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Atsumu can see ghosts.
Ever since he was little, he’s had this gift - curse - to see the dead; full bodied vestiges of those departed from this world, unable to move onto the next. Growing up was difficult. At first he couldn’t understand why people called him strange, why they seemed confused when he addressed others in the room. He couldn't understand until, at the tender age of six, his mother sat him down and delicately explained to him that what he saw was rare; the result of a powerful gift that less than five percent of the population possessed - the ability to act as a bridge to the souls trapped between worlds.
A scary gift.
A powerful gift.
Of course, Atsumu didn’t see it that way. To him it was just… normal. Ordinary. After all, he had never known any different. If he were being honest, that probably wasn’t a good thing. Growing up seeing mangled spirits, withered beings, and unspeakable horrors daily was not something anyone should consider normal, especially not a child.
Everyone with the gift saw something differently when looking at a spirit. Some saw them as whole, untarnished beings no different than any other bystander on the street. Some saw orbs with no definite shape, only fluid masses of energy floating along. And then there were types like Atsumu - the unlucky ones. The unfortunate ones with the ability to see a soul as they were as they died.
It wasn't all bad, really. Most spirits looked relatively normal, all things considering, with no obvious cause of death. In fact, the only thing that set them apart from the living was usually nothing more than the tell-tale transparency of their hands and feet. Some spirits were hard for Atsumu to look at, even well into adulthood. These were usually the victims of brutality, whether it be a car accident, a fire, or something much more sinister. Luckily such ghosts seemed to be few and far between. And then there were Atsumu's least favorite type of ghost - hanahaki victims. He considered them the worst for several reasons.
The first being the way they never seemed to be… all there. It was as though only a part of them had made it to the afterlife, turning them into little more than a husk. As close to horror movie zombies as they came. It made sense, in a way. The theory was that they had been so attached to their unrequited love that they left a piece of their soul behind for that person to care for, for all eternity.
Secondly, hanahaki victims, just as most spirits, typically took the form they had just prior to their death. That means lots of violent, soundless hacking to expel phantom petals, lips blue and eyes bloodshot as they choked on their love for all eternity. It also wasn't uncommon to see red or bleeding claw marks along the victims' throats where they had physically hurt themselves in a desperate attempt to stop suffocating. The whole experience wasn't for the faint of heart.
Atsumu's final reason was the most heartbreaking, in his personal opinion. Hanahaki victims were, for all intents and purposes, an outlier spirit. Their deaths were typically preventable, to start, since the surgery to cure hanahaki was typically successful and had been around for decades. The only recorded side effect was patients losing their memories, and affections, for their unrequited love. Meaning most had chosen to die for their love, lest they lose it; willing victims of suicide, aided by this curable disease. These circumstances led to another defining characteristic of hanahaki spirits - their strong emotional attachment to their beloved became a physical chain after death. It kept them tethered to the cause of their demise for all eternity like a leash. Even if a hanahaki ghost wanted to move on, it was virtually impossible to do so of their own volition. They simply had to wait for their ex-love to die so that they may be freed. It was a fate worse than death, in his opinion. At least with a normal death there was a chance you would end up crossing over; there was no such mercy for lovelorn souls. And they were everywhere, almost as common as regular ghosts.
Atsumu had long ago sworn off love as a result. To him, falling in love was one of the cruelest fates one could meet, its potential horrors too much of a risk. And with a career as a professional athlete, it was easy for the concept of romance to take the backseat. Volleyball was his top priority, the only love Atsumu had ever had. One guaranteed not to break his heart.
“I’m sorry, Doc, could ya repeat that?” Blood was rushing in Atsumu’s ears. His knuckles were white from his grip on the exam table beneath him. This couldn’t be happening.
Doctor Aihara pointed towards the x-rays once more. “If you look closely, there’s quite a bit of damage to your knees, your right knee in particular. Right here,” he gently circles a little cloudy area on the image with his pen, “appears to be callusing on your patella, a textbook symptom of fracturing and most likely what’s causing your current pain. Unfortunately, between that and the assumed damage to the supporting ligaments, I can only advise you to stop while you’re ahead and retire from volleyball, at least on the professional level. Otherwise we’re looking at something far more extensive, and permanent. If you continue to play as you currently do, you may never walk normally again without a total knee replacement before the age of thirty.”
Atsumu's mouth went dry. Knee replacement? It couldn't really be that serious, right? Sure, he had the more-than-occasional pain in his knees, but that came as pay off the territory as a professional athlete. He was only twenty eight! “What if I got surgery now? Fixed it while it’s still fresh?”
The doctor only shook his head. “From what I’m seeing there’s no guarantee that the surgery would fix everything. Plus, we’re talking months, if not years of physical therapy and you almost definitely would not be able to play volleyball again at the end of it all anyways. So, while surgery may fix the issue, your knee won’t be the same as it would be if, say, the injury had never occurred to begin with. Does that make sense?”
“I see… then, what’re my options for now?”
“Well, first things first, I’m recommending an MRI - radiology should, hopefully, be able to fit you in before the end of the year. That will at least help us to figure out a more permanent, long-term solution. X-rays can only do so much when you can’t see soft tissue. You can get that scheduled with our receptionist before you leave,” He typed something into his laptop, “I also want you to try attending physical therapy sessions for the next two weeks then get back to me on how it feels. What we’ll be looking for is your limits and physical capabilities, not necessarily for improvement. I just printed up a script for you to take to a physical therapist of your choice. I can get you a list of recommended therapists if you need that too. All paperwork will be available at the front desk when you go to sign out. We'll be playing a waiting game in the meantime. I need to see those MRI results before we move forward. For now, take care, Miya-san. I will see you in a couple weeks.”
Atsumu felt numb while leaving the exam room. He made his way to the front, barely aware as he grabbed his paperwork and booked a follow-up on autopilot.
Give up volleyball.
Could he do it? Volleyball had been his most faithful companion for almost as long as he could remember. His only love. It had been with him when no one else, not even ‘Samu, was. But it was hurting him. The proof was right there on those scans.
So lost in thought, he didn’t even realize there was a person standing in front of him until they almost collided. Luckily, years of honing his reflexes stopped him from running into them at the last second.
“Ah, pardon me." He didn’t wait for a response, hardly sparing a glance as he sidestepped the stranger and made his way to the cafeteria. He needed to sit. Needed to think. He ordered a coffee just for the sake of having something to sip on. The booth he had chosen was far out of the way, as isolated as one could get in such a public setting. He wanted nothing more than to be alone at the moment.
Which is why it surprised him when someone sat down across from him. He paused scrolling through his phone for a second while his brain caught up, “Uh. This seat’s… taken…” his words petered out as he noted the figure’s hands where they were threaded together atop the table. Translucent hands. A ghost’s hands.
His eyes followed the hands which led to delicate wrists, lean arms connected to broad shoulders. And atop those shoulders was the prettiest face Atsumu had ever seen, framed by delicate black curls. It hit him after a second that this was the stranger from the hall. After staring for perhaps too long to be socially acceptable, Atsumu noticed the man’s mouth moving.
He gave an awkward chuckle and a shake of his head, “I can’t hear a single thing yer sayin’.”
The ghost looked put-out, huffing silently before resorting to charades. He pointed to Atsumu, then two of his fingers back at his own eyes, and finally down to his chest, all the while slowly mouthing words. You. See. Me?
Atsumu nodded, but made no other move to acknowledge the figure in front of him. The man’s face broke into an awed sort of expression, before he started speaking rapidly to Atsumu, seeming to forget their communication barrier. This whole interaction had Atsumu feeling distinctly uncomfortable; the gift, while rare, was still common knowledge and widely accepted by society. He wasn't used to being approached like this. To have a ghost so excited, let alone seemingly unaware of the gift, was off putting to say the least.
Without another word Atsumu pocketed his phone, grabbed his coffee, and made to leave. All the while ignoring the way the ghost waved in a way meant to obviously get his attention.
Weird .
He headed to Onigiri Miya straight from the hospital, determined to put this strange, awful day behind him, enjoy his brother’s company, and pretend nothing was wrong and everything was fine , damn it. Too bad it seemed Osamu had other plans.
“How’s life been, Scrub? Good?”
Atsumu snorted at the loaded question. “It’s fine. Nothin’ to write home about. Just volleyball. The usual.”
“‘Just volleyball,’ huh?”
“Oi, ‘Samu, don’t start-“
“So ya mean yer still spendin' every waking moment in that damn gym? I keep tellin’ ya, 'Tsumu, ya gotta start thinkin’ about settling down. Find a yerself a partner, experience life outside the court.”
“It ain’t that big of a deal! Where is this comin' from? Ya sound like a granny, meddlin' in my love life.” The accusation was followed up with an eye roll as Atsumu took a - frankly, horrifyingly large - bite of onigiri. All the while Osamu busied himself with cleaning up, having dismissed the rest of his staff when Atsumu walked in. The restaurant had closed close to thirty minutes ago.
“I just worry about ya, is all. Especially with yer knee actin' up like it is. Ya’re all alone, ‘Tsumu. What if something happens to ya? Yeah, ya got me ‘n Rin, but we won’t always be there for ya. Ya gotta find yer own person, yer own Rin. Doesn't it get lonely livin' like that?” Osamu's tone was equal parts exasperated and sincere. Atsumu’s nose scrunched up in disgust at the uncharacteristic display of emotion.
“Gross. I’m fine , ‘Samu, I swear. I still got volleyball, and I got you. I don’t need anythin’ or anyone else. Ya can quit yer naggin’. If it happens, it happens. And if it doesn’t? Tough shit.”
The next few seconds were tense, a silent standoff taking place between the brothers. There would no doubt be a bigger argument if Osamu continued to push.
He turned away from Atsumu, changing the topic as he did so. A peace offering.
“So what did the doctor say? Yer knee real fucked up?” The chef didn’t even look up, suddenly engrossed with wiping down the already pristine countertops.
Atsumu shrugged and took another bite of his onigiri. Avoided eye contact. “Nothin too bad. He said I gotta start physical therapy though. Gonna start this Monday after our mornin’ meetin’.”
Osamu put down the rag and looked his brother in the eye. “That all?”
“What d’ya mean ‘that all’?”
“I dunno. There’s somethin’ off about ya, has been since ya walked through that door.. So, ya gonna tell me what it is?”
For a second, Atsumu considered giving up the ghost - no pun intended - and telling his brother how bad his knee really was. About the surgery, his potential retirement, his fear. Though given the conversation they'd just had, he thought better of it. Rather, he opened his mouth before his brain-to-speech filter could work properly, and found himself giving up the literal ghost instead.
"I saw this ghost today. At the hospital."
Osamu raised a brow, "So? ’S a hospital. There’re ghosts everywhere."
"Nah, but like, this one was different, 'Samu. He sat down in front of me and acted all surprised that I could see ‘im. Tried wavin’ me down and talkin’ too. It was weird." Atsumu shrugged, thinking back on the encounter.
Osamu paused to give his brother his full attention, intrigued. "Huh.. Did ya talk to ‘im then?"
"Hell nah. The last thing I need to be dealin’ with right now is my own personal poltergeist. I grabbed my shit and left. Was half convinced he’d try to follow me here."
"Hm. That is weird," A pause, then, "Anythin’ else?”
“Nah. Just tired, I guess. We played a couple three-on-three's this morning and I think it's just gettin’ to me.” The setter put on a show of stretching exaggeratedly for emphasis. He could feel Osamu's stare. He was still suspicious, Atsumu knew.
“...hm. Well, you should be headin' home soon then, if that's the case.”
Atsumu could tell by his tone his brother wasn't wholly buying it, but he wasn’t going to look the obvious cop out he's been given in the mouth.
“Yeah. I'm gonna get going. I'll talk to ya later, 'Samu, ok?”
“Yeah, sure. Just let me know when ya get home safe. I don't want to see yer ugly mug around here until whatever is going on with ya is better, ya hear?”
Atsumu nodded, waving his brother off. He was halfway through the door when Osamu called out, “Oi! Next time I’m chargin’ ya for both listenin’ to yer shit and the onigiri!”
The blonde rolled his eyes. “Put it on my tab!” He felt lighter on his walk home than he had all week.
The next couple weeks passed by relatively smoothly. He went to physical therapy, bench-warmed at practice, and trekked to Onigiri Miya twice to bother his brother, never once mentioning his problems.
Two weeks to the day found him back at the hospital.
“So, how has physical therapy been?” The exam room was just as sterile as ever, the doctor just as stuffy. The smell of antiseptic irritated his nose.
“Was all right. The therapist said he noticed somethin’ wrong whenever I tried any of the weight bearin’ exercises, though. Joint instability, he called it.”
Doctor Aihara's mouth pressed into a contemplative line at the admission. “I see. Would you like to consider surgery? From what I’ve seen and what you’ve told me, I’m convinced you’d be a viable candidate. I still have to get those MRI scans to make absolute certain, but I have a feeling they'll show me exactly what I suspect.”
“I dunno. What’re the chances it’ll keep me on the court?” Atsumu swallowed. He couldn’t help but cling to the hope that he’d get to continue playing despite the odds. He hadn’t even begun to think about what he would do if forced to retire, assuming that was years in the future, not months.
“With the surgery, I’d estimate that there is a good thirty five to forty percent chance you would eventually, hypothetically , be able to return to the sport as a professional athlete. However, that’s only if everything goes one hundred percent perfectly. Personally though, I strongly advise against it." He took a breath to allow that information before continuing on, “With your age, how much damage there appears to be around the joint, and the invasive nature of surgery itself, it's really unlikely that you’d be able to return to volleyball at full capacity. At twenty eight, you’re already approaching the age where many athletes retire; factoring in a minimum of twelve months of recovery time, you’d be nearing thirty by the time you could reasonably resume your normal activities without hindrance. I worry that returning to that level of physical demand will only undo any of the repairs we may make. You run the risk of needing additional corrective surgery within the next five years.”
The doctor's words followed Atsumu long after he left the office. He found himself at the same cafeteria as last time, a coffee in hand and sitting at the corner booth. And again, just like last time, the weird ghost sat down right in front of him.
It was obvious the ghost was curious about him, looking at him like he was a bug under a microscope - a mystery to be studied. For the first few minutes, Atsumu made a conscious effort of looking anywhere but the spirit. But the longer he sat there, the more intense the man's stare felt until Atsumu couldn't take it anymore. He slowly pulled out his ear buds, as though moving too quickly would spook the ghost. He double checked that they were disconnected from his phone before he put them in his ears.
Only then did he look directly at the ghost, who startled under his unexpected gaze. This was the first time Atsumu had openly acknowledged him.
“So what's yer deal? Why do ya keep buggin’ me?”
The ghost opened his mouth as if to speak, but Atsumu cut him off before he had the chance. “Ya do know I can't hear ya, no matter how hard a try, right? Ghosts can't talk. ‘S common knowledge.”
The ghost blinked and made a hand gesture indicating that he wasn't aware. Atsumu leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, giving a thoughtful hum as he took a quick glance around at their surroundings. From afar, to any passerby, it simply looked like he was talking to someone over the phone. However, if anyone were to get too close and hear the contents of his conversation, he'd be sure to get more than a few odd looks. The last thing he needed was for some poor, grieving family member to approach him asking if he can see their loved ones or pass along a message. It's happened before, and in a place like this he doesn't want to run that risk.
He felt his eyebrow twitch as the ghost continued staring at him with those big, black doe eyes.
Fine. Whatever. He'd already made up his mind, damn it.
Atsumu let out a sharp sigh through his nose, putting both his palms on the table before scooting his chair back and standing up. “C'mon. Follow me. We ain't havin' this conversation here.”
The ghost looked confused, but followed along nonetheless. Curly Haired Bastard, as Atsumu had taken to calling him mentally, didn't even try to get his attention for the entire walk out of the hospital, though he did hesitate in the lobby before the front doors. His look of confusion only grew as they approached a bus stop. Atsumu only made eye contact for a brief second before subtly nodding towards the bus, a signal to get on. The ghost complied.
The ride and remaining walk to the Setter’s apartment complex were completed in tense silence. The damned elevator was still out of order, so Atsumu was forced to take the stairs up to the third floor as quickly as possible, ignoring the constant twinge in his knee as he did so. He refused to look back the entire time, simply trusting that the ghost was still following behind. It wasn’t until he stood in front of his apartment door that he finally allowed himself to breathe.
Atsumu’s impromptu guest peeked around the corner from where he hid at the far end of the hall as the blonde unlocked the door, but made no move to come any closer.
Atsumu's hand hesitated on the unlocked handle. Was he really about to willingly allow a ghost into his home? His sanctuary? What if Curly Hair ended up being some sort of vengeful spirit out for blood? The gaze on the back of his head was somewhat unsettling, sure, but didn’t seem malicious.
Taking a leap of faith, the blonde opened the door before he could change his mind, then beckoned the spirit closer. “C’mon. Get inside if ya wanna talk. I’m not gonna stand around out here all day waitin’ on yer ass.”
Slowly, the ghost slinked down the hall and into the genkan, only to freeze once immediately inside. He stared curiously further into the home, but made no move to leave the entrance. Running out of patience, Atsumu shut and locked the door, leaving the ghost standing there.
The blonde walked deeper into his apartment, all the while watching his guest out of the corner of his eye. The man seemed jumpy, cautiously sulking about like a wild animal while taking in the new environment. Atsumu busied himself in the kitchen, taking longer than usual to wash his hands and start the coffee pot in order to give the ghost more time to acclimate. By the time he was done and had turned back around, Curly Hair had taken up post by the living room couch.
The dead in the living room. The irony was not lost on Atsumu.
For someone already deceased, the stranger acted like he expected something to jump out and attack him at any moment. Skittish would be the nicest way Atsumu could describe him. Everything about him so far was strange, and Atsumu’s interest was, reluctantly, piqued.
He took a second to wholly assess the man from his current vantage point. Curly was tall - maybe even taller than Atsumu himself - well built, and pale, with a full head of black, curly (duh) hair. His eyes were equally dark and seemed to stare into Atsumu's soul; they were as beautiful as they were eerie. Little moles decorated the spirit’s body like constellations on an otherwise porcelain canvas. His body language screamed discomfort, muscles pulled taut, though his face remained perfectly impassive. In all honesty, he looked like a kicked puppy, or perhaps a stray kitten that had accidentally wandered in.
Yeah. A grumpy little cat for sure.
Atsumu left him alone to investigate while he started on dinner, glancing over occasionally since he couldn’t rely on sound to keep track of his visitor’s whereabouts.
He was halfway through sautéing his stir fry when a chin appeared over his shoulder, scaring the shit out of him. “Fuckin’ hell! Give a guy some space!”
He put a hand over his chest where his heart thundered, reminding him that no, he wasn’t dead despite the ghost’s attempt on his life. To his credit, said ghost looked remorseful, having been equally startled by Atsumu’s outburst. The blonde quickly gathered himself and pointed his ladle at the dining table, “Go sit yer spooky ass down, ‘m almost done cookin’. We can talk while I eat.”
Food was quickly transferred from wok to bowl and deposited in front of the empty seat across from Curly Haired Bastard. Said Bastard seemed to stare at the meal longingly for half a second before he set his sights on Atsumu who pulled out the seat and sat down with an ‘oof’. The Setter massaged his knee with one hand and took a decently sized bite with the other. Bastard looked on expectantly while he chewed. Damn doe eyes.
Atsumu swallowed somewhat obnoxiously before clearing his throat. The ghost leaned forward at full attention at the act, but a hand was held up to stop him before he could do anything else. “Here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna ask ya some questions and yer either gonna nod yer head yes or shake yer head no. Like I already told ya, I can’t hear a word ya say so don’t even bother tryin’ to speak. Got it?” A nod. “Good.” Atsumu pushed his bowl to the side and leaned forward to cross his arms on the table. Tall, Dark, and Dead fidgeted under his analyzing gaze.
“Are ya aware that yer dead?” A hesitant nod.
“Cool, saves me the trouble of explainin’ then. Have ya been dead long?” A shrug.
“Hm. Do ya got any family?” A shake no, firmer now.
“How old are ya?” A blink, before the ghost raised his hands. Twenty six . Huh. Just a couple years younger than Atsumu, then.
“Why’d ya come up to me?” The ghost gestures vaguely towards Atsumu’s entire body. “What, because I can see ya?” Another nod.
“What’re ya tryin’ to accomplish by stickin’ around?”A shrug. The accompanying look seemed to say ‘I have absolutely no clue.’
Atsumu let out a long breath through his nose as he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, and nodded thoughtfully at the answers. “Hm. Okay then.” He then stood, threw his barely touched dinner away and set the bowl in the sink. At the ghost’s cocked head he gave a slanted grin and quipped,“Wasn’t really hungry, anyway,” before making his way out of the kitchen.
The door to the hall closet squeaked in protest at being forced open, stirring the dust motes in the air. The light switch flickered on and off unsuccessfully several times, and Atsumu swore. The light was blown. He pulled out his phone and turned on his flashlight, grumbling incoherently as he crouched down and began to root through boxes. The whole time the ghost stood behind him, a curious shadow watching his every move. Unnerving.
“Found it!” The spirit jumped when Atsumu’s shout shattered the quiet of the apartment. The blonde shuffled backwards, bringing a dusty, flat box with him. His joints popped audibly when he stood. Suddenly, the box was shoved into the ghost’s face, forcing him back several steps. Obsidian eyes blinked and tried to make out the faded writing thrust in front of him. When they did, Atsumu was immediately met with an unimpressed stare. He smiled widely in return. “Almost forgot I had this thing! Don’t gimme that look, it works! Pinky promise!”
The pair made their way back into the living room where Atsumu deposited his findings onto his coffee table. Sitting on the floor on one side, he gestured for his guest to sit opposite of him. He opened up the box and dusted off the old ouija board, then set it back onto the table between them before doing the same to the planchette. The entire time Atsumu’s actions were carefully tracked from across the table.
Finally, the blonde put his hands on the planchette and motioned for his companion to do the same. “C’mon, put yer hands on it. We can talk more usin’ this.” Pale hands hovered over the little wooden disk before they joined Atsumu’s tanned ones.
“Alright,” the setter rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, “let’s get started.”
The next half hour was spent hosting an impromptu interrogation.
“What’s yer name?”
K-i-y-o-o-m-i
“Mh. Seems long. Can I call ya Omi instead?”
No.
“Great! How’d ya die, Omi-Omi?”
U-n-s-u-r-e
“Well that’s borin’. Do ya remember being alive?”
F-u-z-z-y
“Why’d ya agree to follow me home?”
C-u-r-i-o-u-s
“Ya were curious about me?”
Yes.
“Did ya not know about the Gift?”
G-i-f-t?
“Seein’ the dead.” Atsumu explained.
O-t-h-e-r-s?
“Yeah, lotsa people can see the dead. Well, not lots, but a fair few. Almost everyone knows that. Did ya really not know?”
No.
“Weird. Yer the first ghost I’ve ever met that didn’t know.” Kiyoomi made a face at that. “Where’re ya from?”
T-o-k-y-o
“When are ya from? Do ya remember?” Kiyoomi stopped, eyebrows furrowed as he tried his hardest to remember.
2-0-1-8
“Not that long ago, then. Ya got a family name?”
D-o-n-t r-e-m-e-m-b-e-r
“Hm. Okay then, Omi from Tokyo. Ya got any questions for me?”
Y-e-a-r?
“What year is it?” Kiyoomi nodded. “It’s currently 2023. November, to be exact.” Omi sat back and blinked in surprise. Obviously that wasn’t the answer he was expecting.
There was a momentary pause after that, and Atsumu almost thought they were done with the conversation when Kiyoomi started to fidget, reaching back towards the board then pulling away. This cycle repeated several times as the ghost seemed to war with himself before finally steeling his resolve.
I s-t-a-y?
“Can ya stay?” The ghost gave a shy nod and refused to make eye contact, evidently embarrassed. Atsumu’s hesitance must have shown on his face because Kiyoomi quickly made to move the planchette again.
L-o-n-e-l-y
And, shit, if that didn’t pull at Atsumu’s heart. He swallowed.
“Yeah… yeah, ya can stay, Omi. As long as ya’d like.”
They fell into a routine after that. Despite Atsumu giving blanket permission to come and go as he pleased, Kiyoomi seemed content to stay camped out in the blonde’s living room, only leaving to follow Atsumu out of the apartment. It was a little overwhelming at first, having a sentient shadow watching his every move, but after a thorough discussion about boundaries and a month or so of awkward trial and error, they had a rhythm down pat.
In fact, Atsumu very quickly came to enjoy his silent companion. Omi, despite the communication barrier, was one of the funniest people the blonde had ever met. Something would happen and he would just give this look that had Atsumu in stitches every time. The longer they spent together, the more relaxed the curly haired man became, the more his true, snarky personality started to shine through.
The first of many surprises was Kiyoomi's love of daytime television - Atsumu could turn on the TV to some nature show or movie channel and Kiyoomi would sit happy as a clam for hours. On days where Atsumu had neither practice nor doctor's appointments, the two would leave the apartment to go explore the city. They had developed their own wordless language, communicating solely through looks and inconspicuous gestures when in public. Kiyoomi's face was so expressive that reading him came as easy to Atsumu as reading Osamu. Kiyoomi was a horrible gossip as it turns out, and Atsumu was more than happy to have a friend to shit-talk with.
It was… nice. Really nice, actually. Where Atsumu had found himself lacking, Kiyoomi picked up the slack. They complimented each other, like mishmashed puzzle pieces that somehow, inexplicably, fit together perfectly. Their days were spent exploring, simply basking in each other’s company and occasionally trading nonverbal jabs. Unsurprisingly, there was much of Osaka Kiyoomi had yet to see. Atsumu made it his personal mission to show him the sights.
“Everyone! Please follow me! Stay with the group and don't wander off as we enter this next exhibit! And remember, please no touching the glass or use of flash photography allowed!”
For a Tuesday mid-afternoon, the aquarium was surprisingly packed. School children, locals, and tourists alike milled about, talking and exploring every inch of the place. Coming here was Kiyoomi's idea, born from a documentary on killer whales he had seen days prior. While Atsumu didn’t really get the appeal of watching fish swim around in circles all day, one glimpse of Kiyoomi’s puppy dog eyes and he caved.
They stood towards the back of their tour group as the guide led them deeper into the aquarium. They went through a large archway into the next room, much brighter and significantly colder than anywhere else they had been thus far. Atsumu suppressed a shiver. He looked at Kiyoomi to see if the ghost was at all affected by the change in temperature, only to find him staring ahead, transfixed. Atsumu, now curious, followed his line of sight.
Penguins.
While Kiyoomi had been relatively engaged before, the look upon his face at the little birds could only be described as childlike wonder. Seeing Kiyoomi’s slack-jawed awe made all of the hassle and foot traffic worth it, Atsumu decided. And despite the chill in the air, Atsumu suddenly found himself pleasantly warm where he admired his companion. He was endeared by the way Kiyoomi paid rapt attention as their tour guide listed off fun facts, repeating them to himself.
“Many penguin species, including gentoos, rockhoppers, and chinstraps, are actually known to mate for life. Some, such as the Adelie penguins, are able to recognize their mates within minutes of reuniting, even after years of separation.
“Amazingly, scientists have recorded that in addition to their ability to recognize their mates, these fascinating birds are capable of creating and understanding their own language between couples! This helps them to easily find each other in their colonies, as no two penguins sound alike. Romantic, isn’t it?”
Atsumu’s stomach swooped. Their own language? He glances over at Kiyoomi, who is too busy fawning over the penguins to pay him any mind; thinks back on secret smiles and scrunched noses, knowing glances and inside jokes. Huh.
The tour finished with the gift shop, leaving everyone to disperse and look at all the little souvenirs the aquarium had to offer. Two little boys, brothers from the look of it, giggled over cute otter keychains before their chaperone came over to shepherd them to the rest of their class. Atsumu smiled, overcome with nostalgia at the scene; he made a mental note to call his brother soon.
He looked around for a head of dark, curly hair, to no avail. The spot where Kiyoomi had been standing mere moments ago was now empty. Where had he gone off to? Atsumu’s heart sank the longer his search came up empty handed. Where was Kiyoomi? Where the hell could a 192 cm man, dead or otherwise, hide? Had he gotten lost? Finally had enough and ditched Atsumu? Vaguely, he recalled Osamu telling him about fathers and husbands commonly abandoning their families at places like Disney world, joking about how their own father should’ve put in that much effort before skipping town. Would Kiyoomi do something like that? Atsumu didn’t think so.
Atsumu knew he probably looked crazy, whipping his head around looking every which way in the slowly emptying gift shop. What if Kiyoomi had gotten turned around in the crowd? Or what if he thought Atsumu was the one missing and went to look for him, too? What if he simply had to go to the bathroom? Should he check the bathroom? But he’s a ghost, ghosts don’t pee. …do they? He should check just in case.
Plan of action in place, Atsumu moved. The bathroom was in the back corner on the other side of the shop. Maneuvering around shoppers and displays, he made his way as quickly as possible towards his destination. He passed shelves of purses, racks of jellyfish mobiles, a wall of children’s apparel, Kiyoomi, a giant bucket of penguin plush-
Pause.
Rewind.
Look again.
Kiyoomi? Atsumu breathed out a sigh of relief, practically boneless with it upon seeing Kiyoomi’s form sitting on the floor. He was desperately trying to pet a large penguin plush, easily the size of Atsumu’s torso, but kept phasing through. His brows were furrowed in frustration, mouth turned down in a tiny frown. It was a pitiful sight.
Atsumu quickly checked that the coast was clear before calling out a concerned, “Omi-Omi?” Wide, sad black eyes looked up at him, then back at the penguin. The question was out before Atsumu could stop to consider the consequences of his next offer, simply determined to never see that expression on Kiyoomi’s face ever again, “Do ya want ‘im?”
The bus ride back to the apartment was an experience. Atsumu was the recipient of more than one irritated glance as he sat, massive penguin as his seatmate. Kiyoomi had been utterly thrilled at the newest addition to their little group though, and that made it all worth it. Seeing that smile, Atsumu could say he was genuinely happy in a way he hadn’t been in a long, long time.
Apparently the shift in Atsumu’s mood was more obvious than he thought. That, or the fact that his brother has always had the uncanny ability to read him like an open book.
“Ya seem happier lately.” It was an early Saturday morning, two months after Atsumu and Kiyoomi’s new living (ha.) arrangements had begun, and the twins were out shopping at the open air market near Osamu’s place. Osamu avoided looking directly at his brother as he said it and the question of ‘what happened?’ hung unspoken between them.
Atsumu chose to respond as ambiguously as possible, simply stating, “Just been in a good mood, I guess.”
Osamu hummed noncommittally and continued to inspect the vegetables at their current booth. After a few tense seconds of silence he asked, “So nothin’ in particular happened to make ya this way? Nothin’ and no one I need to know about?”
Atsumu felt sweat on his brow as he attempted to keep a neutral, pleasant smile on his face. Open. Book. He had to deflect. “Nah, nothin’ new. I’m just happy, ‘Samu. Is that weird?”
Osamu pursed his lips, “…I guess not. But, ‘Tsumu, ya know that ya can tell me anythin’ right?”
Atsumu gave his brother an appreciative smile, “I know, ‘Samu. Thank ya.” The topic changed after that.
That evening found Atsumu lying in bed, thinking over Osamu’s words and his own actions from the past few months. Looking back on it, it’s easy to see just how much Kiyoomi’s presence has impacted his life. He could see what his brother was saying - after all, he had been happier lately. Much happier. And most, if not all, of that could be attributed to the wandering soul currently marathoning rom-coms on his couch. Atsumu smiled dumbly into his pillow. Who would’ve thought that a prickly guy like Omi-kun would have a shameless obsession with romance movies? It was too cute - he fell asleep with that thought soon enough, dreaming of scattered moles and dark, expressive eyes.
Morning soon arrived, bringing with it Atsumu’s obnoxious alarm. It took three tries for him to turn off the offensive noise with a smack to his clock. The blonde sat up with a grunt, stretching as he cleared his throat, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His joints popped as though to announce his arrival into the kitchen, head pounding while he turned on the coffee pot. While waiting for it to brew, he proceeded to chug a bottle of water with two pain relievers to help clear his head. Kiyoomi was nowhere to be seen, which was unusual, but Atsumu currently felt too groggy to really take note of it. His head really hurt, his throat didn't fare much better. With coffee on the way, Atsumu went to go hop in the shower.
He cleared his throat again while waiting for the water to heat up, then again as steam started to fill the room, irritating his lungs. Next thing he knew, he was bent over his toilet, choking and gagging, running shower all but forgotten. Atsumu’s throat felt like it was on fire and he swore he could feel something lodged in the back of it. Breathing was getting more difficult by the second and fear had started to set in.
Finally, blessedly, the intrusion was knocked free by a particularly violent cough. Atsumu spat it out, relief flooding through him so strongly he couldn’t help but close his eyes whilst taking in giant lungfuls of air. His relief was short lived, however, when he opened his eyes and looked into the bowl at what he had just coughed up. He froze. Ice washed over his body.
A petal.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
This couldn’t be happening . Atsumu’s breathing got shorter, but this time it wasn’t due to the act of physically choking. No, it was all because of the seemingly innocent flower petal currently floating on top of the water in his toilet. A petal that could only mean one thing.
Atsumu had hanahaki. And he had it for a dead man.
Everything spiraled after that. The world faded in and out and time passed inconsequentially; it could have been minutes or hours and he wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Somewhere in the back of his mind Atsumu knew that he was dissociating, but the all encompassing feeling of apathy smothered that thought.
Having flushed the evidence and turned off the shower, Atsumu crawled back into bed. He’d have to explain to Coach later why he missed practice. Given the current circumstances he couldn’t bring himself to care about incurring the man’s wrath. It all seemed so inconsequential, especially considering that this would more than likely be his last season with the Jackals anyway.
A faded hand waving in front of his face brought him back to the present moment. Omi was standing over him, a clear look of worry painted across his features. How long had he been standing there, trying to get Atsumu's attention? For some reason seeing Omi's face snapped everything into focus, and not in a good way. Atsumu’s breathing picked back up and he broke into a full body cold sweat. Seeing Kiyoomi hurt. The translucence of his hands, reaching out in a futile attempt at comfort, mocked Atsumu. After all, Kiyoomi was already dead . And Atsumu was stupid enough to fall for him anyway. He needed the ghost to leave.
“Get out.” His voice was wrecked through gritted teeth, both from emotions and his fit in the bathroom earlier. Kiyoomi didn’t move. “Oi. Are ya deaf as well as dead? Get the fuck out! Get outta my room, outta my apartment, and outta my life, ya undead leech! Go! Leave! I don’t wanna look at ya.”
The pure vitriol of his words had Kiyoomi lurching back as if he had been physically struck. His form flickered in and out like a TV with a bad connection, his expression one of unadulterated hurt and betrayal. Atsumu felt a sharp, metallic pang of guilt but quickly pushed it down. “Fuckin’ go already! Can’t ya see I don’t want ya here? Ya're a goddamn nuisance, always buzzin’ around me like a damn gnat and I’m sick of it. Go. Now. ” His voice cracked on the last word, though Kiyoomi didn’t hear it. He was already gone, bolting out before Atsumu had even finished.
Alone at last, the remaining bit of Atsumu’s energy left his body. He slumped against the mattress with his chest heaving, not unlike a puppet whose strings were abruptly cut; boneless. Helpless. He didn’t move as the first tear fell, or the several after that. His shoulders shook as everything crashed over him at once. A keening cry left him then, and he curled into the fetal position as he cried harder than he ever had before.
It’s better this way.
There was a hollowness in his chest where his heart belonged, as though Kiyoomi had taken the bleeding, beating thing with him when he ran. Everything felt wrong, slightly off, like looking through warped glass. His mouth felt dry and his throat screamed, evidence that this was real and not, in fact, a nightmare. Kiyoomi really was gone, possibly for good, and it was all his fault.
Atsumu really, truly hadn’t wanted to push Kiyoomi away, but he felt like he had no other choice. He wanted to be left alone; didn’t want Kiyoomi to see him like this. But even if the ghost did know the truth, it wouldn’t change anything. It was the ultimate cosmic joke, really - that in the end it truly didn’t matter if Omi knew. Hell, it didn’t even matter if Atsumu’s feelings were reciprocated .
Kiyoomi was dead. And the dead, by definition, could not love the living.
Calling Osamu felt like a monumental task. But while Atsumu truly wished to put this conversation off as long as possible, he desperately needed someone to talk to. This was the first time he had been well and truly alone in months, and the silence - different from the silence surrounding Kiyoomi like a second skin - had him on edge. He was unbearably lonely. He craved the comforting presence of his twin stronger than he had in years. He needed his brother. Osamu would make everything better. He had to.
The phone only rang twice before his twin picked up, voice filtering through the tinny speaker. “What d’ya want, Scrub? Miss me already?”
Osamu’s jovial tone washed over Atsumu like a soothing balm. Immediately, he could feel his throat close up as tears brimmed in his eyes.
“ Osamu .”
The chef went stiff hearing his brother sound so distressed, already untying his apron and signaling for his assistant manager to take over before his name was fully out of Atsumu’s mouth. “What’s wrong? Are ya hurt? Sick? Do ya need me to take ya to the hospital?”
A sniffle. “Can ya come over?”
“Yeah. Yeah, just give me a second and I’ll be right there. Ya're okay, ‘Tsumu. Ya’ll be okay. I’m leavin’ the shop right now. Ya want me to stay on the phone while I walk?”
He listened carefully, just barely catching Atsumu’s murmur of no over the line. “Alright, ‘Tsumu. I’m on my way. Don’t worry ‘bout unlockin’ yer door. I got the spare key with me.” Osamu hung up before his brother could reply. He took one breath, two, three before his panic finally abated. He pocketed his phone, double checked his laced, and took one final calming breath to clear his head. Then, Osamu ran like hell.
Upon entering the apartment, Osamu found his brother on the couch, holding a pillow for dear life. His eyes were red and his hair was disheveled, but otherwise the blonde appeared to be unharmed. Osamu’s shoulders sagged in relief.
Setting his keys on the island, Osamu carefully approached Atsumu, much like one would an injured baby animal. He kept one hand out in front of him, walking slowly as he announced his presence.
"'Tsumu? 'M here."
A sniffle was the only sign of acknowledgment his brother gave. The brunette gently sat down next to his brother on the couch, close enough that their arms brushed and thighs touched. Atsumu looked much worse up close. There was dark bruising under his eyes, which were red and puffy, andis nose was running and he seemed especially pale. He was the poster child for heartache.
"Oh, Atsumu . What happened?"
The blonde hugged the pillow closer, shoving his face into it before he answered, ".....ki."
"Can ya repeat that? I can't hear ya with yer face in the pillow."
Watery amber eyes met steel grey. "...I have hanahaki."
Osamu sucked in a sharp breath, but otherwise gave no reaction. Atsumu was already obviously upset, Osamu would only make it worse if he were to panic. He had to push his own distress to the side, for Atsumu's sake. The time for his own breakdown would come later. "Okay. That's okay, 'Tsumu. Do ya know who it's for?"
The setter nodded.
"That's good. Is there any way they might return yer feelings?" Atsumu shoved his face back into the pillow and shook his head. Osamu reached out to rub his back, heart hurting for his brother. "I'm so sorry, 'Tsumu."
The chef pulled his twin onto his shoulder, allowing him to cry it out, and providing as much silent comfort as he could.
It felt like hours that they sat there, leaning on each other both physically and emotionally. Both were terrified - of the disease, of the future, of the gravity of the situation - but neither had the strength to acknowledge the fears out loud.
It was only after Atsumu had cried himself dry that Osamu asked the million dollar question. "Do ya know when ya're getting the surgery? I can schedule it for ya, if ya haven't already."
Atsumu tensed as his twin spoke. "Samu...I- I’m not gettin' the surgery."
" What ? Why the hell not?" Osamu tried to remain calm, but it was obvious he was upset.
"I don’t want it. I’ve lived enough of my life. I'm ready, I think." Atsumu sounded so sure. Dread rose up like bile in Osamu.
"Aren’t ya just bein’ overdramatic? What about volleyball?"
"I'm done, 'Samu. This is my last season. My knees can’t handle another. I'm retirin' after the Adler's match. I’m s’posed to tell Coach tomorrow."
"Why didn't ya tell me?"
"Ya worry about me enough as it is. I didn't wanna make it any worse for ya."
"So ya decided to shut me out? When did ya stop telling me stuff, 'Tsumu? When did ya stop trustin' me?"
"I do trust ya, I swear. I just thought… I thought that maybe by not tellin' ya, I could ignore it. Pretend it didn't exist, at least for a little bit. I was gonna tell ya eventually, though, promise."
"When?"
"... after surgery."
"Surg- 'Tsumu, what?"
"I know. It’s not the answer ya wanna hear, but I had a plan. I was gonna finish out the season, then get the surgery right after. I knew that if I told ya too soon, ya’d only worry yerself sick. For as much as ya like to act like my mama, I'm still older than ya; I'm still yer big brother. Sometimes I gotta act like it, even if that means hidin' shit from ya every now and again. I thought I was protectin' ya."
And the worst part was that Osamu understood. As much as it hurt, he couldn't say he would've done any differently. Protecting his brother has always been top priority, a sentiment that went both ways. He swallowed.
"What about yer hanahaki? Can ya at least tell me about the person that got ya like this? Who's got ya so wrapped up ya'd die for them?"
Atsumu looked nervous. His brow furrowed, hands twitching in his lap, his lip bitten raw where it was trapped between his teeth. He looked everywhere but Osamu. "His name’s Kiyoomi and he’s, uh, h-he’s a ghost."
The words hung heavy in the air between them. Osamu closed his eyes in defeat. "Yer killin' me, 'Tsumu. Please tell me ya're joking."
Tears fell anew as the blonde shook his head. "'S not a joke. The first guy I go and fall in love with and he's already dead. Fuckin' figures."
"When did ya have time to go and fall in love? And with a ghost? Really?"
"It's complicated."
Osamu gave him a sad, tired smile. "I got all the time in the world."
It took Atsumu two hours to explain the story of Kiyoomi, and another twenty to stop crying again after that. The entire time Osamu listened intently, never once speaking up. It was clear Atsumu had been holding this in all by himself for far too long.
"Ya really love him, don’t ya?"
Atsumu gave a wet laugh, and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I really, really do. He makes me so happy, 'Samu."
"And ya love him enough to die for him?" Enough to leave me behind?
Osamu would never be so selfish as to voice that last part out loud, but he couldn't completely tamp out the envy he felt. How could Atsumu give up his whole life for a dead man he'd met mere months ago?
"I… I think I do. That's the scary part. I'm okay with dyin' if it means I get to keep 'im by my side. I've done so much in my life already. Hell, I got to play in the Olympics! Twice! My career is over, and I got no backup plan. My body is tired. I think it's time I took yer advice and settled down. No better way than going six feet under, eh?"
Osamu said nothing in response, simply pulling Atsumu into a tight hug instead who clung to him just as hard. The Blonde noticed the way Osamu shook, on the verge of crying, but kept silent. He needed to provide the same comfort his brother had moments ago. It was the least he could do.
"Ya know," Osamu's voice cracked, "when I told ya to settle down, this isn't what I meant."
Atsumu snorted. They'd be okay.
No matter how many times Atsumu visited the building, the hospital never became less daunting. It was huge - full of death and ghosts and grief. On the other hand, it was also a place of healing; where new life was introduced and miracles were made. Atsumu could really use a miracle right now. He took a steadying breath, and mentally prepared himself to enter. He bypassed the nurse's station and avoided orthopedics completely. He wasn't here for an appointment, after all. What he was looking for could be found in the cafeteria.
"Hey, Omi."
The man started at the call of his name, then whirled around to glare at Atsumu (who knew that, if Kiyoomi could speak, he would have screamed). It was still funny to Atsumu how uptight the ghost could be.
He met Kiyoomi's scowl with a small smile. "Let's take a walk?"
Atsumu guided both of them towards the hospital's garden. The rainy weather guaranteed that not many people would be around to disturb them. Though he willingly, albeit reluctantly, followed behind, Kiyoomi made it clear he was still hurt by Atsumu's words the previous day. He kept his distance, his stance guarded as they walked further into the garden and out of general view. Atsumu stopped just before a bench at the far edge, hidden by the large hedges on either side. He was hyper aware of Kiyoomi’s presence behind him, so close yet so far; mere steps and an entire reality away.
He faced Kiyoomi and mustered up his courage. Best rip off the bandaid quickly. “I have hanahaki. It’s ya. I figured ya should know.”
Kiyoomi’s reaction was immediate, eyes widening in horror and mouth miming words Atsumu would never hear.
No. You're lying. No, no, no. It was hard to watch.
"I'm sorry, Omi. I never meant for this to happen. I do love ya, for what it's worth."
In his twenty eight years on this planet, Atsumu had seen countless ghosts cry. He'd seen deceased parents futilely reach out for their children, scorned lovers rage on and on, victims of their own minds unable to find peace even after stopping their own hearts.
Yet never had he been so affected as he was watching Kiyoomi voicelessly beg before him. The raven frantically shook his head, chanting like a man possessed. Tears flowed unbidden from desperate onyx eyes. Atsumu tried his best to read his lips, only catching certain words that were repeated over and over.
"Please. Surgery. Love. I love you. Atsumu. I love you. Please." Kiyoomi fell to his knees at Atsumu's feet as he begged Atsumu to get the surgery.
"I'm not gettin' the surgery, Omi. I won’t do it - I can't."
Kiyoomi was suddenly scrambling to his feet. His cheeks were wet, and Atsumu ached to dry them, to hold Kiyoomi and kiss his pain away. But he couldn’t. It was impossible.
Kiyoomi tried his best to hold Atsumu’s face without phasing through. His face wet with tears, he looked Atsumu straight in the eye and began to speak, taking care to enunciate every word, uncaring that they went unheard.
"I love you. Atsumu, I love you."
Atsumu's heart cracked, love and despair spilling out in tandem. "I know, Omi. I know."
The team took news of his retirement surprisingly well. Sure, the announcement had come as a shock, but by the end of practice he’d had everyone’s full support. The season was coming to a close soon anyways, so really Atsumu only had to worry about a few practice matches and their game against the Adlers.
He didn’t tell them about his hanahaki.
Soon enough, the season was ending, taking Atsumu’s volleyball career with it. Despite the new challenges playing with the disease brought, Atsumu had to say that his retirement match was one of his best. They defeated the Adlers 2-0, with a roaring crowd and Kiyoomi cheering on from beyond the bench. Atsumu had no doubt Osamu was hiding somewhere in the stands too, the sap.
“We’ll miss your sets, Miya.”
“Aw, but not my pretty face?” Laughter rang out as Atsumu batted his lashes. Both teams and their families had overtaken a local bar to celebrate another game well played, as well as Atsumu’s consequential retirement. Drinks and conversation flowed effortlessly around the setter, who sat back content to just take in his friends’ company.
Inunaki stumbled to his feet, glass in hand and obviously drunk, “I’d like to propose a toast! To Miya, the loudest, most obnoxious man on the planet. He may be an annoying asshole-" The libero ignored Atsumu's indignant cry of “Oi!” as he barrelled on, “But he’s also the single most dedicated man I’ve ever had the honor of knowing. Cheers, Atsumu, retirement doesn’t suit you.”
“To Atsumu!”
“Cheers, Tsum-Tsum!”
There was a lump in Atsumu’s throat as dozens of well wishes were made towards him. These were his friends - they loved him and he loved them. That was exactly why he couldn't tell them about his condition. It would break their hearts. “Thank ya, everyone. I’m gonna miss y’all. Sharin’ a court with ya is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Hoshiumi rolled his eyes,“Quit talking like you’re dead!”
Another shot was shoved into Atsumu’s hand.
His hanahaki rapidly took a turn for the worse after that.
He moved in with Osamu after three months, no longer capable of taking the stairs to his third floor apartment without feeling light headed. He'd also begun coughing up whole flowers. They weren't big enough to completely block his breathing, but anything more than walking to the bathroom left him with black spots in his vision.
By his fifth month, Atsumu was essentially bed bound. He’d taken up permanent residency in Osamu’s guest room, swaddled in blankets to keep out the perpetual chill. Kiyoomi’s penguin laid next to him, a constant, soothing presence. Kiyoomi himself was always hovering over the blonde, fretting and fussing in his own way. Atsumu tried his best to reassure the spirit, but it could only help so much when it was obvious he was in pain.
Osamu looked worse for wear most days. He was trying to stay strong for his brother and his decision, but the fact that he was losing his twin before his very eyes was eating him alive. Atsumu was slipping away by the day, and Osamu had never felt so helpless in his life. He wished he could tell Rintarou, if only for someone to confide in, but had promised to keep Atsumu’s condition a secret. Atsumu couldn’t deal with the idea of his friends seeing him as he was now, and Osamu respected his brother’s wishes.
His eye bags were almost as dark as Atsumu’s, and his smile never quite reached his eyes anymore. He'd lost weight, too. He wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping. Visions of his twin, so weak and sick, had made sure of that; his appetite was nonexistent, his sleep plagued by nightmares of Atsumu's heart finally giving out.
The worse his brother's condition became, the more time Osamu took off Onigiri Miya to spend with his brother. Eventually, he appointed a temporary manager to take over, and took an indefinite leave from work. The restaurant could wait.
When Atsumu opened his eyes that morning, he knew. Breathing was difficult, roots digging in and squeezing every last bit of oxygen from his body. He’d been fighting for over six months. Perhaps it was time to raise the white flag.
Standing next to him were two figures, with one distinctly clearer than the other. He wasn’t surprised to see Kiyoomi, whole and unobstructed beside him, limbs appearing completely solid for once. Atsumu was closer to the realm of the dead than the living, after all. It made sense. They caught each other’s eyes, and Kiyoomi gave him a sad smile, brushing a phantom hand over Atsumu’s cheek. Atsumu swore he could feel his touch as his eyes gently fluttered shut and leaned into the contact.
Opening his eyes once again, Kiyoomi now stood back several feet. The ghost pointed to Osamu, who sat vigil by his brother’s bedside, staring blankly at the wall. He hadn’t yet noticed Atsumu was awake. Atsumu’s right hand was loosely held in Osamu's own.
“Samu,” Atsumu’s voice was just above a whisper and took every bit of strength. Osamu’s grip tightened, realizing his brother was conscious. “Samu, I think it’s time.”
Osamu shook his head, lip wobbling as he forced back tears. “No. No, it’s not time. Not yet, ‘Tsumu. You still got a bit of fight left in ya, yeah? Ya can’t give up yet. Ya can’t leave me.” Despite the desperation in his tone, Osamu’s voice never raised above a whisper. His hold on Atsumu’s hand should have been painful, but everything felt fuzzy and distorted.
Atsumu smiled sadly. “Say g’bye to Rin for me, yeah? Tell ‘im to keep our promise, the one from graduation; he’ll know what I mean,” He took another jagged breath in, only to choke and cough wetly. It sounded excruciating, causing Osamu to wince.
“It’s going to be okay, ‘Samu. Ya're strong. Ya have Rin. I’ll still be around, ya just won’t be able to see me. But every time yer keys go missin’ or yer phone doesn’t charge at night, just know it’s me inconveniencin’ ya on purpose. Ya're never gettin’ rid of me scrub.” Tears lazily tracked down Atsumu’s face, but his eyes held no sadness, only peace. He’d accepted his fate long ago. However, the clock was ticking, and he could tell this moment here with his brother was drawing to a close. There was still more he needed to say, and he had to do it fast.
“Osamu, look at me.” Osamu turned his head to meet his brother’s eyes, but otherwise stayed hunched over his form, clutching his hand for dear life. “I’m so proud of ya. Ya're one of the strongest, smartest people I’ve ever known. I’ll never be able to thank ya enough for everythin’ ya’ve done for me. I’m so glad ya're my brother. I love ya. With my whole heart, Samu, and I mean it.”
By now Osamu had started crying inconsolably, fully hyperventilating whilst faced with the very harsh reality that in a matter of minutes he'd be losing his brother, his best friend, his other half. He sat crouched over his brother's prone body, his forehead resting on Atsumu's chest. Even through his own violent sobs he could feel the amount of effort each breath took his twin.
Atsumu was content to let him cry it out. He could see Kiyoomi out of the corner of his eye but chose to ignore him. These were his last moments with his brother, after all, and he didn't want to waste a single, precious second. It took all of his strength to raise a shaky hand and settle it on top of Osamu's head, so that he may card his fingers through his brother's hair. Seeing Osamu hurt this much pained him more than the disease ever did, but there is nothing for it. Even if he changed his mind, he was too far gone for surgery.
As his brother's body trembled beneath his hands, Atsumu began to hum. It was an old lullaby their mother sang to them as children to get them to settle after a nightmare. There was a ringing in his ears and his vision was blurring around the edges. He felt so, so weak. Still, he hummed.
One by one he lost his senses. His smell and taste had already gone days ago, he knew. Now his vision finally started to give, black creeping in, all encompassing. Touch wasn't too far behind. The last thing to go was his hearing. And as the world faded out, the last thing Atsumu heard was his twin's grieving sobs.
Osamu could feel it when Atsumu died, and not just physically. He felt the fingers carding through his hair slow and eventually stop, heard as his breathing got shallower and shallower. But the moment he knew Atsumu was gone, it was because it felt like a piece of his soul turned off. Not left, just… fell asleep. Just like Atsumu.
He held his brother's body tight as he cried for what felt like hours. until there was nothing left to physically cry out. That's when the numbness set in. He looked at Atsumu. From an outsider's perspective it may look like he was just sleeping, but Osamu knew better.
He took a deep, shuddering breath as he assessed every part of his brother's body. His skin was sallow and bruised, his lips were chapped, his bones protruding - all evidence of the way the disease had ravaged his body. Osamu's throat hurt with the need to cry again. His brother had suffered so much. He gently pushed the hair away from Atsumu's forehead before laying one last, soft kiss there. He was still warm.
"Goodnight, Tsumu. I love ya, always ."
Death feels weird; like floating and being tethered all at once. The first thing that Atsumu notices is that breathing feels easier than ever, yet he doesn’t have the need to. It's more habitual than anything. It’s nothing like the hanahaki spirits he’d seen before. He feels lighter than air.
A sob breaks him out of his musings, and that's when his surroundings clear. He sees his brother - sees himself .
"Oh, Samu…"
It's surreal, watching the scene before him; seeing the way his twin grieves while his own body is right there in front of him. It sinks in then that this is it. There's no going back. He's dead, truly leaving Osamu behind. He'll miss him. So, so much.
He stands there, silently mourning his life and his brother. Had He really made the right choice? Why had he done this anyways? Was it worth it?
Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi was worth it.
…Omi? Atsumu's eyes go wide.
"Kiyoomi." The name leaves his lips barely above a whisper. He doesn't expect a response.
And yet, he gets one.
"Atsumu." Goosebumps break out along his arms and the back of his neck. Rich, smooth, and baritone. His name is said with reverence, like a prayer. He's never heard this voice, yet Atsumu instinctively knows just who it belongs to.
He turns around, and his grin shines like starlight.
"Omi!"