Chapter Text
It’s stupid, waiting a year and a half for three meager days.
Kiyoomi knows this. He knows he needs to move on. He knows that there are probably other boys in other inns in other ports across the sky who are waiting on the same person. Other boys who see bright brown eyes and blond hair coming through their doors and feel the same rush of relief that he does. He’s never been told that, but there’s no way someone like Miya Atsumu has also waited a year and a half for three meager days.
But when the door opens and Kiyoomi looks up from where he’s wiping out a glass and he’s standing there, all of him, like he’d never left, logic flies out the window and all Kiyoomi can do is smile.
“Omi,” Atsumu breathes, a wild grin overtaking him. He comes in with his silver jumpsuit and anachronistic bomber jacket, covered in patches from different ports, and Kiyoomi barely has time to put down his glass before Atsumu is right up on him.
“You’re back,” Kiyoomi says. This was not how he expected his evening to go, and the whiplash of it is sending him reeling.
“I’ll always be back. You forget about me?” Atsumu asks, like he does every time he comes back. As though Kiyoomi could ever forget him. As though Kiyoomi would ever want to. The real question he’s asking is are we still doing this?
“Not this time,” Kiyoomi says, like he always does, not a promise but not a rebuke. Atsumu takes it as he means it and grabs both sides of Kiyoomi’s face, pulling him down for a kiss. Kiyoomi is breathless with the change in the atmosphere.
There’s a wolf whistle from across the room—likely from Bokuto Koutarou, the cook, who is sitting out by the fire on a break—but Kiyoomi doesn’t care. He ignores Bokuto, the other patrons sitting at tables, the sounds of the inn around him, and focuses on the single point that is the connection between his lips and Atsumu’s.
He pulls Atsumu closer and Atsumu wraps arms around his neck and it’s so familiar Kiyoomi could cry. They kiss for a moment and Kiyoomi feels this rush of giddy energy. When they finally pull away he’s grinning incredulously, as it all dawns on him at once that it has been a year and a half and Atsumu actually came back.
It’s the longest he’s ever been away, and after the year had passed Kiyoomi figured that this was done. That Atsumu was no longer on the same route, that he’d gone to a different inn to stay, that he’d passed through the port and hadn’t come to see Kiyoomi. And now he’s standing before him, looking like he’s just won an award, like he’s just as surprised that he’s there.
“How long are you staying?” Kiyoomi asks. He knows what the answer will be before it leaves Atsumu’s lips.
“Three days,” Atsumu says. His eyes turn down a little at the edges. “That’s all I can get.”
“Then you’d better make them count,” Kiyoomi says.
Atsumu’s face brightens. “I will, Omi. Don’t you worry.”
The first way he makes it count is in the desperate creaking of Kiyoomi’s bed that night, breaths hot between them as Kiyoomi stares up into Atsumu’s eyes. The air is heavy as Atsumu thrusts into him, Kiyoomi’s legs hooked over the arms he has planted on the bed. It feels like it’s been forever and it feels like they never stopped and it feels like it’s the first time, and Kiyoomi’s heart beats in time with Atsumu’s quick breaths and subtle groans.
They could kiss, but then Kiyoomi would have to stop running his eyes over every inch of Atsumu’s face, committing it to memory after months of time to forget. His eyes flutter closed briefly as Atsumu slides in and out of him, as he’s lost in the feeling of connection between them and the warmth of their bodies and the jolt inside of him when Atsumu gets the shallow angle right.
“Omi,” Atsumu says, his head falling to mouth at Kiyoomi’s neck, to bury his face in Kiyoomi’s shoulder, to whisper into Kiyoomi’s ear. Kiyoomi’s head falls back as Atsumu lets one of his legs go and reaches between them to grasp at Kiyoomi’s cock.
“Atsumu,” he breathes back, and he can distantly hear how tight and caught his own voice is, how needy. Atsumu takes it and holds Kiyoomi together as he picks up the pace, moving from the languid slide as Kiyoomi adjusts to quick snaps of his hips. Kiyoomi encourages him quietly, his words cut off by catch-breaths and moans and whispers of Atsumu’s name.
It isn’t bombastic, though they can certainly get that way, when they’re both feeling fiery and in the mood. It isn’t slow and sweet, like they can get when Atsumu is about to leave and he wants to draw out their last moments together as long as possible. What it is is firm and intimate, and it can almost make Kiyoomi forget the fact that Atsumu probably does this with other men in other inns in other ports who like him just as much as Kiyoomi does.
Atsumu always makes sure that Kiyoomi comes first, when he’s on top. He kisses Kiyoomi as his hand glides up over the head of his cock and back down, fast and tight and Kiyoomi feels his orgasm building. He clings to Atsumu and his hips hurt from the position and he feels too much, too raw, everywhere, and he cries out when he comes. His body spasms inward and Atsumu stutters in his rhythm.
“Keep going,” Kiyoomi says, and Atsumu does, hard and fast, as he seeks his own release. The overstimulation is almost painful, as Kiyoomi’s cock rubs against Atsumu’s stomach and Atsumu occasionally brushes his prostate and if it was too much before, it’s well beyond that now. But Kiyoomi has to relish every second he has with Atsumu so it all culminates in feeling good, so good he can barely stand it.
Atsumu presses into him hard as he comes, a choked noise escaping him and his eyes squeezing shut. He always looks a little pained, mouth open, eyebrows furrowed, and Kiyoomi still thinks it’s beautiful, because he’s completely fucked. Fucked for a transient star sailor who will go in three days and leave Kiyoomi behind, like he always does.
Atsumu kisses him sloppily as they both come down, and when he pulls out Kiyoomi’s body relaxes. Atsumu slowly lets his legs back down and Kiyoomi works his hip around to stretch it out. Then Atsumu moves back, out of breath, and gives Kiyoomi one of his big, open smiles, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, like he’s just as fucked for Kiyoomi.
Kiyoomi knows it’s just his face—that’s just what his smiles look like. That’s what they all look like, every time Kiyoomi has ever seen him smile. Kiyoomi can take it as a compliment anyway, because he’s already suspending disbelief, so what’s one more thing?
They’re loud and they both know it, but Bokuto doesn’t bang on the wall or tell them to keep it down, because he knows that all Kiyoomi gets is three days.
“Am I payin’ for a room?” Atsumu asks. Kiyoomi snorts.
“Yes,” he drawls. “I fucking you and kicking you out.”
“Hey, ya never know,” Atsumu says. “Ya ever want me out, just say the word.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kiyoomi says. “Of course you’re staying here.”
And Atsumu smiles again, and it looks the same, and Kiyoomi can let himself believe for three days.
Later, when they’ve cleaned up and Atsumu is holding onto him in bed, he wonders. He wonders if maybe he isn’t crazy. If maybe Atsumu thinks about him just as much as Kiyoomi does in return. If the only thing separating them is circumstance. What would happen, if Kiyoomi were to ask him to stay? How gentle would he be when he let Kiyoomi down?
He buries his nose in Atsumu’s hair and Atsumu buries his face into Kiyoomi’s chest and god, if Kiyoomi’s isn’t happy. It feels like he’s breathing air again.
Hinata offers to take over Kiyoomi’s place at the bar for the day, and Atsumu takes Kiyoomi around town. It’s a town Kiyoomi knows better than he does, but he still follows Atsumu like he’s the one who lives there, like he’s seeing it all new. He smiles when Atsumu gapes at a taxidermied “Lizard-bat from the Celestial Jungle!” in a store of curios, when Atsumu marvels at a new facade put up over the old liquor store, when Atsumu grabs his hand and pulls him down to the docks.
His vessel is a mid-sized freighter with massive dual engines strapped to each side, and it floats tethered to the wharf. He points out little details about it. There are the imprints of suckers from an attack by a gravity squid, above which are marks on the metal hull from an ill-advised prank involving a life pod. Atsumu laughs as he tells the story.
Then he brings Kiyoomi closer, right up to the edge of the dock, and Atsumu searches the vessel’s side.
“I made it deep enough that they can’t buff it out,” he says. “Not that they’ll notice.”
“Vandalizing your own ship?” Kiyoomi asks. Atsumu scoffs.
“It’s art, not vandalism.”
He eventually finds what he’s looking for. “I was cleanin’ down on this side and I was the only one on duty,” he says, “and I had a laser screwdriver with me, so I figured what was a little time wastin’ gonna hurt? We were a day from port at the Glades anyway.”
His hand comes up to point at a small spot on the ship. The curve of the hull sets the nearest part a few meters away from them, but the characters are large enough for Kiyoomi to see. That, and the big, clumsy heart chiseled into the metal beside them.
Five characters, where usually there would be four. Kiyoomi stares at them, his mind halting and refusing to move forward. His name is carved into the side of the ship, followed by a heart. Atsumu is smiling at him tentatively, like he actually has no idea how Kiyoomi will react. Kiyoomi himself has no idea how to react. Thanks doesn’t feel appropriate, and neither does I’m flattered.
“If I get arrested for this,” Kiyoomi finally manages, and Atsumu laughs.
“I’m puttin’ yer mark on history,” Atsumu says. “When they retire her, they’re gonna take her apart and see yer name right there. Maybe it’ll be years in the future and they’ll put that bit in a museum ‘cause they wanna figure out who you are.”
“I…” Kiyoomi starts. He can’t give himself hope. There might be other names littered across the hull. Maybe Atsumu gives the other boys different gifts, does different special things for them. “You think about me,” he continues dumbly. “When you’re out there.”
There’s a pause. “‘Course I do,” Atsumu says, confused.
Kiyoomi blinks down at him and his hope is overwhelming. One word bounces around his head, one he can’t say. It pushes at his lips and tongue, like it’s ready to spring off at any moment and put itself out in the air, unable to be retracted.
Stay, he thinks.
Instead, he holds Atsumu by the jaw and guides him into a kiss. Atsumu smiles against his lips and returns it eagerly.
“Do ya like it?” he asks.
“It’s fine,” Kiyoomi says.
“C’mon, ya gotta give me somethin’.”
“How much did you risk doing this?”
“For defacin’ the ship? I coulda gotten the repair taken outta my pay. It’d be a big repair.”
Kiyoomi sighs. “Then I like it.”
“It’s the effort that counts,” Atsumu confirms.
Atsumu takes Kiyoomi’s hand and leads him away, then, telling him stories about the ship and the hijinks he and the crew get up to out between the stars. Kiyoomi listens, even when the stories aren’t funny for anyone who wasn’t there, because he is absolutely fucked for Miya Atsumu and he’d listen to him say anything.
They eat at a restaurant frequented mostly by wealthier transients, ones who stop in port for a day or two as a rest stop on their way between cities. Kiyoomi never goes there, half because it’s too expensive and half because he’d have no one to go with.
Atsumu must have just gotten off of a big job, because he’s unfazed by the prices, announcing that Kiyoomi should get whatever he wants. Kiyoomi smiles to himself and jokes about ordering the most expensive thing on the menu. Atsumu doesn’t blink when he asks if that’s really what Kiyoomi wants to get.
As much as he appreciates them, Kiyoomi doesn’t need grand gestures. As Atsumu orders them some nice imported wine and a plate of shimmering bright-eye oysters is placed in front of them (from the distant Blinding Sea, the menu advertises), Kiyoomi wonders if maybe Atsumu thinks he needs to woo him again. That his eighteen months away have cooled the fire and he needs to stoke it back to life. That Kiyoomi’s feelings for him have faded.
It’s cruel, in a way. For Atsumu to try so hard to renew Kiyoomi’s attachment to him only to leave again three days later. Two days, now. Kiyoomi rolls his eyes at Atsumu’s bad jokes and eats fresh pasta and holds Atsumu’s hand when it’s offered to him across the table.
Kiyoomi would be just as happy if they sat quietly in the same room for the whole day. Kiyoomi could work, maybe read some. Atsumu could sit at the bar and chat, could go shopping and come back to show Kiyoomi what he’d gotten, could tell him all the stories he wanted. They could eat Bokuto’s food in the kitchen after the patrons have all been fed and the night gets sleepy. Kiyoomi doesn’t need his name carved on sky ships or fancy food at a fancy restaurant.
It’s corny and he hates himself for thinking it, but all he needs is for Atsumu to be there. It’s the unfortunate reality that his very presence is the one thing at a premium.
Stay, Kiyoomi thinks and doesn’t say.
That would be mean to the other boys in other inns in other ports who Atsumu woos again each time he shows up.
Kiyoomi has to work in the evening, because Hinata can only cover for him for so long, and Atsumu goes out with the rest of his crew to bar-hop and revel. They only get three days, of course.
“How’s it going with lover boy?” Bokuto asks, brushing off his apron as he exits the kitchen for something to drink.
“Fine,” Kiyoomi says, because it’s too exhausting to dispute the term.
“Just fine? Sounded more than fine to me,” Bokuto jokes.
Kiyoomi shoots him a sharp look. “I apologize for the noise.”
“Nah, I know what’s up,” Bokuto says, waving a hand as he grabs a tall glass and shuffles past Kiyoomi to pour himself some beer. Kiyoomi watches the motion. “Don’t worry about it.”
What’s up, of course, is that Kiyoomi is hung up on a man he barely sees, and everyone knows that he reaches for every moment with Atsumu like a plant for the sun. Kiyoomi can smell the pity wafting off of Bokuto and Hinata whenever Atsumu comes around. Kiyoomi doesn’t need the reminder that he’s an idiot. The way he cries alone in his room every time Atsumu kisses him goodbye tells him that already.
Bokuto goes to sit on one of the barstools, setting his glass of beer down and planting his elbows on the table. He rests his head on his fists and watches Kiyoomi rinse out glasses and wipe down the taps.
Another patron comes over to request a drink and Kiyoomi gets it for them. He knows that Bokuto is still looking at him, and that usually means he’s going to want to talk. Kiyoomi returns with the patron’s drink and the patron scans their card on the bar’s surface to pay.
When they’re out of earshot, Bokuto speaks up, like Kiyoomi knew he would.
“So how are you doing?” he asks.
“Fine,” Kiyoomi says primly.
“You know what I mean,” Bokuto says. Kiyoomi works his jaw around.
“I’m just happy he’s here,” he says.
“He’s going to leave again, right?” Bokuto asks. Kiyoomi doesn’t know what the point of this conversation is.
“Yes,” he replies. Bokuto hums.
“Are you gonna be okay? It was a long time this time.”
The first time they saw each other, it was a whirlwind of Atsumu being irritating and lots of misunderstandings. The second time, a month later, ended with them in bed. Kiyoomi had never felt so compatible with someone so different from him. The third time was three months later, and Kiyoomi had felt every aching moment of them. Then it was two months, then six, then four, and now eighteen.
It might be right on the edge of Kiyoomi’s will, at this point. If the wait is this long again…he doesn’t know what he’ll do.
No, he knows what he’ll do, and it’s truly tragic, because he’ll wait.
“I appreciate the concern,” Kiyoomi says. “But I’ll be fine.”
Bokuto hums again, like he’s understanding something, and Kiyoomi bristles.
“What?” he snaps.
“I know you probably think about this way more than I do,” Bokuto says. “But…do you think this is good for you?”
“Good for me?” Kiyoomi echoes. It absolutely isn’t. He knows that and doesn’t need anyone telling him. “Why does that matter?”
Bokuto doesn’t seem to have expected that answer. “I just think, you know. You want someone who wants to stick around.”
And that’s the thing, isn’t it? If Atsumu really wanted to stay, he would. If Kiyoomi were more important than the open skies, this wouldn’t be a problem. But Kiyoomi isn’t more important, and he’s had years to figure that out. He’s only as important as three days every few months. He wonders how many days the other boys in other ports get.
“You talk as though I’m not aware of the situation,” Kiyoomi says. “I know exactly what’s going on.” He looks away. “Just because I know I’m stupid doesn’t mean I can stop it.”
Bokuto acquiesces, raising his hands and then wrapping them around his beer. “Okay. I know. You’re not stupid. If anything, he’s the stupid one.”
“He is, but what about this time?” Kiyoomi asks.
“He’s the one jerking you around,” Bokuto says. “If he were smarter he’d know you deserve better than that.”
Does Kiyoomi deserve better? Is Atsumu jerking him around? Maybe. Maybe that is what’s happening. Does it mean that Kiyoomi wants to stop?
Atsumu breaking kisses just to laugh because he’s so happy, Atsumu brushing Kiyoomi’s hair out of the way so he can see him better, Atsumu pressed into the bed, Kiyoomi’s fingers intertwined with his, crying out and whispering things that Kiyoomi pretends he doesn’t hear.
Atsumu is a drug Kiyoomi won’t even try to quit, not that he could.
“It doesn’t matter what you think I deserve,” Kiyoomi finally says. “I don’t want anyone else.”
The words are clipped and terse but Kiyoomi feels intensely vulnerable under Bokuto’s knowing eye. He clenches his jaw and starts putting glasses away.
“You haven’t seen Akaashi in months,” he says. “How is that different?”
“I know where he is,” Bokuto says. “We talk all the time. He tells me when he’s going to visit.”
God, a single letter would be enough for Kiyoomi. The thought makes his fingers tingle with jealousy. But what’s the point of sending a letter to a bed warmer from a remote port town? Kiyoomi knows—he knows. He knows he’s just a port boy who caught feelings and if Atsumu knew he’d probably beg off.
Would Kiyoomi finally stop playing it over and over in his head, the one time that Atsumu whispered I love you into Kiyoomi’s neck, in between moans, so quietly it may as well not have happened?
Kiyoomi feels stuck, stuck in a routine that only hurts at the end, for a few fleeting moments of absolutely blinding happiness. Those moments are so addictive he knows he’d be willing to brave the pain again and again just to have them. He already has. It wasn’t so bad, before. It was like a long distance relationship. Six months had been hard. A year and a half had cooled Kiyoomi’s entire being into a dull smolder.
It’s ignited again, now. Maybe he’s just a masochist.
“I know where Atsumu is,” Kiyoomi says. He turns away. “He’s on a ship.”
Bokuto sighs, and at the same time the door opens. Kiyoomi turns his attention to the new patrons, welcoming them and asking if they’re here for food, drink, or rooms. All three, they say. They’re star sailors too, the lot, and Kiyoomi has no idea which ship they’ve just gotten off of.
Atsumu sneaks into Kiyoomi’s room later that night, warm and smiling and a little drunk. Kiyoomi’s waiting for him, a book open in his lap and his bedside lamp lit. He puts the book down immediately and welcomes Atsumu into bed with open arms. Atsumu descends on him, murmuring a giddy “hey, babe,” and Kiyoomi doesn’t care that he tastes like rum.
“Have a good time?” Kiyoomi asks when Atsumu finally rolls off of him, done kissing for the moment, still fully clothed.
“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “Some of the crew got pretty rowdy, but nothin’ they don’t do on calm nights on board. Only difference was some of ‘em are goin’ home with strangers. Good for them.” He sighs. “Woulda been better if you were there.”
“I don’t think I’d have a good time at one of those places,” Kiyoomi says. He has enough of that on the nights when people decide that the inn is the place for them to have their celebrations, and those are already more subdued than the ones at the real pubs and bars on the strip by the docks.
“I’d make sure ya had a good time,” Atsumu says. “I promise.”
Kiyoomi smiles and scooches down so his head is on his pillow. He reaches over and cups Atsumu’s jaw, thumb running back and forth across his cheek. Atsumu looks at him with such a sparkle in his eyes that Kiyoomi wonders, stupidly, like he does every time, if maybe hope isn’t useless after all.
“Yer so pretty,” Atsumu murmurs. “I could look atcha forever.”
Are the other boys in other inns in other ports pretty, too? What’s Atsumu’s type?
Kiyoomi wants to stay in the present. He can’t afford to miss a single second of time with Atsumu lost in thought. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he says. Atsumu snorts.
“Can’t believe I squeezed a compliment outta ya,” he says. “Think I could get another?”
“Don’t get greedy,” Kiyoomi says. All of the things he could say seem to cut too close to the quick. How can Kiyoomi say that he loves Atsumu’s eyes without his desperation leaking through the seams? How can he say how much he likes Atsumu without revealing the self-destructive extent of his feelings?
“M’not greedy,” Atsumu says. He cuts himself off with a yawn. His eyes are heavily hooded. “Just conceited.”
Kiyoomi smiles and tries to temper it by rolling his eyes. “Get undressed. You’re not sleeping in your boots.”
The fact that he even lets Atsumu onto his bed with his shoes on is evidence enough of how fucked Kiyoomi is.
“Tryna get me naked?” Atsumu asks cheekily as he gets himself upright again. He slides off the side of the bed and starts pulling off his jacket and kicking away his boots. “Just say the word, darlin’.”
“I already did,” Kiyoomi says.
“And look, I’m strippin’,” Atsumu says.
He’s ridiculous. When he’s down to his underwear he crawls back into bed, slipping under the covers and sidling over to Kiyoomi. His skin is impossibly warm.
“Take yer shirt off,” Atsumu says.
“Why?”
“I wanna be close,” Atsumu murmurs. Kiyoomi would melt if he didn’t have to keep himself together enough to wiggle out of his shirt.
When it’s on the floor Atsumu maneuvers himself until he’s half on top, head tucked into the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck and leg thrown across Kiyoomi’s. He sighs happily and it tickles. Kiyoomi has an arm around him and pulls him even closer, skin-on-skin even hotter and more distracting.
He thinks for a few minutes that maybe they won’t end up having sex again, which is okay with him, but then Atsumu starts mouthing at Kiyoomi’s neck and it snowballs from there. Atsumu kisses a line down Kiyoomi’s body and takes him in his mouth, and Kiyoomi doesn’t try to quiet the noises he makes as he comes and Atsumu swallows. He returns the favor with his hand, Atsumu breathing heavily against Kiyoomi’s shoulder. Occasionally he has the presence of mind to kiss Kiyoomi’s neck, and he’s nosing just below Kiyoomi’s ear when he comes, making the most beautiful, broken sound as he paints Kiyoomi’s stomach and chest in white stripes.
It’s Kiyoomi who lays his head on Atsumu’s chest later, squeezing his eyes shut as Atsumu’s fingers run through his hair. He doesn’t even care that he wakes up in the middle of the night right up against Atsumu’s armpit, terrible as that is. He just readjusts himself and falls back asleep, faster than he does when he’s alone, faster than he has in a year and a half.
Three days pass like lightning, like they always do. Kiyoomi feels the drop of dread in his stomach when he wakes up on the day Atsumu is to depart. He pulls Atsumu closer in bed and Atsumu hums happily in his sleep. He wonders if Atsumu feels the way Kiyoomi does when he has to leave. If he’s even a quarter as upset, Kiyoomi would know there’s something there. Atsumu has never mentioned it. Then again, neither has Kiyoomi.
It feels like everyone in the inn knows what day it is. Kiyoomi doesn’t look at Bokuto’s face once as he opens up the kitchens in the morning for breakfast. He doesn’t look at Hinata, who is wiping down tables and sweeping. He looks only at Atsumu, sitting at the bar and eating eggs and toast, chatting aimlessly. He seems a little nervous.
Even if he isn’t as torn up about it as Kiyoomi, Atsumu still obviously doesn’t want to leave him. Kiyoomi doesn’t think that the emotions that Atsumu expresses toward him are fake. He doesn’t think that Atsumu is pretending when he looks at Kiyoomi brightly, when he smiles, when he kisses him. He likes Kiyoomi, likes him enough to spend his entire shore leave with him. That should be enough, shouldn’t it? Atsumu doesn’t need to be in love with him.
At the same time, Kiyoomi hates feeling like a pit stop.
He shrugs off any thoughts that aren’t about whatever Atsumu is talking about. He’s talking about his brother, like he does sometimes. He got to stop at Hyogo Port for a few days before they came to MSBY-15. It’s a bigger town, almost a city, and it’s where Atsumu is from. His brother has opened his own small restaurant in J-town, and though Atsumu’s only eaten there once he asserts that it’s the best food in the whole port.
“Because you’ve tried every restaurant,” Kiyoomi says.
“Don’t need to,” Atsumu says. “When I’ve already had the best.”
Kiyoomi just shakes his head. “He know you’re talking him up so much? He’d hold it over your head forever.”
“That’s why I’m doin’ it two jumps away,” Atsumu says. “Y’know what, ya ever manage to drop by Hyogo port, go to Onigiri Miya and tell him to his face that I’m proud of him. He’ll never believe ya.”
“You think I never leave.” Kiyoomi doesn’t, but he could if he wanted to. He isn’t wedded to MSBY-15, except for his job at the inn.
“Well, ya haven’t since I’ve known ya.”
“I’ll set up a trip, then. He won’t even know who I am.”
“Yeah, he will,” Atsumu says. “If he doesn’t I’ll punch him. I’ve probably talked about ya enough.”
Kiyoomi’s insides twist. “Oh,” he says.
He wonders if Miya Osamu knows about the other boys just as much. If Atsumu talks about them like a package deal, his warm beds at port across the galaxy. If Osamu would know more about them than Kiyoomi does, if he’d stay quiet and let Kiyoomi think that he’s more important than he actually is.
“He at least pretends he’s listenin’,” Atsumu says. “Anyway, yer tall, got those cute little moles, yer hot as fuck—I think yer pretty recognizable.”
Kiyoomi laughs in surprise. “I’m sure hot as fuck is one of my more descriptive qualities, then.”
“Ya think I’m jokin’.”
“I know you aren’t; that’s the problem,” Kiyoomi says.
Atsumu laughs and takes another bite of egg. “Don’t worry, I also said that when yer not thinkin’ about yer face ya look like ya just stepped in dog shit, so if nothin’ else he’ll recognize ya from that.”
Kiyoomi plants a murderous glare on him and turns to pour some refills for the other patrons at the bar.
“See? That one,” Atsumu comments around a mouthful of food.
“If anyone has a premium on dumb facial expressions, it’s you,” Kiyoomi says as he returns, drying his hands on his apron and leaning on the bar with one hand.
“I never said it was dumb,” Atsumu says. “Why do ya think yer so hot?”
“Have we been going about this wrong? Would you prefer I be mean?”
“Maybe next time we try that out,” Atsumu says with a wink. “I could be into that.”
When they’re talking, it’s so easy. Somehow, despite the vast difference in their personalities, they slot together just right. They’re both hard to offend and they’re both good at nitpicking, and their banter is just fun. Kiyoomi misses it desperately when Atsumu is gone. No one else has the same zip to their comebacks, the same appreciative laugh when Kiyoomi gets in a particularly good jab.
Kiyoomi walks Atsumu back down to the docks, bag over his shoulder. Atsumu is fidgeting with his hands, and Kiyoomi has been trying to figure out why. He usually covers up whatever upset he has at leaving with glib smiles and effusive promises. He’s smiling, still, and talking, but his hand keeps going to his coat pocket.
When they reach the ship it’s a flurry of activity, star sailors saying goodbye to their own people at port. Are all of these people waiting just as much as Kiyoomi? Do they feel the same? How were the last eighteen months for them? Should they make a support group for loved ones of the crew of the Inarizaki-maru?
“Hey,” Atsumu says, a few meters from the gangplank. Sailors with bags are already climbing it. He stops and turns to Kiyoomi.
“Yes?” Kiyoomi asks, feeling suddenly cut off from himself, in front of the ship. It’s his defense mechanism, when the reality of Atsumu’s leaving strikes him again. His entire mind cools off and freezes in place.
“I, um,” Atsumu starts. He pulls out a little box from his pocket, and for one horrifying moment Kiyoomi has the vision of Atsumu getting down on one knee. It’s enough to shock him out of his stasis. Atsumu doesn’t, of course. “I got somethin’ for ya.”
He opens the box and pulls out a long silver chain, on which hangs a small silver oval. Kiyoomi stares at it dumbly for a few moments.
“What’s that?” he asks, even though he obviously knows what it is.
“It’s a locket,” Atsumu says, looking legitimately embarrassed for the first time in his life. “I don’t know if ya want it, or whatever, but…”
“I want it,” Kiyoomi says immediately. Atsumu smiles.
“It feels really self-centered, y’know?” he laughs. “But, uh…” he trails off as he opens the locket. There’s a tiny picture inside, glowing lightly, of Atsumu grinning at some camera. He can’t keep his tongue in his mouth, apparently, and he’s holding his hands up like claws. “Just in case. You can change it, obviously. Put whatever ya want in there. That’s just a picture we took when we finally made it to the little colony we were headed toward. It was the only one I could find.”
Kiyoomi stares at it, and then looks up to Atsumu. Atsumu gives him a hopeful smile, and Kiyoomi can’t help the rush of overwhelming emotion that takes him. He swallows thickly and Atsumu holds the chain up.
Kiyoomi leans down and lets Atsumu latch it around his neck. When Atsumu lets go, Kiyoomi lifts the locket to look down at it. He blinks rapidly. It’s such a dumb picture.
“It’s not gonna be so long, again,” Atsumu says. “But just in case, y’know.”
Kiyoomi can’t really speak. He stares down at the locket and then closes it, holding it tight in his fist.
“Thank you,” he finally manages. Atsumu’s nervous smile widens.
Atsumu then surges forward and kisses Kiyoomi hard. Kiyoomi pulls Atsumu in by the small of his back and they kiss deeply on the edge of the dock until they both have to come up for air. It’s not unusual, when a ship is leaving port, and there are other couples wrapped up in each other scattered here and there.
“I’m gonna miss ya,” Atsumu says.
“Me too,” Kiyoomi replies. Their lips meet again, soft and solid, and Kiyoomi does his best to memorize the feeling of Atsumu’s breaths on his cheek.
“I’ll be back before ya know it,” Atsumu promises.
Do the other boys in other ports get jewelry? Do they get silly pictures of Atsumu to wear around their necks, or does he get them other gifts? Is Kiyoomi special?
The only word Kiyoomi can think as he looks down at the locket is stay.
He can’t get it out, and the ship is leaving in an hour, and Atsumu has to be on board and ready to help them set sail again. Another few kisses, a deep, engrossing hug, and then Atsumu is waving and walking up the gangplank. Kiyoomi watches him go, watches until the ship is unmoored and the engines are fired up, blue and white and glowing. He sees Atsumu on the edge of the ship, looking for him, and he waves back.
Then the ship pulls away and jets off, and Kiyoomi is alone again.
Atsumu always promises to come back, but with the locket Kiyoomi feels like he really means it, now.
It’s a comforting feeling. He knows that someday Atsumu will have to retire from sailing, but that could be decades from now. Can Kiyoomi survive three days a few times a year for that long? He isn’t sure. He’s survived this long, but it’s only been three years.
It’s strange to think of it in years, because the total number of days he’s ever seen Atsumu is less than a single month. Only that long, and Kiyoomi is this caught up. It’s pathetic. Well, absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say.
Sometimes Kiyoomi worries that when Atsumu is away he mythologizes him, makes him into a perfect man who he could never be. That he takes only the good things and forgets the bad and creates a mystical figure no human could live up to. Then Atsumu returns and he’s even better than Kiyoomi remembered, and Kiyoomi thinks that all that absence does is make him forget the details.
He knows not to expect a letter. He wonders if the thought even crosses Atsumu’s mind when he’s out on the sky. If he stops in a port and sees a postcard in a shop and thinks of sending it to Kiyoomi. Even just a hello, I’m alive. Kiyoomi hates to think about it, but Atsumu could die out there and all that Kiyoomi would ever know was that he didn’t come back.
He didn’t cry this time, and he considers that an improvement. If he stares at the locket for hours, eyes running over Atsumu’s face again and again, he doesn’t mention it. If he develops the habit of rubbing the outside of the locket when he’s upset, no one says anything. If he buys one to match, with a picture of himself ready inside, he doesn’t show it to anyone.
Akaashi Keiji visits, and Kiyoomi doesn’t realize how much it rips him up inside until he sees them together, Bokuto and Akaashi out by the fire, talking and laughing. Akaashi is sitting on Bokuto’s knee and they kiss every once in a while. Kiyoomi watches them for a while and then he has to leave.
Akaashi is staying for two weeks, before he heads off on another expedition to the Celestial Jungle. He’s a botanist, and apparently there’s a tree and a little purple fern named after him. He’s beautiful, and he’s head-over-heels in love with Bokuto, and all that Kiyoomi sees when they’re together is a future he knows he will never have.
When he gets to his room he sits at his desk and brings up his knees, wrapping his arms around them. It’s been two months. He knows that Atsumu probably isn’t due for another few. One or two if he’s lucky. Then they get three days, and that’s it. Romance in slow motion.
Kiyoomi should meet those other boys in those other inns in those other ports. Maybe they could commiserate. They could form a club. Men smitten with Miya Atsumu. Kiyoomi can’t hate them, or even dislike them. He knows exactly how they must feel. Then he hopes that maybe they don’t feel the same way he does. Not for his sake, but for their own.
Kiyoomi has the distinct misfortune of being out on the street with Bokuto and Akaashi when it happens. One minute they’re talking quietly with each other, Kiyoomi in the process of buying the three of them some buns from a street stall, and the next Bokuto is on one knee with a little ring box and Akaashi’s eyes are sparkling.
Kiyoomi stares at them blankly, still in the process of being handed warm buns. Bokuto is gushing about how much he loves Akaashi and how he wants them to be together forever and he’d even go into the jungle with him if Akaashi asked. Akaashi covers his mouth and his eyes water and he nods quickly, and then a ring is being slipped onto a waiting finger and Kiyoomi suddenly feels sick to his stomach.
He should be happy for them, and a part of him is. Bokuto has been dropping hints about wanting to marry Akaashi for months. Once Akaashi is done with the majority of his fieldwork and he settles in as a professor at the university on the Fukurodani Spiral, Bokuto plans on moving. It’s only one jump away, and it’s where Bokuto grew up. Kiyoomi wants so badly to be happy for them.
Instead he thinks about all of the things in his life that would have to change for him to have the same thing. The different universe he’d have to live in to come home to Miya Atsumu. It hits him all at once, how truly sad it is that he’s so hung up on a transient. He knows why Bokuto looks at him like he does. He’s putting his all in for someone who can’t do the same. And he doesn’t even want to do anything about it.
Except say stay.
One word, and he’d know what Atsumu really thinks of him. How important he is to Atsumu’s life.
Kiyoomi can’t say it, because he doesn’t want to find out.
It’s seven months this time. Not ideal, but now that Kiyoomi knows he’d wait more than a year it feels more bearable. He whiles away the time working at the inn and learning how to draw, and sketches fill his room. Some of them are of the tiny picture in his locket, blown up so he can see Atsumu’s face more clearly. He isn’t very good, and none of them look right.
He hears about the Inarizaki-maru returning before he sees Atsumu, so he isn’t as surprised when Atsumu comes in through the front door, bright eyed, with a new, unfamiliar scar on his cheek. Kiyoomi’s heart bobs into his throat and his hand flies to the locket to rub it and Atsumu smiles.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi murmurs.
This time, Kiyoomi goes to him, throwing down his drying rag and rounding the bar. Atsumu meets him halfway and some of the other patrons look up in mild interest. Kiyoomi ignores them.
“Forget about me?” he asks, unable to keep the desperate edge out of his voice. Atsumu’s eyes twinkle.
“Not this time,” he replies.
Kiyoomi wraps him up in a hug that turns into a kiss, long and hard with Kiyoomi’s fingers tangling in Atsumu’s hair. When they pull back, Kiyoomi sees Bokuto look at him sadly. Kiyoomi feels himself bristle but instead of following it he gives Bokuto a sharp look and turns his attention back to Atsumu, the unrestrained joy at seeing him superseding every other emotion.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” Atsumu replies. The scar on his cheek goes right through one of his dimples. Kiyoomi thumbs it lightly and Atsumu’s smile strains a little. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m going to,” Kiyoomi says. “But tell me later. Are you hungry?”
“A little,” Atsumu says. He follows Kiyoomi to the bar. Bokuto gets up from his seat and enters the kitchen with Kiyoomi.
“I got it,” he says. Kiyoomi stops and stares at him for a second.
“Okay,” Kiyoomi says. He hates the look in Bokuto’s eyes. He hates it so much that it flares past his excitement for just a moment. “I don’t need your judgment, by the way.”
Bokuto blinks, and then his eyes turn from pity to guilt. “I’m not…I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Kiyoomi says. “But I’m an adult. I’m allowed to make my own mistakes.”
“Is he a mistake?” Bokuto asks.
“No,” Kiyoomi says.
“Okay,” Bokuto says. “Okay. Yeah. Anyway, I got this. Go be with him.”
Kiyoomi nods and his gaze drifts away before he turns and heads back out. Atsumu is there, smiling again as Kiyoomi reappears, and Kiyoomi’s stomach roils with a mix of happiness and pre-emptive grief. He smiles back.
“That was quick,” Atsumu said. “No food, either. Not that yer not a snack.”
“Bokuto is taking care of it,” Kiyoomi says. “So you’d better be a nice little boy and say thank you, because it’s his break.”
“Hey, I didn’t ask him to,” Atsumu says, but he’ll thank Bokuto anyway.
“How long are you staying?” Kiyoomi asks, like he does every time. Maybe one day the answer will change. Maybe one day Atsumu will grin and announce, “Forever.”
This isn’t that day. Atsumu looks guilty when he says, “Three days.”
Kiyoomi nods. It’s not disappointing, because it’s the only thing Kiyoomi’s ever gotten. Atsumu grabs his shirt and pulls him in for another unexpected kiss, one that Kiyoomi is embarrassed to melt into. He thinks someone in the inn might yell get it! but he isn’t paying attention.
When he feels Atsumu smile against his lips he knows he’s gone. He’s gone and all of the logical thinking he’s tried to do over the past seven months leaves him. The only way he can spare his heart is by saying no to Atsumu, and he knows there is no way he will ever be able to do that.
That night Atsumu lets Kiyoomi lay him down and slide into him achingly slowly. He clings to Kiyoomi’s back and whines high and breathy into Kiyoomi’s ear. When Kiyoomi’s patience for the pace finally snaps he flips Atsumu over and presses him down onto the bed, fingers interlocked, as he pounds into him. He presses open-mouthed kisses to Atsumu’s back and his hand finds Atsumu’s cock. Atsumu whines and slaps his hand away.
“I think I can…come without it…” Atsumu says. Kiyoomi is blinded by a rush of arousal and sets his focus on aiming just right as he thrusts in. Atsumu cries out and Kiyoomi breathes raggedly into the back of his neck. Right at the edge of Kiyoomi’s orgasm Atsumu’s moans elevate and he grips Kiyoomi’s fingers hard. He comes with a broken noise moments before Kiyoomi loses control and follows. That’s never happened before, coming together, and as Kiyoomi’s thrusts falter and he pants against Atsumu’s slick skin he feels a new, strange connection.
“Sorry ‘bout the sheets,” Atsumu laughs weakly.
“We knew it was going to happen,” Kiyoomi says. He pulls out slowly and Atsumu props himself up on his hands and knees. He laughs again and then flops over onto his side, avoiding the spot of semen on the bed sheets. He looks up at Kiyoomi, who sits back on his haunches. They just stare at each other for a moment.
“Good talk,” Atsumu says. Kiyoomi laughs and gets himself off of the bed. Atsumu makes grabby hands at him and he leans down for a long, hard kiss.
“We should get cleaned up,” Kiyoomi says.
“Ever heard of ‘afterglow’?” Atsumu asks. “Gimme like thirty seconds at least. Never done that before.”
“Come untouched?” Even saying it makes Kiyoomi feel hot. He feels strangely accomplished, like he just won a prize.
“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “Feels different. C’mon, stop standin’ there.”
Kiyoomi acquiesces and gets into bed behind Atsumu, tucking himself right up against him and wrapping an arm around him. They lie there for a long time, until Atsumu starts shifting around and Kiyoomi knows he must be getting a little uncomfortable.
They get themselves cleaned up and Kiyoomi thanks the heavens he just washed his spare sheets. When they’re settled into bed Atsumu wraps himself around Kiyoomi like a koala, only allowing Kiyoomi to move when he points out that he would like to get his own head on the pillow.
“I missed you so much,” Atsumu murmurs. “Every day.”
Kiyoomi feels a jolt of that traitorous hope. “I missed you too.”
“How’s the inn?”
“The same as usual,” Kiyoomi says. “Nothing much changes. Bokuto and Akaashi are getting married.”
Atsumu gasps and shoots up. “No fuckin’ way. Already? When?”
“In a couple months,” Kiyoomi says. “They’re planning right now, sending out the invites. They have a lot of family coming from the Fukurodani Spiral so people need to book their jump tickets.”
“I gotta find out when,” Atsumu says. “Maybe I’ll be here.”
“I mean, that’s a long shot,” Kiyoomi says. What’s the likelihood his occasional three days will coincide with whatever day Bokuto and Akaashi pick?
“Ya never know,” Atsumu says. “Shit, I miss so much stuff.”
Kiyoomi can’t say anything to that because it’s true. You wouldn’t if you stayed, he doesn’t say.
“Are you…” Kiyoomi starts, unsure what he even plans to say. His mouth seems to know more than he does. “How long are you planning on sailing?”
The question skirts uncomfortably close to what Kiyoomi actually wants to say, and it hangs in the air for a long time.
“Ya mean ever?”
“I suppose.”
“I don’t know,” Atsumu finally says. “It’s what I do. I’ve never done much of anything else. I guess until I’m too old.”
Kiyoomi lets out a long breath. Nothing he didn’t already know. “Then you can’t think about it as missing things. You can’t spend your whole life thinking you’re missing everything.”
Atsumu is quiet. Then, “Y’know, the job before last, the really long one, that was to a colony called ‘Cat’s Cradle.” No jumps out that far, and they only get supplies every couple years. Eight months there, eight months back, two in the middle where we stayed there and helped ‘em with the jump portal they’re tryin’ to get made. They’re gonna need a couple more trips and a lot more materials to get it done, so they don’t think it’ll be for another decade, maybe.”
Kiyoomi waits for Atsumu to continue. “They were so nice, though,” Atsumu says. “There were these little kids who were runnin’ around and thought we were the coolest ever because the last time they’d seen anyone who wasn’t from the colony they were too young to remember. I kinda wanted to stay, to see how they were gonna get connected, to just live with ‘em for a while, y’know? But there’s all the people I got waitin’ here, and I can’t just leave y’all.”
“But you liked it there.” The thought of Atsumu finally choosing to stay somewhere and it being a colony nearly a year away makes Kiyoomi’s stomach flip.
“It was cute,” Atsumu says. “Calm. Really pretty planet. And I thought, y’know. If I ever go back, it wouldn’t be until the jump portal is done, and all those kids are gonna be teenagers. So much is gonna happen there, and I’m not gonna be around to see any of it.
“And it’s like that everywhere, right? There’s a million things happening everywhere all the time, and I’m missin’ most of ‘em. So I guess yer right, I can’t think too hard about what I’m not seein’.”
He swallows and nestles into Kiyoomi a little more. Kiyoomi’s hand starts rubbing small circles into his shoulder. “Except, there’s some things I want to see more than others. So I guess I’m gonna miss those no matter what.”
“Like Cat’s Cradle?”
“Like all of y’all around here,” Atsumu says. “Like ‘Samu and everyone at home. I have friends in other places, too.”
Kiyoomi bites his lip at the word “friends.” He wonders if Atsumu calls him a friend to other people. He wonders what they even are, if not that.
“I miss you,” Atsumu finishes quietly. “I miss a lot of your life.”
Atsumu can’t just say things like that, because the flicker of hope in Kiyoomi’s gut is turning to a flame, and if he lets it consume him all that’s left will be a charcoal shell. He knows that. He knows that the only thing hope does is let him down.
“I miss a lot of yours, too,” Kiyoomi says, just as quietly.
“Nah,” Atsumu says. “I don’t do much. Just on the ship. It’s mostly the same, day to day.”
“It’s the same here. Not much changes.”
“Maybe that’s why this works so far,” Atsumu says. Kiyoomi glances down at him.
“Is it working?” he asks.
“I thought it was,” Atsumu says, sounding less certain.
If it wasn’t working, Kiyoomi thinks he’d do it anyway. “It is. It’s just a long time. In between.”
“I know,” Atsumu says. This is the longest conversation they’ve ever had about it, and it makes Kiyoomi feel unsettled and anxious. Every moment they talk about it not working is a moment they could decide to stop. “I’m sorry.”
Kiyoomi is quiet for a while. Atsumu doesn’t need to be apologizing to him. It’s circumstances out of their control. He can’t expect Atsumu to drop his entire life for a barkeep at an inn on a lesser Outring port. It’s a miracle Atsumu comes through as often as he does, given how out of the way MSBY-15 is.
Another thought crosses Kiyoomi’s mind and he pauses. “It was eight months there and eight months back?”
“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “Plus the two we spent there.”
“And you didn’t make port during those eight months.”
“No ports to make,” Atsumu says with a laugh. “Nah, we were just out on the sky.”
“So that’s…” why Atsumu never sent any letters. Some knot deep inside Kiyoomi loosens and he pulls Atsumu closer. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“C’mon, Omi,” Atsumu says. “Don’t lie.”
“You never send anything,” Kiyoomi says, feeling dumb as he says it. Embarrassed. Who is he to assume his own importance, to assume that Atsumu would want to send something?
Atsumu is quiet, and then he shifts, lifting his head up and looking at Kiyoomi with wide eyes. “I didn’t even think of that,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. It makes sense, if you aren’t stopping anywhere.”
“Our whole thing is hittin’ up colonies with no jumps,” Atsumu says. “This is the last place we go before we head out.”
“Every time?” Kiyoomi asks. Atsumu nods.
“It’s a good last place to stop,” Atsumu says with a smile. He leans up and kisses Kiyoomi on the jaw. “Nice people.”
Kiyoomi ducks his head and meets Atsumu for a real kiss. They roll onto their sides and Kiyoomi holds Atsumu’s face between his hands. It’s always circumstance that seems to be separating them. Atsumu would send letters if they stopped somewhere he could, right? He cares. He wants Kiyoomi. He wouldn’t be here now if he didn’t. It has to be enough, because it’s all that Kiyoomi is going to get.
“What happened to your cheek?” Kiyoomi asks softly as his thumb catches on the scar.
“Rigging,” Atsumu says. “I was bein’ dumb and got sliced up by a metal latch I didn’t secure right. Nearly took off my whole face, if I hadn’t ducked out of the way at the last second.”
“Don’t die out there,” Kiyoomi says. “I’d never know.”
“I won’t,” Atsumu says. “I’m immortal.” He runs his own thumb across Kiyoomi’s cheek, soft and slow. “But if I did, they’d know to tell ya.”