t be that bad! Plus,” Motoya nudges his side, and Kiyoomi resists the urge to whack him, “this means you can finally make some new friends!”
“Is this your roundabout way of saying you’re tired of me.” It’s not a question, and Motoya’s mouth drops at the accusation.
“Of course not! Look, Kiyoomi, this whole training camp is for us to bond and whatever, right? Just in case we end up on the same professional teams in the future.”
“I really don’t think that’s what all this is for-”
“Which means,” Motoya continues like Kiyoomi hasn’t spoken at all, “This could be a good bonding experience for all of us! We already spend everyday together – not that I’m complaining, don’t get the wrong idea – and since we’ll all be grouped into different teams for practice matches here, you could get a headstart on forming some kinda relationship with Miya Atsumu!”
“A relationship,” Kiyoomi repeats, one eyebrow raised. “With Miya Atsumu.”
The name still has his heart thudding faintly in his chest. Frankly, he hadn’t forgotten Atsumu, not in the slightest, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He’d done a pretty job too these last couple of months, and he’d been hoping Atsumu wouldn’t show up at all to this training camp so he could be spared from yet another mini-crisis.
In retrospect, that was probably stupid of him, especially when he remembers the amazing, almost blinding way Atsumu had played in their last match against each other.
“You make it sound like you’re being forced to commit a murder,” Motoya huffs, before giving Kiyoomi a once-over. “Actually, with the way you look right now, that’ll probably be close to happening.”
Kiyoomi’s just about to tell his cousin to shut up, or to fuck off, or maybe both, but just then the front doors fly open with a sound that echoes through the entire lobby, and Kiyoomi flinches. They turn their heads towards the entrance, and-
Kiyoomi’s jaw drops to the floor.
He takes one look at the boy dressed in his school’s red and black tracksuit, and promptly bursts into laughter.
It takes Kiyoomi himself by surprise when he has to lean against Motoya for support as he tries to get an ounce of composure back. Motoya, who’s staring back at him with his mouth hanging open like he can’t believe this is Kiyoomi’s reaction to seeing the setter. In the back of his head, Kiyoomi figures he probably sounds like a fucking windshield wiper with the way he’s wheezing into his cousin’s shoulder, and he supposes he should feel embarrassed with the way no one but Motoya has ever heard him like this before, but he takes another glance at the boy gaping at him and doubles over in laughter all over again.
“I- What?” Miya Atsumu asks, expression going from shocked to incredulous to bewildered all in a matter of seconds. He turns to Motoya, a blush starting to paint high on his cheeks. Kiyoomi actually has to wipe tears from his eyes. “Is he laughing at me?”
“I don’t-” Motoya stammers, shaking Kiyoomi away from him and shooting him a pointed look. “I, uh, apologize for my cousin. I have no idea what’s gotten over him.”
Kiyoomi’s cheeks are starting to hurt when he straightens his back, a hand still on Motoya’s shoulder as he clears his throat. Oh God, he hasn’t laughed like this in so long. His face feels flushed. He stares at Atsumu, bemused.
“What the everliving fuck did you do to your hair?” he finally asks, not bothering to hide the mix of confusion and amusement in his tone.
“Oh my God,” Motoya whispers from beside him, just as the pink on Atsumu’s cheeks turn up a couple more notches. He scowls, and Kiyoomi has to genuinely steady himself to stop his shoulders from shaking.
“I wanted people to stop mistaking me for ‘Samu,” Atsumu replies grumpily. His hand flies up to self-consciously fix his bangs.
“And you decided to dye it the color of piss?” Kiyoomi questions back, and Motoya actually aims a kick to his shin this time.
Atsumu rolls his eyes and deliberately looks away, lips still in a downward frown and face still red. It’s obnoxiously unfair how he doesn’t already look like a tomato with the way his skin is starting to match his clothes. “Oh, shut up, Sakusa-kun. I’ve heard enough teasing from Sunarin, I don’t wanna hear this from ya too.”
Motoya takes this chance to step forward and bow his head slightly. He tugs at Kiyoomi’s jacket sleeve, glaring from the corner of his eye. “Really sorry about Kiyoomi, Atsumu-kun. He’s not usually this… “
“Rude?” Atsumu supplies, and Kiyoomi huffs softly in indignation.
Offering a sheepish grin, Motoya says, “Again, sorry about him. Kiyo-” his cousin turns towards him and crosses his arms. “You can’t just laugh at people like that! Have some decency! Especially if that person’s gonna be your roommate for the whole week.”
“Wait. What?” Atsumu cuts in again, pointing at Kiyoomi, then at himself. “Us? Roommates?”
“Wonderful job in formulating that eloquent sentence,” Kiyoomi snorts as he rolls his eyes. Atsumu fumes for a second, before he sucks in a sharp inhale and says like a mantra, “No, I promised ‘Samu I wouldn’t fight anyone here.”
“Kiyoomi,” Motoya hisses again. “Stop that. Be nice.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Kiyoomi hoists his backpack up higher over his shoulder. “I’ll be getting our room’s key now.” He flashes Atsumu a look. “Coming, Miya?”
He means it more of a joke than anything, because he truly does not trust himself to act normally when alone with Miya Atsumu, but still, Atsumu sighs and nods. “I’ll catch up in a bit,” he says. “Gotta use the toilet first.”
“I’ll pick up my key too, if Kourai-kun isn’t here already,” Motoya puts in, trailing to Kiyoomi’s side. He throws a grin back at Atsumu. “It was nice meeting you again, Atsumu! I look forward to playing with you later!”
Kiyoomi doesn’t stick around long enough to hear Atsumu’s response, already walking away. Motoya jogs to catch up with him, and he jabs an elbow at Kiyoomi’s ribs.
“Ow,” Kiyoomi frowns, the same time Motoya asks, “What the hell was that?”
“What the hell was what?”
“That thing with Atsumu back there,” Motoya says, waving his hands in front of him.
“Okay, you can’t really blame me, Motoya. His hair did look like piss.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to say it out loud!” his cousin exclaims in exasperation. “Please don’t tell me you plan on acting like that this whole week. What if I come to your room tomorrow and see that Atsumu had murdered you because you pissed him off too much?”
“That’s not happening,” Kiyoomi deadpans, far too used to Motoya’s dramatics. “Plus, there’s no way he’s winning against me in a fight.”
“You’re impossible,” Motoya groans. “Come on, let’s just get to our rooms already. My back is killing me.”
Later that day, during a timeout between the sets of a practice match, Kiyoomi downs as much water from his bottle as he can without it making him feel nauseous for when they play again in a bit. Then, he approaches Atsumu on the far side of the bench and says, "Your last toss was way too far from the net."
Atsumu glances up, a small scowl settling on his face. "No, it wasn't," he argues, setting his towel aside. "It was the same as all my other sets. Your distance was probably off."
"My distance was fine. It was you who got sloppy towards the end."
"Alright then, Omi-kun," Atsumu drawls, and Kiyoomi thinks he feels a blood vessel pop somewhere in his body. "How would ya like your sets then?"
"Do not call me that. And I would prefer if your sets were higher, and closer to the net," Kiyoomi grits out through the clench of his teeth. Atsumu rolls his eyes, but when the third set starts and Atsumu sets to him again, the toss is way better, exactly how Kiyoomi likes them.
He slams the ball down on the opposite court.
"Better?" Atsumu asks, smirking with a hand on his hip, and Kiyoomi looks up to the ceiling and is suddenly very sorry for everything he's done.
They win that set, and Kiyoomi tunes out Motoya's complaints of oh, come on, they're the best spiker and best setter, of course they'll make a ridiculously powerful duo. Kiyoomi simply levels his cousin with a look and tells him to do better and live up to his name of best libero, to which he hears an indignant squawk from Motoya back.
Dinner starts, but Kiyoomi trails back to his room to grab for his disinfectant wipes. He brings his sanitizer too, safely tucking it into his jacket's pockets. Grabbing for his bag, he unzips it and digs around for his bracelet. Except he comes up empty-handed.
He frowns. He didn't forget it at home, did he?
Before the panic could settle in, Kiyoomi inhales, exhales, and reminds himself this isn't middle school anymore. It would obviously be weird if he kept wearing his sweatband around outside of practice, so as long as he just wears his jacket and keeps the inside of his wrist hidden from view, he supposes he should be fine. Plus, people don’t just casually grab for other people’s wrists to check what kind of soulmate mark they have. That’d be like walking up to someone and forcefully tugging their hair back to check if they have piercings. And judging from introductions earlier, Kiyoomi would like to think everyone here are genuinely nice people, and he isn't a scrawny, thirteen year old boy anymore. If things do go awry, Kiyoomi knows how to throw a mean punch.
He’ll be fine. No one will find out.
That final reminder does it for him, and taking in another deep breath, he gets up and dusts out his pants. Making sure to lock the door behind him, he pads down the hallways to the cafeteria. He catches Motoya by the far side of the room with his loud voice and exaggerated hand gestures, and Kiyoomi gets his own servings of food and is just about to make his way to his cousin when he sees-
Fucking hell.
"Motoya," he cuts in from whatever his cousin had been animatedly talking about. He glances at Atsumu sitting beside him, who's suddenly very invested in shovelling down his meal, almost looking small in his Inarizaki jacket, before looking Motoya dead in the eye. "What is this."
There's excitement sparkling in Motoya's eyes when he speaks. "Kiyoomi," he grins, like he'd just received the best news in the world. "You won't believe it, but I think I know who my soulmates are."
That catches Kiyoomi's attention. He gapes, finally taking a seat across from his cousin, and blurts out, "What?"
"Yeah, holy shit, even I can't wrap my head around it," Motoya laughs breathlessly. "Atsumu and I were talking and all, our conversation first starting with our birthdays because Atsumu had asked when was yours for some reason-" Atsumu whips his head in surprise at this, like he wasn't expecting Motoya to mention it. Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at him questioningly, but the other boy is adamant on not meeting his gaze. "-and so I find out he and his twin Osamu were born on October 5, 1995. And you remember the numbers on my wrist, right?"
"I- Yeah, I do remember," Kiyoomi mutters softly. He does his routine of disinfecting his utensils, and once he's done, he sets his mask down and takes a small bite out of his food. Atsumu's watching him. He pointedly ignores it. "How do you know it's not someone else's birthday, though?"
"Because," Motoya says, a happy sort of flush starting to creep up his cheeks. "Atsumu said Osamu had my birthday on his wrist. July 30, 1995, or 073095. Isn't that so fucking cool? And that isn't even the best part!" Motoya pauses to flip his wrist over and show the small fox imprinted on the skin. "Apparently, Osamu also has this mark, and Atsumu's absolutely confident that it's supposed to represent that middle blocker from Inarizaki, Suna Rintarou."
"And this guy, Suna-san," Kiyoomi voices out with a wave of his fork. "What are his soulmate marks?"
"Mine and Osamu's birthdays," Motoya exhales, like saying all that out loud had taken all the energy from him. He's still smiling though, so hard Kiyoomi worries his face might split open, but he's happy for his cousin. He says so out loud, and he thinks Motoya might actually tear up on the spot.
"Y'all are lucky to have found yer soulmates so early on," Atsumu muses, having just finished his dinner. He pushes the tray aside. "Do you have yer phone, Komori-kun? I'd love to give you their numbers."
"Holy shit, that'd be great actually," Motoya says, taking out his phone from his back pocket. "I'll text them as soon as this whole training camp is over. You think I could meet them anytime soon?"
"You could always come and catch that train with me to Hyogo after all this ends," Atsumu jokes, punching in some numbers on the phone, and Motoya chuckles good-naturedly.
"I'd love to, but Kiyoomi would be awfully lonely without me around. He'd probably cry himself to sleep or something."
"Motoya." There's a warning in Kiyoomi's voice. "That's nowhere near the truth. Stop tainting my name."
"And you call me the dramatic one," Motoya rolls his eyes. He takes back his phone from Atsumu and looks at the new contacts like it's the most breathtaking thing he's ever seen. Which further proves Kiyoomi's point that yes, his cousin will forever be the more dramatic out of both of them.
They finish their meals all too soon, and suddenly Kiyoomi finds himself walking beside Atsumu as they head back to their rooms. The air is different without Motoya around. It leaves Kiyoomi tense, especially when Atsumu’s hand nearly brushes his own a couple times.
“Ya played well today,” Atsumu starts, coughing into his fist. It’s a feeble attempt in breaking the silence, but Kiyoomi indulges him anyway. “Uh, do you wanna use the showers first?”
Kiyoomi hums in assent, opening the door and searching for his toilet essentials. Once he has all of it, he throws his jacket onto his bed, takes hold of the hem of his shirt, and swiftly pulls it over his head.
From a few feet away, Atsumu lets out a squeak.
“What?” Kiyoomi asks defensively, tossing his towel over his shoulder. Atsumu’s turned a little red now, paying way too much attention to a spot on the floor, and Kiyoomi takes a second before he glances down at his chest and thinks, is this because of me?
“Um, sorry,” Atsumu says, but it sounds strangled, “I just didn’t expect ya to… you know… “
Blinking in confusion, Kiyoomi sighs and crosses his arms. Yeah, Atsumu is definitely trying not to stare at him, if the small choked-off sound at the back of his throat and the color in his cheeks is anything to go by. He takes a little pride in that. “Actually, I don’t,” Kiyoomi deadpans. “Use your words, Miya.”
“You’re pretty,” Atsumu blurts out, quickly, suddenly, and Kiyoomi’s eyes widen and he thinks he feels his brain freeze to an abrupt halt.
What.
He opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it back shut when he can't find anything to say. Atsumu must mistake his surprise for anger, because he rushes out and adds, “Sorry, wait, I just didn’t expect ya to have all those moles, y’know? It’s pretty. Kinda looks like stars. And, um, don’t let it get to yer head, you’re still very much a jerk, especially with the way ya laughed at my hair, but everyone knows you’re good-looking anyway which sucks ‘cause they don’t know how mean you can be, and-”
“Miya.” Kiyoomi squeezes his eyes shut. He forces down the blush threatening to show. “Please stop talking.”
Somehow, Atsumu’s face turns even redder. “Right. Um. Sorry.” He gestures towards the door. “You can go take yer bath now.”
And Kiyoomi does, stopping by the door for only a second to glance back at Atsumu, who’s intent on staring at the wall like it’s something beyond fascinating.
Once in the warmth of the showers, he squats down to bury his face in his knees and screams.
“Omi-kun!”
Fucking Christ, not that nickname again, Kiyoomi thinks fleetingly, but he runs towards the ball and spikes it hard. Hoshiumi dives for it, too late, and the ball drops to the floor and rolls away.
“That was so gross, Omi,” Atsumu says, leaning in beside him when a timeout before the third set is called. From the other side of the net, Hoshiumi groans and promises he’ll get it next time. Kiyoomi refuses to let that happen, ignoring the other boy’s complaints, and turns his head towards Atsumu.
“Excuse me?”
Atsumu grins and spreads his arms out. “It was a compliment! Your spikes are disgusting, but like, in a good way.”
“That was a horrible compliment, Miya,” Kiyoomi states with an eyebrow arched. “Do better next time.”
“Oh?” Atsumu says, grinning wider. It’s almost a smirk, and Kiyoomi itches to slam a volleyball onto his face. “Next time? So do ya like me complimenting you?”
“Kindly fuck off.”
“No can do, Omi-kun,” Atsumu chirps back. Kiyoomi doesn’t want to acknowledge just how close Atsumu is, and he should feel disgusted since they’re both awfully sweaty, but he sees the teasing glint in Atsumu’s eye and thinks, well.
Two can play it that game.
“Really, now.” He takes a step forward, self-satisfaction tumbling down on him when Atsumu falters. “If I’m not mistaken, you were the one who shamelessly called me pretty last night. Maybe you just like to compliment me, for whatever absurd reason.”
“What the everliving fuck am I witnessing with my own two eyes right now,” Motoya whispers in bafflement from the sidelines, the same time Atsumu’s eyes go wide and he splutters, “Hey now, that’s playing dirty, Omi!”
“How on earth am I ‘playing dirty’?” Kiyoomi shoots back. “What, so it’s my fault you think I'm attractive?”
In the back of his mind, there’s a voice telling him to stop. This is a dangerous line he’s crossing, and Kiyoomi knows. He knows that Atsumu has someone else destined for him, maybe he’d already found his soulmate, but Kiyoomi thinks about his empty, unmarked wrist and allows himself to be selfish, just this once.
Atsumu’s scowling, a furious flush on his cheeks as he looks away. Beside Motoya, Kiyoomi hears Kageyama ask, “Is this some sort of weird mating ritual?”
They begin the last set for the day just minutes later, Hoshiumi and Kageyama’s team ends up winning this one, and Kiyoomi’s almost done wiping the sweat off his neck when Atsumu declares, “Again!”
“Are you out of your mind?” Kiyoomi asks disbelievingly. “We’ve been doing drills and playing all day, Miya. It’s time for cooldown stretches now, which, if you don’t know, is just as important as actual practice.”
“Oh, zip it, Omi. I’m not losin’ to goody-two shoes Tobio-kun over here.”
"Practice ends here, everyone," their coach for the training camp announces with a clasp of his hands. Kiyoomi shoots Atsumu a smug look. Atsumu sticks his tongue out at him in return. "Please pair up and help each other with stretching. Sakusa, Miya, you do it together. Komori, Kageyama, you can do it together too. You all get it right?"
When several of them nod in accordance, their coach regards them all with a smile. "Alright, that's it for today. Don't forget to eat enough for dinner. Good work everyone, and I'll see you again tomorrow!"
"Well?" Kiyoomi says, turning to Atsumu once their coaches have left the gym. "Will you help me or not?"
"Geez, Omi, we're getting there. What's yer usual stretching routine like?"
In lieu of an actual response, Kiyoomi sits himself down on the floor, Atsumu following suit. He feels Atsumu watching when he places the back of his hands to the ground, stretching out his wrists. The close scrutiny makes Kiyoomi suddenly thankful for the large sweatband covering most of the skin.
"What the fuck," Atsumu mutters in awe, and Kiyoomi thinks about anything that isn't how close his voice felt next to his ear. He suppresses a shiver. "That's so weird, Omi-kun. But really cool too."
"Thanks," he replies wryly, sarcasm thick in his voice. Atsumu rolls his eyes.
He continues like that for a while, stretching and rolling out his wrists, then his neck, followed by his arms and torso. Atsumu does the same too, and his stare on Kiyoomi is heavy, enough to make his skin feel like it's set on fire. Kiyoomi refuses to look back.
He doesn't realize the actual problem of being paired up with Atsumu until they've finished stretching their upper body. One scan across the room full of players helping each other with each other's lower half confirms that they're expected to do it too, and Kiyoomi has to close his eyes and cling to the last remnants of his sanity.
"Should I help ya stretch first, or… ?" Atsumu starts, trailing off in uncertainty.
Usually it's Motoya who helps him when their coach back in Itachiyama tells them to stretch. But one glance at his cousin on the far side of the gym shows he's too busy cackling at the way he's nearly breaking Kageyama's back.
Kiyoomi bites his lip. He grabs his jacket on the bench behind him, and before he can think better of it, he pulls out the little bottle and asks, "Is it alright if you put on sanitizer first?"
"Oh." Atsumu blinks in surprise, before nodding furiously. "Yeah, yeah, of course."
Scooting a few inches backwards for more space, Kiyoomi gets on his back then, slowly raising a leg up in the air. He easily brings it towards his chest, and Atsumu's hands hover over him for a few, hesitant seconds, before his palm rests just above the hem of Kiyoomi's volleyball shorts and Kiyoomi's brain short-circuits and he thinks, fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck. This can't be good.
It's weird. It's not supposed to be weird, but Miya Atsumu's hand is resting on the back of his thigh like a brand, hot and heavy and it sets his entire being aflame, and Kiyoomi supposes he should be revolted, but he's not .
He's shaken away from his thoughts – thank fuck, he doesn't want to think about what it could mean – when Atsumu suddenly presses a little too hard on his leg. Kiyoomi yelps, immediately swatting him away.
"Too much?" Atsumu asks sheepishly, the same time Kiyoomi levels him with a half-hearted glare and says, "Are you trying to split me open?"
Atsumu's eyes go comically wide. He opens his mouth as if to protest, but no words come out, and a dark flush spreads through his cheeks. Kiyoomi's just about to ask what the fuck's gotten into him when it sinks in.
This whole experience has been downright mortifying. He tries to backtrack. "I didn't mean it like that-"
"I mean," Atsumu interrupts, shrugging and looking away. The flush has travelled to his neck. "You are weirdly flexible, Omi."
Christ.
Kiyoomi has never wished for the sweet release of death so actively until this very moment.
Laying back down, he mutters, "Let's just get this over with."
Eventually, they do get it over with, but Kiyoomi thinks he's lost at least ten years of his lifespan by the end of it. He doesn't want to think of Atsumu's hands on him. He doesn't want to think of why Atsumu looked so flustered, and could only hope he didn't look the same. He especially does not want to think of Atsumu and his goddamn fucking thighs.
He's been doing an amazing job at ignoring it so far, but thinking of how he now knows what it looks like when it's pulled taut is enough to send him on a spiral on the spot.
Kiyoomi's thinking too much. He wants to shut down his brain.
"Hey, Omi?" Atsumu chuckles nervously. Again, he's beside him. "You look constipated. Are ya alright?"
"Fine," he replies, but his words come out clipped.
They enter the cafeteria together, and Motoya's already there, waving at them from the table he's on. Kiyoomi's surprised to see Kageyama Tobio beside him. Motoya must notice too, because he grins in a way that Kiyoomi knows means he's scheming something.
"Oh, you're finally here!" Motoya greets, gesturing for him and Atsumu to sit on the seats across from him. "Kageyama-kun here was just telling me how Karasuno won against Shiratorizawa in tbe Miyagi Prefectural Qualifiers."
"I've always wondered about that," Kiyooni mutters as he disinfects his utensils. He tugs his jacket sleeve over his wrist and takes a bite out of his food. “I haven’t watched the video yet, but why did Shiratorizawa lose? Was Wakatoshi-kun not feeling well?”
“Kiyoomi-” Motoya tries to cut in, but Kageyama beats him to it.
“He seemed to be playing his best to me.”
A frown tugs on Kiyoomi’s lips. “Then how did he lose? How did you manage it?”
“Okay, I didn't make you all sit here for this interrogation,” Motoya puts in again, giving Kiyoomi a look that clearly means stop it . Kiyoomi rolls his eyes.
Atsumu, never one to stay silent for long, Kiyoomi notes, turns to him with an unreadable expression. “What’s your deal with Ushijima, Omi-kun?”
“I don’t have one. And don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“They’re friends or whatever,” Motoya answers instead, laughing softly. “Wakatoshi is probably the only person Kiyoomi actually texts and talks to that isn’t me. Actually, scratch that, Kiyoomi doesn’t even text me .”
“Why the hell would I text you when I'm always at your house anyway?” Kiyoomi retorts back with an exasperated sigh. Motoya quickly sticks his tongue out, like the child he is.
He doesn’t stay long after that, desperately needing to take a shower already. His cousin scolds him for not eating as much as he should, to which Kiyoomi simply answers with a wave of his hand as he walks away.
When he returns, Atsumu’s already there, sitting on his bed as he scrolls through something on his phone. He glances up when Kiyoomi enters, only for his ears to quickly turn red as he whips his head back to his screen.
Kiyoomi cocks his head to the side. “Something wrong, Miya?”
“Of course not,” Atsumu says, but it sounds strangled. And he’s still not looking at him.
But Kiyoomi guesses he should get used to it. There really was never much to look at when it came to him.
The next few days pass by in a sort of haze. They wake up, practice, stretch, then go back to sleep, with meals in between. There’s also Kiyoomi’s evergrowing crisis on Miya fucking Atsumu, but he likes to think he’s hiding it well. Motoya hasn’t confronted him too like he usually does whenever Kiyoomi’s acting the slightest bit weird, so he supposes he’s safe for now.
That doesn’t change the fact that it fucking hurts , not when Atsumu takes it upon himself to be his stretching partner or whatever the hell the coaches call it after every practice now, and Kiyoomi’s left thinking of the way Atsumu’s hands feel on Kiyoomi’s bare skin, warm and rough and surprisingly bigger than his. Usually, he’d never let anyone touch so much of him like this, but it’s different with Atsumu. Kiyoomi hates it.
Especially when, on the sixth day of the training camp, Atsumu had absentmindedly traced the moles on Kiyoomi’s thigh. It made him flinch, his cheeks immediately heating up, and Atsumu’s eyes had gone wide with realization, before apologizing profusely.
{“‘M really sorry, Omi,” Atsumu said, avoiding his gaze and hands withdrawing away. “Didn’t mean to cross a line there.”
“It’s fine, Miya,” Kiyoomi mumbled, his voice miraculously still working despite the lump that had started to form in his throat, painful and suffocating.
Touch me again, is what he wanted to say.
This whole week, you’ve been by my side. Why are you walking away now?)
Kiyoomi doesn’t think he’s ever wanted something so badly. He doesn’t even know what he wants anymore. It scares the shit out of him.
This is what goes through his horrible, horrible mind as he watches Atsumu strut into the room after finishing his shower in nothing but a towel.
He briefly wonders if this is repercussions for the way he’s been doing the same thing. He’s pretty sure the only difference is that this is affecting him more than he’d ever affected Atsumu.
He knows better than to feel this way. He should know better than to feel this way. This whole time, he's kept all his quick infatuations on the down-low. He's never too attracted to any of them, because he knows when to stop before he experiences the inevitable heartbreak of them finding their soulmate, and him being left alone.
That night, Kiyoomi can't for the life of him get himself to sleep.
From the tossing and turning he hears on the other side of the room, he supposes Atsumu can’t too.
After a few more minutes of shuffling around, trying to get comfortable only to find himself more awake than ever, he finally turns on his back with a soft, defeated sigh.
He sneaks a quick glimpse at the time on his phone. 11:43 pm.
They've got to get up at 7 in the morning. Kiyoomi doesn't like the idea of having to play when sleep-deprived.
'Can't sleep too, Omi?" Atsumu asks quietly, jostling him away from his thoughts. Kiyoomi figures there's no point in lying now, not when it's glaringly obvious.
"Yeah," is what he breathes out, and Atsumu hums.
"Well… " he starts. Kiyoomi dreads what he could possibly say next. "Since we're both awake-"
"No."
"Wha- I didn't even get to finish, Omi-kun!"
Kiyoomi eyes Atsumu's figure on the bed opposite of his. Even in the dark, it doesn't take a genius to tell Atsumu's propped up on his elbow, probably staring at him incredulously too. There's moonlight filtering through their window, the silver waning moon shining bright above them. Before Kiyoomi can give it a second thought, he reaches over to the small bedside table between their bed and flicks on the lamp.
The warm yellow light casts shadows across the room, and both Kiyoomi and Atsumu squint a little, blinking for their eyes to adjust.
"Okay then, Miya," Kiyoomi says in resignation, plopping back down on his pillows. He stares at the ceiling. "What were you gonna say?"
Atsumu's silent for a heartbeat, before he asks in a devastatingly soft voice, so unlike anything Kiyoomi's ever heard from him before, "Why are you awake, Omi?"
Kiyoomi considers this for a second. Maybe it's the late hour, or the physical exhaustion settling into his bones, because he finds himself saying the truth, or half of it at least.
"There's a lot in my head right now," he answers simply. He shifts his body to face Atsumu, and-
Oh.
Atsumu's already looking at him. There's something too gentle in his eyes, and he looks so soft and warm and Kiyoomi's throat seizes up, heart beating frantically in his chest.
He swallows. Pushes it back down. "What about you, Miya?"
Adjusting the covers around him, bunching it around his shoulders, Atsumu says with a tired smile, "'M not sure, to be honest. I think I'm homesick, though. Never really been away from 'Samu for this long before. This camp has been fun and all, but I'm also kinda glad we're going home tomorrow." Atsumu flashes him a crooked grin. "Can't wait to show off to 'Samu on everything he missed out."
Kiyoomi quirks a small smile at that. They stay like that for a moment more, facing each other, the gap between their beds the only thing separating them. Kiyoomi thinks it's the end of the conversation when Atsumu shifts again onto his stomach, elbow propped and chin on his hand.
"Hey, Omi?"
"What."
Atsumu laughs a little at his response. "Tell me about yourself."
Scanning the other boy's face warily, Kiyoomi stays quiet for about eight seconds before he caves and asks, "Will doing so help you sleep?"
"Maybe," Atsumu shrugs, the start of a sideways smile on his lips. "But I kinda also wanna know more about ya too."
Kiyoomi can hardly believe it. "What's there to know about?" he asks with a pointed look. "I'm nothing special."
To his surprise, Atsumu actually looks offended by that. "You don't mean that," he says, but Kiyoomi shakes his head.
"I'm really not. But if you want to know something about me, then… " Kiyoomi drifts off. What is he even gonna say? He runs a hand through his curls, letting out a soft exhale.
"Go on, Omi," Atsumu encourages softly. "I'll tell ya something about me in return."
“Is this supposed to be some kind of bonding experience?” Kiyoomi asks through a huff, and Atsumu snorts. Avoiding Atsumu’s piercing gaze, Kiyoomi contemplates it for a bit longer, before he starts with, “I’m gay. And on the ace spectrum."
That seems to shock Atsumu. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and he sits up a bit more, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Holy shit, Omi. Didn’t think you’d dive into that so quickly. Not that I’m complaining!” he adds suddenly, waving his hands around. “I’m, uh- I’m bisexual.”
“Oh,” Kiyoomi exhales. His traitorous mind starts to go at a hundred miles per hour at that piece of information, and he turns it around in his head just a couple more times for good measure, before berating himself for even considering anything. Stupid, he chides as he glances down at Atsumu’s hands, wrist hidden from where it’s resting atop his blankets. He has someone else.
“How’d ya find out?” Atsumu asks, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “You don’t hafta answer if you don’t wanna, though.”
Shaking his head, Kiyoomi sits up a little too, prepping his pillow behind his back. “It’s alright,” he starts softly. “I was thirteen, I think? I was up one night wondering if I was asexual or aromantic by any chance, which made me realize all my crushes have always been boys. Frankly, it’s kinda anticlimactic.”
He bites his lip, before a small laugh slips out of him. Atsumu’s blinking up at him with a sort of wonder on his face – or maybe it’s just the dimness of the room making Kiyoomi hallucinate – and Kiyoomi adds with a half-nostalgic smile, “I actually had a crush on Wakatoshi-kun once.”
"What?” Atsumu nearly yells, and Kiyoomi immediately shushes him. His mouth is hanging open, and his jaw opens and closes like he’s trying to find the right words, before finally settling on, “You mean Ushijima Wakatoshi?”
“Gee, Miya, do you know any other Wakatoshi-kuns out there?”
“I-” Atsumu gapes, before shutting his mouth close. For once, it seems like he doesn’t have anything else to say.
“It was just a fleeting interest, Miya,” Kiyoomi confirms with an exasperated eyeroll. “It probably lasted like, a week, It’s not a big deal.”
It takes Atsumu three seconds to say something after, and what comes out is–
"Is he your type?"
He's asking if Wakatoshi's my type, Kiyoomi thinks with a soundless huff. How ironic.
But there's no ignoring how the question sends Kiyoomi's mind reeling. He doesn't know why Atsumu's asking that, if it's of genuine curiosity or if he actually cares about the type of people Kiyoomi is attracted to. He doesn't know how to answer it either. He'd always thought he craved comfort, security, anything that's familiar and safe, but here he is having a civil conversation with Miya Atsumu at 12 in the morning and, well.
It's unfamiliar, and something about it forms a lump in Kiyoomi's throat.
But he swallows it down, far, far down, because Atsumu's looking at him expectantly and Kiyoomi can't afford giving anything away. Sucking in a quiet inhale through his nose, he finally replies with, "I'm not sure, frankly. All the guys I've somewhat found myself liking were always just… admirable, I guess? Like, if they were nice and respectful and treated others well, then I suppose I could see myself having an infatuation with them."
Atsumu nods in understanding, slouching onto his pillow. "You mentioned something about asexuality before," he puts in, almost hesitantly. "Are you?"
Kiyoomi doesn't reply immediately. He wonders if he's oversharing. And yet, Atsumu's looking at him with something like kindness simmering in his eyes, like Kiyoomi is worth listening to. It's strange. It's terrifying. It has Kiyoomi pursing his lips and spilling out things he hasn't even told Motoya before.
"I am," he answers, and he suddenly doesn't know where to look anymore. He settles on his hands and remains fixated there. "Asexual, I mean. I used to think it was just being disgusted by sex. But there's a really broad range to it, is what I discovered, and it's not that I hate sex – I just don't find myself thinking about it as much, or wanting to do it with any random stranger. It's not an attraction I feel as strongly."
Kiyoomi takes in a silent, shuddering breath. He doesn't know if he's ever talked this much before to anyone. "But," he adds quietly, "if I were to love someone a lot, and trust them enough, and they felt the same back, then… I don't see myself minding it anymore."
Atsumu is silent. Kiyoomi looks up, and regrets it almost instantly because Atsumu is gazing up at him all soft; everything about Atsumu is soft in this moment, this tiny room. He's always been soft, Kiyoomi realizes, under that boisterous, confident act, but even more so now with his hair sticking up in odd ends from moving too much and his cheeks squished on the cover of his pillow.
Kiyoomi feels something in him crack.
"What about you?" he asks back instead, and Atsumu tilts his head in confusion. “How’d you know you were bi?”
“Uh. Well,” Atsumu frowns a little at the question, eyebrows scrunched in thought. “I guess I’ve always known, honestly. Like I would find myself lookin’ at both boys and girls and thinking they were all very attractive. And when I really thought about it, I found I didn’t mind dating or kissing a boy like I would with a girl. It’s a good thing my parents back home were really supportive and all,” he adds with a light chuckle, “or else I don’t know what me and ‘Samu would have done.”
“That’s nice,” Kiyoomi murmurs softly, stretching out his arms above his head.
“You sleepy, Omi?”
He shrugs.“I wouldn’t mind talking for a bit longer." Surprisingly, he means it.
Atsumu must know it too, because he seems to brighten up at that. As if he wasn’t already blinding enough right now, looking impossibly warm in the gentle light of their lamp.
“Can I ask ya something again?”
Kiyoomi throws him a knowing look. “I’ve already been answering all your questions, Miya. Go ahead.”
“Okay.” Atsumu inhales, then lets it out in one swift breath. “You don’t have to answer this one if it makes ya uncomfortable. But I was just wonderin… “ he trails off, fidgeting with his hands. “I was wondering about those scars. On yer ribs. I really didn’t mean to stare when you came back from the bath earlier, but it just had me curious, is all.”
Kiyoomi stiffens. He could always lie, or make something up, and Atsumu wouldn’t know. But he finds himself doing the opposite, slumping back on his bed and trying to release the tension on his shoulders. His eyes are on the ceiling again. He tries to control his breathing.
“Omi? You don’t need to-”
“It was a few years ago,” he starts, voice surprisingly steady. “It happened just a few weeks after I came out to my family and Motoya.”
His hands have started shaking. He buries them under his blanket and hopes Atsumu won't notice.
“I was put on clean-up duty after classes, and I told Motoya he could wait for me by the gates. My partner didn’t show up, and I don’t know if it was part of their plan or not. So I was there, cleaning up and wiping down the desks and everything, when these three guys from the grade above me showed up. They locked the door behind them, and well.” He laughs humorlessly, shrugging. “Apparently news got out that I was gay or whatever, so they… “
He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to, apparently, not when he casts a sideways glance to gauge Atsumu’s reaction, only to see something like rage painting his face.
“They didn’t,” he whispers, chest heaving. Kiyoomi catches the way Atsumu’s fist clenches, before his hand goes up to brush under his eye in something akin to frustration.
“It’s fine.” He tries to wave it off. “It happened already.”
“Absolute fuckers," Atsumu exhales angrily, and Kiyoomi looks up in surprise. "How dare they-"
"Miya," Kiyoomi tries to cut in again. "I'm fine now. Really. I recovered and all, and the scars probably won't fade, but I don't mind."
"Ugh." Atsumu really has started tearing up, and he wipes the skin over his eyes. "Sorry, Omi. Didn't mean to suddenly cry when I was the one who asked. It's just- I can't understand how people can be homophobic, y'know? And treat others like that just because of it."
Not taking his eyes off of Atsumu, Kiyoomi asks with a thoughtful frown, "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Atsumu begins, placing his hands behind his head. "We all have soulmates right? And so I can't really wrap my head around people who are both transphobic and homophobic. Like, imagine being a homophobic guy, only for the universe to give you another dude for a soulmate." He pauses, then huffs out a small laugh. "That'll be kinda funny actually. Jokes on them for being a horrible person."
Kiyoomi tries to nod to show he's heard and understood what Atsumu's said – because it does make sense – but his brain had stopped and stayed stuck at the whole we all have soulmates line.
It plays over and over again in his head, like a broken record.
You have a soulmate, Miya, is what Kiyoomi thinks, aches. His heart restricts painfully from where it lies pounding in his ribs, trapped and beating so hard Kiyoomi fears it might bruise him. He forces air back down into his lungs.
On the other side of the room, Atsumu remains unfairly oblivious to his emotional turmoil, stifling a yawn as he rolls over to his side. He smiles up at Kiyoomi, a barely-there upward tilt to his lips, like he's letting Kiyoomi in on a little secret.
"I'm kinda sleepy now, Omi," he mumbles. "This whole thing kinda feels like a fever dream. A bit intimate of us, don't you think?"
Kiyoomi doesn't respond to that. He doesn't know how to. Turns out, he doesn't need to speak. Not when Atsumu's talking enough for the both of them.
"Thanks, though," Atsumu is saying, and it sounds so sincere it pricks at Kiyoomi's chest, like he's singlehandedly tearing down the barriers Kiyoomi's always put up. "For talkin' to me. And trusting me enough to say it."
Kiyoomi's heart is in his throat, but he speaks anyway. "Go to sleep, Miya," he mutters, the exhaustion finally seeping in. "We need to get up early later."
"Yeah," Atsumu grins sleepily. "Night, Omi."
Atsumu goes quiet after that, but Kiyoomi's thoughts go painfully loud, his pulse roaring in his ears. He turns to gaze at the window beside his bed, at the moon peeking from behind the clouds and shining bright above their heads.
A minute passes, maybe two, and Kiyoomi whispers, to a dark room and to a sleeping, beautiful boy-
"Goodnight, Atsumu."
Kiyoomi can't fall for Miya Atsumu.
That's what intrudes and pokes at his head the second he wakes up, the sun slowly making its way up the sky and Atsumu still fast asleep on the other side of the room. Not when Atsumu's a fucking whirlwind, breaking at Kiyoomi's walls and wrecking his heart. Not when everyone else loves him. Not when Atsumu has someone else, can have anyone else, with his overwhelming presence and golden eyes and pretty smiles.
So, like every other crush he's had, Kiyoomi suppresses it deep, deep down. He shuts off his heart, like he's used to doing. He was never meant to be with anyone anyway.
After everyone's had their breakfast, their coach gathers them all up in the gym one last time before they catch the trains back to their respective homes.
"Good work, everyone!" he says with a proud smile, addressing each and every one of them as he scans their faces. Motoya, who's standing beside Kiyoomi, elbows his ribs excitedly. Kiyoomi promptly steps on his foot. "You've all worked really hard throughout the entire week, and I'm pleased to say I've definitely seen some improvements in such a short amount of time."
Hands on his hips, he continues, "But I hope you don't think of the practice you've done here as any different from the practices you'll be doing with your teams when you get back. It'll be great if we all can improve, and I'm looking forward to seeing you lot in Nationals next month!"
There's excited chatter filling the room as they all exit the gym, walking towards the lobby. Kiyoomi sticks by Motoya, who's rapidly talking about not being able to wait till they get back home to practice with Itachiyama again. Kiyoomi lets him ramble. In some sort of meandering way, it helps calm the tempest raging through his head.
He fishes out the last of his masks from his bag's pocket as they head closer towards the exit. He puts it on, hoists his backpack higher over his shoulder, tugs his jacket sleeve again for good measure, and is just about to walk out the front doors when–
"Omi-kun, wait!"
Kiyoomi forcibly bites back a scream.
Motoya swivels his head at Atsumu's voice, rant cut short, his face lighting up into a wide smile as he waves. Kiyoomi, however, tries to gather up the last shreds of his composure, and once he thinks he's finally got it, he turns towards Atsumu and fixes him with a blank stare.
"What is it?" he asks. Atsumu stops right in front of him, patting down his pockets until he finally brings out his phone.
"Give me your number," he breathes out suddenly, before realization dawns on him and he adds, "Uh- not like that! Just, y'know, so we can keep in touch and all. If that's alright with ya."
Motoya clasps his hands, smile growing impossibly wider. "Oh, this is great, Kiyoomi! Now you won't just be texting Wakatoshi-kun all the time."
"I don't even talk to him that much," Kiyoomi points out with a sigh. "Even if I do, it's usually just about school and volleyball."
Motoya ignores him. Typical. Atsumu turns to Motoya too, handing out his phone with a light grin.
"Komori-kun, give me yer number too! We could make a group chat and all," he says, and Motoya nods eagerly in agreement.
"Yeah, that sounds good! Kourai-kun gave me his number too last night, oh-" he spots something over Atsumu's shoulder, and Kiyoomi follows his cousin's gaze to see Hoshiumi rounding the corner, slowly approaching them. Motoya gestures for him to come over with way too much enthusiasm for 8:30 in the morning. "Kourai-kun! Get your ass over here!"
Hoshiumi skims over their little group, a lopsided grin tilting up the corner of his lips. "Oh, are we exchanging numbers?" he asks, a hand on his hip and the other out in front of them. "Alright, Sakusa-kun, Atsumu-kun, give me those phones."
Kiyoomi sighs, only reluctantly handing his phone over when Motoya gives him the stink-eye. "This all seems like a bit too much."
"Don't be a spoilsport, Kiyoomi," Motoya tuts. He watches the small exchange happen with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "This'll be fun! Now we have friends outside of school."
Hoshiumu hands back their phones once he's done entering his contact information, to which Atsumu takes with a bright smile and even brighter smile. "I guess this is my cue to leave," he says around a laugh. "I'll see y'all around, right?"
"Duh, Atsumu-kun." Hoshiumi says with a single, raised eyebrow. "You better win your first round of Nationals, okay? Just so I can crush you and your stupid twin down to the ground."
"We don't even know the brackets yet," Kiyoomi puts in, pinching the bridge of his nose. He just wants to get on the damn train already. From the corner of his eye, Atsumu flashes him a sympathetic, tentative grin.
"Oh, Komori-kun, by the way," Atsumu adds, turning to Motoya. "I'll tell Sunarin and 'Samu about you the minute I get home. I just held it off so I can see the looks on their faces in person."
Flashing two thumbs up and a wink, Motoya nods in excitement. "Sounds good, Atsumu!" His expression turns a little wistful, before he adds with a soft exhale, "Ah, I hope they like me."
"Of course they will," Kiyoomi and Atsumu say in unison. Kiyoomi blinks, eyes drifting towards the setter, who's already staring at him back. Atsumu shoots him a quick smile. It's barely a small mercy when Kiyoomi's heart doesn't go free-falling in his chest.
It thuds dully instead, a faint reminder that this isn't something he can have. And Kiyoomi accepts it.
Motoya's staring at the both of them when Atsumu waves, heading for the doors. "Alright, I'll get going now! See ya!" he says with a wave. His gaze gravitates towards Kiyoomi, just for one, short-lived second, before he points at him and declares with something akin to triumph in his expression. "And don't forget my number, Omi-kun!"
"How can I when it's already on my phone?" Kiyoomi questions disbelievingly, to which Atsumu obnoxiously cracks up at.
He watches Atsumu go. Kiyoomi's always thought he craved comfort, security, anything that's familiar and safe.
He watches Atsumu go and thinks about how he's anything but that, a disaster about to rip Kiyoomi to shreds, and yet Kiyoomi had almost wanted him anyway.
Almost.
Kiyoomi is aware there's a sort of shift that's happened between him and Atsumu. He's aware of it when he walks to the train station with Motoya from the Ajinomoto Training Center, glancing every so often at his jacket sleeve going past his hands.
But he's also aware of the inevitable reminder that there isn't anyone out there to love him like that. His wrist remains empty in a world full of soulmates, and this comes crashing down on him in a whirlwind bigger than Miya Atsumu could ever be.
Almost a week after training camp ends, Kiyoomi's parents arrive back home to Tokyo.
It's on the morning of Christmas Eve when his brother and sister come barging into their childhood apartment, backpacks over their shoulders with the plan to stay till New Years. Kiyoomi doesn't even know how long it's been since his whole family were together in one place. He doesn't know if it's a nice change from his usual routine of coming back from school to an abandoned home when he isn't with Motoya, but it's certainly different.
Motoya's family joins them for dinner at 7 pm on the dot. Kiyoomi's brother talks about his new job and his new flat, how he's hoping he finally gets to run into his soulmate sometime soon. His parents talk about their job, how they fly from place to place and how many cultures they've grown to love and learned over the years. There's probably three different conversations happening around the table, but Kiyoomi tunes it all out. He wants to clear his plate and escape to his room as soon as possible.
Don't get him wrong, he's glad his family's together after spending so many holidays with only Motoya, but that's just it. It's overwhelming, to have his parents ask him about stuff that happened two years ago. His mom had even asked how that English test went in his third year of middle school, and Kiyoomi had to remind her that he can't remember something so insignificant when it happened such a long time back.
Half an hour later, he finally excuses himself from the table and subtly bolts for his room, Motoya in tow. He shuts his door to the conversation of Kanade and Motoya's sister's university experiences, and he breathes out a sigh.
"You okay?" Motoya asks with a small, knowing smile. Kiyoomi lifts an unimpressed brow at that.
"I'm pretty sure you know how I feel, Toya," he responds with a huff, plopping down on his bed. Motoya pats his knee assuringly.
"I haven't seen your parents in so long." Staring contemplatively at the far side of his wall, Motoya adds, "I almost didn't recognize them. Your sister too. Can't believe she dyed her hair red."
"She must have done it the past week," Kiyoomi laughs. "She still had it black before we went for the All Japan training camp."
"It suits her though."
Kiyoomi hums in agreement, before turning his head to his cousin and lightly slapping at Motoya's elbow for attention. "Will you sleep over tonight?" he asks, to which Motoya shakes his head.
"Would love to, but my parents said we need to be home for Christmas. Something about unboxing our gifts and all."
Kiyoomi’s just about to answer when a soft ping rings from Motoya’s phone. He watches his cousin curiously when Motoya glances at his screen, a faint blush rising high on his cheeks when he sees who it’s from. Kiyoomi narrows his gaze when Motoya nearly drops his phone typing out a reply, peering in over his cousin’s shoulder.
“Who’s that?” he pries.
Motoya’s flush turns a few shades darker at that, clearing his throat in what Kiyoomi assumes is his attempt at casualcy, but he fails so horribly Kiyoomi almost feels bad for asking in the first place.
“It’s, uh- It’s Rin,” Motoya answers, putting his phone away. Kiyoomi frowns. He prides himself on having a good memory, but this name doesn’t ring any bells. He runs it over his head once more, finally sighing when he comes up empty.
“Sorry, who?”
“Oh! Sorry, holy shit, I meant Suna.” Motoya grins sheepishly, rubbing at his nape. “The middle blocker from Inarizaki, Suna Rintarou.”
“Yes, I got that,” Kiyoomi replies with a faint smile. He arches a brow teasingly when he asks, “Already on nicknames, hm, Motoya?”
Motoya groans, burying his face in Kiyoomi’s covers. His ears have turned red though. Kiyoomi barely restrains himself from giggling. “Oh, shut the fuck up,” his cousin grumbles. “We’ve been talking ever since training camp ended, Osamu too, and the nickname just kinda grew on me. It’s kinda cute, honestly.”
Kiyoomi pretends to gag. “Never thought meeting your soulmates would turn you into such a sap.”
“Technically, I haven’t really met them yet,” Motoya points out. “We’ve texted, and video called a couple of times, but I really wanna see them soon at Nationals.”
“So?” Kiyoomi asks, leaning back on his headboard. “What are they like?”
“They're so much more than I thought I wanted in the best way possible,” Motoya says through an exhale, before he groans again. “Oh fuck. I really am turning into a sap. Kiyoomi, stop this now.”
“What are you asking me for?” Kiyoomi laughs. “Told you they would love you. Soulmates or not, you’re surprisingly nice to be around when you aren’t always running your loud mouth.”
“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Kiyo.”
Motoya cracks up when Kiyoomi aims a kick at his face. Motoya's phone pings again though, and Kiyoomi’s one second away from throwing another kick, just for good measure, when Motoya abruptly stands up and points an accusing finger at him.
“You muted us, didn’t you?” Motoya demands, a hand on his hips. Kiyoomi blinks up at him.
“What the fuck are you going on about?”
“The group chat.” Motoya rolls his eyes with a huff, scrolling through the new message on his phone. “The one I made with Kourai-kun and Atsumu a few days ago. I even added Rin and Osamu too, just so you could have some friends that aren’t as all up in your face.”
Oh. Kiyoomi remembers the group chat. “To be fair,” he explains, “you would mute a chat too if you were suddenly added into it without your consent, and if you wake up to 500 new messages blowing up your phone.”
Motoya stares at him with a flat look. “Unmute it now, Kiyoomi.”
“And why should I do that?”
“Because it’ll be more fun with you!” his cousin whines, to which Kiyoomi responds with a deadpan glare.
“You’re just saying that because without me around, you have no one to openly make fun of,” he says. Motoya has the nerve to look offended.
“Please, Kiyoomi. Atsumu’s even been asking about you!”
Kiyoomi counts it as another small mercy in life when his heart doesn’t forcibly stop, or his stomach doesn't completely lurch at the mention of Atsumu. Instead, he simply sighs and says, “You’re a really bad liar, Motoya.”
Groaning heavily, Motoya mutters, “You’re impossible.”
“I can’t believe you, of all people can say that so shamelessly.”
Eventually, it takes another half hour of badgering before Motoya leaves with a broad, wicked grin and Kiyoomi’s phone positively unmuted.
He stares at the influx of messages flooding his notifications the second he unmutes the group chat, heaves a quiet sigh, and promptly turns his phone over.
Kiyoomi’s wall clock is inching closer towards midnight when he’s still staring at the ceiling.
From beside him, his phone lights up with a new message. It’s probably just those idiots spamming again, but curiosity gets the better of him, and Kiyoomi finds himself reaching over to squint at his screen anyway.
He knows it’ll be even harder to sleep now when his eyes catch the name on top of his notifications.
Steeling his nerves, Kiyoomi takes in a deep breath, and types in his password.
Miya Atsumu
Hey, i’m sorry for everythignnnasdnc
Sakusa Kiyoomi
??? what
Kiyoomi feels a downward tug to his lips. Is this a prank?
He bites his lip when a minute passes and there’s still no reply. Just when he regrets ever turning on his phone at all, his screen lights up again.
Miya Atsumu
oh my god omi im so sorry !!
that was samu
stupidass bitch
Despite himself, Kiyoomi snorts. He peers from the crack under his door to see if all the lights from the other rooms are all switched off, and once he confirms everyone else is sleeping, he turns back to his phone.
Sakusa Kiyoomi
it’s fine miya
why are you awake anyways?
Miya Atsumu
i could ask the same for u
but me and samu are hanging out in the kitchen :)
Sakusa Kiyoomi
…. for what …
Miya Atsumu
we’re baking a christmas cake!
okay actually its just samu baking
its kind of a family tradition
im sitting on the counter eating the raw ingredients and texting you rn :)
Sakusa Kiyoomi
pls stop eating food raw what the fuck
do you want to get sick ??
why isn’t osamu-san stopping you
Miya Atsumu
bcs he’s eating the raw batter too :p
omg
samu just peeked at my phone
and smacked me for lying
disrespectful waste of sperm
Kiyoomi laughs a little too loudly at that. He quickly slaps a hand over his mouth and prays he didn’t wake anyone.
Sakusa Kiyoomi
no no, osamu-san has the right idea on smacking you
Miya Atsumu
hey !! rude
and how come you call samu by his first name but im still stuck with miya ??
Sakusa Kiyoomi
i just respect osamu-san more
Miya Atsumu
omg
i just felt my heart shatter
HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT AFTER BEING ROOMMATES WITH ME FOR A WEEK
Sakusa Kiyoomi
it’s /because/ i was roommates with you for a week that i can confidently say it
Miya Atsumu
this is actulaly so painful
holy shit omi wait
Sakusa Kiyoomi
what now …
Miya Atsumu
ITS PAST MIDNIGHT
MERRY CHRISTMAS OMI 💦
oh my god wrong emoji
Sakusa Kiyoomi
jesus christ
but merry christmas to you too miya
Miya Atsumu
do you have any gifts omi :o
Sakusa Kiyoomi
not much really
motoya gave me new sweatbands tho
Miya Atsumu
BOOOOO
tell komori-kun to step up his gift-giving game
Sakusa Kiyoomi
… i asked for this …
Miya Atsumu
oh
oop
ASK FOR BETTER GIFTS OMI
if i wasnt so broke i would have given you something much better
Sakusa Kiyoomi
gee thanks
what about you?
what gifts did you get, i mean
Miya Atsunu
to be honest when the clock struck midnight samu whacked me and said that was my present
i hate him sm sometimes omi
Sakusa Kiyoomi
SKDJJDJ
Miya Atsumu
omg you actually used caps lock
why do i feel like you’re typing that with the straightest face rn
Sakusa Kiyoomi
actually i’m now fearing that i accidentally woke someone up from how loud i just snorted
Miya Atsumu
how cute omi
i actually made you laugh <33
how come we’ve spent a week together and i haven’t seen you laugh yet
ah wait
right …
Sakusa Kiyoomi
oh have you forgotten the piss hair incident
Miya Atsunu
THAT WAS SO RUDE WTF
MY PRIDE WAS HURT
IMAGINE HOW I FELT ?? COMING INTO THE TRAINING CAMP TO HAVE THIS NEON HIGHLIGHTER LOOKING ASS MF LAUGH AT ME
Sakusa Kiyoomi
i-
don’t bring the itachiyama uniforms into this
Miya Atsumu
no i will
omg samu just hauled a spoon at me for being a “waste of space”
Sakusa Kiyoomi
well deserved
osamu-san truly is so inspiring
Miya Atsumu
i'm-
i hate it here
Kiyoomi yawns, stretching out from beneath his covers. He blinks blearily at the time on his phone. How did so much time pass already? He feels his eyes start to droop, and he stifles another yawn.
Sakusa Kiyoomi
its getting late
im gonna sleep now
tell osamu-san i wish him luck for that cake
Miya Atsumu
oh goodnight omi !!!
sleep well!
Sakusa Kiyoomi
night miya
Kiyoomi’s pretty sure he’s dreamt the whole conversation with Atsumu last night, and he’s just in the middle of chiding himself for being so delirious as he does his morning routine when his phone vibrates from where it’s on his bed.
Miya Atsumu
mornin omi :))
ah wait you might be sleeping
i'll shut up now
Sakusa Kiyoomi
hi
?? why are you awake so early
Miya Atsumu
my parents woke me and samu up to unwrap our presents <//3
watch me go the fuck back to sleep after breakfast
what about you !!
Sakusa Kiyoomi
what about me?
Miya Atsumu
why are you up so early omi!
Sakusa Kiyoomi
oh
my parents are home for the first time in a while, so my mom’s really insistent on us having breakfast together before they leave again in a few days
plus, i usually wake up at around this time when there’s no school
Miya Atsumu
ooohhh
btw omi! CHECK THE DAMN GC MORE
Sakusa Kiyoomi
no
motoya refuses to have me mute it and every morning i wake to 300 new messages
Miya Atsumu
okay now that’s just exaggerating
but still >:( it’s almost been a week since komori-kun made it and you still haven’t said anything there !!
Sakusa Kiyoomi
i don’t think my mental stability can handle you, toya, AND hoshiumi all in one chat
ah i need to go
breakfast and all
Miya Atsumu
HEY WE AREN’T EVEN THAT BAD
and !! have a good breakfast omi
AND MERRY CHRISTMAS AGAIN
“Who were you texting?” Kanade asks the minute Kiyoomi sits himself in his usual place at the table. She peers at him inquisitively, handing him his plate and utensils.
Kiyoomi shrugs. He sets his plate down and accepts the food his mom hands him. “Just someone I met during the training camp.”
“Oh?” his mother asks, settling her chin on her hand. “What is she like?”
“He,” Kiyoomi corrects, before contemplating over the question. He’s never been one to outwardly lie, so he decides on, “He’s very loud. Like Motoya, but ten times more obnoxious.”
“Really?” Kanade says with a giggle. “Must be hard getting along with him then.”
Not really, Kiyoomi wants to argue. He’s so easy to talk to, it’s kinda scary.
But he doesn’t say that, instead opting to shrug again. “I guess so.”
From beside him, his father asks, “What position does he play?”
“Setter,” Kiyoomi answers, in a tone he knows leaves no more room for discussion. His family drops the topic then, and Kiyoomi relaxes into his seat.
Once breakfast is over, he excuses himself and trudges back into his room. Grabbing for his phone once more, he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised anymore when he spots the glaring 97 new messages sitting at the top. He slumps back into his desk chair and clicks on the notification.
Komori Motoya
have y’all’s asses ever fallen in the bowl
like when you were small
Miya Atsumu
no mine’s always been fat
Hoshiumi Kourai
Better question yet
Who here had their ass slip and accidentally touch their shit
Kiyoomi exits the app. He isn’t dealing with this today.
Motoya comes over again on New Year’s Eve.
“We should go somewhere!” he exclaims the second he barges into Kiyoomi’s room. Kiyoomi doesn’t even look up from his book, letting out a soft exhale.
“Where will we even go, Toya?” he asks. Bookmarking his page, he sets the book aside and swivels in his desk chair, properly looking up at his cousin.
“We could go to a shrine,” Motoya suggests. “Make a few wishes for Nationals – not that I’m not confident we’re not gonna win, but it wouldn’t hurt to have some powerful spirits by our side – maybe grab some food too.”
Kiyoomi hums in contemplation. Frankly, it’s not a bad idea. He doesn't have any plans for New Year’s anyway, besides hiding in his room from his family. He swears he loves them, but having them all in the same place when he’s already grown used to being alone most of the time has been a little too much for him.
“How will we go?” he asks. He stands up, groaning as he stretches. Motoya considers this for a moment, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Kiyoomi can almost spot the hypothetical light bulb go off on top of his cousin’s head when Motoya’e eyes brighten.
“Alright, we have two options,” he says, holding up two fingers. “One, I ask my mom, who’s out in your living room by the way, to drive us there, but then we’ll most likely have to bring my sisters too.”
“And the second option?”
Motoya flashes him a lopsided grin. “We walk.”
“Motoya,” Kiyoomi complains with a groan. “It’s freezing outside.”
“Just wear more sweaters then!”
“You know, maybe we should just stay home. Where it’s warm.”
“Oh, come on, Kiyoomi.” Motoya crosses his arms and throws him a half-hearted glare. “Think about it this way. Would you rather be all alone here, withering away in your room, or walking out in this wonderful weather with your amazing cousin as a nice, wholesome bonding experience?”
“Wither away in my room, actually,” Kiyoomi answers easily, and Motoya heaves a loud sigh.
“You’re no fun,” Motoya says with a childish pout. “Come on, we won’t even be out for too long! I promise I’ll pay for whatever food you want to eat on the way there and back.”
Now this catches Kiyoomi’s interest. He narrows his gaze cautiously.
“Any food I want?” he repeats, arching an eyebrow. Motoya hesitates for a brief moment, before nodding his head resolutely.
“Anything you want. I even brought my wallet. So… “ Glancing at Kiyoomi hopefully, Motoya asks with a tentative smile, “Can we go?”
“I can’t believe you’re the older one,” Kiyoomi mutters under his breath, but he snatches up a spare sweater and turns to his closet to hunt for a coat, ignoring Motoya’s loud whoop of joy.
Later, when they’re at the shrine and Kiyoomi can almost hear Motoya’s heart breaking from how empty his wallet is, they pay for their omikuji - Motoya’s strip of paper saying small blessing and Kiyoomi’s one being future blessing. He was never one to believe in these kinds of things, but when he throws a five yen coin into the wooden saisen box, he thinks to himself and whatever god may be listening, please make everything turn out okay. For Nationals, for myself, and for all these emotions inside of me. I still don’t know exactly what I want, but please make everything turn out okay.
Itachiyama doesn’t play until the second round, but Kiyoomi finds himself lying wide awake the night before the very first match of the Spring Interhigh, heart pounding in his chest.
It isn’t that late into the night, barely reaching 11, but he’d been so restless the entire day he hoped he could tire himself out into sleeping instead to calm his frayed nerves.
Clearly, it isn’t working. Kiyoomi breathes out a defeated sigh.
His phone lights up, not the first time since he’d gotten into bed. Kiyoomi debates whether he should take a quick peek into his notifications or ignore it all together, but boredom gets the better of him in the end. Reaching over to his bedside table, he feels around for his phone, squinting at the sudden blue light when he switches it on.
Miya Atsumu
i’ve read this one myth bout reincarnation once
it goes sumn like, how people can always find their past lovers through their moles bcs someone’s moles is apparently the place where their past lover used to kiss them the most
Komori Motoya
OOOH INTERESTING
like kiyoomi !!
Miya Atsumu
YEAH THAT WAS EXACTLY WHAT I WAS THINKING
Kiyoomi bites his lip at the mention of his name. He’s heard of that myth before, but never really liked it. There are several moles scattered throughout his body, but hearing that story always made him frown and think, then where’s my past lover now?
Miya Atsumu
fun fact actually, samu has two moles near his ass or sumn while i don’t
that was the easiest way for our mom to identify us when we were younger LMAO
Miya Osamu
Sadly I can confirm this
Suna Rintarou
now why be sad about that samu ;)
two moles because one’s from me and the other’s from motoya
how intimate
Miya Osamu
I-
Komori Motoya
NKSJDKSK PLS
Miya Atsumu
i regret ever saying anything
i actually take personal offense rn
Hoshiumi Kourai
“Hm, no, your asshole is clean, not my lover! Next!”
Miya Atsumu
WHATSHADJHJD
Komori Motoya
HWY DO YOU COME BACK AND SAY THAT PLS
Suna Rintarou
DNSKJSDKSCJSNJDVKDS
like in the airport
asscheek police
Kiyoomi looks into the far end of his room and feels another ten years of his life drain out of him. Maybe he should have just gone to sleep. He isn’t even sure where this conversation is heading anymore.
Suna Rintarou
“stop! this is the asscheek police! unzip and spread that ass pretty boy!”
Miya Osamu
HELP HUH
WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN
Hoshiumi Kourai
LMAOO
Miya Atsumu
the future sure does look bright
Komori Motoya
NOT THE ASSCHEEK POLICE WHATTT
don’t make it gay by looking me in the eye that’s all i ask
Miya Atsumu
KJSASDKJSKJS
Suna Rintarou
“um is it necessary for you to suck my nipples and finger my asshole?”
“yes sir i’m just doing a thorough search for those moles. now shut up and let me hear those moans.”
Miya Osamu
WHATEHYFJCXJHDJS
HUH ???
Komori Motoya
OH MY GOD RIN ??
Sakusa Kiyoomi
what the fuck am i reading with my own two eyes right now
Miya Atsumu
OHMUDSADSDK OMI
OMI PLS I-
HI
Komoria Motoya
OMG KIYOOMI
PERFECT TIMING
Hoshiumi Kourai
SAKUSA-KUN !!!
Sakusa Kiyoomi
this is my sign to leave
Suna Rintarou
oh …
sakusa-san …
hi
so sorry this had to be your first impression of me ....
Miya Atsumu
PLEASE SUNARIN DJSKAKKDS
ME AND SAMU ARE ACTUALLY SHAKING THE HOUSE RN WITH HOW HARD WE’RE LAUGHING
BUT OMI OMI PLS DONT LEAVE IM SO GLAD YOU’RE FINALLY HERE
Komori Motoya
I KNEW YOU WOULD COME AROUND EVENTUALLY
Sakusa Kiyoomi
why are you guys even awake ....
and talking about asscheeks ???
Miya Osamu
Tsumu’s actually malfunctioning up there on the top bunk from Sakusa-san being online
Miya Atsumu
IM NOT YOU STINKYASS LIAR
IM JUST GLAD HE’S ONLINE
Sakusa Kiyoomi
just sakusa is fine osamu-san
and miya ?? we talked yesterday
Hoshiumi Kourai
Omg this feels like a dream
I’m not dreaming rn am I
Komori Motoya
no this is very much real
rin hasn’t said anything in a hot minute
is he hiding from shame
Miya Osamu
As he should honestly
Also just Osamu is fine Sakusa :))
Suna Rintarou
i am NOT hiding from shame
just trying to figure out how to make a good impression on sakusa again
Miya Atsumu
SJJDJDJDJ
Sakusa Kiyoomi
i hate to ruin ….whatever is happening right now but you guys do know nationals are in a few hours right
with that being said i’m logging off for tonight
and it’s only partially bcs of whatever suna-san was going on about
Komori Motoya
PLEASE-
Suna Rintarou
this is a blow to my image
Komori Motoya
OKAY YEAH KIYOOMI’S RIGHT
KOURAI-KUN DON’T Y’ALL HAVE A MATCH TOMORROW
Hoshiumi Kourai
Yeah …
Miya Atsumu
omg kourai-kun we can’t have you losing before we face each other
inarizaki and itachiyama don’t have matches till the day after y’all stay safe tho
Hoshiumi Kourai
WHO SAID I WAS GONNA LOSE
Miya Osamu
Okay okay let’s all do as Sakusa says and go to sleep rn
It’s getting late
Sakusa Kiyoomi
… would you guys have kept on talking if i never came online
Komori Motoya
see this is why we need you kiyoomi
so be online more <33
you can see all of atsumu’s clownery in 4k !!
Miya Atsumu
HEY
but yes omi pls do be online more :)
Sakusa Kiyoomi
maybe
okay i’m turning in for the night goodnight
motoya your curfew was an hour ago be glad i’m not snitching on auntie about this
Komori Motoya
i’m gonna pointedly ignore that last comment bcs you finally said you’ll chat with us more
so goodnight everyone !!
Miya Atsumu
goodnight from me and samu bitches <33
Suna Rintarou
night :))
Hoshiumi Kourai
Goodnight!1!
"See how fun it was when all of us were online?"
"If your definition of fun is talking about fingering assholes," Kiyoomi shoots back at his cousin with a deadpan look, "then i think it's high-time you change it."
From beside him, Iizuna throws them a scandalized look. Kiyoomi shakes his head slightly in a way that clearly says you don't want to know about it.
They're warming up before their first match, Kiyoomi on the ground and stretching out his wrists. Motoya's supposed to be doing thirty lunges to warm up his legs, but he gave up halfway and is now crouched on the floor beside him, once again living up to his legacy of being the bane of Kiyoomi's existence.
"Kinda sucks how we all have matches at the same time," Motoya's saying. "I really wanted to see Inarizaki against Karasuno. I think it'll be pretty interesting."
"Inarizaki's gonna crush them." Kiyoomi voices it with absolute confidence. Even Motoya looks a little surprised by it. "Kageyama-kun is good, but Inarizaki is stronger. They'll win."
It takes a beat, but Motoya laughs giddily and says, "God, I hope so. I'd love to go against Rin and Osamu and receive all their nasty spikes."
“Have you talked to them yet?”
Shaking his head, Motoya says, “Couldn’t find the right time or moment to do so.” He looks over the far end of the court where Inarizaki’s infamous cheer squad resounds throughout the entire stadium. Even from all the way here, the loud thuds of their drums has Kiyoomi’s heart bruising his ribs. “Christ, that’s so fucking cool. You think we’d handle going up against that?”
“Of course we will,” Kiyoomi huffs, rolling out his wrist one last time. “Come on, let’s go. Our match is about to start.”
The whistle blows. Iizuna has the ball slamming against the floor, and Kiyoomi inhales, exhales, and readies himself for the next serve.
Once again, Itachiyama wins, 2 to 0.
Kamomedai wins too, their match having ended minutes before Itachiyama’s did.
Inarizaki however…
“No fucking way,” Motoya pants out. There’s a storm raging beneath his eyes. Kiyoomi’s a little breathless too, having done his cooldown stretches a little too quickly and jogging after Motoya in hopes of catching the last few minutes of the third set of Inarizaki’s match.
“There’s no way,” Motoya repeats, voice coming out in a disbelieving hiss, like he’s trying to convince himself otherwise. His face twists into something even Kiyoomi’s never seen before. “What the actual fuck?”
But it’s there, right in front of them in glaring orange numbers. The score, 2 to 1.
The third set, 32 to 30.
And it’s Karasuno that won.
Kiyoomi quickly scans the crowd. Karasuno’s still by the sidelines - he catches Kageyama and an orange-haired first-year he’s never seen before - and he sees Inarizaki’s cheer squad on the seats above the court, but the team themselves are nowhere to be seen.
Did they leave already?
Motoya must be thinking the same thing, because he glances at Kiyoomi and breathes out in a rush, “I’m gonna go find Osamu and Rin, okay? Will you tell Iizuna-senpai where I am if he asks?”
Kiyoomi nods, but he’s too occupied in trying to catch even a glimpse of that obnoxious shock of yellow hair. He would have said something, but Motoya’s already running for the exits. Then he realizes he couldn’t possibly tell Iizuna anything, because, as he finds himself running in Motoya’s direction, he realizes he has someone to find too.
He spots Atsumu crouched on the far side of an empty hallway, water bottle in hand.
“What are you doing here?” he grumbles when Kiyoomi walks over and slides down onto the floor beside him. He tries not to think of the last time the ground was cleaned properly
“Do you want me to leave then?” Kiyoomi asks, rolling his eyes. Atsumu glances back at him for a second, before he releases a wet, trembling sigh and shakes his head.
Brushing his eyes with the back of his hand, Atsumu sniffles and mutters, “I just don’t want you seein’ me like this. Not after I said all that about going against you in the finals.” He heaves a humorless laugh and slightly leans back to thump his head against the wall. “Fuck, I really wanted to get Aran and Kita-san to the finals for their last year.”
Kiyoomi bites his lip but stays quiet. He’s trying to figure out what to say, but Atsumu must have mistaken his silence for something else, because he sniffs again. “Did you come here to gloat, Omi-kun?”
“That’s actually the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me,” Kiyoomi says flatly. Atsumu blinks, expression morphing into surprise. “Why the fuck would I do that?”
“I don’t know.” Atsumu shrugs. He averts his gaze, staring at the floor. “Maybe ‘cause I got reckless, or played with them around too much, or thought that final spike would earn us our win, not realizing stupid Tobio-kun and that shrimp were already there.”
Shrimp? Kiyoomi thinks with a frown, but he shakes that thought away. Inching almost imperceptibly closer towards Atsumu, he turns to him and says, “But you know all that now, right?”
Atsumu faces him with a puzzled look. “Yeah?”
“Then just don’t do it again,” Kiyoomi states firmly. “Learn from it, and don’t repeat it. I’m not gonna say I pity you, Miya. But I will be waiting to play against you in an official setting next year.”
It’s almost like the sunlight peeking out from the clouds after a rainstorm when Atsumu finally breaks into a small, tentative smile, Kiyoomi cringes at himself for such a thought. “You will?” he asks, like Kiyoomi would ever say no.
“Obviously. I need to show you how much better I am.”
Atsumu’s full-on grinning now. “Oh, you’re on, Omi.”
Crossing his arms, Kiyoomi arches an amused eyebrow. “You’ll need to actually make it through your first match to get to me, Miya,” he teases, and Atsumu chokes out a laugh.
“Hey, hold on,” Atsumu speaks up again, after a comfortable lull in the conversation. “Where’s Komori-kun? Y’all are usually always attached to the hip.”
“Okay, that’s even more offensive than you thinking I’d find you just to gloat,” Kiyoomi scoffs. “Motoya just follows me around like a parasite. And to answer your question, he said he’ll go looking for Osamu and Suna. He’s probably talking to them right now as we speak.”
He eyes Atsumu from the corner of his eye when he doesn’t say anything after a bet, only to find a sort of bittersweet expression scrunching up Atsumu’s features, but Kiyoomi blinks and it’s gone as sudden as it appeared. Atsumu turns to him with a faint smile. “Those three bitches are really lucky to have found each other, huh?” he says.
“Yeah,” Kiyoomi manages to get out. He shifts a little, cautious on where the conversation is heading to. He clears his throat and tugs on his jacket sleeve. “Um. Speaking of Motoya, I probably need to find him now. Our captain must be wondering where we ran off to.”
Atsumu nods in understanding. "Hey, Omi?" he calls out, once Kiyoomi stood back up and dusted off the dirt of his shorts. Kiyoomi turns to look at him then, and Atsumu beams up at him and says, "Thanks for finding me."
Unfair.
The world is so, so unfair.
But Kiyoomi manages a small smile in return, hoping it doesn't look too much like a grimace. "Will you be there for mine and Motoya's match tomorrow?" he asks right before he leaves.
"Wouldn't miss it for anything," Atsumu answers with a sideways grin. Kiyoomi really wishes he'd stop smiling at him like that. "Though tomorrow afternoon we're probably gonna catch a train to Hyogo."
"That's alright." Kiyoomi sneaks a quick, last glance at Atsumu before staring at the doors he came from. "I'll see you around, Miya."
The last thing he hears as he walks back the way he came is Atsumu. Sucking in a quiet breath, Kiyoomi takes a left turn and tries to focus on finding Motoya in the crowd.
Itachiyama loses in the quarter finals.
Kiyoomi’s changing out of his jersey, drenched and sticking to his skin, their defeat hanging heavy on his shoulders when Atsumu texts him.
Miya Atsumu
sorry to hear about your captain :((
y’all played amazing as always tho
The thing that Kiyoomi probably regrets the most is that he was barely getting started in that match. Maybe fate was exceptionally cruel on them today, because he swears this win could have been theirs if Iizuna hadn’t landed on his ankle wrong.
The more he thinks about it, the more frustrated he gets.
He’s not even sure who he’s mad at. All he knows is that this loss feels more bitter than the rest, like a sinking, nauseous feeling he can’t quite shake.
Sighing, he slumps against the bench and types a reply back.
Sakusa Kiyoomi
you don’t have to lie miya
i could have shown so much more
Miya Atsumu
i’m not lying!
look, you may not have played your best, but you still played fucking amazing omi
kourai-kun must be having a field day rn
good for him honestly
Right on cue, a new notification pops up on the top of Kiyoomi’s screen.
Hoshiumi Kourai
Really blows that Itachiyama lost ://
BUT ALSO
I MADE IT TO THE SEMI FINALS AAA
Suna Rintarou
we’re proud of you hoshiumi <33
lowkey jealous but very proud nonetheless
Komori Motoya
win for all of us kourai-kun !!
crush ichibayashi till they’re six feet under
Hoshiumi Kourai
Yes I will !!
Sakusa-kun, Motoya-kun, are y’all alright tho?
Komori Motoya
we’ll be fine :)
now we know this horrible feeling of losing so there won’t be a repeat of this next year
Sakusa Kiyoomi
what he said
Miya Atsumu
nah, y’all are gonna have to get used to that feeling when me, samu, and sunarin hand your entitled asses over next year ;))
we’re gonna take home the trophy
Komori Motoya
kiyoomi you seeing this shit
what does he even mean by entitled asses
Sakusa Kiyoomi
like i said miya, you’ll need to get through your first match to even reach us
Miya Osamu
Tsumu you just got YOUR ass handed over lmao
Miya Atsumu
SAMU YOURE SUPPOSED TO BE ON /MY/ SIDE
AND YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN CLASS 🙄 TF YOU DOING ONLINE
Miya Osamu
Ah yes everyone, my twin brother, a clown AND a hypocrite
He says all this while his math teacher is-
JDSKSDJSJK
RIN DO YOU SEE THAT
Hoshiumi Kourai
???
C'mon now share it with us
Suna Rintarou
PLEASE HHSDJHDJ
ATSUMU JUST GOT HIS PHONE TAKEN
WE CAN SEE IT ALL BCS HIS CLASS IS BESIDE OURS AND WE’RE SITTING NEAR THE WINDOWS THAT FACE HIS CLASS
Komori Motoya
deserved honestly
at this point this gc is just dedicated to bullying atsumu
Sakusa Kiyoomi
i wouldn’t be opposed to that actually
Miya Osamu
SHIT TSUMU’S POINTING AT US
FUCKING SNITCH
BYE
Komori Motoya
good luck <33
me and kiyoomi’s gotta go too
we’ve been loitering in this hallway for so long it's starting to look suspicious
talk to y’all later !!
To Kiyoomi's surprise, conversations and texts exchanged between him and Atsumu come as a daily thing.
It starts with Atsumu sending him clips of professional volleyball players, sometimes even quick videos of Inarizaki's practice. Then it turns into him sending Kiyoomi YouTube reels that range from stupidly adorable cats to videos on their favourite animes. Kiyoomi blames the sleepless nights he finds himself spending as of late cramming for a test or completing an assignment last minute on Atsumu for getting him into yet another ridiculously interesting show.
A lot of times, Atsumu would just text him about anything and everything too. Like what he ate for breakfast, or something Osamu did that he felt severely offended by, or the history test that he's confident he flunked. And Kiyoomi would always reply back, because he'd be fucking stupid not to.
And as for the group chat, well.
Miya Atsumu has shared a video
Miya Atsumu
you see that losers?
that's the new serve i'm working on <3
get ready to be demolished
Komori Motoya
you got that kiyo?
Sakusa Kiyoomi
saved into my gallery
Komori Motoya
sent it to the coaches?
Sakusa Kiyoomi
they've already seen it
Miya Osamu
For fuck's sake Tsumu
When you asked me to film that shit, which, by the way, took nearly half an hour to get right, you PROMISED not to show it to anyone
Especially not the enemy
Komori Motoya
omg rude
Miya Atsumu
OH CMON IT DIDN'T TAKE THAT LONG
plus they don't know all that we've got up our sleeves :)
Suna Rintarou
well if we end up losing next year bcs stupid beautiful amazing motoya managed to receive each one of your serves then we can always blame it on you
our next captain <3 also the cause of our downfall <3
Komori Motoya
sunarin not in front of the others ;))
Miya Atsumu
Y'ALL ARE SO RUDE PLS
the only good thing i got out of this entire convo is that omi has my video saved
Sakusa Kiyoomi
yeah no it's deleted now
the coaches have it lmao i don't need it in my gallery anymore
Miya Atsumu
i really just-
Hoshiumi Kourai
Why are y'all bullying Atsumu without me
Komori Motoya
holy shit wait
backtrack a little here
atsumu ?? captain ????
Miya Osamu
Well it's not confirmed
But Kita-san and the coaches are planning it so
Hoshiumi Kourai
Holy shit congrats!
Maybe I should convince Hirugami to make me captain too
Miya Atsumu
see this is why i love kita-san <33 making ME the captain and not y'all rudeass bitches
Suna Rintarou
here we go again
someone tell atsumu to get over his hopeless crush
for all we know kita-san might have found his soulmate already
Miya Atsumu
IT'S NOT HOPELESS
he cares a lot about me
i like to think i’m getting somewhere with him these last couple weeks !!
Miya Osamu
He's our captain … he cares for all of us dumbass ...
Motoya looks over at Kiyoomi from where they're on the bench, just outside the school gates. They're packing up, the afternoon sun is sweltering through Kiyoomi's uniform, and the smile that Motoya's offering him is completely out of pity.
Kiyoomi hates it.
"You okay?" Motoya asks, voice too fucking gentle, and Kiyoomi resists the urge to huff.
"Why wouldn't I be?" he questions back, already walking out onto the sidewalk.
Motoya rushes to catch up. Hoisting his backpack higher over his shoulder, he says, “C’mon, Kiyoomi, don’t get mad! I’m just saying-” he makes some sort of weird hand gesture that Kiyoomi scrunches his eyebrows at, “-I know how close you and Atsumu-kun are.”
Kiyoomi narrows his eyes, causing Motoya to wince. “And?”
“And… I was just worried you might be bothered by it.”
“Why the fuck would I be bothered by Miya having a crush on his stupid captain?”
Pursing his lips, Motoya pauses in his tracks, before finally shaking his head with a soft sigh. He starts walking beside Kiyoomi again, mumbling an apology, and Kiyoomi allows himself to relax a little as the topic is dropped.
Conversations with Atsumu come easy. Or, at least, that's what Kiyoomi always thought.
A week before their second year is supposed to end, a week before Iizuna and the other third years graduate and Kiyoomi is surprisingly announced vice-captain, Atsumu calls.
"What is it now?" Kiyoomi asks the second he picks up, sighing into the phone.
On the other end of the line, Atsumu laughs. "You know Omi-kun, that's really not how people usually greet others when they pick up."
"Yeah, well." Kiyoomi shifts from where he's sitting cross-legged on his bed. There's the sound of something like cars on Atsumu's end, like he's outside. "You called just a few hours earlier. I think I have the right to sound exasperated."
"That was a serious issue and I had to call you!' Atsumu protests. Kiyoomi can almost see him waving his arms around in that indignant way of his.
The mental image of it almost makes him crack a smile.
Instead, he forces out another long-suffering sigh and says, "Calling me to rave about big dick daddy Fatgum from My Hero Academia is hardly a serious issue, Miya."
Silence. And then, "When ya put it like that-"
"Why did you call?" Kiyoomi asks. He wonders if Atsumu's just calling him because his precious Kita-san isn't around. He thinks about the last couple of weeks and laughs silently, dryly. Definitely wouldn't be the first time.
"Actually," Atsumu starts, shaking him from his stupor. He sounds sheepish, and Kiyoomi frowns at his tone, sitting up. "I'm, uh- I'm in Tokyo right now. With my mom."
What?
Kiyoomi blinks. Pulls his phone away from his ear, only to confirm that yes, it's Miya Atsumu calling him, saying that he's in Tokyo. He opens his mouth to speak, only to realize he doesn't know what to say.
"Omi?" Atsumu asks tentatively.
"Sorry," Kiyoomi remembers to say, after another moment. "I just- Why are you telling me this?"
"Well… " There's a bit of rustling on the other end, and it takes a minute before Atsumu speaks again. "Me and Ma are visiting my grandma, who lives there in Tokyo. We're actually still on the train, but we'll get there in a bit. Just wanted to let ya know, in case… "
He trails off. Kiyoomi doesn't know what his sentence would have ended in, doesn't think he wants to know.
"You're still on the train?" Kiyoomi clarifies, already getting up. He lets himself have a brief moment of silence to think on what the hell he's actually planning to do, but he grabs for his coat hanging by his door all the same.
"Yeah, I am." There's a distinct voice on the other end, definitely not Atsumu's, and Kiyoomi hears some more shuffling before Atsumu adds, "I think me and Ma are reaching our stop soon."
What the fuck am I doing, Kiyoomi thinks through a defeated groan, glancing back at his abandoned textbooks on his desk table. Holding his phone closer up to his ear, he says, "Miya, I'm gonna hang up now. I'll see you, alright?"
"Omi, what-"
Kiyoomi doesn't give him a chance to finish his sentence, already shoving his phone in his pocket and quickly putting on his shoes.
And then, refusing to think too much about it, he's out his front door.
There is a vanishing moment of clarity that washes over Kiyoomi like a bucket of ice-cold water when he finally reaches the train station. It’s like a slap to his face when he realizes that he did in fact sprint like a fucking trackstar for nearly 15 minutes just to stand on this very spot on time, just to see if Atsumu was still here, or if he’s already speeding down on some unknown street in this vast city.
A stitch on his side starts to bloom painfully, and Kiyoomi winces as he tries to regain his bearings. He scans the crowd of people bustling to get to their destinations, praying and hoping that, on the slight chance he somehow ran fast enough, Atsumu hadn’t left the station yet.
Someone shoves him, but Kiyoomi barely registers it. He’s just about to give up, already berating himself for being so goddamn impulsive and failing to think this through when-
“Omi!”
He’s here.
Kiyoomi has to stop the traitorous smile threatening to show. But Atsumu’s here, in this station, in Tokyo of all places when he’s supposed to be six fucking hours away.
“Hey,” Atsumu greets with a grin, eyes shining with surprise.”What the hell are ya doing here?”
“I did say I was gonna see you,” Kiyoomi replies, raising an unimpressed brow. He crosses his arms, rolling his eyes fondly when Atsumu lets out a delighted laugh. Quickly, he takes in Atsumu’s appearance. There’s a large backpack over his shoulder, and he’s clearly dressed for travel in a simple red sweater and jeans. From behind him, Kiyoomi spots a petite woman making her way over to them.
“Who’s this, Atsumu?” she asks when she reaches them, smiling softly at Kiyoomi before nudging Atsumu in a way Kiyoomi guesses is supposed to be discreet, but with the way she’s staring at Atsumu expectantly, it’s anything but that.
“This is Omi-kun!” Atsumu exclaims, shameless even as Kiyoomi flushes in embarrassment at being introduced as that stupid nickname. “The wing spiker and ace of his team. Y’know how I told ya about Itachiyama before, right?”
The woman – Atsumu’s mom, Kiyoomi realizes now – nods in understanding and flashes Kiyoomi another gentle smile. Kiyoomi bows politely in response. “Oh, yes, I do remember,” she’s saying, looking up at him kindly. “You’re so handsome and tall! Do you live here in Tokyo, Sakusa-kun?”
“Yes,” Kiyoomi answers courteously, barely suppressing the urge to add ma’am. He grimaces inwardly and clears his throat. “I actually live just a few minutes away.”
That’s a lie. It took him 15 minutes to get here, and he was running, for fuck’s sake. But Atsumu’s mom doesn’t have to know that.
She seems to brighten up at his answer, and her eyes light up like she’s suddenly had an idea. “Actually, Atsumu,” she starts, turning to her son and placing a hand on his elbow. “Why don’t you stay with Sakusa-kun for the next few days?”
Kiyoomi’s eyes widen in shock. He thinks he stops breathing for a second there. "What?” they both exclaim, a little too loudly, Atsumu’s eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, but Kiyoomi clamps his mouth back shut. He hopes he didn’t come off as too rude.
“Ma,” Atsumu frowns slightly. “What are ya talking about? What about grandma?”
“I can handle my mom, Atsumu,” she says with an eye roll. It’s almost uncanny, how much she looked like Atsumu at that moment.
Atsumu tries again. Vaguely, Kiyoomi notes how his ears have turned red. “But, Ma, what about-”
“Oh, stop fussing! I can always call you, can’t I? Once I’m done dealing with what I came here for, I’ll call you, and you can give me Sakusa-kun’s address.”
She glances back at Kiyoomi, eye’s softening. “You have extra toiletries and everything, don’t ya, Sakusa-kun?”
He nods, still in a bit of a daze, and she seems to take that as the final confirmation for Atsumu to stay in his house for the next few days. She clasps her hands and beams at the both of them.
“Alright, that settles it!” she announces. “Atsumu, you go walk with Sakusa-kun to his house. I can take the bus to your grandma’s. And don’t forget your manners when you’re there, okay?”
And just like that, Kiyoomi finds himself walking back to his apartment, except the sleeve of Atsumu’s hoodie brushing against his own arm as they walk side by side proves almost impossible to ignore.
“Uh,” Atsumu begins after a few terse minutes in silence, glancing at him cautiously. “Sorry about all that. You don’t mind me staying over, do ya? I mean, that was so sudden, and I understand if you want to leave me out on the streets, I wouldn’t blame ya if I was being honest-”
Kiyoomi stops in his tracks, holding up a hand as he brings the other to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “MIya,” is all he says, cutting Atsumu off. “Please shut up. It's too soon for you to be rambling already."
“Sorry,” Atsumu smiles tentatively. “But ya really don’t mind, do ya?”
“Of course I don’t.” Kiyoomi huffs softly. “You really think I’d leave you out on the streets?”
“Probably not. You love me too much for that.”
“Actually, I think you’d look great sleeping on my doormat.”
“Omi!” Atsumu protests, but there’s a grin clear on his face. “You gotta take me in. Tokyo’s an unfamiliar city for a country boy like me.”
Kiyoomi waits till the light is green before he crosses the street and speaks up again, Atsumu towing right behind him. "How long do you plan on staying anyways?" he asks, sparing a quick glimpse back at Atsumu.
Atsumu hums in thought. "Probably four or five days. Ma excused me from school already, so I'll be fine."
"Hm." They turn left, Kiyoomi skimming through the signs to make sure they're still walking in the right direction. Looking back at Atsumu, he says, "We're not too far now. Should be there in a few minutes."
"I thought you told Ma you lived just a few minutes away," Atsumu points out with a lopsided grin. "If I'm not mistaken, we've been walkin' for quite a while now."
"Didn't think you'd notice, honestly," Kiyoomi replies casually. "I assumed your head was still filled with big dick daddy Fatgum."
Atsumu groans immediately, covering his face with one hand. "Okay, I get it, it wasn't my finest moment going on about the guy for a few minutes, I admit-"
"A few minutes? Miya, you called me as I was studying for a test to talk about some Baymax-looking character for an hour."
That shuts Atsumu up. He flashes Kiyoomi a cheeky grin, shrugging his shoulders and saying, "But you didn't hang up, did you?"
"Probably because I knew you'd call me again anyway." Another lie, but Kiyoomi pretends it isn't.
"You can't blame me, though!" Atsumu is saying, waving his arms around and nearly whacking a passerby in the face. "I just finished season 4 of My Hero Academia this morning and I had to talk to someone about how fucking hot big-" he flushes a little, before correcting himself and saying, "I mean, Fatgum looked."
Kiyoomi fixes him with an unimpressed stare. "And you chose to call me of all people?"
"Well, I couldn't tell 'Samu or Sunarin. Those bitches are still stuck in season 3."
"Miya, you do know I haven't even watched the show yet, right?"
"Maybe I just like talking to you, Omi."
"You must have horrible preferences then," Kiyoomi replies easily, even when his breath catches in his throat. They're friends. He shouldn't even dare think they can be anything more than just that.
Guiding Atsumu towards the entrance of a tall, blue apartment, he leads him towards the elevators, pressing the button for the seventh floor. Soon enough, they're at Kiyoomi's front door, with Kiyoomi quickly digging into his pockets for his keys.
"Sorry for the intrusion," Atsumu says softly when they walk inside. He peers around and whistles appreciatively. "You got a really nice place here, Omi. I knew you were rich when I saw how fancy-looking this whole apartment is, but this is something else."
"I'm not rich," Kiyoomi mumbles with a small frown. He doesn't know if Atsumu's heard him.
He hands Atsumu a pair of spare slippers, Atsumu shooting him a thankful smile as he puts it on. Glancing around again, he purses his lips and asks, almost cautiously, "Are your parents not here?"
"They're working abroad. I don't see them much unless we video call, or if they come back for holidays."
"Oh." Atsumu's frowning now. "But you said ya had siblings. What about them?"
Kiyoomi shrugs, walking towards his room as Atsumu follows suit. "My siblings are much older than I am. My brother already has a job and lives with his soulmate, and my sister's in college."
"Oh," Atsumu breathes out again. "But… doesn't it get lonely?"
Taking a seat on his bed, Kiyoomi looks up at Atsumu and says, "It's not so bad. I mean, I got pretty used to it the last couple of years. Besides, I have Motoya, even if he can be too annoying sometimes."
Atsumu's eyes skim across his room. There's not much to look at, just some volleyball posters, a desk table, a bookshelf, and his bed. Still, Atsumu offers him a sideways smile. "Don't forget about me, Omi. You have me too."
"Unfortunately," Kiyoomi deadpans through a sigh, hiding a smile when Atsumu splutters incredulously.
Time passes easily after that. It's like almost everything with Atsumu is easy, as Kiyoomi is soon growing to realize. They watch movies on his coach, and Atsumu even helps Kiyoomi finish up the rest of his homework.
They just finished eating dinner, takeout from Kiyoomi's favourite sushi place, when Atsumu's phone rings. Atsumu quickly glances at it, but scowls when he sees the caller. Swiping on decline, he turns back to Kiyoomi and continues talking.
Kiyoomi tilts his head at him when Atsumu's phone rings again. “Aren't you gonna answer it?”
"It's just 'Samu," Atsumu grumbles. "I don't wanna talk to him right now."
"Hm." Humming thoughtfully, Kiyoomi asks, careful, "Did something happen?"
Atsumu's hesitating. But he caves in, in the end, shrugging weakly and avoiding Kiyoomi's gaze. "We got into a fight a few days ago," he admits. "He- he said he doesn't want to continue volleyball after high school. And I got mad. That sounds so dumb, doesn't it?"
"I don't think it is," Kiyoomi answers quietly. "Like, if Motoya told me he'd quit volleyball, I'd be pretty upset too."
When Atsumu doesn't say anything, instead staring hard at his lap, Kiyoomi continues, "But I also don't think it's right to ignore your brother, Miya. You support him though, don't you?"
"Yeah." Atsumu exhales. "Yeah, of course I do."
Kiyoomi smiles faintly. "You should tell him that then. I think Osamu would want his older brother to be there for him."
"What the fuck, Omi," Atsumu says, laughing shakily. '"You sounded really cool just now. You and Kita-san would get along so well, I'm already calling it."
Oh.
Of course.
Kiyoomi manages to hold up the tremors in his smile. Of course Atsumu would be thinking about Kita even when he's already with him. They're just friends. Nothing more.
"Go talk to your brother, Miya," Kiyoomi says simply, shifting in his seat.
"I will, I will! But later. Before we go to sleep." Atsumu beams up at him. "Thanks, Omi."
Later, once Kiyoomi had finished up his usual nightly routine, he catches the glint of exposed, fair skin of Atsumu’s back when the other boy changes into a pair of his clothes in his bathroom, the door cracked open by the tiniest inch. mocking him. It definitely wasn't the first time he's seen Atsumu shirtless, but Kiyoomi still feels his face flush at the sight, and he quickly glances down at his hands.
This must be some kind of bottled-up frustration getting to him, he thinks to himself in horror. He’s actually considering latching onto Miya Atsumu, even when he knows full well he shouldn’t.
Atsumu comes out a mere second later, flashing him a bright smile. Friends, Kiyoomi reminds himself. Nothing more.
“Yer not making me sleep in your sibling’s rooms, are ya, Omi?” Atsumu chuckles nervously. “I’m allowed to sleep here, yeah?”
“Unless you want to be squished against my wall,” Kiyoomi starts with a small huff, “then you’re probably better off sleeping on the floor. My bed isn’t big enough for the both of us.”
“That’s fine!” Atsumu assures, too fast. Kiyoomi stares at him weirdly, and Atsumu must realize it too, because he adds, “I mean, I’m used to squeezing into ‘Samu’s bed whenever one of us feels a little down. So I, uh, don’t mind. Sharing a bed, I mean. I mean, if ya don’t want to, then yeah, I could sleep on the floor-”
“Miya.” Kiyoomi lets himself quirk a small, teasing smile. “You’ve said I mean three times. Why are you rambling again?”
Groaning, Atsumu shakes his head and plops down beside Kiyoomi. Their arms brush. Kiyoomi doesn’t think about it. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfy, Omi.”
“Hm.” Kiyoomi can play this game. “That’s a pretty periphrastic way of saying you want to sleep with me.”
Kiyoomi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone turn so red this fast.
“I’m not-” Atsumu splutters, flushed so hard Kiyoomi thinks he can actually feel the heat radiating off Atsumu's face. He gapes, opening and closing his mouth, eyes wide, until he finally manages to get out, “I don’t even know what peri-something means, what the fuck, Omi. But you can’t just say shit like that!”
“Why not? You say stuff like this all the time.”
“Not like this!” Atsumu protests, a hand coming up to cover his face. It’s not cute. Kiyoomi doesn’t think that. Actually, he’s not thinking at all. “It’s different with ya. You’re not allowed to say stuff like this! Especially when I’m not ready!”
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “You’re just being dramatic now.”
“Ugh.” Atsumu groans again, scowling up at Kiyoomi. His face is still tinted red, so he looks more like a fucking Angry Bird instead. Kiyoomi tries not to laugh at the image in his head. “Ya know what, Omi, maybe I should sleep on the floor. Yer probably the kind of person who rolls around a lot in their sleep.”
“I sleep like a fucking log, Miya. Don’t mistake me for Toya.”
And this is how Kiyoomi finds himself pressed against Atsumu on his bed five minutes later. All he wanted was to prove his point, but now it’s just his bed that's proving to be way too small for the both of them. The scariest thing out of this entire ordeal is that Kiyoomi doesn’t even mind.
“Yer really warm, Omi,” Atsumu says absentmindedly, voice soft in the quiet of his room. Kiyoomi merely sighs and fixes his eyes on the ceiling.
“Miya, I swear, if you keep shaking your foot like that, it’s coming off.”
“It’s freezing,” Atsumu complains. He sidles closer towards Kiyoomi, almost unconsciously, before he pauses and says, “Ya sure ya mind me being this close, Omi?”
“It’s alright,” Kiyoomi answers quietly, honestly,
Atsumu hums contentedly, the sound trickling into Kiyoomi’s ears. Their legs brush underneath Kiyoomi’s blanket. "Thanks again for earlier," Atsumu tells him, glancing at Kiyoomi with a sleepy smile. “I talked to ‘Samu while you were in the bathroom. Things are okay between us now.”
And Kiyoomi simply nods, the words dying in his throat because Atsumu is agonizingly close, his scent on Kiyoomi’s clothes overwhelming every nerve of Kiyoomi’s body.
Atsumu falls asleep soon after, but Kiyoomi finds himself lying awake for a while longer.
If Kiyoomi’s heart ticks upwards whenever Atsumu inches closer to his side, whenever Atsumu’s legs link tighter against his, whenever Atsumu’s warm breath brushes against his neck, Kiyoomi makes sure not to say anything.
Friends. Nothing more.
Kiyoomi learns more about Miya Atsumu in the next four days than he's ever bargained for.
He learns Atsumu likes sunny-side up eggs the most, especially when the yolk is runny. He learns that Atsumu takes a whole forty minutes to shower, often belting out popular pop songs and knocking down shampoo bottles every ten seconds. It's terribly off-key, but Kiyoomi can't bring it in him to complain.
He learns that Atsumu wakes up early, and can cook too. Whenever Kiyoomi's alone at home like this, he usually eats something relatively simple to make that would still get him his required macros, or orders something if he's too tired from school. Atsumu however, knows how to whip up a whole meal just from the sparse ingredients Kiyoomi has in his fridge.
("We should go grocery shopping before I leave, Omi," Atsumu tells him lightly on his third day. "My Ma would be really upset if she knew how little ya eat honestly.")
Atsumu's cooking is pretty good too, though he admits reluctantly that Osamu can do much better. The next day, they do go grocery shopping, Atsumu putting in as much as he can in their trolley without going over Kiyoomi's budget.
He also learns that Atsumu gave his precious Kita-san chocolates for Valentines a few weeks back. Kiyoomi really didn't need to know that, but he teases Atsumu anyway and tries to hold his head high when Atsumu smiles bashfully, a bright flush dusting his cheeks.
They watch more movies together. Motoya comes over at one point too, once he was finally allowed to after finishing all his assignments. Atsumu cooks lunch for all three of them, and they spend the rest of that afternoon watching Assassination Classrom on Kiyoomi’s Netflix account.
And then, five days since this is all begun, Atsumu’s out his front door, waving him goodbye with a promise to talk again soon.
Atsumu goes, and Kiyoomi’s left standing in his doorway faced with the inevitable feeling of his walls crumbling down once more.
Kiyoomi spends his 16th birthday with Motoya.
He accepts his family’s greetings, all of them far too busy with their own lives to give him more than five minutes, but Kiyoomi finds himself not minding as much. Not when Motoya’s determined to make this birthday exceptionally special , or so he says.
Kiyoomi suspects that Motoya’s most likely gonna bring him somewhere, maybe have lunch in a restaurant that isn’t fast-food. He’s certain that’s what Motoya’s planning, so when they do go somewhere that afternoon, Kiyoomi thinks that’s the end of it.
So when he walks into Motoya’s room that evening after they had dinner with Motoya’s family, with a whole cake and all for Kiyoomi, his jaw promptly drops to the floor when he sees what’s on Motoya’s screen, his laptop propped on his bed.
Or rather, who’s on the screen.
“Surprise!” Motoya exclaims, grin so wide it’s reaching his eyes, and Kiyoomi absolutely can’t help the fond laugh that escapes him in that moment.
“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Kiyoomi tells Motoya, before turning to Motoya’s screen. He bends down and offers a small wave. “Hi Miya, Osamu, Suna. Hoshiumi too. I apologize for Motoya dragging you into this.”
“Are you kidding?” Atsumu exclaims. “We wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
“It’s just my birthday,” Kiyoomi says with a shake of his head. “You already greeted me earlier too.”
From beside Atsumu, Suna huffs and says, “This is what friends do , Sakusa. Plus, this could also be a celebration in honor of all of us graduating our second year. Kinda surprised Atsumu actually passed, but at least he’s living proof that miracles do happen.”
“The fuck?” Atsumu chokes out indignantly, just when everyone else bursts into laughter. Suna grins cheekily, Atsumu whacking him on the arm. “Just for all of yer information, I’m in a higher class than Sunarin and ‘Samu! These bitches are even dumber than I am.”
“I have to disagree,” Kiyoomi puts in, earning a nod from Motoya beside him. “At least Suna and Osamu have common sense.”
“You guys are horrible,” Atsumu whines. “This would have gone much better if it was just me and Omi.”
“As Kiyoomi’s cousin, I could argue with that,” Motoya states firmly, even when Kiyoomi’s heart stops for one, fleeting second.
They end up chatting till midnight, only stopping once Motoya’s mom comes in with a stern warning that Motoya and Kiyoomi need to go to sleep. They wave their goodbyes, Kiyoomi does his nightly routine, and the last thing he feels before drifting off to sleep on Motoya’s spare mattress is the warmth blooming across his chest.
Third year starts soon enough. Kiyoomi practices, studies, and then practices some more.
He’s not quite used to talking to his juniors, but he tries. He’s vice-captain now, as shocking as it still is to him, but he has one sole goal and that’s to get Itachiyama to Nationals and seize the title of champions.
From what Kiyoomi's heard, Atsumu's apparently doing a better than expected job at being captain too. He isn't surprised to hear that, if he's being honest.
Midterms come and go in the middle of May, but as busy as Kiyoomi's gotten, he doesn't think he's gone a day without talking to Atsumu. Sometimes it'd be conversations that go on for hours, the both of them switching between texting and actually calling. Other times, they'd both be too occupied with school, so not more than a few texts are exchanged.
It's a hot July afternoon when Atsumu calls him again. They're both on summer break, so Kiyoomi supposes he should have seen it coming when he's woken up from his nap, drowsy with his curls sticking to his forehead from the sheer heat, only to see Atsumu's contact number lighting up his phone.
"What," he manages to groan out, flipping onto his back. He hears Atsumu laugh in response, and Kiyoomi sighs again.
"Hey, Omi," Atsumu starts, an edge of a smile around his tone. "Ya know how we won't have classes for a while, right?"
Kiyoomi sits up cautiously. "Yeah, what about it?"
"Well." Atsumu clears his throat. "Me, Ma, and 'Samu are gonna travel to Tokyo first thing tomorrow morning."
It takes ten whole seconds for Kiyoomi to process that. And then, blinking the sleep from his eyes, he croaks out a confused, "Huh?"
"Yeah," Atsumu laughs again. There's a bit of shuffling on his end, before he says, "We might stay for a week. We're gonna be looking into colleges for 'Samu. Ma suggested he go to college somewhere closer, but he was really adamant on Tokyo."
"Oh." Kiyoomi isn't sure what to say. He doesn't know what Atsumu wants him to say. "Why are you telling me this, Miya?"
He can almost hear the way Atsumu starts smiling. "Ya think I can come over to your place again, Omi? Assuming you didn't move apartments or something these last few months."
"Aren't you supposed to be helping your brother?"
"He'll be fine," Atsumu says nonchalantly. "I asked Kita-san to help him. Did ya know Kita-san goes to college in Tokyo too?"
Again, Kiyoomi really doesn’t need to know that. But he keeps his tone light and interested, for Atsumu, so he says instead, “You’re still in touch with your old captain, Miya? This is a whole new level of pining, even for you.”
Kiyoomi knows Atsumu well enough by now to know he's blushing. “Oh, shut up, Omi. I mostly just talk to him ‘bout captain stuff and all!”
“Captain stuff.”
“Yes, precisely.”
“Miya, you’re a horrible liar.”
Atsumu’s quiet for a few seconds, before he heaves out a loud, dramatic sigh. “Alright, fine,” he relents. “Maybe we don’t just talk about captain stuff. Sunarin and ‘Samu always tell me to give it up already, but Kita-san told me he hasn’t found his soulmate yet!”
Kiyoomi stills, suddenly uncomfortable. Carefully, he asks, “Do you think you’re his soulmate then?”
“Of course not.” Atsumu sighs softly. “I’ve seen his mark.”
“Oh.” Kiyoomi resists the urge to ask Atsumu about his mark. He doesn’t ask what it looks like, if it’s big or small, or if he has any idea what it could mean.
Atsumu’s speaking again. “Anyway, that’s besides the point. Omi, are you free for like, the next seven days?”
“Why do I have a feeling that you’ll still barge in here even if I say no.” Kiyoomi doesn’t say it like a question, and he imagines Atsumu grinning from where he’s back in his room, in Hyogo, six whole hours away.
“C’mon, Omi. You enjoy my company, don’t ya?”
“I would rather die.”
“Omi.” Atsumu’s whining, like a child. Kiyoomi can’t believe this is the same fucker who leads and watches over Inarizaki’s volleyball team. “Ma even said I could stay over at your place, if you were okay with it.” He hesitates. “ Are you okay with it, Omi? If you really are busy, then that’s okay too.”
Kiyoomi bites his lip, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t know why Atsumu’s even asking this. He never says no to Atsumu.
“What time will you arrive?” he asks in lieu of an actual answer, but he supposes that’s answer enough, because Atsumu immediately cheers on his end of the call. Kiyoomi fights back a smile.
“Probably sometime in the afternoon,” Atsumu answers easily. “Is that alright with ya?”
“Yeah.” Kiyoomi exhales. “I’ll see you, Miya.”
Notifications flood Kiyoomi’s phone the very next morning.
Miya Atsumu has sent a photo
Miya Atsumu
on our way to tokyo !!
Komori Motoya
omg OSAMU WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME THIS
how long will y’all stay
bcs currently im grounded for having missing assignments <//3
Miya Osamu
I don’t think we’ll be able to meet up honestly…
I’ll probably be really busy unfortunately
Komori Motoya
oh that’s alright :(
Miya Osamu
Meanwhile Tsumu’s gonna be the useless bitch he is and spend the whole week over at Sakusa’s
Miya Atsumu
HEY
omi said it was fine !!
you wish you were us
you’ll be all tired meanwhile me and omi will be having movie marathons on his couch
how intimate of us
Suna Rintarou
not this again
atsumu try not to flirt with every breathing thing challenge
Komori Motoya
oh that’s cruel
he wouldn’t survive
Atsumu arrives at exactly 2 pm.
He’s grown a little since Kiyoomi last saw him, all broad shoulders and strong muscles, but Kiyoomi takes pride in the fact he’s still taller. Atsumu’s hair has grown out too, although it’s still very much the same shade of obnoxious yellow as it had been this past year. What catches Kiyoomi’s attention the most, however, is the fact that Atsumu’s sporting a light blue sweater when it’s clearly 40 degrees outside.
“How the fuck are you surviving in this heat?” is the first thing Kiyoomi says once Atsumu steps inside. But Atsumu merely grins sheepishly up at him, shaking his head.
“The cloth isn’t as heavy as ya think it is,” Atsumu explains. “Think of it as protecting my skin from the sun.”
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and settles on his living room’s couch. “Are you sure you’re not being baked alive in that thing?”
“I’m fine, Omi.” Atsumu takes his place beside him, bringing his knees up to his chest and looking around. Not much has changed since the last time he’s been there though, and Atsumu must realize it too, because his eyes end up falling on Kiyoomi’s lap.
“Hey,” he begins, gesturing towards Kiyoomi’s arm. Kiyoomi stares at him quizzically. “Is that a new bracelet?”
Kiyoomi stills.
Shit.
He glances down, the red bracelet he's got covering his wrist replacing his usual black one. Silently, he mutters a quick prayer of thanks to whatever deity might be listening on the fact he remembered to put it on before Atsumu arrived.
"Yeah, it is," Kiyoomi finally replies, forcing his voice to work. "I didn't think you'd notice."
Shrugging, Atsumu says, "I notice ya wearing one a lot. Even when I came over last time, you got one on, though I didn't want to pry."
Kiyoomi racks his brain, wondering if he should say more, or make something up. "My mom bought me the black one a few years ago as a gift," is what he settles on. It's not technically a lie. "I got used to wearing it around, so I liked having it with me."
"Like a good luck charm, Omi?"
"Something like that."
"Didn't think ya were the superstitious type," Atsumu teases lightly. "Then why the new one?"
"Is this a Q&A session?" Kiyoomi sighs, but he answers anyway. "Motoya bought this one for me." Again, not a lie.
"Hm." Atsumu nods sagely. "Do you like bracelets, Omi? Maybe I should buy one for ya."
"Please don't do that."
Atsumu giggles, fucking giggles, and Kiyoomi looks away. He sucks in a silent breath, but Atsumu remains oblivious to the sudden pang in his chest because he grins and says, "Oh, come on, Omi! You know, I don't just give gifts to anyone."
Kiyoomi just stares at him flatly. "I highly doubt that, Miya."
"But it's true!" If anything, Atsumu's grin grows even wider, golden eyes sparkling. "I haven't given a proper gift to even 'Samu since we were like, eight. But you're special."
"I'm special," Kiyoomi repeats, voice deadpan, even when his heart aches. He knows Atsumu doesn't mean it. To Atsumu, it's all just a game, one that he's winning, leaving Kiyoomi in the dust and forcing him to realize he has to get used to watching Atsumu go.
Kiyoomi thinks back to when he's fourteen. He supposes that maybe, this one thing would never change.
For all of Atsumu's grins and eyes that seem to shine, Kiyoomi knows that even now, he's still not a star in Miya Atsumu's entire orbit.
Kiyoomi convinces himself he'll get over it.
He's liked plenty of people before, and he got over them all just fine. This one might take longer, but he wants to believe he'll get over it too.
He also believes he should get a fucking Oscar for the way he's managed to suppress his feelings on the down-low. For the rest of Atsumu's visit, they fall into some kind of routine. They eat, they watch, they talk, they even go out, on days where Atsumu is downright begging Kiyoomi to show him around Tokyo.
And then, every night for the next seven days without fail, Kiyoomi goes to bed with Atsumu pressed against his side.
It’s on Atsumu’s last night, a whole week later, when the topic is finally brought up.
It’s way past 2 in the morning, but Atsumu’s still talking excitedly about how he can’t wait to brag to Osamu on everything they’ve done these past seven days. It isn’t anything special to Kiyoomi; he lives here and has been to all these places several times, but he watches the way Atsumu glows under his lamp and feels his throat seize up.
“Thanks again for letting me stay over, Omi,” Atsumu’s telling him. “Will it be too sappy if I say I love spending time with you?”
“I’d think you were insane. People don’t say that kind of stuff to me.”
“Well, they’re missing out.” Atsumu huffs, before his lips twitch upwards. “But then again, that’d just mean I have ya all to myself, right?”
“Get the fuck out of my house right now,” Kiyoomi says seriously. He pretends his heart doesn’t squeeze painfully in his chest – he’s been pretending all this time, but he really wishes Atsumu would stop saying stuff like that to him. Not when Atsumu never means it.
If someone would ask Kiyoomi a year ago, he’d probably say there was no way he’d be getting this close to someone like Miya Atsumu of all people. Especially not enough for him to sleep in Kiyoomi’s room, in Kiyoomi’s bed, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
But the universe continues to prove him wrong. Kiyoomi doesn’t think he can ignore it anymore, especially when it’s glaring at him straight in the face. Slowly, Atsumu’s things became their things and Kiyoomi’s space became their space. And Kiyoomi doesn’t even mind it.
“Hey, Omi?” Atsumu mumbles, steering Kiyoomi away from his thoughts and wrenching him back into reality. “I was just wondering… “
He trails off, and Kiyoomi shifts to look at him properly. “What is it?’ he asks.
Atsumu chews on his bottom lip. And then, in one swift breath, he says, “What do you think about soulmates?”
“Soulmates?” Kiyoomi frowns, and Atsumu nods. Cautiously, slowly, he answers with a simple half-truth, half-lie, “I don’t really have any strong opinions on it. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Atsumu answers, but his voice is off.
“What do you think about soulmates, Miya?” Kiyoomi asks back. He wonders if they’re having this conversation in the first place because Atsumu likes Kita, yet they aren’t soulmates. He wonders if he should have answered differently, or said something he knows Atsumu would have wanted to hear.
“I think it can be both a good thing and a bad thing,” Atsumu replies, eyes fixed on Kiyoomi’s ceiling, “Like, it’s good because it’s nice to know there’s someone out there who’ll love you, who’s destined for ya and all that. But it also kinda sucks because what if that person meant for you doesn’t love you at all? What if someone ends up falling for someone else who isn’t their soulmate?”
Oh. This must be about Kita after all. Kiyoomi swallows thickly, forcing down the bile in his throat.
His suspicions are only proven right even further when Atsumu continues. "It all just seems a little confusing to me. Like, I love seeing ‘Samu and Sunarin and Komori-kun happy with each other. They deserve it. And so does everyone else in this world with their soulmate. But, did you know, Omi, that my parents aren't soulmates?" Atsumu looks back at him, a faraway smile on his lips and honest vulnerability on his face. "They were friends, and they grew to love each other more than they ever thought they could, but they aren't soulmates. Everyone they knew treated them like outcasts when they found out they married each other. It's kinda dumb of society to do that, isn't it?"
And Kiyoomi simply nods, because what else could he say? He doesn’t know what it’s like to have someone love him for all that he is at all. He glances down, at Atsumu’s wrist covered by the sleeve of his pajama shirt, and he aches.
Atsumu leaves the next morning. They talk, they call, Atsumu continues telling Kiyoomi sweet nothings he’s probably told to several other people too, but Kiyoomi lets him anyway. They’re friends. Atsumu’s treating him like a friend, just like how he treats all his other friends, and Kiyoomi’s selfish for ever thinking he was entitled to have more.
This is enough. This can be enough, for Kiyoomi. He repeats it day after day, again and again like it’s a mantra until Kiyoomi almost believes it.
Itachiyama takes their place in the Spring Interhighs, because of course they do.
Inarizaki, Kamomedai, and Karasuno make it in too, though Kiyoomi isn’t shocked by the news of it at all.
It’s almost like deja vu, when Kiyoomi finds himself lying awake the night before Nationals, trying and failing to drift off to sleep. On his bedside table, his phone screen keeps lighting up, and he doesn’t even need to check to know it’s Motoya and Atsumu and everyone else bombarding his notifications.
But when five minutes pass and Kiyoomi still isn’t tired enough to sleep, he groans softly and rolls over, feeling for his phone.
Suna Rintarou
i honestly can’t wait to plummet karasuno to the ground
i hope that one blond middle blocker’s ready to get demolished
Miya Atsumu
and /i/ hope tobio-kun’s ready to have his dreams crushed
sure he’ll have shouyou kun but we have samu
Komori Motoya
that’s weirdly nice of you atsumu
are you feeling okay
Miya Atsumu
why is it so hard for y’all to believe i can be nice !!
plus samu’s already passed out on the bottom bunk he won’t see this
Suna Rintarou
nope i already have it screenshotted
Sakusa Kiyoomi
please be more like hoshiumi and osamu and go the fuck to sleep
Komori Motoya
OH KIYOOMI HI
you’re one to talk!
Miya Atsumu
OMI !!
hey at least sunarin isn’t talking about fingering assholes now
Suna Rintarou
ITS BEEN A YEAR LET IT GO ALREADY
Sakusa Kiyoomi
i wish i could go back to 30 seconds ago when i legitimately forgot suna ever said that
Komori Motoya
omg this feels kinda nostalgic
can’t believe we’ve been on here for so long !!
we’re even gonna graduate high school in a few months what the fuckMiya Atsumu
oh thank fuck
i’m DONE with studying i can’t wait to not go to college
Kiyoomi hesitates, fingers frozen above his phone. He knows Atsumu would be signing in with a professional volleyball team right after high school. Suna and Motoya too, from what they’ve all told each other. But he hasn’t told any of them of his own plans to go to university and finish his education.
He doesn’t stay up too long after that, sending one last message before shutting off his phone. When he sleeps, it's of hazel eyes and soft smiles coming back to him in fractured memories and broken-down dreams.
Kiyoomi and the rest of Itachiyama are on the bleachers, just minutes before Inarizaki is bound to play against another team for the semi-finals.
Inarizaki enters the court shortly after, causing the crowd to go absolutely wild. On Inarizaki’s side, they all scream and cheer for different names, but Atsumu’s is undoubtedly the loudest.
Kiyoomi’s gaze gravitates towards Atsumu like it’s second nature. He’s basking in the attention, as if the court is his stage, and he fucking glows.
And then Atsumu’s eyes meet his.
A smile breaks out on Atsumu’s face, bright and blinding and beautiful as he waves from across the stadium. He calls out Kiyoomi’s name, but Kiyoomi can barely register it.
Because as he watches Atsumu beam up at him like he’s the only person in this entire vast room, Kiyoomi thinks he finally feels something in him shatter.
He’s frozen in his seat. He watches Atsumu turn away from him to grin and wink at his fangirls. Watches Atsumu wave at Kita Shinsuke, who’s closer to Atsumu than Kiyoomi could ever imagine himself being.
Something in the husk of Kiyoomi’s chest tightens when his eyes catch the way Kita waves back at Atsumu, and Kiyoomi thinks, oh.
This is how he’ll break.
Kiyoomi will break watching Miya Atsumu fall for everyone else but him. He will break knowing this is all he can have, all that he’ll ever get, and anything more will be asking for too much. He will break knowing that he’ll have to keep pretending like he isn’t in love with Atsumu and there’s nothing he can do anymore to ignore it.
Atsumu’s eyes find his in the crowd again. He flashes Kiyoomi another smile, and Kiyoomi tries to return it, he really does.
The whistle blows, but all Kiyoomi can hear is his world crashing down on him.
Inarizaki loses their match.
On the same day, Itachiyama loses to Kamomedia in the finals, Kiyoomi leaning on Motoya’s shoulder as their breaths come heavy, watching as Hoshiumi and his team cheer on the other side of the net.
He and Motoya exchange a bittersweet smile. They can mourn later. For now, as third-years, they need to put up a strong front.
The crowd roars during the awarding ceremony, the silver medal around Kiyoomi’s neck glinting under the stadium lights. He lets their captain lead their underclassmen back to their hotel to rest and wash up, with the excuse that he and Motoya has somewhere to be.
When they finally separate from their team, they sprint through long-winding hallways until finally, finally they’re out the front doors.
And they’re all there, waiting for them by the stairs.
“Omi!” Atsumu is the first to exclaim, shooting him a wide smile. “You’re finally here!”
“I exist too, you know,” Motoya complains, but Kiyoomi sees the way his cousin’s eyes are on Suna and Osamu. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen happiness so clear on Motoya’s face compared to right now, in this very moment, watching as Motoya finally closes the gap between his soulmates and engulfs them in a hug.
“Hey, Motoya,” Suna greets softly, a smile evident on his lips and Motoya in his arms. “You played that game so well.”
“You think so?” Motoya asks, and Kiyoomi feels warmth unfurl throughout his body watching the three of them.
“‘Course we do,” Osamu replies, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Though you started to slip up during that end of the fourth set.”
Motoya groans, burying his face in Osamu’s chest. “Can you blame me though? Kourai-kun was purposely aiming at me, I know it.”
They share a laugh, and Kiyoomi exchanges a knowing glance with Atsumu. He doesn’t know when it happened, but suddenly Atsumu’s by his side, the sleeve of Inarizaki’s jacket brushing against Kiyoomi’s own.
“You think we should leave them?” Atsumu asks softly. He’s too close, breath warm against the shell of Kiyoomi’s ear. Kiyoomi suppresses a shiver. “They probably wanna have some time to themselves.”
Kiyoomi nods, and Atsumu takes that as his sign. Clearing his throat, he calls out, “‘Samu, Sunarin! Omi and I will go find Kourai-kun. Y’all stay here with Komori.”
Osamu rolls his eyes, but he nods in understanding all the same. “Sorry, Sakusa!” he says, just before Kiyoomi and Atsumu turn to leave. “We’ll talk more later, yeah?”
“It’s fine, Osamu,” Kiyoomi assures, flashing a small smile. “Take care of Motoya while we’re gone.”
Kiyoomi ignores Motoya’s indignant squawking of I'm literally older than you! to follow Atsumu, the both of them heading back inside. Kiyoomi’s certain Atsumu doesn’t even know where he’s going or where Hoshiumi is, but he follows anyway.
“It’s nice seeing them so happy,” Atsumu muses. “I remember when Sunarin first came to Inarizaki and met 'Samu. They were both happy to be together and find each other so early of course, but they always felt like something was missing.”
Kiyoomi hums in assent. He looks back at Atsumu, who’s got a sort of wistful, distant look in his eye, and he exhales and thinks, here goes nothing.
“Miya,” he starts.
“Yeah, Omi?”
“Do you know what team you’ll sign into after graduating?”
“Oh.” Atsumu looks a little surprised by the question, but there’s that telltale upward quirk in his lips when he answers. “Kita-san helped me weigh out my options, and I’ve finally decided on the MSBY Black Jackals.”
MSBY Black Jackals. That’s in Osaka, if Kiyoomi remembers correctly. It’s still not any closer to Tokyo than Hyogo is, just a mere hour, and Kiyoomi sucks in a quiet inhale.
“What ‘bout you, Omi?” Atsumu questions back, staring at him expectantly. “What team will ya sign in for? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned it.”
Kiyoomi swallows. This is his chance. “I’m not gonna sign with any team, Miya.”
Frowning, Atsumu stops in his tracks. “What?”
“I’m not signing with any team,” Kiyoomi repeats, softer. He’s stopped walking too now, and he’s suddenly glad they’re in a more secluded hallway. “I’m going to college.”
Atsumu blinks. Like he’s having trouble processing what Kiyoomi’s saying. “College? You- you’re quitting volleyball?”
“What? Of course not.” Kiyoomi runs a hand through his hair, noting the way Atsumu visibly relaxes. “I’m still gonna play for the collegiate volleyball league. I just felt like finishing my education first, that's all.”
“Oh.” Chewing on his bottom lip, Atsumu asks, “What will ya study?”
“Psychology,” Kiyoomi answers, sighing softly. “Four years of it.”
“Will you still be in Tokyo?”
“Yeah, I- Wakatoshi-kun’s been helping me look into some universities. I’ve made my decision where to go now though, and my parents approved too, so I should be okay.”
Atsumu chuckles. “I’m kinda surprised you didn’t tell any of us sooner. Should I be offended?”
“Actually,” Kiyoomi starts, and it’s barely a miracle when his voice doesn’t waver. “You’re the first person I told.”
“Oh,” Atsumu exhales. Eyes wide, he asks, “Not even Komori-kun?”
“Not even Motoya.”
They’ve started walking again, turning a few corners. Atsumu isn’t looking at him, and Kiyoomi thinks that’s the end of the conversation when Atsumu speaks up again.
“Omi?”
“Hm?”
“Can I visit you when yer in college?”
“I-” Kiyoomi stops, blinking in surprise. “Yeah. Of course you can. But wouldn’t you be busy? Plus, Osaka isn’t anywhere near Tokyo.”
“That’s fine,” Atsumu assures quickly, throwing him a fleeting smile. “I’ll visit ya whenever it’s the off-season. Just in case you miss me.”
“I highly doubt that’ll happen.”
“Nah.” Atsumu’s grinning now, winking at him playfully. “You love me.”
Yeah, Kiyoomi thinks sadly, even as he rolls his eyes and manages out a huff. I fucking do.
Later that day, Motoya stays the night in Kiyoomi’s room.
“You and Atsumu were gone for a pretty long time when you were looking for Kourai-kun,” Motoya tells him as he slips under the blankets of Kiyoomi’s bed. “Did something happen?”
Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything for a minute. He takes in a breath, before letting it out softly. And then, turning to look his cousin in the eye, he says, “Motoya.”
Motoya raises an eyebrow at him curiously, completely unsuspecting of what Kiyoomi wants to say. “Yeah?”
Kiyoomi takes in a silent, shuddering breath. And then he whispers, helpless and weak into the walls of his room–
“I’m in love with Atsumu.”
Kiyoomi’s voice shakes as he says it. Tears have started to fall too, dripping hot and staining his pillowcase. His lungs hurt, and it isn’t long till he’s crying in a way he hasn’t since he was just twelve, but he supposes this should be okay. He lets himself crumble, just this once, in front of his cousin. Because Motoya’s the only person who can know.
“Kiyoomi…” Motoya starts to say, but he stops. Instead, he reaches out. Kiyoomi lets him take his hand. He feels Motoya run a hand through his hair, like he used to do when they were merely kids.
“How long?” Motoya asks softly, and Kiyoomi releases a wet, trembling laugh.
“A long time now, I think?” Kiyoomi admits. He wipes a hand across his eyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever cried so much before. “Toya. I’m scared.”
“I know,” Gently running a thumb down Kiyoomi’s wrist, Motoya whispers, “It’s okay, Kiyoomi. I know.”
“I’m not supposed to like him,” Kiyoomi croaks out, throat feeling unreasonably dry. He’s shaking, but he doesn’t have the strength to stop it. “What do I do, Motoya? I know it’s fucking hopeless, so how do I stop feeling this way?”
Motoya doesn’t seem to have an answer to that. He just holds Kiyoomi as he cries and aches until Kiyoomi finally falls asleep with a heart that doesn’t belong to him anymore.
Motoya doesn’t bring it up again, something that Kiyoomi’s eternally thankful for.
He doesn’t call Kiyoomi out or anything when they all text each other, and doesn’t bring it up on the several times he’s walked in on Kiyoomi with Atsumu on the phone either.
And Kiyoomi forces himself to act normal whenever he’s with Atsumu. It’s hard, and it hurts, but Atsumu’s still talking and laughing alongside him and Kiyoomi reminds himself that he should be okay having this much.
A week before Kiyoomi turns 17, Atsumu calls him again.
It scares Kiyoomi a little bit how, in less than two weeks, they'll all be graduating. It's inevitable, to start a new chapter of his life in an unfamiliar place, Motoya elsewhere as he signs in with the EJP Rajins along with Suna. But Atsumu continues to be by Kiyoomi's side, a steady comfort despite the growing thorn in Kiyoomi's heart.
This should be enough.
"What's up?" Kiyoomi answers once he picks up the phone. There's a bit of muffled talking on Atsumu's end, and Kiyoomi catches Osamu's voice in the background before his attention tunes back into Atsumu.
"Hey, Omi," Atsumu greets. "So ya know how it's your birthday next week right?"
Kiyoomi, in fact, did not know that. He's a little surprised Atsumu remembers though, Kiyoomi himself having been too occupied and concerned with prepping for college and graduating in less than two weeks to think too much about his birthday.
But he answers with a simple, albeit confused, yes , and then Atsumu's back to talking again.
"Right. So." There's a light tilt to Atsumu's tone, almost like he's grinning. Kiyoomi imagines he is. "It's gonna be the weekend on the 20th, so I was wondering if-"
"You could come over," Kiyoomi finishes for him, letting out a fond sigh. He hears Atsumu let out a loud laugh, and it tightens a knot deep in Kiyoomi's stomach.
"Would that be okay?" Atsumu asks, like he doesn't already know the answer. Kiyoomi rolls his eyes.
"When do I ever tell you no?"
"Fair point," Atsumu says with another giggle. "Am I special, Omi?"
"A special annoyance, that is."
"Rude! You know I'm a delight to have around."
Kiyoomi smiles faintly. They don't talk too long after that. Atsumu excuses himself, claiming that he has to help Osamu start packing for college in Tokyo, hanging up with the promise of seeing Kiyoomi soon. Kiyoomi can't even blame himself when, once again, his heart aches for what was never his from where it lies shipwrecked in the confines of his ribs.
Komori Motoya
kiyoomi?
i heard from osamu that atsumu'll be staying over for the weekend
will you be okay?
Sakusa Kiyoomi
i'll be fine
don't worry about it
Komori Motoya
sure?
i know it's been a few months since you've told me about him, and you've been doing your best to hide it but
i'm scared you're hurting yourself too much
i could ask mom if i could stay over, if you want
Sakusa Kiyoomi
you don't need to do that
Komori Motoya
okay … but call me or text me if you need anything alright?
Sakusa Kiyoomi
yeah
thanks motoya
"Hey, 'Samu?"
Osamu glances up when he hears his brother from where he's been scrolling through his phone. It's getting late, and Osamu originally planned on staying up a couple minutes more to say goodnight to Rin and Motoya, but he takes one look at Atsumu's face and suddenly he's sitting up, eyebrows furrowing in concern.
Atsumu's eyes are lowered, a tension to his shoulders that Osamu hasn't seen in a long time now. He's fiddling with his hands too from where he stands on the foot of Osamu's bed. And his voice. Something is off about Atsumu's voice, and Osamu senses it immediately.
"What is it?"
"I, uh-" Atsumu gulps, and he sucks in a breath as he looks Osamu in the eye. "I need yer help. You know how Kita-san's in Hyogo for his break, right?"
"Yeah… " Osamu remembers Atsumu mentioning it to him at one point. He even recalls Kita saying it back in their old Inarizaki group chat a few days ago. "He's visiting his grandma, right?"
Atsumu nods in clarification. But his eyebrows are still knitted close together in worry, a downward turn to his lips. He's anxious, Osamu quickly realizes. He's seen this look on Atsumu several times, but this… this is different. Yet Osamu can't quite place his finger on it.
Lips pursed, Atsumu says, "I was planning on finally confessing to him before I catch the train to visit Omi." He lifts his head to look back at Osamu, a sort of tightness around his eyes. "But… I'm not sure how."
"Confess?" Osamu repeats, frowning. He puts his phone aside and eyes his brother carefully. "To Kita-san? 'Tsumu, are you sure?"
Osamu knows he's said the wrong thing when Atsumu's stance turns defensive, visibly upset as his mouth pulls into a flat line. "Look, ya don't have to be so upfront with thinking he's gonna reject me-"
"No, fuck, that's not it." Osamu tries to backtrack. He racks his brain, searching for the best way to approach this. "It's just... Do you like Kita-san, 'Tsumu?'
"What kind of dumb question is that?" Atsumu shoots back incredulously. "Of course I like him, and I have for a while now. That's why I wanna confess, isn't it?"
Running a hand to push his hair back, Osamu pulls Atsumu down until he's sitting on his bed. "I don't mean like that," Osamu starts to say. "Do you really like him? 'Tsumu, I need you to be honest here. What do you like about Kita-san exactly?"
"'Samu, I don't think-"
"No, please. Just answer the question."
"I- I like how he's so reliable, and I can always count on him," Atsumu begins hesitantly. He's avoiding Osamu's gaze, but Osamu supposes that's alright, too focused on images and memories of his brother on his phone, in Nationals, in Tokyo. "I like how he's so passionate about volleyball and everything he does too. Like, it's not the loud kind of passionate like I know I am – it's more quiet, but it's there. I like how, even if he doesn't smile much, when he does it makes me go all... soft. Especially if he's smiling because of me."
There's a distant look in Atsumu's eyes as he continues, like he's forgotten he's talking to Osamu in the first place. "I love making him laugh too. I always thought it was a whole lot of bullshit when people would say their hearts would skip a beat, but then I finally understood what it all meant when I heard him laugh. People keep mistaking him for this stoic, aloof guy but he's really so much more than that, but everyone just keeps misunderstanding him."
Osamu feels undeniable pain once his brother finishes. His chest constricts, wondering if Atsumu even realizes the weight in his words.
"'Tsumu… "
"Yeah, I know," Atsumu cuts in sharply. "It's fucking sappy and I really don't get why I had to tell ya all that-"
"'Tsumu," Osamu interrupts, holding up a hand. "Just listen to me for a bit alright? Do you really like Kita-san? Or just the idea you have of him in your head?"
Atsumu blanches.
"Huh?"
Sighing softly, Osamu thinks he feels something akin to dread growing in his stomach. "I know you care about Kita-san a lot… " he says consciously, watchful for any sudden outburst from his twin. "But are you sure you like him romantically?"
"'Samu, I really don't understand what you're getting at here."
"Okay, look." Osamu shifts, trying and failing to ignore the hurt blooming in him when he catches how distraught Atsumu's starting to look. "Would you like to go out with Kita-san? On actual dates, and hold his hand, and bring him home to Ma? Would you like kissing him and touching him and all that? Can you actually see yourself being with him, being there for him throughout all his moods and loving him all the same?"
"I- Well, when you put it like that... " Atsumu trails off, starting to look unsure. It's a look Osamu doesn't like on his brother. Atsumu's voice shakes and tears start to gather in the corner of his eyes, and Osamu inches closer.
"'Tsumu, I know it's confusing," he says softly. "But I think you only like to admire Kita-san from afar. I think, this past year, you've purposefully refused to know him more, to see him for more than the front he puts in front of us. Almost as if you were trying to convince yourself to like him, because there's always been someone else in your mind this whole time." Osamu reaches out for him, running a thumb over his palm like he used to do whenever Atsumu would get scared back when they were little. "And that's the scary part, isn't it? You think loving that person would break you in ways you can't even begin to imagine, so you went for Kita-san instead. Because, sure it would hurt, but it'd hurt you less."
Atsumu's lower lip is trembling as he squeezes Osamu's hand. "I- I don't-"
When Osamu looks at his brother, he remembers the time they were just kids. He thinks back to the stories their mom would read them to sleep about soulmates, and how, even though her and their dad weren't soulmates, they still believe Osamu and Atsumu would find people who'd love them fully, unconditionally, with every inch of their being.
Atsumu always loved those stories more than Osamu ever did. And Osamu knew why. Atsumu was constantly so full of love, giving to everyone even when Osamu tells him to stop, because what happens when his twin runs out of love to give? What else will they take from him? Osamu hated the idea of anyone taking from Atsumu when they wouldn't even give anything back.
Even as a child, he knew that if anyone deserved to have a soulmate love without fail, like they were two halves of one whole, it was Atsumu.
And then Osamu thinks back to their 12th birthday. While Osamu got not one, but two soulmate marks on his skin, he aches when he remembers the way his brother had cried on his shoulder the entire night, broken sobs wrecking Atsumu's body as he glared at his wrist. Like it would change if Atsumu cried loud enough for the universe to hear.
Because while Osamu was blessed with two soulmate marks the day they turned twelve, Atsumu's wrist remained empty.
It didn't make sense. Osamu couldn't understand why Atsumu of all people hadn't gotten a mark. Where's my brother's soulmate? Twelve year old Osamu wanted to scream when Atsumu had finally fallen asleep, his chest heaving and tears still staining his cheeks. You gave me two soulmates, so how could you forget about my brother?
"You know I love ya, right?" Osamu says earnestly, tearing himself away from his own thoughts. Atsumu glances at him, features pinched, and Osamu brushes a thumb under Atsumu's eye to smooth it out. "And I also know you better than anyone else. And I get ya said all that stuff about Kita-san, but I don't think it truly was about him. I don't think it's ever been about him this whole time, and you’ve realized it too, haven’t you? Because I do know someone who makes you so fucking happy. I know someone who sounds exactly like that too. And you know what, 'Tsumu?" Osamu smiles, but even to him it feels a little sad. "That someone is all the way in Tokyo."