Archive of Our Own ^beta

Atsumu Miya was a lot of things. 

A lot of things that, to be frank, were not entirely positive. He was often described as annoying or loud, boisterous and often willing to start fights. Where his brother, Osamu, was calm, cool lake, Atsumu was a hurricane. A storm capable of tearing everything apart, including himself. 

And so he found an outlet. Without volleyball, Atsumu probably wouldn’t have found a constructive way to channel his never-ending energy. And he was good at the game, too. People knew that. He knew that. And Atsumu was not afraid to say it, either. 

Another reason people avoided him, probably. 

At the many volleyball training camps he attended, he would often find himself standing alone during breaks. Making friends… he tried, but ultimately they realized that Atsumu was too much and walked away before it was too late. He let them leave. It wasn’t worth the fight to keep people around who didn’t even like him. The loneliness was constricting, but he managed.

Atsumu never kept his head down, despite the strange side glances he got. People referred to him as “Osamu’s brother” or “the other Miya.” Indirect contextualization, and not looking for Atsumu himself. And so Atsumu watched, keeping his internal storm at bay. He wanted to ask everyone what they hated about him. Was it his shitty excuse of a personality, his snarky appearance, or his talent? Were they threatened by him?

Then along came Kiyoomi Sakusa. 

Kiyoomi changed a few things, that’s for sure.

For starters, he was the first to address him as just Atsumu rather than the blonde Miya or the annoying brother of Osamu. He could admit it felt good, even if the context was a thinly veiled insult. 

In fact, the first time he spoke to the spiker, he insulted him. But Atsumu didn’t care. He was intrigued by him, and his story. What was up with the mask and gloves he always wore? Was it the result of something traumatic? He wanted to know. And when he told Osamu about that, he played middleman.

Osamu called it middleman. Atsumu called it attempting to be a matchmaker.

“Ya won’t talk to him.” Osamu whispered in his ear. “Yer too chicken.”

“Like you would talk to Suna?” Atsumu snapped back. Osamu paused, a pondering expression crossing his face.

“The thing is…” his twin began, a slow grin spread across his face. Atsumu stared at him incredulously. 

“No way.” He said, eyes widening. “Did Suna ask ya out?”

“Well. Not exactly.” Osamu said, glancing around. “But he implied he might be interested.” Atsumu groaned, rolling his eyes. 

“We’ve known that for ages. Or I have, at least.” 

“And ya didn’t tell me?! ” Osamu whispered sharply, his rarely seen temper rising. Atsumu resisted a laugh, forcing his expression to remain impassive. 

“Bro. He’s not very discreet.” He deadpanned. 

“Moving on—“ Osamu stood up sharply, quickly changing the subject. Atsumu stifled a laugh, resisting the urge to continue to antagonize his brother for his dismal love life. “Just go talk to him. What could go wrong?” Atsumu pondered it for a moment, titling his head up. 

“He sprays me in the face with Lysol.” The setter said after a while. 

“Besides that?” Osamu said, sounding completely unconcerned. Atsumu glared at him, crossing his arms. 

“Lysol can kill, ya know!” 

“You’ve lived through worse. I’m hardly concerned.” Osamu said with a sigh. Atsumu rubbed the back of his head. 

“If I recall, you dared me to snort the chemicals in biology.” 

“I didn’t think you were stupid enough to do it!” 

“Yer my brother, you call me stupid everyday, and the sad thing is that yer right.” Osamu rolled his eyes.

“True. Now go! ” Atsumu hardly had time to prepare before Osamu shoved his back and sent him stumbling in Kiyoomi’s direction. The spiker heard his stumbling steps and shifted his gaze upward, until he made eye contact with Atsumu. Wow. That glare could melt the ice caps . He righted himself. It was too late to turn back now. If this went south, he was going to strangle Osamu.

“Hey there.” Atsumu said, walking up the Kiyoomi. The black haired spiker looked him up and down, disdain entering his gaze.

“What do you want?”

“I just want to ask ya why you wear that mask all the time.” Atsumu said quickly.

“I hate germs.” Kiyoomi responded simply. 

“Ah.” Atsumu could kind of understand that. He had never thought about the stuff floating in the air, but to some, he supposed the idea of little microbes everywhere was pretty gross. “Anything else you hate?”

“Your presence.” 

“That’s nothing new.” Atsumu said with a laugh, ignoring the twinge of pain in his heart. He wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Name’s Atsumu Miya.”

“Kiyoomi Sakusa.” The black haired spiker said with a sigh. Atsumu nodded, acting like he didn’t know.

“So, Kiyoomi—“

“Why’d you use my first name.” The question was phrased as an accusation rather than a question, causing Atsumu to flinch. 

“I uh… I just call everyone their first name. Having a twin kinda trains ya to do that.” 

“I see.” Kiyoomi said impassively.

“Do you want me to stop?” The spiker pondered it, before shrugging.

“I don’t care.”. Atsumu grinned and continued to speak. 

And then they kept talking. And Kiyoomi didn’t walk away. He continued to talk to him, without showing a shred of loathing for him. And Atsumu decided that he was not going to let this friendship get away from him. 

Atsumu found out that Kiyoomi was a cat person, like him. He also found out that his mother was a single, working mom, but fairly successful. He’d lived in Tokyo his whole life, and didn’t have any intention of leaving it. 

Atsumu liked him. He wanted to form a bond with Kiyoomi. He was going to get his phone number to him, even if he had to hack his phone and enter it in himself. So he waited for his chances as patiently as he could. 

“We should start training together.” Atsumu had said when he found an opening in the conversation. He reached down and grabbed his water bottle, taking a sip and maintaining eye contact with Kiyoomi. The black haired boy stepped back.

“Maybe.” He said impassively. His eye twitched. He’s considering it. 

“You know you want to.” Atsumu waggled his eyebrows, smirking.

“Shut up, bee boy.” He could see a blush spreading across Kiyoomi’s face, a red blotch amidst a pale ocean. His heart leaped. This was his chance.

“Can I ask you two questions?”

“You’d ask them even if I said no.” Kiyoomi muttered begrudgingly.

“Awesome. First question: can I call you Omi-Omi?” Kiyoomi stared at him blankly, a disgusted expression crossing his face.

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“ No.” 

“We’ll come back to that one.” Atsumu conceded. “Next one: can I give you my phone number?”

Kiyoomi paused, thinking. Atsumu’s heart sunk. Maybe he was going to fail again. He thought he gathered enough kindling to make the fire grow, but maybe the embers were not strong enough to rise. 

But then he nodded. Atsumu’s smile returned. Kiyoomi wanted to stay in touch with him! He wanted to be his friend. Maybe. It was definitely a good sign.

Atsumu looked around for a piece of paper. He saw the coaches’ clipboard discarded on the bench. He bent over and ripped off a part, quickly scribbling out the numbers and handing it to Kiyoomi. The spiker took it with another nod.

“I best be going now. The setter’s training starts in a couple of minutes.” Atsumu said, glancing at the clock.

“Alright. See you later, Sangwoo.” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu smirked, pivoting on his heels to leave. He did his best to hide the spring in his step as he walked. 

Atsumu’s life was a storm. It was as predictable as that. He would cause chaos, but the underlying pattern was there. Everyone always knew what he was going to do next. They just assumed it would be something stupid or dangerous, and call it good.  

Kiyoomi was unpredictable. One moment, he was insulting Atsumu, the next, he was treating him decently . It was confusing, and reminded Atsumu of how a middle school boy might act toward his crush.

One could only dream that he was the lucky crush of Kiyoomi Sakusa. 

He turned around and saw Kiyoomi pull out his phone. He looked at the scrap of paper and enter the numbers into it. Atsumu smiled, a soft expression crossing his face. Kiyoomi looked up, sensing his gaze. Atsumu quickly fixed it to his default smug resting face. 

Osamu was laughing at him, but Atsumu ignored it. He had succeeded in his job. His charm did its work, and now his phone number was in Kiyoomi Sakusa’s phone. He smiled to himself. Maybe this would be a turn around in his slump. 

And yet, even after the victory, the same, overly simple fact remained: Atsumu Miya was unhappy, and anyone could see it. 

—

Something had to change in his monotonous life. Atsumu was bored, tired of the routine he was living, the cycle he was stuck in. School, volleyball, homework, chores, food, sleep. Rinse and repeat. It was so boring . The only glimmers of differential activities were his biweekly excursions to Tokyo, or Kiyoomi’s journeys to Hyōgo. He lived for those weekends, wishing they could last a lifetime. 

Atsumu would never admit that he was head over heels for the spiker. He was his rival , and training with him was for fun . And to better his skills, that was all, no matter what Osamu may try and say. Atsumu would not be convinced it was anything but that.  

Even if Atsumu was calling Kiyoomi for the fifth time this week. It didn’t mean anything. He was just bored on the walk back from the grocery store. And also vaguely uncomfortable not engaging with someone since the streets at night were creepy as hell.

“Omi, I’m just saying that the way we decided on who would go to the store was pretty stupid. I mean come on, Rock Paper Scissors?!” Atsumu complained on the phone, holding the grocery bag in one hand and his phone in the other. 

“Seems fair to me. It’s a game of chance.” Kiyoomi pointed out on the other line. Atsumu grunted, but didn’t protest because technically he was right. 

“Yeah, I guess. It’s just weird out here at night. Alone.” Atsumu said, casting a glance behind him. He wasn’t afraid or anything… just nervous. The backstreets of the city were not exactly known for their safety. 

“Fair enough. Did you wear a mask?” 

“Uh….” Kiyoomi sighed. Atsumu could picture his disappointed eye roll. “I didn’t really see the point of it!

“The germs, Atsumu. The germs .” Kiyoomi’s voice was a low whisper, causing Atsumu to laugh. 

“Yeah… but—“

“Nope! I don’t want to hear your pitiful excuses!” 

Atsumu hadn’t realized how caught up in the debate he got until he looked and noticed he had no idea where he was. He did a 360, blinking as the shock of the situation set in. Not again. Atsumu was very good at getting himself lost; which is why he tried not to get distracted when he went out alone. He sighed. 

“Shit, where am I…? I’ll call you back later, Omi.” Atsumu clicked his phone off and slid it  into his pocket. He glanced around the streets. The sun had already set, and the street lamps cast an eerie yellow glow over the sidewalks. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of worry. 

He definitely regretted not making Osamu come with him. The night was silent. It made Atsumu nervous, especially since he had no idea where he was. He paused under a street sign, reading it. 

A man seemed to materialize out of the haze, scaring him slightly. Atsumu started walking, wanting to be alone. It wasn’t anything against the other person; he was just uncomfortable with being by himself with someone else he didn’t know at night. The man unfortunately did not leave him alone. He trailed Atsumu as he continued to walk in the direction of what he hoped was the Main Street. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He acted oblivious and kept walking. Another person joined the first one, light steps that seemed louder than thunders. Sweat beaded Atsumu’s brow. 

A third man came out from the shadows of the alley. Atsumu glanced behind him. Three men total. He scratched the back of his head, quickening his steps. This wasn’t good; it was like those crime shows when the victim is about to get attacked. All the telltale signs. Atsumu did not want to be the subject of a real life American FBI show. Being murdered was not exactly on his agenda.

One of the men matched his pace, grabbing his arm and forcing him off of the path and into an alley. He wrenched it free and ran, ran as fast as he could… right to the end of the alley. The bricks stared back down at him, almost laughing at him. He was trapped. He turned back around. 

“Hey there, kid.” The three men were approaching him, stalking closer in a somewhat feline matter. “Are ya a little lost?” They had him pinned. He glared at them, hiding his rising fear behind an arrogant grin.   

Atsumu took a step back. His back hit the stained wall of the alley. He could feel his heart rate quicken as his eyes darted around the confined space. He lifted his chin defiantly, staring down at his attackers. 

“Listen, I have places to be, so can you politely fuck off?” The leader let out a guffaw at his words, a rasping laugh that rankled Atsumu’s ears. He couldn’t help but wince at the unpleasant noise. The laugh sounded like sandpaper being crinkled up.  Fits perfectly with his charming personality.

“What do you think you can do against us, boy? Give us your wallet and we might let you walk away.” The leader pulled out a serrated knife, the blade flashing in the street lamps. Atsumu tried to keep his expression placid, but he couldn’t help the flicker of fear that crossed his eyes.  

“That doesn’t-doesn’t sound like a very fair deal.” Atsumu said dryly, stuttering slightly. The leader grinned again, his yellowing teeth clear in the pale light. He wrinkled his nose in slight distaste. Even if they were criminals, Atsumu knew that hygiene was important. Kita had beat that into him. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists. 

He had to fight. He couldn’t roll over and show his belly. He couldn’t just give up.

“Seems quite fair to us.” The criminal said, tossing the blade from hand to hand.

Atsumu kept his eyes on the approaching men. He had nowhere to go. He was completely trapped. They were going to kill him, he was going to die.

“Look at him, he’s so scared.” One of the men on the left cooed, a sinister smile spreading across his face. Atsumu’s breath quickened. He dropped the bag he was holding, still scanning the alley for some sort of weapon, anything he could use to defend himself. 

“I’m not afraid of you.” He declared, keeping his back pressed against the wall. “You’re just some greasy  guys who have nothing better to do than beat up a kid. I think that makes you the cowards.” The leader’s grotesque face twisted in rage. Quick as a flash, he was directly in front of Atsumu. 

“You insolent little shit.” He grabbed his throat and slammed him against the wall. Atsumu clawed at his hand, trying to free himself. The pressure on his throat was increasing by the second. Oh god, he’s going to crush my windpipe. He kicked out, his leg colliding with his captor’s shin. The man let out a yelp of surprise, releasing Atsumu. He slid to the ground, coughing as he took in more air. He jolted his head up. 

” HELP— “ He started to screamed, a brief flutter of hope filling his chest. Someone might help him, he would be saved—

One of the other assaulters grabbed his hair and dragged him back. Atsumu tried to scream again, but the man slammed a dirty hand over his mouth. Shock and horror pulsed through him, causing him to stop struggling for a moment. Even in his haze of panic, this was disgusting. The moment passed, and he bit down as hard as he could on the hand. 

The man shrieked, but did not release him. He dragged Atsumu back in front of the leader, who had evidently recovered and was standing up again. The serrated knife was back in his hand. Atsumu started struggling again, thrashing as much as he could. The leader approached him as the third man clamped his hands on his other shoulder, holding him still. 

“Congrats, kid. You just made things a hell of a lot worse for yourself.” The man lifted the knife and brought it downward, directly across Atsumu’s face. The pain hit him like a spark, starting a fire that spread across his entire body. Blood clouded half of his gaze as he continued to struggle more. Everything felt underwater. There was screaming, was that him making that sound?

The leader stepped closer again, making another cut across his face. All Atsumu could see was red. The pain was worse than he had ever felt. The knife was probably dirty...Omi would disapprove... A single coherent thought made it through his panic. His senses were overwhelmed, his only goal to survive. He clawed blindly at men holding him, trying to free himself. More pain followed, spreading from his gut like wildfire. He heard laughter, why were they laughing?

His face was slick with blood and tears, the salt intermingling with the red to form a new substance. Atsumu’s ears were ringing. Every breath was harder to take in, his senses dulling. The red in his vision was beginning to give way to a black. Atsumu had to stay awake, he had to keep fighting.

“...one’s coming...” A voice broke through the pain, piercing his skull. 

“Get his wallet...leave him...” Atsumu felt the men release him, dropping him to the stone alley floor. It was wet, slick with his blood. He heard footsteps walking away from him, leaving him to die. Atsumu wanted to scream, but he couldn’t form the words. He tried to move, but his limbs would not respond. He was dying, he was going to die alone—

“Hey... HEY! ” Another shout pierced the haze in his brain. Rapid footsteps approaching him. Atsumu couldn’t help the fear that seized him. He couldn’t tell who it was, all voices sounding the same in his head. He tried to move away, but he couldn’t . Someone knelt down next to him, placing two fingers against his neck. 

“...elp.” Atsumu managed to spit out, blood staining his lips. He felt sick, so sick. If it weren’t for the loss of blood, he would’ve thrown up long ago. 

“It’s okay kid, we’re gonna get you help... call an ambulance ... stay awake...” The voice was begging him to stay awake, stay conscious. Must be...really bad... That was the last thing Atsumu heard as the pain finally took ahold of him and dragged him into the shadows.

—

Shinsuke Kita thought he was a decent friend. A decent person, if you will. He did his best to be the best captain of Inarizaki he could; his team just had a habit of finding trouble and not letting it go. Just last week he had to get Suna to come of the roof of the gym during a fucking thunderstorm. When asked why he was up there, the second year simply stated that he was “recording a fight in the building next door.” 

In his spare time, Kita volunteered. He found helping out around the city was calming in a way, able to smooth his troubled, exhausted soul. He preferred to work on the farms dotting the prefecture, but his second choice was usually the hospital. Helping people in need was one of the greatest rewards he felt he could reap. 

He found himself working a late night shift. Night shifts were always the hardest, and to be frank, the most awkward. Usually the people coming in were drunks who got into a fight or did some other stupid, ill-conceived act. Kita avoided making small talk with them, finding it too awkward for him to handle.

It wasn’t that he was judging them; he was judging their life choices. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would choose to have their senses addled, to numb their minds. He tried to put himself in their shoes. Kita tried to imagine that they had pent up trauma, lost a loved one, went through a divorce. Something that would apply some sense of reason to the concept of getting drunk. 

It rarely worked. Kita still found himself internally judging them and their actions, every time he ran fresh bandages or pain medications to the waiting nurses and busy doctors. In the end, Kita enjoyed volunteering here; but the people made it awkward and sometimes uncomfortable. He would continue to suck it up because it was the right thing to do, and Kita wanted to keep doing the right thing. 

That night was different. Kita was running towels and other toiletries to the nurses to restock the rooms, when he heard shouts behind him. He turned around, scanning the pristine white hallway for the source of the noise. One of the nurses— he recognized him as Ryuji Akemi— jogged ahead. He nodded to Kita, quickly pulling him aside. 

“Ya best get out of the way.”  Ryuji said quickly. “The newest patient isn’t lookin’ too good.” 

“Do you know what happened?” Kita asked, curious. He clutched the towels closer to his chest as Ryuji sighed. 

“Aggravated assault or som’thing. Strangers found him ‘n the alley, bleedin’ out. Called 119, and now he’s here.” He rubbed his eyes, already looking exhausted. “Gonna be a long-ass night.” 

“Have you identified him yet?” Kita pried further, still intrigued. It was rare for assault victims to be brought onto this level; normally they would be a few more up. Then again, normally they’re not half-dead .

“Nah, not yet. His wallet’s gone, but he does have his phone. No time to open it yet.” Ryuji shrugged. He glanced back as the shouts got louder, signaling the ER staff drawing closer. “Sorry mate, I gotta go. I would switch floors if I were you.” Ryuji ran back to the gurney, which was in full view. Kita pressed himself against a wall, waiting for it to pass. He couldn’t help but peer over at it, trying to see who it was. 

Kita’s heart dropped in his chest. His stared slack-jawed as the doctors continued to run past, shaken by what he saw. 

He knew the victim. He would never forget that face; the Miyas would haunt his nightmares years after he left the volleyball team. 

“Atsumu?” He managed to say, blinking rapidly. He glanced down at the floor. Small droplets of red, already staining the tile floor. Kita felt sick. He leaned against the wall, his head spinning slightly. 

Atsumu was hurt. Atsumu Miya, one of the best setters in the nation. One of his friends. Atsumu was dying .

“Sir, are you alright?” Another nurse paused, glancing over at Kita. “You look pale.” Kita managed to shake his head, trying to remind himself to continue to take in air. The nurse moved to stand next to him, kneeling over. She watched him patiently as he recollected himself. 

“It’s... “ Kita sucked in another breath. He forced himself to stand up straight. “I know him. The a-assault victim.” He stuttered slightly, the full weight of the situation slamming into him like a truck. 

“Are you sure?” The nurse furled her brow in uncertainty. 

“Ye-yeah. I couldn’t forget his face.” Kita looked over at the door, slack jawed. “He’s one of my good friends.” His hands started shaking; when did that happen? The nurse pursed her lips and stepped into the operating room. She reappeared with another nurse minutes later, who was holding a clipboard. 

“Are you certain you know who that boy is?” The other nurse was much gruffer, an edge to her voice. Kita mustered up a glare and shot it in her direction. 

“ Yes. He’s the setter for my volleyball team, on top of being one of my friends.” Kita responded shortly. She sighed and clicked open her pen. She motioned for him to sit down on the bench outside of the room. Kita complied, waiting for the question.

“If you’re sure, then. His name?” 

“Atsumu Miya.” 

“Do you know his date of birth?”

“October 5th.” 

“Do you have his family’s contact information?” She asked.

“I have his brother’s phone number and their house number. Not their parents.” Kita said, pulling out his phone. The nurse quickly wrote down the numbers and stood up. She thanked him, walking down the hall, presumably to call the Miya household.

Kita sat down outside of the room. He cast a forlorn glance inside, watching the doctors run around the room. He tore his gaze away, rubbing his temples. He would stay here, at least until someone else arrived. He watched the clock continue to tick, time continuing to move forward.

“Please. Protect him.” Kita prayed, bowing his head and murmuring the ancient prayers his grandmother taught him. He watched the doctors from behind the door, and he slumped against the wall. He bit back a sob. He didn’t know if they worked; he didn’t know if anyone was even listening.

And yet, it was the only thing Kita could do. 

—

Osamu Miya should have gone with Atsumu. 

At first, he was fine with letting his brother wander off into the night to go get the groceries. With their parents out of town on some business endeavor, someone had to do it. 

It would have been safer if they had both gone. But neither of them wanted to. It ended up a game of Rock Paper Scissors in which Atsumu lost (twice, since he insisted on two out of three). So he had grabbed his coat and left, and Osamu went back to doing his homework. 

He expected Atsumu to take an hour. Maybe two. His sibling was not known for his sense of direction, and he would be less than shocked if he took a wrong turn at some point. So Osamu didn’t worry. Not at first. 

The first hour passed, and Osamu finished his math assignment. He was this close to using his textbook as firewood. Alas, he needed it to pass his second year of high school. He stood up and shuffled to the kitchen, taking stock of the items they lacked. Osamu could still make a decent meal out of what they had, but if Atsumu had gotten back sooner, he could’ve made it better . 

He finished the dinner by the second hour. He patiently waited for Atsumu to return. The house was strangely silent without his twin. Osamu checked his phone, still finding no new messages. At the two and a half hour make, he caved and called him. The ringer sent him to voicemail. 

“Oi, ‘Tsumu, where are you? I already made dinner. It’s gonna get cold if you don’t hurry your ass up and get home.” He clicked the off button, his stomach fluttering with anxiety. Atsumu rarely let things go to voicemail; warning bells were starting to sound in his head. Osamu ended up calling Suna. 

“Hello?” Suna picked up quickly, his monotonous voice coming through the other line.

“Atsumu hasn’t come home yet.” Osamu said, unable to hold it in. He forwent proper greetings. This situation felt too urgent to him. Suna paused before answering.

“And you’re telling me because…?” He sounded slightly confused. Osamu sighed, resisting the urge to play the ‘you’re my boyfriend, part of the job is worrying about whatever shit I’m worrying about’ card. 

“He didn't pick up his phone either.” He explained quickly. 

“Oh. That might be a reason to panic.” Suna’s voice shifted, some emotion entering it. 

“I’m not panicking!” Osamu snapped back. He pulled the phone away and set it on speaker, just in case a text came through. 

“You sound distressed.” Suna observed. 

“My brother is missing ! I’m definitely distressed.” Osamu shot back, burying his head in his hands. “And our parents are on a stupid business trip to fricking America for God knows why, so I’m the only one home, and this is really stressful.”

“You just said you weren’t panicking.” A cough sounded from the other line, disguising a quiet laugh.

“Rinatoru! ” Osamu practically shrieked, glaring down at his phone. 

“Whatever.” Suna paused. “Where was he going?” 

“Just the grocery store. We needed a few things so he went.” Alone, since I wouldn’t go with him. Osamu bit his lip, trying to force the guilt down. 

“I see. Do you think he got lost? Sounds like something he would do.” Suna asked, his impassive voice back. 

“It’s been almost three hours.” Osamu said, glancing up and the clock. “He would’ve called by now if he got lost. Or picked up when I called him.” 

“What do you think happened, then?” Suna challenged him. 

“That’s what worries me.” Osamu sighed. “I don’t know.” Atsumu was a magnet for trouble. He had a talent for getting into situations Osamu couldn’t even fathom happening . He climbed to the top of a tree when they were younger, and got stuck 10 meters up in the air… next to a bird’s nest. And the mother bird just happened to be a crow. A very angry crow. Atsumu made it back down covered in scratches from the bird. And he went back up the next day, determined to beat the crow. He actually fell climbing back down and broke his arm; Osamu remembered the event like it was yesterday. 

“Well, you can’t change what may have happened.” Suna said, pulling Osamu out of his memories. “You can’t worry about what ifs because you don’t know. So stop worrying, eat your damn dinner, and let me finish this hellish map homework.”

Osamu cracked a smile. “Imaginary numbers, right?”

“I hate this class.” 

“Don’t we all—“ Osamu broke off as the house phone rang. Loudly. The house phone rarely rang; it was usually used for school or… or emergencies. His throat bobbed as the dread built back up. “Wait, someone else is calling...” Osamu hung up his phone and strode over to the house phone, which continued to ring. He picked it up, his anxiety growing. 

“Miya household speaking. Who’s this?” Osamu adjusted the phone in his hand, glancing at the door. Maybe Atsumu would walk through and he could throw the phone at him for scaring him so badly. 

“This is the Kobe General Hospital speaking.” An unfamiliar voice said. It was professional and no nonsense. Never a good sign .

“Oh-okay.” Osamu clenched the phone tighter, keeping his voice even. “How may I help you?”

“Atsumu Miya was found in the back of an alley, about a kilometer from a general convenience store. He was bleeding out from multiple stab wounds to the torso and deep lacerations across his face.” The voice remained calm and neutral. Osamu’s world lurched, a jolt of pure shock running through him. He joked about how he always thought Atsumu would end up bleeding out on the side of the road, but for it to actually happen... 

Maybe if Osamu had gone with him this wouldn’t have happened. If he had sucked it up and gotten off his ass and walked to the store with him.

“Come again?” He said, still not able to register it fully.

“Atsumu Miya was attacked.” The voice remained calm, infinitely patient. “He’s injured, and quite badly. He is currently listed in critical condition.” Osamu’s breath hitched in his throat. He nodded numbly, forgetting that he was on the phone. He shook his head to clear it.

“I— thank you. I’ll be down as soon as I can.” He turned the phone off, and hung it back up. Osamu ran to the closet, pulling out his phone to message his parents. 

Group chat with : Mom and Dad

Osamu: Atsumus in the the hospital 

Osamu: Im going down now pls msg me back when u see this

He shoved his phone into his pocket. He grabbed his coat and slipped it on, grabbing the keys to the house and his wallet on the way out. Osamu locked the door and sprinted down the street, running toward the train station. 

He was breathless by the time he reached it; Osamu thanked whatever deity existed that his parents bought a house near the station. He stumbled through the door, pulling out his credit card. He swiped it through the scanner, the gate opening for him. He pushed his way through the crowd, his heart pounding. 

Osamu glanced up and read the digital signal. The next train to downtown Kobe was arriving in 10 minutes. He stifled a frustrated scream. The grey haired boy sighed and pulled his phone out again. He dialed Suna’s number and waited.

“Oh my god, what now ?” Suna picked up with a sigh. “I’m so close to finishing my homework.” 

“Atsumu’s in the hospital.” Osamu said thickly. The other line froze, completely silent.

“Did he fall out of a tree again?” Suna asked.

“He got attacked. He’s in… he’s in critical condition. I’m waiting at the train station to get to downtown Kobe.” Osamu glanced back at the sign, which now read seven minutes. 

“I’m so sorry.” Suna said, sincerity in his voice. “Can I do anything?”

“No. Maybe tell the teachers why we couldn’t finish our homework.” 

“Alright. I hope- I hope it turns out okay. I love you.” Osamu blinked, slightly surprised. Suna rarely spoke the words ‘I love you;’ it was typically saved for serious situations. He loved hearing the words, but it helped put the gravity of the event into perspective.

“I love ya, too. Talk to you later.” Osamu said, choking back tears. He hung up the phone as the timer hit five minutes. He tucked his phone back into his pocket. He tapped his foot impatiently as the train pulled into the station. 

The ride over was agonizingly slow. Osamu resisted the urge to slam his head against the train wall. When it finally pulled into the station, he practically leapt from the train car, seeing the hospital rise up a few blocks away. He raced down the street, doing his best not to get hit by a car. He ripped open the door to the hospital, stumbling to the receptionist’s desk. He practically crashed into it. The receptionist looked up from her computer, blinking at him.

“May I help you?” She asked warily. “If you’re drunk, please wait over there.” She pointed with her pen toward the opposite end of the room, where three men stood together. Osamu stared at her, trying to process what she said.

“What— I— no ! I’m not drunk!” He cried. “My brother’s here! In critical condition !” 

“Ah.” Her face shifted, a gentle expression crossing it. “Name?” 

“Atsumu Miya.” She typed the name in, scanning the computer. 

“Fifth floor. Eighth room on the left. He was brought in about an hour ago. He’s currently in surgery.” Osamu nodded, quietly thanking her. He stood in the elevator, silent as death. He wrung his hands together. When the elevator finally arrived on his floor. He walked out and down the floor, counting them until he saw eight. 

“Hey.” Osamu blinked and looked down. Kita was sitting outside the room, a placid expression across his face.

“What are you doing here?” Osamu asked, surprised. 

“I was volunteering here. And they brought Atsumu in.” Kita said with a shrug. He looked shocked, as shocked as Osamu felt. 

“How did- did you see—“ Osamu mumbled, unable to fully ask the question. Kita looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Osamu could feel the sadness in them, the worry radiating off of the captain.

“Not… not good.” Kita admitted. Osamu slumped down into the seat next to him. He rubbed his eyes. 

“I can’t believe this.” He said quietly. Kita gently patted his arm. 

“It’s gonna be okay. May the gods watch over him.” Osamu didn’t feel like making fun of Kita for his ancient religion; for now, he welcomed it. Perhaps prayers would be what could save Atsumu. The two sat in silence until the door to the room opened. A nurse was muttering to himself, a worried expression across his face. He looked up and saw Osamu. 

“Who are you?” He asked wearily.

“Osamu Miya. Atsumu Miya’s brother.” He said curtly. The nurse’s expression shifted to one of pity. 

“Ah. Good luck.” Osamu blinked up at him, exhaustion preventing him from asking what that meant. The nurse ducked back into the room. Osamu’s throat felt dry, anxiety welling up.

“Oh my god…” He tucked his knees to his chest. “‘Tsumu…” 

“Hey, don’t do that. Don’t fall into the cycle of fear. He’s gonna be okay.” Kita said, sincerity in his tone. Osamu looked up.

“Do you really believe that?” He asked hoarsely. 

“I do.” Kita said with a nod. He clicked on his phone and winced. “I’m so sorry Osamu, but I have to go. My—“

“It’s alright. I appreciate the fact that you stayed to watch him until I could get here.” Osamu said with a forced smile. “I’ll keep you updated.” Kita nodded, patted his shoulder one more time, and walked down the hall. Osamu slumped against the chair. 

Another nurse came out, shutting the door behind her. She was holding Atsumu’s phone in her hand, and gave it to Osamu. He stared at it. There’s blood on it . He blinked, ignoring that fact, and looked up at her. 

“Here’s his phone. This is what he had on him; we assume his wallet was stolen.” The nurse handed Osamu what was left of Atsumu's belongings. Osamu nodded, softly thanking the nurse. She glanced sympathetically at him before walking away. He opened Atsumu’s phone to see unread texts from none other than Kiyoomi Sakusa. 

He blinked, slightly shocked that Atsumu even had the spiker’s phone number in the first place. There were five messages, each varying in degree of concern. Osamu sighed, and pulled up Sakusa’s contact information. He pressed the call button and waited for the other line to pick up. 

—

Kiyoomi Sakusa despised change. He hated the numerous curveballs life would throw him. Time progressed, and with it, life continued to grow. The selfish part of him wanted everything to stay the same. He wanted the simplicity of a routine, one in which he had minimal human interaction. He could deal with his volleyball team, and he could tolerate Atsumu Miya, but that’s about as far as his range stretched. 

After Atsumu abruptly hung up on him, Sakusa took to surfing various social media platforms. He wanted time to pause, to slow down for a bit. He couldn’t wait for Atsumu to call him back forever, after all. He told himself he would wait thirty minutes, then lay back down and sleep. The clock continued to move on, the “half hour” eventually reaching the early hour of midnight. 

When he had scrolled through the Instagram page for the fifth time, Sakusa decided enough was enough. He put his phone down on his desk. Knowing Atsumu, he probably just forgot. He would text him back at a decent time, preferably ten or eleven. 

Just as he set it down, Sakusa’s phone lit up, a number flashing across the screen. He sighed and picked it back up. 

Caller ID: Bee Movie Reject 

Sakusa sighed, glancing at the time. The top of his phone read 1:49 am. He sighed again, a drawn out exhale. He debated not answering, leaving Atsumu to suffer until a decent hour of 10 in the morning. He groaned out loud, shutting off his phone. Atsumu could wait. He closed his eyes and tried to settle back into sleep. 

His phone rang again. And again. 

Sakusa gave in on the fourth call, reaching over and grabbing the source of his irritation. He stared at the caller number, before pressing the talk button and holding the device up to his ear. He was angry, there was no question about it. He was exhausted from the schoolwork from the day; his homework had taken him late into the confines of the night. His only solace was the fact that it was a weekend, and he could finally, finally rest. But Atsumu had to call him at two fucking am. 

“Do you have a clock in your room? If so, can you like, read it , or are you Jared, 19? Then again, he is better looking than your Sangwoo look-alike ass.” Sakusa said through a yawn. There was a moment of silence, the other line crackling briefly. He briefly wondered if Atsumu dialed him by accident; if so, he would make fun of him for it in the morning when he was not tired and less irritated. 

“Hey is this… Kiyoomi Sakusa?” A voice that was not Atsumu came through the other line. Sakusa couldn’t help the wave of embarrassment that flooded through him. He could feel a blush rising across his face, the blood pounding in his ears. Oh shit, who did I just call a Sangwoo look alike? 

“Uh- yes.” Sakusa regained his composure, sitting up in his bed. His cat let out a loud mrrow of protest as he switched on a light. He couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut that was settling in. He recognized the voice as Osamu, which gave him more questions than answers. He opened his mouth to say something, before being cut off by the speaker. 

“This is Osamu Miya.” He supplied. Sakusa rubbed his eyes, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed to get up. He switched on the main lights in his room. He couldn’t help but begin to pace back and forth as feelings of dread overtook him. He forced his voice to remain even as he addressed Osamu again. 

“Alright… What is this about? Why do you have Atsumu’s phone?” Sakusa demanded. The other end of the line was silent for a split second, one that seemed to stress across an eternity. Sakusa held his breath, his heart beat thundering in his ears. 

He wished he wasn’t this worried about Atsumu Miya. Training camps and occasional meetups proved just how irritating the blonde was, and yet he found himself attached to him. Sakusa could pretend to despise him, but he would go and visit him if he asked. 

That’s what friends do, after all. Friends could worry about each other, friends cared about each other. There was no way Sakusa was romantically attracted to Atsumu, none. He just wanted to make sure the idiot didn’t get himself killed. Not before he could play him a match on the same token. He wanted to crush Atsumu, and force him to admit that Sakusa’s team would forever be superior. And he was hellbent on making sure that day came to pass (which was one of the reasons he kept agreeing to meet up. For volleyball training). 

Oh, how fate was cruel. It liked to sink its teeth into every plan made and tear it to shreds as Sakusa was forced to watch, a helpless spectator as he watched the dismal remains scatter to the wind. He could try and grab the leftover pieces, but by the time he salvaged it, fate had already moved on. Sakusa was constantly left in the dust, marvelling at the changes that occurred as the old world burned away to ash. 

 “My idiot brother... got himself stabbed... and it’s pretty bad. You should come to the Kobe General, just in case-in case something happens.” Osamu’s voice cracked slightly at the end, a small drop of emotion seeping through. Sakusa blinked, his hand clutching his phone tighter.

“That’s two and a half hours from here.” He said hoarsely. Sakusa hated the thought of taking the public train. He shuddered when he imagined himself in that close of quarters with other people, forced to stand between them and touch the same surfaces that they touched.

“I know. I understand if you don’t want to come, but I figured I should tell you.” Osamu said simply. Sakusa sighed. He had a choice, one that theoretically should have been a no-brainer. Someone he cared about was in critical condition; he should already be out the door. But this fear, this damned mysophobia, was keeping him anchored. It was dragging him down to the bottom of the ocean when the people at the surface needed him. 

And yet, Sakusa couldn’t let this fear keep him away this time.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Sakusa promised.

“Alright. See you soon.” The other line cut off, and Sakusa put his phone down. He opened his door and walked down the stairs, surprised to see a light on. 

“Mom?” He called, poking his head into the kitchen. His mother looked up from the reports she was bent over. Her dark eyes were tired, and her curly black hair was pinned into a messy bun. A discarded coffee cup sat next to her. 

“Hey Kiyoomi. What are you doing up so… early?” She asked, glancing at the clock.

“Something’s happened.” He took a deep breath. 

“What is it sweetie? You can talk to me.” Sakusa smiled gratefully. It was moments like these where he was grateful to have a functioning family, one where he could tell his mom what was happening and not feel like he had to remain closed off. Many were not so lucky; Atsumu complained frequently about his inattentive parents. 

“I have to go to Kobe.” He blurted out. She blinked at him, then down at her coffee, and then back at him. 

“Kobe… as in Kobe, in Hyōgo?” She said slowly.

“Yeah. My friend— Astumu, you remember him?”

“I do. Your friend .” An odd twinkle entered her eyes. “Listen, I’ve already had the talk with you, but if you’re going to—“

“I’m gonna stop you right there, because that’s not where I was going.” Sakusa held up his hands. His mom stopped, and looked at him expectantly. A wave of fear hit him as he opened his mouth to speak. “He’s been hurt. Badly. The doctors don’t know if he will live.” His mother stared at him, shocked.

“Oh my god… I’m so sorry honey, do you want a hug?” Sakusa shook his head. His mother gazed sadly at him, but did not stand up. 

“I’m going to the train station. I’ll be back as soon as he wakes up.” 

“What about school?” She asked hesitantly. 

“I’ll call in sick. Please, mom.” Sakusa said quietly. “I want to be there in case something does happen.” His mother leaned back, pondering it. 

“It is a weekend…” she said slowly. “I can give you until Wednesday, okay? But then you have to come home and go back to school.” 

“Thank you.” He smiled gratefully. He walked back up the stairs and quickly changed, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt. He grabbed his phone off of the desk and a spare charger. His mask and gloves were hanging on his bedroom door, and he pulled them both on. A sense of comfort settled over him as he adjusted the face mask. 

When Sakusa stepped out of his room, he was greeted by his mother holding the car keys. He blinked at them, then back up at her. She was holding a coffee cup and had a black shawl on. 

“I’ll drive you to the station.” 

--

When Sakusa made it to the hospital, his clock read 5:00 am. The train ride had been just as unpleasant as he predicted; luckily not many people were riding it at one in the morning, so he managed to avoid having a full blown panic attack. Fear twisted his gut. What if he was too late, what if something happened to Atsumu while he was on the train, what if, what if, what if—

Sakusa broke off the thoughts as he stepped into the hospital. He pulled up his mask again as he stepped inside. The fluorescent lights pulsed brightly overhead. Sakusa blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. He walked up to the desk. The receptionist looked up, a smile across her face. 

“How may I help you?” Her voice was far too bright for someone working in a place full of grief. On a floor or two above them, someone’s life was likely lost. Somewhere in the hospital, someone he cared about was hanging between the chasm of life and death. Sakusa kept his expression neutral. 

“I’m looking for Atsumu Miya.” He said quickly. 

“Ah.” Her face softened slightly as she typed the name in the computer. “Fifth floor. Eighth room on the left. He’s currently listed in critical condition.” 

Sakusa’s heart dropped even further. 

“Thank you.” He nodded once before heading to the elevator. He rode up in silence, trying to keep his mind from going faster and faster, creating more and more horrible scenarios. He tucked his hands into his pockets, trying to distract himself. The elevator dinged and slid open. Sakusa walked out quickly, still attempting to stay calm. He counted the rooms, glancing forward so he didn't trip. 

Turns out he didn’t need to. Osamu Miya was sitting in a chair outside the room, head buried in his hands. Sakusa strode up to him and looked down at him. 

“Hey.” He said quietly. Osamu looked up. A strained, tired smile crossed his face. 

“Hi.” He responded. Silence stretched between them, both of them staring at each other. Osamu sighed, then pointed to the chair next to him. “Might as well sit down.” 

Sakusa glanced at it. He didn’t love public chairs, but he would suck it up. He slid into it, still sitting in utter silence.

“How long has he been—?” He started to ask. Osamu shook his head, cutting him off. 

“How long has he been listed in critical condition? Since he fucking got here.” Osamu snapped, rubbing his eyes. Sakusa flinched slightly. Osamu glanced back over and sighed, softening his gaze. “Sorry. I’m just really worried.” 

“I get it.” Sakusa said with a shrug. He paused again, looking away. “...I care about him too.” 

“I know. That’s why I called you.” Osamu responded. “And he cares about you, too. I think he would want you to be here if- if something happens.”

The two continued to sit in silence. Sakusa stared out the window at the end of the hallway. The sun was rising; it cast pink and orange flows through the entire corridor, painting it in a new, vibrant color. It was almost sickening how beautiful it was. 

Sakusa would have rather had a rainy day. It would have made him feel like it made sense for a tragedy to occur. But then again, the worst events happen on the sunniest days. The sun laughs as the world suffers, and it shines on. It was laughing at Atsumu, at Osamu, at Sakusa himself. He clenched his gloved fist and stared at the floor.

“I wouldn’t have even known if Kita hadn’t been here.” Osamu broke the silence between them, like glass shattering under a baseball. “They took his wallet. The people who assaulted him. The doctors wouldn’t have identified him until after the surgery… or his death. Whichever one—“ 

“I get it.” Sakusa cut him off, not wanting to hear the words. Not wanting to hear the possibility of death. He pushed the very idea out of his head. Atsumu was too stubborn to die, there was no way it could happen. 

“He didn’t pick up his cell, I should’ve known something was wrong.” Osamu shook his head, laying it back in his hands. “I’m an idiot.” Sakusa should’ve contradicted him; but he was too far gone in his own worries. Atsumu hung up on him, and then he got attacked. It was all too ironic. Sakusa wanted him to shut up, and now he might for good. 

It made him sick. He had to get up, had to walk. He stood up and started pacing, up and down the hall. Osamu barely reacted. Sakusa stopped at the window and stared out the glass. The sun was shining above the city now, it’s radiant rays highlighting all the colors. 

He forced himself to turn away. The sun was continuing to shine as despair steadily filled the air. It was a paradox, one that Sakusa cared little for. 

After hours of pacing, when the sun has reached its peak in the sky, the door finally opened. A doctor came out, glancing around the hall. Osamu scrambled to his feet, and Sakusa walked closer. 

“Osamu Miya? May I speak to you in here?” The doctor gestured inside of the room. Osamu’s face paled and he followed the doctor. Sakusa continued to pace as he waited for him to reappear. Ten minutes later, the door opened and Osamu stepped back outside. He looked numb, face unreadable. He walked over to Sakusa.

“What did they say?” Sakusa asked, his anxiety increasing. Osamu rubbed his chin, hand covering his mouth as a distressed expression crossed his face. 

“The doctors say he’s gonna be… he’s probably gonna live.” Osamu said, eyes cast downward. Sakusa glanced at him. The shadows under Osamu’s eyes were prominent, made worse by the stress of whatever information that he was given. 

“But?” Sakusa asked, unable to keep the anxiety out of his tone. 

“His-his eyes--” Osamu choked out. For the first time since they had arrived at the hospital, he was crying. Osamu Miya was crying. Sakusa stared at him, unsure of what to do. He awkwardly patted his arm, resisting the urge to pull away. 

“What about them?” 

“They- the attackers- cut them up. Really badly. He’s… he’s gonna be blind.” Sakusa stepped back, jolted by the revelation. He ran his hands through his hair, at a loss for words. Atsumu Miya, genius setter, was blind. His friend, someone he cared about, was blind . His sight had been brutally ripped away by an event he could not predict or control. The cataclysm rocked Sakusa to his core; he couldn’t imagine how Atsumu would react when he woke up in a world of darkness. 

Maybe he won’t. Maybe it’s just a mistake.

“Don’t lose hope yet. Doctors get stuff wrong all the time. I bet- I bet he’s fine.” Sakusa had to believe that. It was too surreal to believe Atsumu was blind. 

“This is my fault. I should’ve-- I should’ve gone with him. Then he wouldn’t have been-been a-attacked.” Osamu stumbled over his words, more sobs forcing their way out. Sakusa felt like he should be doing something, giving him a hug or patting his shoulder. Instead, he watched, his own shock echoing hollowly in his skull. 

“It’s not your fault. You aren’t the one who cut open his eyes, are you?” Sakuse forced out, his own words feeling constricted in his throat. Osamu looked up and shook his head. “Then it wasn’t your fault.” 

“But if I had gone--” Osamu started. Sakusa cut him off by holding up his hand. 

“There’s no point in thinking about what ifs . You can apologize for whatever you think you are guilty of, and move on. Atsumu-- you know how he is. He’s gonna try and resist all the help we try to give to him.” Sakusa said sharply. “So stop wallowing in self pity and suck it up. Should you have gone with him? Yes. But can you change the past? No. ” Osamu flinched as if he had been slapped. He blinked once, twice, and then wiped away his tears. 

“You’re right.” Osamu stood up and forced a smile. He wiped away the tears quickly, his eyes still red. Sakusa gave him an affirmative nod. 

“Let’s go see him.” Sakusa opened the door to Atsumu’s room. The sunlight filtered in, casting a pale yellow glow in the pristine white room. There were two chairs in the corner, and a bouquet of flowers sitting on the table next to Atsumu’s bed. Not that he would get to see them. The monitor system was on Atsumu’s left. Sakusa was relieved to see the heart rate steady.  An oxygen mask had been placed over Atsumu’s nose and mouth. He watched it fog up at regular intervals. 

“I just… I just can’t believe this happened.” Osamu said quietly. Sakusa glanced over at Atsumu. He was so still; this was the first time Sakusa ever saw him lay down for more than five minutes. The pristine white bandages covered up the scars already forming across his facing. The marks that would set him apart from the rest of society. He bowed his head slightly. Another wave of grief struck him, sharper than a sword. The rise and fall of Atsumu’s chest was constant, the glassy mask fogging up with every exhale. He was pale, paler than Sakusa had ever seen him. His life was hanging in the balance, delicately balancing upon a narrow beam. If he were to falter, if he were to slip off of the beam… Sakusa shuddered at the thought, a fresh pang of anxiety hitting him. 

Sakusa sat down on his bedside. He sighed, running his hands through his hair. Atsumu had to wake up. He was far too stubborn to die. Osamu stood silently behind him, watching the heart monitor continue to beep, the tone as mournful as funeral bells. Sakusa pushed the thought out of his mind. 

“Neither can I.” He responded softly. The clock continued to tick, piercing through the deathly silence and chilling Sakusa to the bone. 

--

When Atsumu initially woke up, he wasn’t certain that he was actually awake. 

Everything was still dark. He had no idea where he was; was it just his subconscious? Was he dead? He continued to try and open his eyes. 

Maybe he had been kidnapped. That seemed like a logical explanation. 

Atsumu felt like he was floating. He could barely feel his extremities, a soft fog clouding his judgement. His head was spinning. He felt like his head should be hurting, and yet there was nothing. He could barely think straight, everything was so clouded. 

Atsumu could faintly make out the sounds of a monitor. A beeping noises breaking through the haze like a fog light. He tried to open his eyes again, but there was still nothing but the void. He could hear people talking softly in the background— maybe to him? He wasn’t sure. He still felt discombobulated, not quite on earth. He felt some sort of pressure on his shoulder; probably a pat. He had no idea why that was going on. Did something happen that he needed reassurance?

To be honest, Atsumu had no idea what the hell was happening. And strangely enough, he was okay with that. Everything felt fine, like there was no real reason to freak out. A sense of peace washing over him, gently wrapping around him and keeping him calm. 

Steadily, the floating feeling decreased into a groggy sensation. Atsumu was certain (mostly) that he was awake. He still couldn’t see; definitely a problem. Maybe it was a blindfold. He wanted to raise his hand and feel for it, but it still felt like it was made out of lead. He opted to continue to lay still. 

“...’ello?” He called. Atsumu winced. His throat was dry, scratchy from... well, he didn’t know. He forced himself to swallow and speak again. “‘Ave I been kidnapped?” 

There was no response, just the beeping of the machine. It was really starting to get on his nerves. Atsumu sighed, leaning back against— well, he also didn’t know what that was either. And yet, he wasn’t afraid. He felt safe, but he had no idea where he was or how he got here.

The door (ah, he was in a room of some sort) creaked open. Atsumu shifted his attention toward the sound. 

“Heyyyy...” He called out drowsily. A wave of exhaustion slammed him in the face. Being awake was way more work than he bargained for. 

“‘Tsumu? Oh my god, yer awake! ” He heard a voice, one that belonged to Osamu. He felt arms wrapping around his shoulders. 

“Whadya mean... ‘m awake?” Atsumu asked, raising his arms up and patting his brother on the back. Osamu drew back, and another weight  settled on the edge of what he assumed was a bed.

“You’ve been unconscious for five days, Tsumu. You’ve been in the hospital since then.”

Atsumu’s thoughts froze as Osamu dropped the news on him. Five days? He blinked again— was he dreaming? Everything was still dark— he would’ve asked why, but he was shocked into silence. The mental fog was clearing slowly, every passing second allowing more thoughts to pass through. 

“Five days? What—“ Atsumu broke off. “Oh.” The memories came rushing back, as if a floodgate had been open and the tide was coming in. The attack. The knife. The pain, the blood, it all was coming back. Osamu shifted next to him. 

“The doctors said you would’ve died if- if it had been even five minutes later.” Osamu said quietly. “And even then, they weren’t sure you were gonna wake up.” Atsumu felt like a weight had been dropped on him. His mind was reeling as he processed the information. 

“Holy shit.” He managed to say finally. “That’s.. wow.” 

“Yeah.” Atsumu could feel Osamu’s state on him. He felt a prickle of unease as tried to sit up again. “How long are the pain meds ‘upposed to be in effect?” There was a beat of silence. Atsumu cleared his throat, waiting for an answer. 

“Oh— sorry. I don’t know. The doctor’ll be in here soon.. I’m gonna leave you alone for now, ‘Kay?”  Osamu said in a hurry. The weight left his bed as his brother got up. 

“Uh.. okay.” Atsumu said. “But wait, do you know—“ He heard the door click shut again. He let out a sigh of frustration. He just wanted to know why he couldn’t see— and now why the hell Osamu was acting so strangely.

Atsumu sat in silence for another few minutes. The twinge of unease was growing into one of anxiety. What wasn’t Osamu telling him? The monitor was beeping louder now. Or maybe he was just noticing it more. He didn’t know; everything was collectively crashing down on him, like a tidal wave rising up to sweep him away. 

He reached up and hesitantly felt his face. Soft bandages met his touch. He traced them across his cheeks, drawing their path as they crossed over his eyes . The anxiety was growing worse, reaching new heights as he continued to feel the gauze. 

The door opened again, and a heavy gait sounded. Atsumu dropped his hands, turning his attention back to what he thought was the room’s entrance. He heard the squeak of a chair being drawn up. 

“I’m gonna assume you’re one of the doctors.” Atsumu said, breaking the silence. 

“I am. My name is doctor Ai Eiko.” The voice was warm, but he could detect an undertone to it. It was... sad. Or maybe uneasy, as if it were holding a great secret that she was reluctant to share. Atsumu clutched the bedsheets, forcing down the fear. 

“Uh... nice to meet you.” Atsumu muttered quietly. 

“Likewise.” The doctor responded. She paused once, before continuing. “How much do you remember from the attack?” 

“They jumped me. And stabbed me. And then I probably passed out.” Atsumu said with a shrug. The memory became more detailed every second. He kept shoving it down, not particularly interested in reliving it.  

“All right.” Doctor Eiko paused again. He heard the scratching of a pencil, likely writing down what he said. “That is what happened, essentially. You were brought in by bystanders, and at that point had lost a lot of blood. You’re very lucky to be alive, y’know.” 

“So everyone tells me.” Atsumu responded. “But I can’t see. That’s just- that’s just temporary, right? From the bandages?” 

“You had multiple stab wounds to the torso and lacerations across your face.” The doctor pressed on, ignoring his question. “Most of the ones to your torso were pretty shallow, but some of them did become infected. However, you are out of the danger zone. You’ll live.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Atsumu persisted. “Why can’t I see?” He was scared now, more scared than he could let show. Deep down, he knew what the doctor was going to say. 

It didn’t ease the coming blow. 

“Your... in the matter of your vision...” There was another long pause, one filled with apprehension. The silence filled an eternity, one where hope still shone like a beacon. Atsumu could reach for it, he could try and hold on for dear life. He was not ready to let go of this sliver of hope, following the candle through the darkness. 

“The knife cuts were directly through the cornea and irises of your eyes, deep enough to get to the lens. The lens is what controls the perception of light, color, and shape, ultimately helping with vision as a whole. We did our best to salvage what we could but... it was too late.” 

Atsumu’s mouth was dry. He could feel his breath coming in shorter and shorter, as the lantern of hope slowly began to fizzle out. 

“What-what are you—“ 

“I’m very sorry to report this, but Miya-san, your vision is completely gone. As of now, you are legally blind.” 

The candle was extinguished. Atsumu slumped back against the pillows, shocked into silence. The doctor drew in a breath, as if to say more, but chose not to. Instead, she walked away, and a new gait took her place. 

“I am truly sorry. Your family and friends are here if you want to receive visitors.” A nurse (at least, that’s what he assumed) said softly, sympathy lacing their tone. 

“Oh, okay.” Atsumu said numbly. He felt trapped, trapped under the darkness. The pressure was building in his ears, reaching a crescendo. Blind, blind, blind.

“Do you want to see them?” The nurse pressed gently. 

“Not-not right now.” The pain medication was beginning to wear off. A dull ache spread across his body, spreading from his head down to his toes. “Maybe later.” 

Atsumu wasn’t ready to face them. He heard the nurse leave, the door shutting behind them. He slumped back against the pillows, still processing.

His entire world, his way of life, broken. 

Atsumu’s head was spinning. His sight was gone. He wouldn’t be able to watch a movie, or see the sunrise, or look at his friends and family. Would he be able to keep playing volleyball? His stomach twisted. He felt sick. And he couldn’t even see where the trash can was so he could grab it in case he did throw up. The door opened and Atsumu sighed. 

“Listen, I said I wasn’t ready for visitors—“

“Atsumu, it’s me. Kiyoomi.” Oh. He pushed himself up in his bed. He forced a smile, trying to put on a brave face. 

“Hey, Omi.” He heard the scrape of a chair as Kiyoomi pulled up a seat. 

“Sorry for barging in, but I have to get home. And I wanted to see— er, visit you before I left.” Atsumu nodded, reclining back against the pillows. 

“It’s fine. I’m just… really drowsy from the drugs.” 

“Makes sense.” The silence stretched between them, infinite as the galaxy. It was too hard to speak. Atsumu couldn’t think of a topic, and clearly neither could Kiyoomi. 

“How are you feeling?” Kiyoomi asked.

“Like shit.” Atsumu admitted. “I’m tired and the pain medication is starting to wear off.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine soon.” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu could picture the forced smile, his tone strained. He took in a shuddering breath and shook his head slowly. 

“No I won’t. Kiyoomi-kun, I can’t see.” Atsumu’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet. The steady beep of the heart monitor drowned out his thoughts. Kiyoomi shifted next to him, a jolt of shock clearly hitting him. 

“You’re lying.”  Kiyoomi snapped, voice thick with emotions. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that? Stop messing with me, it’s just the bandages.” 

“Omi, I’m not lying.” Atsumu said, a note of panic entering his voice. “I can’t see anything. It’s just a void. The doctors told ya that already, right?”

“I didn’t want to believe them.” He said softly. 

“Neither did I.” Atsumu said, biting his lip. He felt tears pricking the corner of his eyes. Apparently  he could still cry. Great . He forced them down, turning his head away from Kiyoomi in case the tears actually started falling. Kiyoomi’s phone went off. Atsumu heard it click on, and the spiker sighed. 

“My mom… I have to go.” Kiyoomi said in a rush. 

“I get it.” Atsumu forced a smile. “Good luck at school this week. And volleyball. Have fun.”

“I’ll see you later.” Kiyoomi said softly. There was regret in his voice. It was clear he wanted to stay, but Atsumu knew he couldn’t. He was happy that Kiyoomi even made the effort to show up, to be here for him. 

“Bye, Omi.” Atsumu paused before continuing. “Don’t worry about me,’kay? I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll do my best.” The door shut, and Atsumu sighed. He could lie to Kiyoomi, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Atsumu had no idea what the future held for him. 

His life was a glass window, and it had been shattered in one hour. He was left to pick up the pieces in the dark, without a star to guide him. 

—

Six days later, the doctors finally discharged Atsumu. His parents had flown back in from America, their dismay at his condition evident. He couldn’t tell if that was because they genuinely cared… or if it was just one more thing to worry about. An extra, unneeded step.

They flew back to America before he was even discharged.

Maybe it was because they couldn’t bear to see their son like this. Or maybe it was because the business deal was more important to them then his health was. Atsumu could care less. 

He was hurting either way. 

Osamu had to go back to school. He always came back to the hospital, sitting on the chair and filling him in on what went on during the day. The teachers already heard what had happened, and rumors were starting to spread. Where was the loud brother of Osamu? That one volleyball player? Osamu said nothing, at Atsumu’s request. He wasn’t ready for the school to know what had happened. 

“Kita and the volleyball team know.” Osamu had admitted. “Kita was here when you were brought in, and he told the team.” Atsumu had merely shrugged. It was probably good the team knew. They would have to start preparing a new setter, since he was probably out for the season.

He hoped he wasn’t. Atsumu would fight for his chance to play. He could make it work, somehow. 

The doctors had gone over what his life would look like. They said he would have to start learning Braille. Atsumu stifled a scream when he heard that. It was essentially learning a new language, and Atsumu had nearly failed his English class. Twice. They also said he would have to use a cane (since he actively resented the idea of getting a dog) when he went out in public. Or have someone go with him. Atsumu didn’t have plans to go anywhere but his home and school. 

He’d heard how bad the scars were. 

He was embarrassed by them, to be honest. They would earn him nothing but strange looks and pitiful glances people thought he couldn’t feel. And they were a reminder that he was too naive, that he should have been careful. 

Atsumu let out a frustrated sigh. He was mildly impressed with himself that he managed to change out of the hospital gown and into his regular clothes. Granted, his shirt was probably on backwards, but he often wore it that way when he could see the tag. 

There was a knock on the door just as Atsumu sat back up. He hopped off the bed, walking forward a few steps… right into a chair. The door opened as Atsumu swore loudly. 

“There’s a chair there.” Osamu commented. 

“Shut up, you easy bake oven.” Atsumu snapped back, quickly righting himself. He heard the footsteps come closer, and Osamu’s stare on him. 

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah. I’ve been ready.” 

“Here.” He felt something shoved into his hands. He felt the sides, discerning that they were glasses of some sort. He dropped his hands, holding the item limply at his side. 

“Bitch.” Atsumu snapped at Osamu. “Glasses won’t help me.”

“They’re sun glasses. To hide the scars. If ya want.” Osamu said patiently. Atsumu blinked, then put them on hesitantly. Part of him wished there would be a change in something ; maybe a shift in the lighting behind his eyes. But it stayed the same, the void refusing to change. 

“If these aren’t actually sunglasses, I’ll rip out your spine and beat you with it.”

“Noted. They’re crooked, by the way.” Atsumu quickly adjusted them, running his hands along them to make sure it was straightened out. 

His parents had filled out the paperwork before they left again. The disdain the nurses showed when talking about them made Atsumu feel a bitter sense of happiness— that he wasn’t the only one who thought they were shitty excuses for parents. So when the date of his discharge rolled around, Atsumu was ready to go. 

Osamu was speaking to the doctor again as Atsumu waited patiently. He didn’t want to hear more about his new “condition.” It was a repeated blow to the chest, over and over. He heard footsteps walking toward him and he lifted his head.

“The doctors say to use this— it’s a cane. Since we have to take the train and all.” Osamu explained. Atsumu gingerly took the handle, and pressed it against the floor. It felt awkward. It wasn’t like he needed one; it wasn’t his walking that was damaged. Osamu could sense his doubt, and he continued to explain. 

“It’s so you can feel things in front of you. Y’know, so you don’t trip. Since you’re too stubborn to get a dog.” 

“I hate dogs. They just bark and crap. And did you just… forget I’m allergic to them?” Atsumu muttered. Osamu gave no response, so he assumed his brother had forgotten that key piece of information. He took a step forward, using the cane to feel for variations in the ground. “This will be fine. I think.” 

“Alright. Thank you Doctor Eiko-chan for all your help.” Osamu thanked the doctor. Atsumu gave an affirmative nod, still making his way to the elevator. He felt Osamu’s arm guiding him in what must have been the right direction. The merry ding of the elevator filled his ears as they rode down in silence.

The train ride was also awkward and quiet. No one spoke to them, and Atsumu didn’t find a need to instigate something. Osamu pulled over a cab once they arrived back in their tow and when they finally reached their house, Atsumu was already spent. 

Navigating in the dark took a lot more energy than what he anticipated. 

Atsumu felt Osamu gently guiding him through the door. The door he couldn’t see. He felt the sides of the frame as he crossed the threshold. The door shut behind him. Atsumu kept one hand on the wall as he struggled with his shoes. 

“Do you-“ Osamu began. 

” No .” He responded sharply. He slid to the floor and pulled the tennis shoe off, a small victory. It shouldn’t have to be a victory. He could feel Osamu standing next to him, waiting. It did nothing to ease the stress. Atsumu stood back up, using the wall for support.

“The doctor said you should stay in the house for a couple of days. To get used to...” A shift in the air signaled Osamu was making some sort of gesture. Atsumu sighed. 

“I know.” He took a step forward, hands out in front of him. 

“That’s—here, let me help you.” He heard Osamu took a step forward, the floorboard creaking underneath his doorstep. 

“No, I’ve got this. I know exactly where I’m going—“ Atsumu felt his hands collide with something .

“That’s not the stairs.” Osamu called. Atsumu shifted his direction, walking forward until he felt something else— a door handle? “Also not the stairs!” 

“Shit.” Atsumu swore loudly, taking a step back. 

“Look out for the—“ Osamu broke off as Atsumu felt his head collide with the wall behind him. “Never mind.”

“Yes I can look out for things. Like the wall. With my eyes. That were brutally stabbed.” Atsumu deadpanned. He could picture Osamu wincing, realizing the error in his words. 

“I.. uh...” 

“It’s fine.” Atsumu turned in the direction of his voice and walked back over. “I don’t expect people’s vocabulary to change.” He knew that people would continue to say things like “look” or “watch.” As much as it stung, it was the way of the world. 

God, he took so much for granted. 

“All right. Which way are the stairs?” Atsumu sighed, his attention back on Osamu. His brother’s demeanor shifted, and he could picture Osamu’s sad smile. 

“C’mon.” His brother nudged him in a different direction. Atsumu complied, keeping his hands in front of him. He felt the handle of the stairs and pulled himself up. Osamu stood behind him, waiting. 

“Don’t worry, it’s only a few steps.” 

“I know.” Atsumu took another step up, clutching the railing. He made his way up slowly, not wanting to risk tripping and face planting on the floor. He finally made it to the top, breathing a sigh of relief. 

“Congrats, you didn’t trip.” Osamu said with a slight snicker. 

“Shut up.” Atsumu snapped “It wasn’t that hard. Just a few stumbles here and there.” 

“Right. Are you just going to your room or…?”

“Yeah. I know where my door is. I think.” Atsumu said, the confidence in his voice wavering slightly. 

“Right. I’ll just bring dinner up when it’s done.” Osamu’s footsteps grew softer as he went down the stairs. Atsumu cautiously walked to the end of the hallway, hands slightly out in front of him. He found the door, fumbling with the knob for a moment before pulling it open. 

He didn’t know why he had expected to suddenly see something. The only difference was the change of air pressure, which Atsumu had begun to notice more frequently. It was, after all, one of his only indicators of a change of scene. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. 

Atsumu tread forward, almost immediately tripping on something . He groped for it, discerning that it was some sort of chair. He sighed and pushed it out of the way. 

He paced his room, feeling the walls with his hands and counting the footsteps from one end to another. He stubbed his toe more times than he cared to admit. But once he was finished, he felt that he had a pretty good grasp on the landmarks of his room. It only took him ten or so minutes.

Atsumu was not looking forward to repeating the process for the rest of the house, let alone school. He flopped down on his bed, feeling for a pillow. He grabbed it, shoving his face into it and letting out a frustrated scream. 

After getting that out, Atsumu sat back up. The frustration was not ebbing. It simply increased with every passing second. Being in his room was another conscious reminder that he would never see it again. He sighed and pulled out his phone. He froze suddenly, a thought crossing his mind.

Wait. How the hell was he supposed to do this? Atsumu sat up again. He clicked open his phone. Osamu had removed the passcode, and told him to set his fingerprint as the new opener. 

Google Assistant, right. He should use that. The doctors told him that’s how he would have to use his phone. They’d enabled TalkBack, making sure that the phone would be compatible with his lack of sight. Atsumu cleared his throat as he held down on the home button. 

“How may I help you?” The feminine voice came through on the other line. Atsumu remembered the irritation he would express toward the bot when he could see, especially if he accidentally pressed the home button too hard and it would pop up. He supposed he would have to get used to it.

“Uh… open settings.” Atsumu said. There was a pause, and he remembered he had to specify. “The passcode place?” 

“I do not recognize that command. Please try again.”

“The passcode setting.” Atsumu snapped, agitated. 

“Opening Passcode & Touch ID.” After another five minutes of struggling, Atsumu managed to set his fingerprint as his new passcode. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Call Omi-Omi.” Atsumu said, bringing the phone to his ear. He listened as it rang. He wasn’t expecting Kiyoomi to pick up, but he might as well try. 

“Hello?” The other line came to life, Kiyoomi’s familiar voice coming through the other line. Atsumu smiled.  

“Hey Omi, I was wondering if you’re free this weekend. I’m not supposed to leave the house for a few days, so I was wondering if you want to come over.”

“Sure.” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu could picture him shrugging, as if it was no big deal to take another two hour train just to visit him. He felt a blush rising on his face at the thought. He swiftly cleared his throat. 

“Great. I’ll see- er, uh, I look— fuck it. See you this weekend.” 

—

Kiyoomi Sakusa deserved an award of some sort. He managed to pull himself out of bed at 8 am on a Saturday and get on a nasty, germ-infested train for two hours and then walk down the muddy streets just to visit one Atsumu Miya. And yet he found that he could do so without complaint. He genuinely wanted to be here. 

It was roughly 11 by the time he reached the Miya household. Sakusa elected to keep his mask on the entire time; he had steadily been working on his fear, and knew that with Atsumu’s disability he would no longer be able to remain contact-free. It had come down to the choice of whether or not Atsumu was worth getting over his fear for. 

He was worth it. Underneath the arrogant, conceited exterior, the blonde was insecure. He cared what people thought. Atsumu’s natural talent and over-competitive spirit was also his downfall. When he wasn’t the best, his entire demeanor shifted. His insecurity bled through. If Sakusa had a guess, it was because he believed the only way people would like him is if he was on top. Atsumu had admitted all of the loneliness he had endured to him. It was disheartening, but revealed a lot about why the setter acted in the way he did. 

Sakusa reached the door and knocked on it. He stepped back, watching the flower petals from the trees fall down to the earth. Spring was a beautiful time; and yet it seemed fraught with tragedies. Sakusa noted that the worst occurrences tended to happen in this season. His mysophobia had first shown itself during the season. His dad walked out as the cherry blossom petals lined the sky. And now Atsumu’s vision was gone, taken during the season of new beginnings.

It was rather twisted in his opinion.  

The door opened, and Sakusa jolted his attention back to the house. Osamu was standing at the door, the younger of the twins looking more disgruntled and exhausted than normal. His silver hair was duller than normal, and the shadows under his eyes were more prominent than normal. 

“Hello Sakusa-kun. How are you?” Osamu said with a forced smile. 

“I’m alright.” Sakusa looked him up and down. “You need a nap.”

“I know.” Osamu stretched and rubbed his eyes. “It’s been hard. Nothin’ against ‘Tsumu, but…”

“I get it. You don’t have to justify yourself to me.” He shrugged. “It’s gonna be hard no matter what. He can’t see , for Christ’s sake.” The silver haired boy nodded, then stepped out of the way of the door. 

“Atsumu’s upstairs. He hasn’t come downstairs since he got here.” Osamu looked up hopefully. “Maybe you can convince him to try the stairs?” 

“Maybe.” Sakusa shrugged again. “You and I both know how utterly stubborn he is.”

“Worth a shot.” The other twin said with a shrug. “I have a date with Suna later. I trust you not to let him die.”

“No promises.” Sakusa nodded one more time and walked toward the stairs. He had been to the Miya household before. Atsumu had convinced him to come over at some point when they started training together. He had been skeptical at first, his germaphobia taking hold of him. But the blonde had promised to clean the entire house; and he did. The place had been spotless, and Sakusa found himself relaxed in the house. 

Like it was a second safe space. 

He knew the house had not been cleaned this time. He could feel the familiar chills running up his spine as he thought of the sheer amount of germs circling the room. Sakusa tugged his gloves a little further up his hands as he climbed the stairs. He flinched away from the hand bars as he climbed the stairs. 

Sakusa knocked on Atsumu’s door. He pulled out his phone and texted his mom that he had made it to the Miya house without being kidnapped. A crash sounded from the other room, followed by a string of swear words. Sakusa sighed. 

“There’s a fucking wall here!” Atsumu shouted from the other side of the door. “Who the hell put a  WALL here!” 

“You’re standing in front of the door.” Sakusa called, not looking up from his phone. There was a pause, and then more scrambling noises. He looked up as the door cracked open. Atsumu was standing there, gauze still wrapped around his face. His hair was disheveled, and he was wearing his baggy volleyball sweatshirt. 

“Omi-omi?”

“Yes?” 

“ Omi! ” Atsumu practically leapt at him, wrapping his arms around his torso. Sakusa stiffened, the chills in his spine growing to tremors. He gently peeled the blonde’s arms off of him, stepping back. Atsumu seemed to realize his mistake and stood up straight. “Oh. Sorry…” 

“It’s okay.” Sakusa shook himself out, stuffing his hands in his pockets. It’s for Atsumu, it’s for Atsumu, suck it up. Atsumu stepped out of the way of the door, straight into the frame. Sakusa winced. “Are you okay?

“Yeah.” He shook his head. The blonde smiled at Sakusa. “This happens quite frequently.” 

“Not surprised.” He stepped into the room. Normally, Atsumu cleaned it up when Sakusa was visiting. He made it spotless, not a speck of dust in sight. He could tell that he had attempted to clean. The bed was haphazardly made, but that was as far as it went. Sakusa didn’t expect anything from him, but the fact that he had tried to tidy up the room made him strangely happy. 

“So… how was your week?” Atsumu asked as he stumbled to his bed. Sakusa leaned against the wall, unable to bring himself to sit on the bed. The mysophobia had an iron grip on him, preventing him from sitting close to him. 

“Uneventful.” Sakusa responded simply. “I just don’t understand why we have to study History. The past is the past, and it’s not like we’ve proven we learn from it.”

“Good point.” Atsumu said. “Better than math. Fuck math.”

“Imagine not being good at Algebra.” 

“At least I’m passing History.” 

“Touché.” The banter continued after that. Sakusa was pleasantly surprised at how easily they fell back into their old routine. Clearly the attack had done nothing to damage Atsumu’s smart mouth. Atsumu finally noticed how far away Sakusa was standing and a quizzical expression crossed his face, 

“Why don’t you come sit down Omi?” Sakusa shook his head quickly. When Atsumu gave no response, he quickly cleared his throat. Right. No visual cues.

“Sorry. No thanks.” He said. Atsumu’s face shifted slightly, his expression crestfallen. 

“Alright. I… I did try. To clean it up.” 

“I know. I’m sorry, I just... “ Sakusa jolted up. He knew this would happen. He knew that his damned germaphobia would make everything even worse than it already was. Atsumu would rely on physical guidance and physical affection. 

Sakusa couldn’t give him that. Unless he learned how. He had no idea where to even begin. Getting over a phobia was not something he could do over night. 

But if Atsumu had to learn to live in the dark, maybe he could face his fears too. 

“No, don’t apologize.” Atsumu said quickly, turning his attention away. “I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“...I’m going to work on it.” Sakusa said in a low voice. The setter shifted back up, slightly slack-jawed. 

“Huh?”

“I’m going to work on this stupid fear I have.” Sakusa said again, more confidently. He wanted this. If not for his sake, then for Atsumu’s. He cared about him, enough to try and reshape his lifestyle. He resolved to start researching the minute he got back. 

“It’s not stupid.” Atsumu said, shaking his head. “I’m sure there’s a reason.” Sakusa was always shocked when Atsumu showed an ounce of maturity. He expected the blonde to pout, but he didn’t, instead putting on a face of understanding. 

“I have a reason. And it’s stupid.” Sakusa said simply. He was a cautious person. He hated to do things without considering them or with a risk involved. He had always kept the story behind his mysophobia away from the public, refusing to tell anyone why he was so afraid of germs. 

It wasn’t even the germs. It was the disorder, the fact that perfection could be ruined by one spot. His dad was that spot, and when he left, he made the mess even worse. Sakusa hated it. He hated him, hated him for staying and hated him for leaving. 

“I’m sure it’s not. Trust me, I’m the expert on stupid.” Atsumu said, smirking slightly. 

“Fine.” Sakusa raised his head, a challenging tone in his voice. “When my dad left, I noticed that… that there was dirt from his shoes still on the floor. I don’t know why it freaked me out, but it did. And I remember cleaning the entire fucking house, just because I couldn’t stand that one speck of mud. And then it just got worse and worse. I would step outside, and realize how unclean the air was. I would go to school and see all the grime on the floors and the fingerprints on the lockers and mirrors, and nearly break down. I just couldn’t stand the sight of disorder, of uncleanness. It got identified as mysophobia when I was ten.” Sakusa took a shuddering breath. “They said I could try exposure therapy… but I never wanted to do it. But now... I have a reason.” 

“You flatter me, Omi.” Atsumu said, a note of humor in his voice. It shifted almost immediately to a serious tone as he spoke again. “Kiyoomi, I’m so sorry that happened. That.. that--”

“Yeah. Me too.” Sakusa cut him off. An awkward pause followed, and he pushed himself away from the wall. 

“Come on. We’re going downstairs.” He declared. He had noted that Osamu had cleared away their main room earlier; he could suck it up and sit down there. 

“No.” Atsumu said, a defiant note entering his voice. Right. There’s the Atsumu we know and love. Sakusa crossed his arms and tapped his foot against the floor.

“Get up, you stubborn asshole. We’re going downstairs.” He snapped back.

“But--” Atsumu started to protest, face planting onto his blankets. 

“How do you expect to learn to function again if you won’t come out of your room? Newsflash: you won’t.” Sakusa deadpanned. Atsumu peeled his head off of his bed, his expression grumpy. He groaned and rolled off of it, tentatively walking toward the door. Sakusa opened it and stepped out of it, patiently waiting for Atsumu to follow.

“Fine.” Atsumu grumbled. “But when I die from fall damage, it’s your fault.” 

“This isn’t Minecraft.” Sakusa said flatly. “You’ll have to walk up and down stairs for the rest of your life, you better figure it out.” Atsumu didn’t respond. Once they reached the end of the hallway, Atsumu paused. Sakusa stepped down the first step. 

“Alright genius, what now?” 

“Follow my voice. And keep your hand on the railing. Maybe measure each step with your foot every time you take them.” He mused out loud. He turned his attention back to Atsumu as the blonde gripped the hand railing, reaching out with his foot. He placed it on the first stair, followed by his other one. 

They descended slowly, taking their time. Atsumu nearly slipped twice, but managed to right himself. Sakusa could see the sweat on his brow by the time they made it down the flight. That scared him. He withheld a sigh, mentally adding another item to the ever growing list of Things People Take for Granted: Blind Edition. 

“Good job.” Sakusa said earnestly. Atsumu’s smile was strained as he nodded. 

“Great. I have to do that every time I want to forge for food myself.” He joked, his voice pinched.

“I’m sure you have time to figure it out.” Sakusa responded. 

“Not really.”

“Why?” 

“I have to go back to school on Tuesday.” Atsumu said. Emotion cracked through his voice, the fear bleeding through. He was anxious, it was clear. Sakusa reached out with one gloved hand and patted Atsumu’s shoulder, managing not to flinch away. The blonde looked up and smiled softly. 

“It’ll be fine. You’re an idiot, but you’re a tough idiot.” 

“Thanks Omi-omi.” Atsumu pulled something out of his pocket, which turned out to be a pair of sunglasses. He slipped the sunglasses on, turning his attention back to Sakusa. “What do you think about these sunglasses?” The setter was wearing a pair of Aviators, the duel nose bridge shining in the lights. The lens were dark, completely hiding the scars across his eyes. Sakusa remembered when he wore those fun during summer, simply because the sun was too bright. 

Not that it mattered anymore. 

“They look good.” Sakusa reassured him. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Atsumu paused before responding, another forced smile crossing his face. It was full of pain, a sadness underlying the facade of joy. 

“I hope so.”

—

There were not enough words in the dictionary to describe how absolutely shitty the day went. 

On Sunday, Atsumu had been permitted to walk the school grounds to get a feel for them. He was asked several times why he didn’t have a dog, and everytime he had to explain the wonders of allergies. After pacing the campus multiple times, he figured he had enough of a grasp on it to at least survive through Tuesday. He knew where his classes were— that was what mattered.

He avoided the gym. 

It hurt too much to think about it, let alone step foot inside it. Atsumu hadn’t touched a volleyball in the days since the accident. Kiyoomi said he thought he was capable of doing it, of relearning to play, but Atsumu just didn’t know. It weighed heavily on his mind, reminding him he may have lost more than just his sight. 

Tuesday rolled around, and Atsumu knew he would have to face everyone. The truth would come out; whether he was the one to speak it or someone let it slip. He kept his sunglasses on as he entered the facility. 

No one approached him. It was as if he was in a bubble, shielded from the torrential downpour that was his classmates. He could feel the shocked stares. Atsumu Miya was back, but there was something off. Why was he wearing the sunglasses? Were those scars sticking out from under them?  

The truth was revealed by second period. 

Atsumu wasn’t sure who spilled what happened; he has brushed off all questions, ignored the comments about the tape recorder and bare desk. He didn’t want to talk about it. He certainly thought about it; but every time he opened his mouth to explain, his vocal chords seized up and the only thing that came out was silence. 

He suspected a teacher let it slip. Gossip travelled like a wildfire at his school; and there was nothing more interesting than the rising star setter suddenly going blind due to an assault , of all things. He continued to ignore the questions, keeping his head down. 

Atsumu was really tired of the whispers.

Every time he walked down a hall or turned down a new corridor, the place would go silent. And then people would start talking in hushed voices as he brushed past. It was almost as if they thought he was deaf— he resisted the urge to turn around and yell at them. He may be blind, but he could still hear every word uttered under their breaths.

His teachers were just as bad, if not worse. They were likely staring at him with pity; Atsumu could feel their eyes on his back every time he sat down at his desk, the mahogany wood bare. Despite the fact that he couldn’t take physical notes, he still made an effort to listen in class and attempt to learn. He recorded all the lessons, as he was in the process of learning Braille, but it was a painstaking process. He was practically learning a new language, one where he had no visual cues to follow.  

The teachers would neglect to call on him, even on the rare occasion where Atsumu was certain he knew the answer. The pretended he didn’t exist, ignoring him to the point where it was worse than the attention his fellow students were giving him.

The whispers from the students would grow worse every time he stepped foot in a classroom. This was the most popular he had ever been, notorious for the accident that left him sightless.

Atsumu hated it. He hated every hushed voice that followed him, every single sideways glance the other people thought he couldn’t see but still felt anyway. He was looking forward to the end of the day, when he could call Kiyoomi.

He could feel his face heat up at the thought of the black haired boy. Atsumu knew for a fact he had a crush. When he was dying, his last thoughts were about him. He had no intention of acting on this notion. His friendship was more important than a crush. 

He needed Kiyoomi in his life. He was shocked that he hadn’t walked away when the accident happened. That he stayed , even as his life was flipped upside down. 

To think he begged for change at one point. Now Atsumu would give anything to rewind the clock, to have a second chance.

The end of the day drew nearer and nearer. Atsumu practically leapt from his seat, thanking his lucky stars he didn’t run into anything. He just wanted to go home. To be in a safe space.

And he really wanted to call Kiyoomi. 

As Atsumu shut his locker, the whispers came back in full force. They were still asking the same questions, wondering the same things. He did his best to shut it out, reminding himself he would be home soon. Even if he had to come do this again and again, at least the first day would be over. His temper continued to spike with every word uttered about him or the assault. 

“Damn... how does he even take notes? Or like... do anything?” One of the students was not the best at keeping their voice down. Atsumu clenched his fist, mentally counting down from ten. He had to stay calm, it wasn’t worth getting into a fight over. 

He gave up at six and turned around. 

“I'm going to hit you so hard in the stomach your vertebrae will pop out of your mouth like a pez dispenser.” Atsumu threatened, extending his finger in a gesture that was not considered family friendly.

“Chill man, I was just asking a question!” The hallway was quiet, as they sensed the brewing fight. 

“I’ve heard enough ‘questions’ today, thanks.” Atsumu snapped back. “So shut your trap.” 

“What are you gonna do? Punch me? Good luck finding me.” Atsumu took a step forward, hands balled into fists. He would not miss, even if he had to ram into this prick with his shoulder— 

Someone grabbed his arm. Atsumu turned and wrenched it out of the grip. 

“Atsumu.” Kita was there, speaking softly to him. The captain was clearly agitated, but was also doing his best to remain calm. He could feel how tense Kita was, and resisted the urge to call him out for it. “It’s not worth it.” 

“I’ve been putting up with this bullshit all day!” He protested, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I’m at my limit. I need to punch someone.” 

“Why don’t you come down to the gym for practice today?” Kita suggested.

“What, so I can watch you guys play? Oh wait, I can’t even do that.” Atsumu spat bitterly. He could feel Kita’s dismay as the captain stepped away.

“If you’re sure…” 

“I am.” Atsumu held his head high and walked away, ignoring the whispers that continued to follow him. He wanted to cover his ears, block all the voices out, but he had to pretend like it didn’t bother him. 

He made it to the bus stop before the first tear fell. 

—

Sakusa had found that his Tuesday was rather uneventful. He went to class, he went to practice, and he went home. He waited for his phone to go off, for Atsumu to call him. He clicked on his phone every few minutes, disappointed to see a lack of calls. 

He finally got a text at 5:30 pm. He was halfway through his math homework when his phone buzzed. Sakusa glances at it, assuming it would be Motoya bugging him about the very same homework he was suffering through. He did a double take when he saw the ID of the person messaging him. 

Atsumu: hey

Sakusa stared down at his phone, watching the little bubbles in the messenger app. He was mildly surprised that Atsumu chose to text him rather than call. He was probably experimenting, trying to learn how to use speech to text. 

Atsumu: oh shame cooked Rick i have like tree minutes to talk

Atsumu: Sire I am doing to slather you 

Atsumu: duck

Sakusa blinked at his screen, brain racing to decipher what Atsumu was trying to say. He stifled a laugh as he texted him back. 

Kiyoomi: Come again 

Atsumu: duck google resistant

Sakusa snorted. Speech to text clearly wasn’t going well. 

Kiyoomi: R you even typing in Japanese 

Kiyoomi: or speaking ig 

Atsumu: yes of fucking course I an 

Atsumu: Damn it 

Kiyoomi: ill have you know this is incredibly amusing to watch 

Atsumu: fuck of

Sakusa’s sides ached as he continued to laugh. As horrible as it was to laugh at Atsumu’s struggles, he could not help it as typo after typo came through. The rumors about the notorious “text to speech” mistakes were even better in action. 

Kiyoomi: have fun with figuring this out 

Atsumu: tree app doe not lime my 

Kiyoomi: Talk slower dumbass 

Atsumu: no heart emoji 

Atsumu: is there a heat 

Kiyoomi: no 

Kiyoomi: there is not a heat

Atsumu: I gave imp, can we call after dinner

Kiyoomi:  Thank god yes

Sakusa’s phone went off twenty minutes later (not that he was counting). He set down his pencil and picked it up. He reclined in his seat as the other line came to life, the static noises giving way to Atsumu’s voice. 

“Hey there, Omi.”

“Hi Atsumu.” Sakusa said. He smirked slightly, knowing full well what the next words would be. 

“Fuck speech to text.” Atsumu grumbled. “It’s so stupid. How the hell did it get ‘heat’ from ‘heart?’”

“It’s probably the accent.”

“It’s accent-phobic then.” Atsumu declared, 

“I’ll make sure to leave a scathing review on the app store.” Sakusa said with a yawn. 

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” There was a pause in the conversation. Sakusa stood up and walked to his bed, sitting down. He figured he could focus on the conversation rather than his homework.

“So…”

“Fuck school, too.”

“That bad?” Sakusa pursed his lips together.  

“Oh yeah. I’m pretty sure everyone thinks I’m an alien now.” Atsumu said with a forced laugh. “It was just annoying. At least no one called on me.” 

“You sound pissed.” Sakusa sighed. 

“Yeah, I am a little pissed.” Atsumu agreed. “I kinda don’t want to talk about it. I’m pretty sure Osamu is eavesdropping. I don’t want him to get any more worried then he already is.”

“You should tell him if something happens.” 

“Well...I already got in a fight.” Atsumu said, a slightly lofty note entering his voice. Sakusa’s jaw dropped slightly as processed what he had just been told. 

“ You what? ” He shouted into the phone. He heard Atsumu start to laugh, and he sighed. 

“Omi, you should know me well enough to know that this was inevitable.” The blonde chided. 

“Fair, but how ?” Sakusa said, slightly aghast. 

“The comments got on my nerves. So I threatened to punch someone.” Atsumu said simply. He could picture the lopsided grin on his face, shrugging as if it was no big deal he almost beat someone up. 

“Did you like… actually hit anyone?” 

“No… Kita stopped me.” Atsumu responded with a mournful tone. 

“Well… That’s probably good.” Sakusa muttered. “You didn’t have to go to the front office on your first day back.” 

“I would’ve totally kicked that asshole’s ass.” 

“Mm…” 

“No need to sound so skeptical!” Sakusa snorted, causing Atsumu to laugh more. He was secretly happy he could make him do that, signalling to him that there was still something joyful left in his life. 

“Speaking of Kita, he thought I should come to practice. Isn’t that ridiculous?” Atsumu’s tone flipped to one that was serious. Sakusa tilted his head, trying to think of a response. 

“No.” He said bluntly, unable to conjure one that was any better. 

“What?” The setter sounded astonished, as if Sakusa had started speaking in Tongues. 

“No, it’s not.” Sakusa reaffirmed. “You can still be a genius setter, Atsumu. You just have to learn how.”

“But I’m blind !”

“Tell me this: do you always see the ball when you set it?” He challenged, leaning back on his bed.

“...yes?”

“Wrong. You already know where it’s gonna go. So why can’t you figure out how to do this, even without your sight?” Sakusa continued, his voice remaining even. The other line was silent for a long time. 

“...I mean—“ Atsumu started. Sakusa shook his head, sighing. 

“Please try going to practice for me.” He cut him off, finality in his voice. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He knew deep down, Atsumu would be happier at least trying to play the support he loved. Sakusa would take the train back to Hyogo and drag him through the gym doors if he had to. 

“Fine. I’ll try.” Atsumu huffed, his irritation clear. Sakusa rolled his eyes, shifting the phone in his hand. He knew that Atsumu would probably thank him and Kita later; it would just take some time. “I have to go. Thanks for letting me harass you.” 

“It was not a problem.” Sakusa felt a blush spread across his face. He resisted the urge to slap himself, trying to force the redness back down. “Bye, Atsumu.” The other line clicked off. Sakusa stood up and walked over to his desk, pulling up another contact on his phone. 

Kiyoomi: Make sure Atsumu gets to the gym tomorrow. 

Osamu: ???

Kiyoomi: He said he would try playing volleyball again. 

Osamu: How tf did you talk him into that 

Kiyoomi: Idk I just pressured him until he said yes. 

Osamu: Damn okay ill hold him to that

Osamu: Thanks for the heads up

Kiyoomi: Don’t mention it.

Kiyoomi: just… let me know how it goes please.

Osamu: you got it

Sakusa set his phone down. He stared down at his math homework, unable to keep the feeling of triumph from spreading through him. He knew that Atsumu had the potential to be a great setter, despite all of his obstacles; clearly he wasn’t the only one who thought so, since the Inarizaki captain tried to get him to come back to practice. 

Sakusa wanted Atsumu to keep pursuing his dreams. Hell, he wanted him to set for Sakusa himself one day. 

He really hoped this worked. 

--

Atsumu was standing outside of the gym. 

It had taken him ten minutes to find it, but he had managed to do it. He could hear practice going on inside of it, the familiar sounds making him freeze up. 

He wanted to be there, too. 

He wanted to be setting. 

But he didn’t know if he could. Atsumu couldn’t see the ball. He needed his sight to find the location of the spikers, to find his opponents, to find the ball. How was he supposed to play without his eyes?

“Atsumu?” He jolted, hearing a voice behind him. Atsumu didn’t bother turning around; there was no point. His attention was already on the captain. 

“Hey, Kita.”

“Osamu said you might be coming to practice today.” Kita said breezily. “Come on. You’re late.” 

“Oh, but I’m not--”

“Yes. Yes, you are. I already bought equipment, so yes, you’re fucking practicing.” The captain grabbed Atsumu’s arm and dragged him into the gym. “And clearly you want to, since you already put on your practice clothes.”

“How do I play without--”

“Sound. Use sound. ” Kita responded. He let go of Atsumu’s arm, walking over to the stands. The sounds of practice stopped. He could feel all of their eyes on him , wondering what he was doing. 

They probably doubted him as much as he doubted himself.

“But--” Atsumu started protesting as he heard Kita start approaching. 

“Here. Catch.” He heard something jingling like sleigh bells, flying closer and closer. Atsumu stuck his arms out and felt something land in them. 

“What the hell is this?” 

“A volleyball designed specifically for those with visual impairments.” Kita informed him. Atsumu wrinkled his nose. 

“I…I don’t like that.”

“I know.” Kita’s tone softened. “But that doesn’t define you, Atsumu. Even if you need some special volleyball, you’re still the genius setter we all know and love. So go out onto the court and prove it. ” Atsumu blinked, still holding the volleyball. He bounced it against the floor. 

He could hear the familiar thump against the wood floor through the bell. It filled him with drive, with passion. He was going to set again. Atsumu tossed the ball in the air, listening for the sound. It was coming closer and closer. He threw his hands up and pushed it in an upward spiral, sending it toward Kita’s voice. He heard it collide with the captain’s arms as he caught it. 

“See?” Kita said. “You can still set.” 

“But what about during a game? When you aren’t stationary.”

“I found some drills. For all of us.” The captain dragged Atsumu over to what he guessed was the rest of the team. 

“”Tsumu!” Osamu was the first to greet him, smacking the back of his head. “It took you long enough to show your face here!”

“Shut up, ‘Samu.” He grumbled, still smiling. A chorus of “welcome backs” followed Osamu’s greeting. 

“I can’t believe you managed to stay away this long.” Ginjima commented. Atsumu could imagine his smirk, and he smiled back. 

“Neither can I.”

“Alright. Since we do have a blind player, there will be some changes to how we play the game.” Kita began, clapping his hands together. Atsumu turned his attention back to the captain. “For starters, we’re going to be playing with this kind of ball now.” Kita held up the jingling ball, shaking it once. “We will also be doing a lot more footwork. Official rules can only get us so far. For us to remain a top team, we have to function like one too. And part of our team includes Atsumu.” The captain took a breath before continuing on. 

“Our team does have some pretty dismal footwork anyway. But Atsumu will rely on sound-- right?” Atsumu gave him an affirmative nod. The stinging sensation was going away, replaced by resolve. He would use sound to his advantage, and use it to win no matter what. “So in order to find the spiker, he’ll have to hear you. So…” There was a rustle as Kita pulled out a sheet of paper. “I want Atsumu to start learning how to identify you by your gaits.”

“What.” Ginjima said, voicing the thoughts of all the team. 

“Think about it.” Kita said. “If he can discern whose footsteps are whose, he can give you the perfect toss. It’ll take a lot of work, but I think we can make this pay off.”

“What better plan do we have?” Atsumu said, crossing his arms. “My hearing gets sharper every day. I’m sure this will be a breeze.”

It was not .

Atsumu wondered how he missed how similar the footsteps sounded. He supposed when he could see exactly who it was approaching the net. They all blurred together now, the differences so minimal that memorizing it would be a chore. 

“The set was a little low!” Aran called. 

“Sorry. I thought you were Ginjima.” Atsumu mumbled, a blush rising across his face. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Aran responded. “I still hit it.” Atsumu resisted a sigh. Every time he thought he made a set, he messed it up somehow. Sometimes he missed completely, misjudging the distance from the ball to his hands. 

Atsumu knew this wouldn’t be easy. He would have to work his ass off to even get where he used to be. By the time the end of practice rolled around, he was exhausted.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling of pure euphoria. Despite his mess-ups, he was adapting. Atsumu was going to push himself as hard as he could. He wanted this, he wanted to play. He craved the adrenaline that pumped through his veins every time he touched the ball. He wanted to hear it hit the opposite side of the net. 

Atsumu wanted to win . 

He wanted to prove that he wasn’t just some blind setter. And he swore to God, he would do that. 

“Gather round people!” Kita called. Atsumu walked in the direction of the voice, nearly running into Riseki. The first year shifted out of the way and tapped Atsumu’s arm, keeping him from walking into a wall.

“Thanks.” He whispered. 

“Mhm.” 

“Today was a great day!” The captain sounded happier than when practice had started. “Atsumu, you sly bastard, why didn’t you come back sooner? You still got it.” 

“I need a little motivation.” Atsumu responded, shrugging. 

“From Kiyoomi~” Osamu crooned, tapping his shoulder. Atsumu whacked his brother’s hand off, glaring at him.

“Shut yer trap.”

“Of course it was Sakusa.” Ginjima snickered. Atsumu facepalmed, trying to hide his increasing blush. 

“Moving on,” Kita cleared his throat, cutting off the gossip. “I think we can make this work. We’re still playing really well. With more training, I definitely think we’ll be returning to Nationals this year.” The team cheered, all of them excited at the prospect of going back to Tokyo. Atsumu lifted his chin.

He will be playing in the Tokyo gym come next spring. Kita approached Atsumu. He felt the captain tap his shoulder and he turned his attention to him. 

“Once we register you, all our games will be played with one of those balls. You’ll also be exempt from serving, unless you think you can do it.” Kita’s voice had a note of challenge in it. He wanted Atsumu to keep getting better. Atsumu grinned. 

“You better believe I’ll still be serving.”

“Good.” He could picture the captain’s gentle smile. “Luckily, the next tournament isn’t for a few months. Plenty of time to get your skills back, no?”

“I will be the starting setter.” Atsumu vowed, his competitive nature rising up. 

“That’s what I want to hear.” Kita patted him on the back. He turned back to the rest of the team. “Go home, guys. Great practice today.” Atsumu heard Osamu approaching him, and his brother started pulling him toward what he assumed was the door. He grinned over at him. 

“I’m going to change the world, ‘Samu. One set at a time, I’m gonna prove I can still play.” 

--

Sakusa smacked the ball down. It hit the gym floor and echoed through the room. Iizuna nodded to him as he lowered his hands. 

“Good. I think that’s it for today, folks.” The captain said. Sakusa grabbed the ball from the other end of the court and stared at it. Atsumu was supposed to practice today. He would definitely yell at him if he didn’t go. 

Despite all of the contact required, the sport was exhilarating. Sakusa loved it. He relished the feeling of winning, of proving that he was the best. He pulled his gloves back on as he began to help with the clean up process. 

“I’ve got mop tonight. Go home and sleep, we have a practice game with Fukudorani tomorrow.” Iizuna reminded them. “Sakusa-kun, I expect you to play to the best of your ability. Koutarou Bokuto--”

“He won’t beat me.” Sakusa responded simply. “He’s not better than I am.”

“Alright then. Good night, and stay safe out there.” The captain dismissed the team. 

“Soooo that was a pretty… how do I put it-- harsh statement.” Motoya said as he and Sakusa began the trek home. Sakusa glanced at him and shrugged.

“It was the truth.”

“I mean, fair, but what about sportsmanship?” Motoya chastised him, laughing slightly.

“Bokuto-san wasn’t even in the room. Unless he has a sixth sense about when people are talking about him, I think it’ll be fine.” Sakusa deadpanned. Motoya opened his mouth to respond when Sakusa’s phone went off. He pulled it out and sighed. “Go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

“Who’s calling? Is it your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend. Fuck off.”

“What about Atsumu Miyaaaa~?” Motoya batted his eyelashes, smirking. 

“ No. Get out of here before I throw something at you.” His cousin laughed again and walked away as Sakusa answered the phone, lifting it to his ear.

“Please tell me the dumbass went to practice.”

“No time for greetings, huh?” Osamu’s voice was teasing. He cleared his throat. “Uh, no, actually, he showed up. And played. Turns out Kita-- that’s our captain-- was totally prepared for this. Makes sense. He’s usually on top of this stuff anyway.”

“That’s good to hear.” Sakusa said, shifting his phone into his other hand. 

“I really think he enjoyed it.” Osamu said softly. “I think this’ll help him recover mentally.”

“Me too.” Sakusa agreed. “I take it, this isn’t the only reason you called?” His tone was far too formal for just chatting. There was a business motive lying underneath it all. 

“I think Atsumu would like training with you.” Osamu cut to the chase. 

“What?” Sakusa blinked, slightly shocked. “Why?”

“You motivate him more than any of us do. I don’t know why. Well, I do know, but I’m not saying anything.” 

“Friendly rivals, probably.” Sakusa said, his face heating up. Friendly rivals, that was all. 

“Something like that.” Osamu said ambiguously. “Seriously though, I think you should come train with him sometimes.”

“Alright. I’ll drop by next weekend.”

“Great! See you then!” The line cut off, and Sakusa leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t help but be excited. He wanted Atsumu to keep getting better; he was looking forward to playing him again in a match. 

And crushing him. 

Friendly rivals. That was all. 

--

Atsumu had been back at practice for twelve days. 

And he was living for it. School sucked. Everyone still treated him weird, but at least he didn’t cry when he got to the bus stop again. It was taxing, but he could ignore it for the sake of volleyball. Every time he hit a set, it sent a fresh wave of elation through his veins. When it hit the other side of the net, he couldn’t help but smile. 

He was steadily learning to pick up various footsteps, different patterns in the way his teammates ran. Osamu was the easiest; he was living with him, after all. He noted that his twin had a heavier step, and put more weight on his left foot. Atsumu found that funny, considering he was right handed. 

Kita was the other easy one to figure out. He had a light, quick step. As if he was stalking his prey. Atsumu found that setting to him and his brother came back easiest. He was steadily making progress, and even managed a setter dump the other day.

But something still was missing. He missed sets more than normal, that was a given. He didn’t even want to try serving yet. Most of his sets were wild guesses. He thanked his lucky stars whenever he sent it in the right direction.

Atsumu was getting frustrated. He didn’t expect improvement immediately, but he at least thought he would start getting a little better by now. But he was stuck in a time loop, a cycle in which he had to break free from. 

“Atsumu, hang out here for a little bit.” Osamu said, stopping him from grabbing his gear.

“Why?” He asked, suspicious. “What stupid thing are you planning now? I hope you know that’s my job.”

“Just... trust me.” Osamu said vaguely. “You’ll thank me later. Anyway, let’s practice.” Atsumu heard the volleyball flying toward him. He reached out and barely caught it. 

“Maybe a little warning next time?” Atsumu snapped, bouncing the ball against the gym floor. 

“The other team won’t give you warnings, will they?” Osamu challenged. “Come on, dumbass.” Atsumu spun the volleyball in his hands and followed him. He tossed it up, debating if he should serve it. He caught it at the last second, deciding against it. He pushed it up in a set, sending it to Osamu. His brother sent it over the net. It landed on the other side, the bells resounding through the deserted gym. 

They repeated the process for a half hour. Set, spike, repeat. Atsumu lowered his hands, stretching slightly. His latest set had been slightly off, sending the ball too early. Osamu recovered it, still hitting over the net. 

“Why are we still here?” Atsumu asked when Osamu handed him the ball again. 

“We’re waiting for someone.”

“Me, actually.” A new voice sounded at the edge of the gym. 

“Did you just wait for that timing or--?”

“I was observing for a little bit.” Kiyoomi admitted. Atsumu heard the spiker walk into the gym.

“Omi?” 

“Who else, idiot?” Atsumu grabbed Osamu’s arm and dragged him to the end of the gym. He proceeded to smack his brother on the back of the head. 

“Ow! What the hell?”

“Did you plan this?”

“Yeah. He motivates you more than we do. Probably because--”

“Finish that sentence, I fucking dare you.”

“Hey, I won’t say nothing.” He felt a rush of air past his face as Osamu raised his hands in surrender. “I just think this will be good for you.”

“Fine.” Atsumu strode back over to where Kiyoomi was waiting. “Alright. You actually want to help me train?”

“Would I be here if I didn’t want to?” He said flatly.

“True.” Atsumu responded, grinning slightly. “Guess I’m finally gonna get to set for you, huh Omi-kun? Even if they aren’t as good as they used to be.” 

“Your sets are better than you think. But you aren’t as accurate as you used to be.” Kiyoomi commented, walking up until he was standing next to Atsumu. 

“No shit Sherlock, I can’t see who I’m setting to.” Atsumu grumbled. 

“Well. You can still get better at it. Maybe if you pay attention to the exact location of the ball.” Kiyoomi deadpanned. Atsumu heard him pick up the volleyball, the bells colliding together and sounding rather like sleigh bells. 

“Maybe. I just…” Atsumu trailed off. What if he was at his peak? What if this was as good as he could be again? He could try and try and try, but what if there was no payoff? His confidence wavered again, like a knife to the gut. 

He loved this sport. He didn’t want to be forced to walk away. He didn’t want to give up his dreams.  

“You’d be surprised how the simplest details can change everything.” Kiyoomi said with a shrug. “I have an idea.”

“Alright. Lay it on me.”

“Osamu, go to the other side of the court. Take the volleyball. And then shake it.” Kiyoomi directed. 

“Got it.” Atsumu heard his brother’s footsteps sounding away from him. Osamu stopped on the opposite side of the court, and then the bells sounded again. He jolted his attention to the sound, waiting for it to be sent back over.

“Atsumu, tell me where he’s standing.”

“Wait-- what?” Atsumu blinked at Kiyoomi, shocked slightly. This wasn’t at all what he thought was going to happen. He thought he would receive the ball. Maybe play catch. Something that involved him touching the volleyball. “How is this supposed to help?”

“Trust me. Listen for the ball. Where on the court is it?” Kiyoomi replied evenly. Atsumu sighed, resisting the urge to go slam his head against a wall. He could feel Kiyoomi’s gaze still on him as he waited for a reply. 

“Left corner.” Atsumu muttered, crossing his arms. 

“Wrong. Left middle court.”

“Same difference.”

“Being precise is what will help you win, dumbass. If you can pinpoint exactly where it is, then you’re golden.” Kiyoomi said, an irritated note in his voice. “You can win, but you have to learn .” 

“But--”

“No. When Osamu shakes the ball, listen closely. And give me exact locations.” Atsumu uncrossed his arms. He heard the bells from the other side of the court. They were closer than they had been last time. It seemed to be directly in the middle of the court. He turned his attention back to Kiyoomi.

“Center line. Near the front.”

“Good. Again.” The bells rattled again. 

“Right court, up at the net.”

“Yes.”

The guessing continued, on and on for what seemed like hours. Atsumu felt he could name every single part of the court, give every centimeter a specific inch. He heard Kiyoomi’s footsteps going away from him, and he tilted his head up.

“Where are you going?”

“Let’s see what you can do.”

Atsumu heard the ball go up, and immediately ran back. It sounded like it came from the back left of the court. The volleyball had been hit with force, meaning it would be sent far. He reached up his hands and felt the smooth surface of the sphere hit his hands. He sent it back toward the net with a high toss. 

“Good.” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu swore he could detect a hint of pride in his voice. “You’re lucky your intuition is so good. It would be a lot harder for someone to adapt without that sense.” 

“What can I say, I’ve always had a sixth sense for the game.” Atsumu said casually, smirking slightly. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” Kiyoomi snorted. He tossed the ball in his hands. Atsumu instantly dropped into the ready stance. The ball was hit, and he hopped back a few steps, raising his hands to set the ball, to play the game . 

Atsumu smiled. He would be the top setter again, however long it took. 

The sun was down by the time they stopped. Atsumu stood up straight and wiped the sweat off of his brow. Osamu clapped him on the back with a laugh. Atsumu ignored his brother and kept his attention on Kiyoomi. He wanted to do this again. 

He wanted to set for him someday. 

“Same time next week?” Atsumu said with a grin. Kiyoomi walked past him, toward the exit of the gym. 

“You’re on.” 

--

Atsumu liked autumn. 

It was the perfect temperature out, with breezes to keep them cool, and the sun still shining merrily. And going on a walk with Kiyoomi was an added bonus. They had been training for almost two months now, and Atsumu felt like he could set to anyone without hesitating. It was thrilling, and elated his spirits. 

He really was getting back into it.  

“Y’know, it would be the perfect time to confess.” Osamu said. Atsumu could picture the sly grin on his face. 

“Shut up, ‘Samu.”

“At least think about it.” He challenged. 

“Fine. It’s probably a no.” Atsumu retorted. Osamu sighed, and he could hear his brother facepalm. Atsumu cackled slightly. 

“Why would I ruin our perfectly good friendship?”

“To get something better.” Atsumu paused. Maybe Osamu was right. Maybe he could do something about his pining, and get the guy he wanted. Maybe Kiyoomi really did feel the same way. 

Maybe Atsumu could find the courage to ask. 

“Hey Omi-kun!” Atsumu said, opening the door. He heard Kiyoomi shift slightly as he turned his attention back to him. 

“Hello Atsumu.” His voice was muffled slightly by his mask. Atsumu stepped out of the house, shutting the door behind him.

“I’m pretty shocked you agreed to come with me.” 

“I’m pretty sure you would’ve nagged me until I said yes.” 

“Fair enough.” Atsumu grinned, pushing his sunglasses up his face. He was still subconscious about his scars; he was scared of the comments that people would inevitably make about them. He would trace them every night before he slept, feeling the smooth scar tissue. He could imagine how bad they looked, how distorted it was. 

The sunglasses provided him an ounce of security. A way to hide. A chance to still be treated normal. 

“Hyōgo is really nice during fall. It’s the perfect temperature and the trees are always pretty...” Atsumu said, keeping the smile on his face. The colors he wouldn’t see .

“I bet it is.” Kiyoomi said. A gentle breeze ruffled Atsumu’s hair. He quickly reached up and smoothed his hair back down. He felt Kiyoomi’s attention shift to him. He jolted slightly as he felt a gloved hand even out what must have been a loose standard of his hair.

 “You, uh, you missed a spot.” Kiyoomi shuddered slightly next to him. Atsumu knew that it pained him to touch someone else, but he couldn’t help but smile slightly at it. 

“Thanks Omi-Omi.” He said.

“Don’t mention it.” Kiyoomi mumbled back. Atsumu could picture a blush spread across his face. 

Now. Do it now, it’s perfect--

“You were right. The trees are already changing colors.” Kiyoomi commented apathetically, likely trying to change the subject. As if it were something anyone could see . Atsumu tried to picture them, the shape of the leaves and the dull green turning to a vibrant orange or yellow. He tried to picture the edges of the five pointed maple leaf, see the oranges and yellows in his mind. 

But he couldn’t. 

No matter how hard Atsumu tried to conjure the image, it would not come. The details were fuzzy, the colors grayscale. The colors were disappearing, no matter how hard he tried to reach out and hold on to them. 

The sky wasn’t blue in his mind anymore. It was black, dark as the void he was trapped in. The trees were grey, leached of all vibrancy. The city was no longer beautiful, not in his mind’s eye. It was dark, desolate and deserted. 

Atsumu pleaded with himself, trying to force himself to remember. He wanted to picture the golds and pinks of a sunset, the silvers and blues of the stars, the mahogany wood of the gym floor. He wanted to remember what shade of brown Kiyoomi’s eyes were, what color his uniform was. He wanted his life to have color .

Atsumu could feel his breath growing shorter, the full weight of his realization hitting him like a train. He was vaguely aware of someone talking, trying to address him. It didn’t matter. The roar in his ears drowned everything out. He could feel a thin sheen of sweat, each droplet dripping down his face. 

He couldn’t remember.

“...tumu? Atsumu!”

“I-I c-can’t-“ Atsumu tried to form words, his tongue heavy in his mouth. His stomach twisted painfully, forcing him to double over. He couldn’t remember, he couldn’t remember, HE COULDN’T REMEMBER—

“Hey, it’s okay—“ The rest of Kiyoomi’’s voice fizzled out as Atsumu was absorbed by the sheer sense of panic. His stomach was about to upturn itself, his head pounding as he stared at nothing, into the void because he couldn’t see the colors, he couldn’t remember the colors—

Atsumu felt someone’s hands on his back, supporting him as he half-collapsed on the street. He was gasping for air, shaking as his limbs acted on their own. The tension was reaching a crescendo. He couldn’t think, the pounding in his ears reaching a new volume. He could feel the concerned and judgmental stares of the bystanders on his back as he choked on his tears.

Atsumu was drowning, the grey waters forcing him under the waves of his memories. Everything was leached of color, the vibrant colors replaced with dull grays and silvers. No matter how hard he tried to salvage them, they continued to run away from him, sliding away and leaving him in eternal darkness. 

Atsumu collapsed to his knees, clutching his head. He felt someone next to him— Kiyoomi . He gently pulled him back up and brought him over to a bench. Atsumu was vaguely aware of Kiyoomi helping him sit down, his hands on his shoulders. Atsumu shook him off, unable to stop the chills that ran through him. 

He could feel the tears running down his face, faster than before. What color are they, what color is the sky right now, what color, what color WHAT COLOR— The cacophony of voices would not stop, continuing to echo through his head like a cursed mantra.

And Atsumu sobbed. He sobbed, and his stomach felt as if it was upending itself, tearing itself up on the inside. He reached out blindly for Kiyoomi, for something tangible. He felt Kiyoomi take his hand and place it on his arm. 

“I’ve got you.” Kiyoomi’s voice broke through the haze of fear, shattering it like a rock against the glass. Atsumu blinked, his breaths slightly deeper. He held onto Kiyoomi’s wrists, doing his best to keep them from digging in. He was grateful for something tangible, something he could feel. Something that he knew was really there. He buried his face in his shoulder and sobbed. Kiyoomi didn’t protest, simply tensing up slightly as Atsumu clung to him. 

The smoke in his head slowly cleared, as if water was being dumped on the fire ignited in his head. Atsumu steadily regained control of his breath, the uneven raggedness returning to normal. He released Sakusa and leaned against the back of the bench, scooting away from him until he hit the edge of it. He quickly wiped the tears off of his cheek. The pair sat in silence for a few more infinite heartbeats, Kiyoomi not speaking and Atsumu still unable to. 

“You can- you can sit close to me.” Kiyoomi said softly. Atsumu could hear the unease, the dislike, in his voice. He shook his head, trying to convey it was okay, that he was okay. He heard Kiyoomi sigh.  “I mean it, Atsumu. You’re clearly not okay. Get back over here.” 

Atsumu obliged, scooting closer. He felt Kiyoomi’s hesitant arms touch his shoulders briefly before he quickly pulled away. Atsumu tried not to let his disappointment show; it was enough for him that Kiyoomi was letting him be this close.  He felt Kiyoomi shift to look at him, concern practically radiating from him. 

“Atsumu... what happened?” He asked slowly. Atsumu could hear the strain in his voice as he struggled to keep it neutral. 

“Nothing, I’m fine.” Atsumu lied quickly. He headed Kiyoomi huff, and could practically picture him rolling his eyes but not the color, Atsumu couldn’t remember the colors, they were gone, gone, gone— He bit his lip to keep from sobbing again, the pain of his revelation bubbling up in his chest again. 

“Don’t lie, Atsumu. I’ve had my share of panic attacks. Now,” Kiyoomi took his hand, and Atsumu felt him wince slightly as their skin touched. “What happened?”

Atsumu debated coming up with a lie, some imagined scenario that caused his outburst. Some woven and fabricated defense to hide his forming scars. He sighed, rubbing his face once, tracing the scars over his eyes. 

“I... I can’t remember.”  Atsumu admitted. 

“Can’t remember what?” Kiyoomi pried, an edge to his voice. 

“I- I can’t remember colors. It’s all grey in my head now— if I can even conjure the image. I’m forgetting, Omi. I don’t— how long before the only memories I have are of this darkness?”

Kiyoomi was silent for a long time. Atsumu held his breath as the wind blew above them. He felt something cold touch his hand. A leaf, it was a leaf from the tree, and he didn’t know what color it was, he didn’t have a clue. 

“Atsumu.” Kiyoomi’s hand didn’t leave his. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.” 

“What am I going to do?” He asked hoarsely.

“You’re going to live.” Kiyoomi said. “You’re going to find happiness. You don’t need colors for that.” 

“But… I just…” Atsumu whispered, slumping back. 

“I know. But it will be okay.” Kiyoomi repeated softly. 

“I don’t want to forget.” Atsumu whimpered slightly. He hated how pathetic he sounded. He curled his knees to his chest as he continued to try and take deep breaths.

“You won’t. Memories are always there, deep down.” Kiyoomi reassured him, sincerity in his voice. 

“...Do you think I’ll see colors in my dreams?” 

“Yeah. I do.” 

“Thanks Omi.” Atsumu said after a while. “Thanks for being here for me.” 

“It’s really no problem.” Silence followed again as Atsumu begged his brain to stop racing. He wanted peace of mind, to just stop. He took in a shuddering breath.

“Can we go home now?” Atsumu asked quietly. He was starting to calm down more. His knees weren’t shaking and he felt like he could stand. 

Didn’t change how badly he wanted to get back to familiar surroundings. Somewhere he felt safe. Kiyoomi seemed to understand. He pulled Atsumu up, helping guide him toward the direction of his house. 

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

--

Ever since Atsumu had his panic attack, he did his best to avoid thinking about the sights he had lost, for the fear of triggering another one. The sheer panic had been one of the worst things Atsumu had experienced; the immobilizing fear, the pain in his chest. 

He would rather be stabbed again then have to relive that ordeal.

Time continued to progress. It continued to promote new life, new opportunities. Atsumu wanted those new chances. He was tired of being held down by his blindness. 

Atsumu continued to push himself to new limits, to new heights. He had never been afraid to try. Never afraid to jump for the sun. At the very least, he would get off of the ground. In the first months  since the assault, his legs remained rooted to the Earth. He was afraid to launch himself back into the Heavens. 

But Time moved on. It healed, and the tendrils keeping Atsumu on the ground snapped one by one. He was ready to reach for the stars again. He wanted victory, he wanted to be the best.

The Sun beckoned him once more.  

Maybe this was the first true step of recovery. 

Atsumu had been working tirelessly on his sets. Every afternoon he returned to the gym. His home. He was pleasantly shocked at how easily he fell back into the same routine. School. Volleyball. Sleep. Repeat.

Some days he didn’t even miss his sight. It didn’t cross his mind as much when he was with his friends. The stares from strangers still stung, and the whispered comments from people he hardly knew wormed their way under his skin. But he could move past that, he would be okay. 

Time progressed, and his wall would go up. The comments would be deflected like arrows, their sharp tips unable to penetrate the armor he would build. Atsumu would learn to ignore it someday. It was only a matter of time . 

“Y’know…” Ginjima said one day after practice. The second years had huddled together in a circle, gossiping about the latest drama to rise to the surface. Atsumu was only half listening; his mind was elsewhere. He had to start thinking about serving again. 

He had tried it with Kiyoomi the previous Saturday. It ended in sheer frustration, as Atsumu had been unable to jump serve. He was irritated with himself; this should not be as hard as it was turning out to be. 

“...surprised Atsumu hasn’t jumped on Sakusa-kun yet.” Atsumu snapped to attention, turning his head in the direction of Ginjima’s voice. 

“What?” He asked, his voice low. 

“Well, considering that you spend every Saturday together--” The spiker started to say, a mischievous tone in his voice. 

“He’s just helping me train.” Atsumu cut him off quickly, heat rising in his face. 

“He comes all the way from Tokyo. Every week, just to hang out with you .” Kosaku added. 

“He just wants to make sure I’m in tip-top shape for Spring Nationals so when we compete against each other, it’s a fair fight.” Atsumu grumbled, crossing his arms. 

“You’re blushing pretty badly.” Suna commented. He was likely recording this, attempting to add more blackmail to the ever-increasing pile he had. He could probably extort the entire team if he so pleased. 

“Well yeah, I’m embarrassed!” Atsumu shouted, ducking his head down. 

“Because you like him?” 

“Yes!” Atsumu had enough of the harassment. He spoke without thinking, the truth spilling out suddenly. He clapped a hand over his mouth as he processed what he said. “Wait-- No, I mean no, I don’t like him.”

“It’s hilarious you think we haven’t already noticed your pining. It’s been agonizing to bear witness to.” Suna deadpanned. The other second years voiced their agreement, including Osamu. 

“‘Samu, you betrayed me!” 

“I’ve been watching you pine since you met the guy.” His brother said. “Trust me, I’m tired of it.”

“Fine then.” Atsumu said sullenly. “What do you propose I do about it?”

“Confess.” Ginjima answered quickly. “Call him right now and do it.”

“Why?”

“Because we want to be there to see the end of your fucking pining.” Suna snapped. “Just call him!”

“He’s going to reject me!” Atsumu protested. Osamu sighed.

“No. Trust me, he’s not.”

“What, like you trusted me with the Suna debate?” He retorted sharply. 

“The what?” Suna asked. Atsumu and Osamu both ignored him, too engrossed in their debate. 

“Well, you were right! So therefore, trust me to be right, too!” 

“Fine!” Atsumu threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine, I’ll call him. But when I’m right--”

“Which you won’t be.” Ginjima interjected without a trace of emotion. 

“--I blame you for fucking up my friendship and lovelife.”

“Alright, but we expect ‘thank yous’ when this works!” Kosaku called as Atsumu walked away. He pulled his phone out of his bag. He pursed his lips together. He could still bail out; he hadn’t called Kiyoomi yet. But he was not a coward. He ran to face challenges, not away from them. 

“Call Kiyoomi.” He said to Siri, raising the phone to his ear. The line rang, until the other answered the phone with a small click. 

“Hello?” Kiyoomi said, his voice slightly tired. 

“Hey, Omi-omi, I have a quick question.” Astumu responded, his palms sweating. 

“Alright. What is it, then.” Time had come knocking. It was time for him to face the fear of rejection and go after the man of his dreams. He took a deep breath. 

“Will you go out with me?” Atsumu asked quickly, doing his best not to stumble over the words. He was faintly aware of the team shouting their approval in the background. The other line cracked slight, a sharp inhale of breath. His heart wavered. Maybe he shouldn’t have done this, maybe he shouldn’t have asked. Would this be the end of their friendship, would Kiyoomi hate him and avoid him and never speak to him again--

“Yes. I will. Saturday afternoon. After we practice.” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu let out a shout of joy, unable to keep the smile off of his face. 

“Can’t wait!” The team cheered behind him, declaring that it was agony to watch him pine and that they were glad it was finally over. 

Time moved on. And Atsumu moved with it. 

—

Sakusa wanted to help Atsumu. 

He wanted to make sure he kept smiling, that he continued to find joy in life. He was scared that if he didn’t, Atsumu would lose hope and do something he might regret. 

He hated that his mind even had to go there. 

Sakusa pondered this fact as he stared out the window of the train. His back was rigid against the train seat. He had begun exposure therapy weeks ago, and as he predicted, it was slow. At least he stopped flinching when he took Atsumu’s hand. 

Their date had gone well. When Sakusa had returned home from it, he was victim to a whirlwind of teasing from his mother and cousin. Both stated that it took him long enough. Sakusa ignored them; he couldn’t help but feel elated anyway. No amount of teasing would ruin that. 

Sakusa flipped through the tabs on his phone. He had been researching serving based drills; he knew Atsumu was full of pride when it came to his serves. They had tried some last week; it hadn’t ended well. 

And so Sakusa researched. He found as many drills as could and tweaked them, trying to make sure Atsumu could use them to rehabilitate his serves. 

He sighed as he scrolled through them. His boyfriend would be less than happy about these new drills. They would require patience, which Atsumu lacked . 

Suna would have fun documenting those. Luckily, according to Atsumu, most of the team decided to study for finals. Sakusa asked Atsumu how he would be taking his own, and the blonde had been so shocked he missed his set. 

“I dunno… probably orally.” He had said, looking disgruntled. 

“That sounds horrible.”

“It probably will be.” 

The train pulled into the Kobe station mid morning. Sakusa checked the time on his phone. It was already eleven, and the sky was dark with clouds. Winter brought rain to Hyōgo. 

Winter. Break was coming up soon. Sakusa pulled out his phone, an idea coming to his head. He was always coming to Atsumu, but why not have him visit Tokyo? He had seemed to enjoy it during the Youth Training Camp last year; perhaps he would want to come on an off season too. He opened his mother’s contact information. 

Kiyoomi: Can Atsumu visit us over winter break?

He shut his phone back off. His mom was likely at work, and wouldn’t see the text until much later. He could be patient and wait until then. Sakusa tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked toward Inarizaki. He cast another glance at the sky, praying that it wouldn’t start raining before he got to the school. 

Sakusa felt the first droplets as he approached the school grounds. He sprinted toward the steps to the gym, keeping his mask up against his face. He pulled open the gym door and practically leapt inside. He shook his hair, trying to get the water off of it. 

“Hey, Omi. I guess it started raining?” Atsumu was laying on the bleachers, sunglasses still on. Sakusa scowled slightly, walking over to him. 

“Shut up.” He grumbled. The blonde snorted, sitting up. 

“I’m surprised you still came, what with finals week coming up.” 

“It’s fine.” Sakusa shrugged. “I’m not that worried.”

“What about history?” Atsumu teased, grinning. 

“What about math?” Sakusa fired back. 

“I am exempt from most of it, since I can’t write out the problems.” Atsumu gloated, the triumph smirk never leaving his face. 

“Alright Miya, you win this one.” Sakusa conceded, glaring at him slightly. 

“I do love winning.” Atsumu smirk only grew wider. “So Omi-Omi, what are we doing today?”

“Serving.” Sakusa pulled out his notes. The blonde’s smile faltered.

“But…”

“Don’t you want to get back to where you were?” Sakusa demanded, having no patience for the impending debate.

“Yes…”

“So this is what we have to do.” Atsumu sighed but didn’t protest, instead picking up his volleyball. He spun it in his hands, and Sakusa heard the bells tinkling inside of it. 

“Fine.”

“Come on.” Sakusa directed him to the base line. Atsumu slunk to it, his shoulders slightly hunched. He was pouting. Sakusa resisted the urge to roll his eyes and walk away. 

“What now?” Atsumu asked. 

“Serve it.”

“Come again?”

“ Serve it.” Sakusa reiterated, his voice firm.

“Omi, this won’t work. This drill is stupid, if you can even call it that. Last week went shitty, and this week will be no different.” Atsumu said. Sakusa resisted a sigh, straightening up to look at Atsumu. 

The blonde had taken his sunglasses off, the scars across his face fully visible. Sakusa grimaced when he saw them, unable to hide it. They were horrifying, to be frank. 

The knife had likely been serrated according to the doctors. The jagged edges cut messily into his skin, ripping it unevenly. The lines criss crossed his face, forming pale ragged lines across his upper face. When he blinked, the scars were even more prominent, as the cuts stretched grotesquely across his eyelids. 

Atsumu’s eyes were no longer the chocolate brown they once were. They were a mesh of grey and tan, the pupils a clouded milky white. An emptiness in his eyes that could never be filled, indicating to all that he was deprived of something everyone took for granted. Sakusa bit his lip, forcing the pity to stay down. He knew Atsumu would snap if he even thought Sakusa was showing him an ounce of that. 

“This drill will work. It really is just muscle memory. Just because the last week didn’t go well doesn’t mean this week will suck. The ball has a bell in it. Everyone started you off with sets, right? And pinpointing sound? How is this any different?”

“I don’t know where the out lines are!” Atsumu fired back, crossing his arms. 

“ Muscle memory will serve you well, then.” Sakusa deadpanned. “I’ll be standing over there, and I’ll tell you if it’s in or out. We can work on varying the serve’s trajectory after you get this down. Okay?”

“Fine.” Sakusa tossed the ball to him and took his place on the other side of the net. He watched as Atsumu tossed the ball gently at first, making sure he could catch. Sakusa noted how he was looking more confident then he had when he started setting. Anxiety was replaced by resolve. He wanted to get this right and wanted to put the work in, no matter how skeptical he was of its results. 

“Should I jump for it?” Atsumu called over to him. 

“Not yet.” He saw the blonde deflate slightly. “You have to work up to that, dumbass.” 

“True.” He conceded. “Just you wait. I’ll be acing these things soon.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Sakusa said evenly. Atsumu tossed the ball up in the air. Sakusa watched it arc down. The setter raised his arm and lunged for it, his fingertips brushing it. The ball hit the floor, the bells jingling inside of it. Atsumu didn’t react, merely picking it back up. “Out.” He said flatly.

“I fucking know.” Atsumu said through gritted teeth. He tossed it again, this time the palm of his hand connecting with. The ball skimmed the net and dropped back to the side Atsumu was serving from. 

“Out. Try hitting it with more power.”

“How would that help?”

“Maybe flatten your palms at contact, too.” Sakusa noticed Atsumu’s crestfallen expression. He was beating himself up on the inside, chiding himself for not being perfect. “Don’t be afraid to mess up, Atsumu.” 

“But--”

“Nope. Come on, hit it again.” And Atsumu did. Sakusa heard the pop of air as the blonde’s hand collided with it, sending the volleyball flying.  It made it over, landing in the center of the court. 

“In.” Sakusa said, smiling slightly. Atsumu grinned. He retrieved the ball and tossed it back to the server, watching as he continued to send it over the net. Some were out still, as expected, but he was doing much better than last week. He was finding a consistency, a rhythm. 

“Hell yeah!” Atsumu whooped as another ball landed in. “Do ya think I can try a jump serve yet?” 

“I…” Sakusa hesitated. He knew how eager Atsumu was to try and get his old serving skills back, and yet he also knew that he wasn’t ready for jump serves. He still had to work on aim, however the hell he would do that. In Sakusa’s opinion, he should just be told how much leeway he has to work with. 

“I don’t know yet.” He said. “You still have a long way to go.” 

“Yeah. I just can’t wait.” Atsumu bounced back, still smiling. Sakusa smiled back, even though the blonde couldn’t see it. He knew he had gotten good at reading the mood of the room, purely based on how he interrupted the body language he could sense of other people. He felt his phone go off and he pulled it out. 

Mom: Yes, that’s absolutely fine as long as he’s okay with it too :)

“Do you want to visit Tokyo over break?” Sakusa asked immediately, looking up from his phone. Atsumu jolted his head up, slightly shocked. Then a grin spread across his face. It was brighter than the sun, full of happiness and warmth. 

“I would love to.”

—

Tokyo rarely got this much snow. They would get some snowfall, but Sakusa couldn’t remember the last time it was this bad. The trains shut down the day Atsumu was supposed to return to Hyogo; they had no idea when they would get back up and running. It appeared that the Miya would have to stay with them a little longer (his mother said that if it got to Christmas Eve, she would just drive Atsumu home herself. Atsumu said he didn’t care where he was for the holidays, stating that “it wasn’t like his parents would be home anyway, and Osamu would probably head to the Suna household.”) 

So Atsumu ended up staying with the Sakusas for most of the Christmas break. 

On Christmas eve, Sakusa took him for a walk. He loved Tokyo during the winter. Initially he had planned on going by himself, but Atsumu had tagged along at the last second. Sakusa thought it wasn’t the best plan, and he said it out loud. He was in a different city, during the winter when there was snow and ice everywhere, and when many other people would be out. Despite what the blonde said, it was blatantly clear he was still conscious about his scars; wearing sunglasses at night and in the snow was a sure way to draw attention to himself. 

Atsumu ignored all of those points and came anyway. There was desperation on his face, as if he had to do this. Sakusa didn’t pry, merely scoffing slightly and opening the door. 

Sakusa’s breath crystallized on the frigid air as he stood with Atsumu. Snow lined the piled up along the sidewalks as the small flakes continued to fall from the sky. Many of the houses had Christmas lights up, the reds and greens and whites reflecting across their faces as they continued to walk down the street. It was like a little snow globe, one in which they could walk in for themselves. 

In hindsight, a walk may have not been the best idea. 

Atsumu’s expression was placid, neutral as he continued to walk through the snow. His sunglasses were on, rendering strange glances from other people out on walks. Sakusa would cast angry glares in the direction of those who would dare look at the two of them for more than five seconds. 

One particularly daring group of children ran up to them, and stared at Atsumu. Atsumu shifted his attention down to the children. Sakusa forced himself to grab his arm, providing a comforting presence. He forced himself to keep from flinching away. Sakusa internally reminded himself that he had gloves on, and he technically wasn’t touching Atsumu’s skin. It was getting easier to hug Atsumu, to have physical contact with him, but it still was not an ideal situation  for him. Maybe someday. 

“What are the sunglasses for, Mister? It’s nighttime!” The lead kid asked, pointing up at Atsumu’s face. The blonde stiffened, hand clutching Sakusa’s own tighter. He bit his lip to keep from protesting, instead letting Atsumu use him as physical support. The kids continued to stare, their eyes wide and curious. 

“It’s not your—“ Sakusa began harshly, stepping closer to the children.  

“It’s okay.” Atsumu said, uncharacteristically quiet. Sakusa glanced back at him. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” Atsumu shifted slightly, turning back to the kids. He reached up and pulled off the glasses, revealing the scars. The snow made his face look even paler, the scars a light pink color. His broken eyes were even duller than normal, an underlying sadness present despite the lack of light. The children’s faces varied from shock to blatant horror, and Sakusa could not help but glare at them. Atsumu slid the glasses back on, the scars once again hidden behind his ever-present mask. 

“I wear them to hide the scars.” Sakusa gently tugged his hand, pulling him away from the gawking kids and toward the other sidewalk. Atsumu kept on a neutral expression until they reached the edge of the block and Sakusa released his hand. His breath was shorter, and he could see slow tears falling down his face. 

“I’m so-so tired of the l-looks. The comments. They think I don’t notice, but I do. ” Atsumu choked out, rubbing his eyes, yet refusing to remove his sunglasses. Sakusa was shocked slightly by the breakdown that was beginning to occur. He had borne witness to  Atsumu’s panic attacks, his mood swings, and yet nothing was worse than this. The hopelessness he could feel radiating off of Atsumu. He felt ostracized, separated from society because of what happened to him. “I’m so fucking useless, aren’t I?”

“You’re not useless, Atsumu.” Sakusa said sharply. “You’re one of the most capable people I know, and you need to remember that.” 

“I can’t see! ” Atsumu practically shouted, whipping around and pulling off of his sunglasses. The red Christmas lights made the scars look crimson, as if they were bleeding again. Sakusa stared at him evenly, not blinking or flinching away. 

“It doesn’t change who you are and what you can do.” Atsumu nodded numbly. He took a shuddering breath, and wiped the tears away. The pair walked on, the snow coming down faster and faster. Winter may be the time when most people get sick, but the frigid air was welcome in Sakusa’s opinion.

 Sakusa liked the snow. It made everything look polished and whole, the pristine white sparkle lining every building. It was refreshing, in a way. It was the only weather in which he wasn’t completely appalled at taking his mask off. The air was crisp and clean. Everything about the snow made him happy. 

He felt safe in the cold. The world slowed down as it hibernated under the blankets of white, and everyone took it easy as they waited for life to regrow. Winter was when the best things happened, in Sakusa’s opinion. His mom got one of the best jobs she could in the first weeks of January. He got accepted to Itachiyama Institute in the snowy weeks of December. And he met Atsumu during a winter training camp. 

Winter was nothing like Spring. It seemed cold and harsh, and yet it was the gentlest of seasons. 

Sakusa could hear carolers singing. They liked to line the streets of Tokyo, performing the songs that generation upon generation sung all over the world. Some were good, some were bad. But what never changed was the heart in their voices. The spirit of Christmas, the joy that carried their tones through the streets. Atsumu paused, a slight falter in his steps as the first songs could be heard. 

Above them, the bells sounded, signalling the end of the hour. The carolers continued to sing, their voices carrying a merry tune. Atsumu smiled, humming along. Sakusa watched his face closely, looking for a shift in demeanor. A falter of a smile he had grown so used to witnessing. 

It didn’t come. In fact, Atsumu started to sing along. 

“Christmastime is here... happiness and cheer...” Sakusa normally would’ve punched him. Singing was not one of his talents... and yet there was undeniable joy in his voice. “Fun for all, that children call—“ 

“—Their favorite time of year...” Sakusa finished the line. Atsumu’s expression shifted again, a delighted grin spreading across his face. 

“I didn’t know you could sing!” He exclaimed, poking him. Sakusa rolled his eyes. 

“I can’t.” 

“Yes you can.” Atsumu refuted. “That was pretty!” 

“It was just one line.” Sakusa said with a shrug. “Just a fluke.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Atsumu 

“Fine then.” Sakusa said with a shrug. “Don’t

believe me.”

“As a blind person, I think I can be a good judge of who has a good voice or not.” Atsumu pointed out. “It’s the only thing I have left of people.” Sakusa pursed his lips, having no retort. They stood in silence, listening to the carolers loop the song. 

“Keep singing.” Atsumu said softly. “Please?” Sakusa sighed. He didn’t like singing; it was embarrassing. He didn’t think his voice was pretty, despite what Atsumu said. But the joy on his face... Sakusa could suck it up and do it. 

“Snowflakes in the air, carols everywhere...” He began hesitantly, singing along with the carolers. Atsumu nodded to him encouragingly. Sakusa straightened up, a foreign bolt of confidence striking him. 

“Olden times, and ancient rhymes, of love and dreams to share...” Atsumu smiled again, hesitantly taking his hand again. Sakusa let him, and they continued walking. The carolers’ voices were drowned out by the bells once again, but the song continued to replay in his mind. Atsumu continued to hum the song, until he reached the end. 

“I love that song.” He said quietly. Sakusa could see the sad undertone returning. And yet, it wasn’t pure depression, a cloud hanging over him. It was an undertone of memories, of a good time. It was bittersweet. “It’s just... happy. The movie it’s from is good, too.” 

“Charlie Brown Christmas?” Sakusa responded. “I like that one too. Except for Pigpen. He’s just so... unclean.” Atsumu let out a snort, clearly amused by Sakusa’s hate toward the character. 

“Never would’ve guessed.” He said sarcastically. Sakusa cracked a smile too. 

“I guess I am pretty predictable.” He admitted. 

“Yes, you are.” Atsumu said with a confirming nod. “And we all love you for it.” They moved past the first group of carolers. Atsumu continued to hum along, his demeanor shifted from the sorrowful one he had donned earlier. Sakusa was happy to see him feeling better. 

“Omi, what does the snow look like?” Atsumu asked suddenly, pulling off one of his gloves. Sakusa watched him reach out with his exposed hand and touch the snow, the white flakes melting on his hand. He was surprised that Atsumu didn’t pull away. It was as if he didn’t notice the cold, too absorbed with the weather. “I can kinda remember from when I was little, but Hyogo doesn’t really get snow.” 

Sakusa paused before answering. He had to think about which words he would use. Atsumu was completely transfixed by the cold flakes, standing completely still. He looked like an angel, his expression peaceful, yet full of emotion nonetheless. Sakusa blinked himself out of memorization and walked up until he was toe to toe with the blonde. 

“Well... “ He began slowly. “It’s cold.”

“I got that part, dumbass.” Atsumu said quietly, a humorous note entering his voice. Sakusa smirked slightly. 

“Right. Well, it’s white. And the flakes are little droplets. Some of them are big, some of them are small. But they are all different.” He mused. Atsumu nodded, still feeling for the flakes with his exposed hand. 

“What about the lights? And the street? What does Tokyo look like right now, Omi?” He asked softly. Sakusa did a full 360, taking in everything. The sky was a dark blue and grey, the clouds causing the snow to fall to the earth. He could see the Christmas trees rising up in the park down the street, its bright yellow tree topper glowing merrily. Lights still lined every storefront, twinkling through the snow. It reflected off of the sheets of white on the ground, painting it in soft reds and greens and yellows and every other color under the sun. 

And so Sakusa described it. He told Atsumu about the lights, and how they sparkled like jewels in the midst of the gentle blizzard. He told Atsumu about the Christmas tree in the distance, and how the yellow star shone like a beacon. He told Atsumu about the snowdrifts, and how they collected the light in such a way that it looked like a pastel rainbow. He told Atsumu about everything he could see. 

When Sakusa was finished, he looked back at Atsumu. He was completely still, processing the information he had been given. The snow spiraled around them, cascading down to the Tokyo streets. He heard Atsumu take in a slightly shaky breath, and noticed the tear stains reflecting in the light. He stiffened. Oh no, I think I made things worse. 

But then Atsumu smiled. It was gentle and soft, full of genuine emotion. It was not a sad smile, despite the slow fall of the tears. It was bittersweet. Sakusa stepped closer to him. He lowered his head slightly, his attention back on the street in front of them. 

“Beautiful.” He said quietly. His voice was shaky at first, but as he spoke again, it was clearer than the bells on Christmas morning. “It sounds… beautiful.” 

Sakusa smiled, and they continued to walk through the snow-covered boulevard. Atsumu slipped his glove back in as he bobbed his head to the beat, listening to the caroling groups as they continued to shift. The lights continued to shine as the snow swirled down. Atsumu’s slow tears had dried. Sakusa was content to know that the tears weren’t brought forth entirely from sadness; he knew that, despite everything, Atsumu was happy right now. 

“Wait, let’s stop here a second.” He stopped across the street of an instrumental group. The trumpet’s melodies carried through the air, playing the merry tune of “A Holly Jolly Christmas.” 

“I think music is a lot like volleyball.” Atsumu said suddenly. Sakusa glanced over at him. 

“Explain.” He demanded. 

“They need each other to function. Ya can’t have the melody without the supporting lines, like ya can’t have the spikers without the setters.” Atsumu responded, a slightly dreamy expression across his face. 

“Oh.” Sakusa paused, considering Atsumu’s words. Putting them together, they made sense. The analogy he drew seemed out of nowhere, and yet it made sense. “I guess you’re right. Never took you for the deep one, Miya.” 

“Just thinking about setting. Happened to cross my mind.” He said with a shrug. The trumpet continued to play, switching to be the slow, beautiful melody of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Sakusa hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder. He pulled the setter into a hug, forcing his trembling muscles to remain still. Atsumu stiffened, shocked by the touch. 

“You’re gonna be a great setter again, Atsumu. You already are incredible.” The blonde wrapped his own arms around Sakusa. The pair stood together, embracing as the snow continued to fall. The white flakes coated his hair, turning the vibrant blonde to a pristine white. Sakusa could see where the tree topper of the great pine that they had just passed, the light still shining merrily. 

God, he wished Atsumu could see it. He wished Atsumu could see the snow, the lights, the carolers he sang along with. He wished Atsumu could see the silver tinsel strung up across the trees dotting the walkways, the lights across the storefronts, the reds and greens and whites everywhere. 

The snow continued to fall. Atsumu lifted his face, letting the fridge air surround him. Sakusa watched him. He could see the lights reflected in his sunglasses, the droplets of water from the melted snow distorting it. 

“Hang a shining star upon the highest bow...” Atsumu whispered as the band reached the climax of the song. The note pierced the air, and that’s when Sakusa knew for sure that Atsumu was  okay. He missed it; the grief in his voice was still clear. And yet he was still experiencing Christmas. He was singing with the carolers, listening to the bells, feeling the snow. 

It would be wrong for anyone to say Christmas was all about the shining lights and vibrant wrapping paper. The beautiful music, the taste of sugar cookies with carefully frosted buttercream, the sounds of bells rolling on Christmas Day... all of that was Christmas. 

And the embrace of someone you loved, bringing warmth that could never be replicated. Sakusa gently clutched Atsumu closer. He was okay. For once in his life, he wanted this hug. He didn’t want the embrace to end.

“And have yourself a merry little Christmas... now...” Sakusa sang with Atsumu quietly as the song ended. Atsumu smiled, turning his attention back to him. 

Sakusa was not an impulsive person. He rarely did things in instinct alone. He found that it rarely ended well, and always brought more grief to the table. He hated his gut; it led him astray more times than he could count. 

But he would never regret what he did next. 

Sakusa leaned down and pressed a kiss to Atsumu’s lips. It was warm, soft, and full of love. Atsumu didn’t pull away. He stayed there, holding on to Sakusa as the carolers continued on and the snow fell to the ground, surrounding them. The lights seemed to shine a little brighter, lit by the own merry beat within Sakusa’s heart. 

It was foreign. It was new. But Sakusa had it now, and he was not going to let go. Not until the sun died, until the stars faded, because he was in love with Atsumu Miya. And he could admit it now. 

Atsumu loved him back, and that was enough for him. 

When they broke apart, Atsumu was smiling. The broadest smile he had seen all night. There was not a trace of sadness. The joy was brighter than anything Sakusa had ever seen. Atsumu was joyful.

“Merry Christmas, Omi. I- I love you.” He said, the smile never faltering. Sakusa felt his own tears welling up, a happy feeling bubbling up in his chest. He had never been in love, but the feeling was incredible. He gently brushed some of Atsumu’s hair out of his face. 

“I love you, too. Merry Christmas, Atsumu.” 

It truly was the best Christmas ever.

--

Practice had been flowing normally; Atsumu served in the scrimmages, managing to use his jump serve again. He had worked on it all break, finally feeling stable enough to use it once more. 

His team had lost, despite that. The game had been close, both sides locked in a duce until the other side managed to pull ahead. It had been a thrilling match, and Atsumu’s heart was still racing when the Coach called them over for final assessments. He drawled on, and the setter struggled to keep his focus on him. 

“Alright, we’re having a practice match this Friday.” Coach Koruso said suddenly. The team stopped talking, staring blankly at him. Atsumu snapped back to attention. 

“Against?” Akagi asked. Atsumu went completely still. He wanted to compete; and yet he couldn’t shake this anxiety that grabbed a hold of him. 

“Kobe Yamate.” Koruso said. A rustle signalled the coach flipping through papers. Atsumu zoned out, trying to keep himself from falling into the pit of worry. This game would be a turning point. He could set and serve, but could he play under pressure? The question continued to circle his mind. 

“Atsumu.” Kita’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder, his voice right in his ear. Atsumu jumped slightly. 

“Hi.” 

“You’re going to be in the starting line up. And you’re going to help us win.” It was not phrased as a question. It was an order, a command. Atsumu was going to be the starting setter, despite his blindness. 

He was reaching for the Sun. 

“Good to know.” Atsumu nodded once. He walked back over to the bleachers, feeling for his bag. He grabbed it and slung it over his shoulder.

“So…” Ginjima slid up on his left. “What did Kita want?”

“Guess who’s still your starting setter?” Atsumu leaned against what he thought was the gym door. 

“Damn right it better be you. Scrimmaging against you is hell. I never know what you’re gonna do until it’s too late.” Ginjima said nonchalantly.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m looking at the ball.” Atsumu snickered slightly. “Damn, I wish I could see the other team’s faces whenever we score a point.”

“And when we win.” Osamu materialized next to them, his voice assured. 

“And when we win.” Atsumu nodded in affirmation. “Friday is going to be hell for those poor saps competing against us.” 

“They won’t know what hit them.” 

On Friday, Atsumu knew he would be making a point.

On Friday, Atsumu knew he would have to win.

On Friday, Atsumu knew he would be showing what months of work and training paid off to.

It may be merely a practice game, but it was the Olympics in his mind. Winning this was another step in his journey to the top, and he could not afford to miss. 

The other team arrived on time, not a second early or late. The coaches greeted Inarizaki’s with cordial handshakes and polite words. Atsumu could feel the gazes from the opponents resting on his back as he warmed up. Their gazes were daggers, trying to cut through his armor and see into his soul. They wanted to know what he was doing on the court. 

But Atsumu’s armor was impenetrable. He had built it up. He would not crumble under their looks or crack beneath the weight of their words anymore. He was not weak. His supposed fragility would be what secured victory. 

They will be the victors. Not Kobe Yamate. Not anyone but Inarizaki.

Their managers had graciously agreed to referee the game. Atsumu took his place in the lineup, right where he had been a year ago. He had not moved. Starting setter was his, and his alone. 

“What the hell…” A voice floated over the net, reaching Atsumu’s ears. He stood up sharper, listening. “They’re really letting the blind guy be the starting setter?”

“Maybe Inarizaki isn’t as strong as they used to be. Is he their only setter?”

“No. He used to be the top one in the prefecture. Not sure if he still is… probably not.”

“I bet he can’t set for shit. Pity move?” The words continued to circle through the other team. Atsumu was shocked that the words didn’t hurt. Instead, he felt something else. Anger. Rage. The bastards had the audacity to doubt him. 

That was an offense that had to be punished. 

He would make an example out of them.

“Hey…” Osamu whispered in his ear. “Ignore them, they’re--”

“I am going to crush them.” Atsumu cut his brother off. “Those idiots don’t know who they’re tangling with.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Kita said, an approving note coloring his voice. The manager blew the whistle, and the starters spread out across the court. Atsumu lifted his chin as he stepped into the setter’s location. He had memorized this court, and he could walk across the gym without fear. He could visualize it in his mind’s eye, every single line and obstacle. 

The referee whistle sounded again. The ball went up, its bells rattling loudly. Atsumu tensed. The other team’s footsteps were like a rock breaking through ice. He didn’t recognize any of them. It was overwhelming, the amount of chaos. He had to focus, he had to get his bearings, he could not fuck up. 

Atsumu felt the ball in his hands. He passed it to Osamu (at least, he thought it was Osamu. It might have been Aran, their footsteps were so similar--) and prayed it was the right height. He heard the spiker send the ball down, only for it to be blocked right back on to their side of the court. The first point went to the visitors. 

As did the second. 

And the third. Atsumu could feel his spirits sinking. No, you WILL win this, just keep pushing for it. He took a deep breath. He had to focus. Like Kiyoomi said, the details would make the game. He just had to pick out the right ones. 

“I told ya we would beat them! Easy pickings, with a blind setter.” Atsumu frustration only grew as the ball went up again. He heard Akagi receive it. It was his, his to send. Osamu’s footsteps were coming closer. The rattling of the bells was so close. He stuck out his hands and pushed it to Osamu. 

The other team had a pattern. They leaned toward the right, because they picked up that Atsumu was a hell of a lot more comfortable setting that way. That was where they would run. Osamu was on his left. 

It lined up perfectly.

It hit the other side with a metallic clang. The point was theirs. 

“A fluke.” The opposing setter said. Atsumu could imagine that he had an ugly sneer on his face. 

“This fluke just took a point from you.” He hissed back, forcing the smile to stay on his face. 

“It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, but I think it will.” The referee signalled the start of the next point with a sharp blow of the whistle. 

After scoring that point, Atsumu felt a new fire in his veins. The drive to win was stronger than ever. It bit at his heels like a dog, spurring him onward until he met his goal. He hit set after set, and they scored point after point. The thirst for victory would not be quenched, not until the final whistle was blown and he could laugh in the other team’s face and say that the blind setter kicked their asses .

Inarizaki had pulled ahead. They were at twenty-three points, leaving Kobe Yamate with twenty. Theoretically, it was still anyone’s game. To Atsumu, it was his to take. 

The ball went up again, Aran serving it. The other team returned it, and Akagi received it. Atsumu was faintly aware of him stumbling what he thought was out of bounds. The bells were jingling, their arc high and tempo fast. He ran to get in position. 

“Your set, ‘Tsumu!” Osamu shouted. Atsumu gritted his teeth. The ball was coming, it was right above him, he knew exactly where it was. He heard the approaching footsteps of Ginjima to his left. He was about to jump, he needed this ball. Atsumu pushed it up, bending backward slightly. He heard the bells rattle as Ginjima sent it down. It ricocheted off of the floor. Atsumu smirked, straightening up as the point went to them. 

“Insult me again, and I will make pottery with your bones. This blind guy can and will beat your sorry asses.” Atsumu whispered as he walked in what he hoped was the direction of the time-out huddle. He felt Osamu pat his back as Kita began speaking. 

“We’re at match point, and we can take this set. Kosaku, it’s your time to shine.” They ran back out to the court. Atsumu listened to the even footsteps of his teammates as the whistle blew. 

The rest of the game flew by, Inarizaki taking the first two sets and winning. Atsumu could help but continue to flash arrogant grins toward the opponents. He smirked when the final point was scored. They won. After the ‘good games’ and ‘thank yous’ being said, Kita gathered the team around. 

“This is the first step to Nationals.” Kita said. “We will be continuing the tradition of our school. Our obstacles only make us stronger, and we will face our demons.” Atsumu lifted his chin, his signature smirk back.

“Never thought I would be happy to see that expression.” Osamu said with a laugh. 

“We’re gonna win this year. I feel it in my bones.” Atsumu said, crossing his arms. 

“Who needs memories!” Ginjima shouted, “When we got victory with our name on it!” The rest of the team shouted their agreement, the chorus of voices sounding like a melody. Atsumu grinned even wider, already envisioning their victory. 

Atsumu was jumping for the Sun, and he was going to make it. 

--

Saturday could not come quickly enough. 

Atsumu had finally managed to arrange another date with Kiyoomi. Their schedules had been hell during finals, and then preparing for the next tournaments. A breather had finally come, a moment where they could step away from the world and just be with each other. 

He floated through school and his activities, impatiently waiting for the weekend to arrive. He had not been able to wipe the smile off of his face for days, daydreaming about how the date and how it would go. He managed to pay attention in class, and the week was a little less horrible than the past ones had been. 

Kiyoomi arrived at 4:30. He was still wearing his mask and gloves (at least he assumed based on the slightly muffled voice), but didn’t flinch as badly as he used to when Atsumu hugged him. They had made small talk for a while, catching up on the events of the past week. Atsumu had not been able to keep the smile off of his face, just happy to be near Kiyoomi again. 

They had made their dinner reservations for 5:30. Kiyoomi had run to the bathroom as they prepared to leave. Atsumu laid his head against the wall, patiently waiting for Kiyoomi to finish preparing for their date. He never imagined that he would say yes to him; it definitely was a bright spot in his life. 

He wondered what Kiyoomi looked like. He tilted his head thoughtfully, trying to summon an image in his mind. It slowly came, the edges fuzzy. He had adjusted to the grayscale memories; he hated it, but there was nothing he could do about it anymore. 

The image of Kiyoomi fizzled out, like the last embers of a dying fire. Atsumu’s breath hitched in his throat. He was forgetting. Again. Nononono . He wouldn’t let this go, he couldn’t let this go.

He tried to bring it back, but it would not come. He could call for it, but it was lost in his subconscious. He didn’t know what Kiyoomi looked like, he didn’t know what Kiyoomi looked like—

What about Osamu? What did he look like? Atsumu felt his knees starting to give out. He didn’t know; they were twins, they probably looked the same, at least that was something—

His stomach flipped. What did Atsumu himself look like? 

Atsumu hit the floor, shock coursing through his veins. He should’ve seen this coming. First the colors. Appearances would be the next to go, he should’ve known. Atsumu buried his face in hands, desperately searching his mind for a face, for anything .

Atsumu’s mind stopped, another thought striking him. Oh my god, what about changed looks, I’ll never have a CHANCE at seeing those, at learning those—

He might not even look like Osamu anymore. For all he knew, his brother decided to grow a beard or something. He had no idea anymore. He just didn’t know.

Atsumu’s breath was coming in ragged gasps, his chest seizing up painfully. He wanted to stand up, but his legs refused to work. What do they look like, what does Kiyoomi look like, what about Kita, or Osamu, or Suna or Aran or Riseki— The list went on and on. 

His memories were gone, slowly being leached from his brain by forces he could not control. Atsumu’s stomach churned painfully. He curled his legs to his chest as he laid on the ground. 

Maybe he would pass out. Maybe he would see the faces in his dreams. Sometimes he saw colors there. He could never recall them when he reawakened, but it was nice while it lasted. 

Atsumu’s nails were digging into his elbows as he tried to quell the shaking. When did he start shaking? He tried to inhale more air, only succeeding in feeling like a gasping fish. Somewhere a door opened. 

“I’m ready...” the words died in Kiyoomi’s throat. Atsumu heard panicked footsteps coming toward him. A tentative hand on his back. There were no more words spoken. Atsumu was grateful for the silence. 

Kiyoomi’s voice reminded him that he wouldn’t see him again. Not even in his memories. It was all gone, lost lost lost LOST—

Atsumu didn’t know when he stopped shaking, or when his chest released and the tension left. He took in a deep breath, his breathing steadily returning to normal. Kiyoomi waited for him to sit up before starting the questions. Atsumu could feel his gaze on him as he rose back to his feet. 

“What happened?” Kiyoomi asked finally, with genuine concern in his voice. 

“I...I can’t remember.” Atsumu managed to say. He felt the tremors starting to run through his veins again, shaking him to his core. 

“Can’t remember what?” 

“Faces. I can’t- what do-“ Atsumu struggled to form the words, his brain still muddled from the terror. 

“Oh.” Kiyoomi said quietly. “I se— understand.”  

“I don’t know what anyone looks like!” Atsumu wailed suddenly, the perspective striking him like a bullet. “I don’t even know what I look like anymore! What about my brother? Do we still look the same? And... and I don’t remember what *you* look like. I tried to remember, but it wouldn’t come.” Kiyoomi did not respond to his outburst. Atsumu didn’t expect him to; it was overwhelming. 

Who needs memories?

Atsumu did. 

When you have victory .

Atsumu needed memories to get the victory this time. 

“...Kiyoomi, what do you look like?” Atsumu asked suddenly. Kiyoomi jolted next to him, the question having taken him by surprise. He could feel the black haired (that was his hair color, at least he hoped it was) man’s gaze on him. “I can’t remember anymore. It’s so fuzzy, like the details blurred together. It scares me. Please, remind me.”

“I’m not— it doesn’t matter.” Kiyoomi said quickly. Atsumu lowered his head, disappointed blooming in his chest. Even now, he still doesn’t get it.  

“I wish I remembered what you really look like. I— I have bits and pieces, ya know? Just- Just not everything. And it hurts. It’s even worse than not remembering colors, because now I’m forgetting the people I care about.” Atsumu continued.

“Should you really be talking about this subject since you just had a panic attack over it?” Kiyoomi pointed out. Atsumu hesitantly reached for his hand. He was mildly yet presently surprised when he took it. His hand was warm to the touch, spreading the gentle embers down Atsumu’s own, cold ones. 

“Yeah. I really do.” Kiyoomi was silent for a long time. Atsumu had no idea what was going on in his head. He couldn’t see his expression, and he was sitting so still he might as well be dead to Atsumu. He sighed, preparing to stand up and leave, when Kiyoomi took his hand. 

“I have a better idea.” He brought Atsumu’s hand up to his face.

“Are you sure?” Atsumu asked hesitantly. “I know you don’t like people touching you—“

“I’ll manage this time.” Atsumu nodded and gently pressed his fingers against Kiyoomi’s cheek. He felt the other man flinch slightly, and he drew back. Kiyoomi’s hands were back on his, gently guiding them back toward him. “Sorry. Habit.” 

When Atsumu touched his cheek a second time, Kiyoomi didn’t move. Instead, he let Atsumu remember. He traced the bone structure and the visual slowly came back, reforming in his mind. A wave of relief washed over him. He remembered.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered finally, drawing his hands back. He could feel Kiyoomi’s blush from his position. A slow smile crossed his face. He felt happy tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Atsumu felt a hand gently cup his face, tilting it toward Kiyoomi, toward his true north. 

“Not as beautiful as you.” Atsumu leaned forward and Kiyoomi met him halfway. He felt Kiyoomi’s lips on his own, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. And he was reminded that it was okay. He was okay . 

Atsumu hadn’t forgotten anything. He just needed a reminder to remember. 

--

Atsumu’s spring was nothing short of chaotic. Despite his blindness, the setter had still been invited to the Olympic Training Camp from his first year. Clearly, the coaches still saw potential in him. Osamu had not been invited, yet he didn’t seem broken up about it at all. The new members of the camp had been intriguing. Kourai Hoshiumi had been particularly bold one, asking upfront what happened to Atsumu.

And for once, he didn’t flinch telling the story. 

The camp flew by, and soon the Spring Tournament was upon them. The chance every single team longed for, the chance to prove that they were the best. And this year, many felt they had a chance to topple Inarizaki, who had been proudly seated upon their throne of victory.

Because of Atsumu.

The thought circled his mind on the bus ride. Everyone believed that he would be the reason for an Inarizaki loss. 

Atsumu would not let them be toppled. Inairzaki would stay on top, their throne forever belonging to them. They were the best team in Hyogo, and Atsumu was going to help secure that fact. He would be damned if he didn’t go to Tokyo. He would be damned if he didn’t win .

The biggest gym in the prefecture was in Kobe. Inarizaki was already close, so the trip over lasted a mere twenty minutes. The team had been oddly silent. They were worried; this was the least secure their success had been in a long time. But he would not let that stop him from playing the best he could.  

Atsumu had been training months for this. This moment, this point in his life. He had known that this would be the turning point in his volleyball career. He knew various scouts still had their eyes on him; they saw something in him, despite the fact that he couldn’t see. 

I am the top setter.

Atsumu repeated the mantra in his head, over and over again. He wasn’t afraid to play. He wasn’t afraid to kick the other team’s asses. As the top team, they were slated for one game: the finals. 

He would be lying if he said it didn’t make his stomach flip. His confidence was wavering. Atsumu hated this doubt. He knew what he could do… at some point, at least. 

He needed this win. He needed this, to prove his worth. An official match. A spot in Tokyo. Atsumu could envision the headlines. Blind Setter Makes it to Nationals. He smirked at the thought. 

The bus pulled up to the stadium, and they disembarked. Kita helped him hop off the metal stairs, stepping lightly onto the concrete. Atsumu slung his bag over his shoulder as he walked toward the gym. He narrowly avoided slamming into the door, barely saved by Suna pulling him away from it. Loud chattering filled his ears as people brushed past them. He scowled. 

“Assholes.”

“Yep.” Suna deadpanned. “It’s clear now. Go ahead.” 

“I don’t--” Atsumu started, then stopped with a sigh. He did need to be told if the way was clear; he had opted to leave his cane on the bus, not wanting to deal with even more comments then he was already going to receive. He reluctantly let the team guide him to the gym’s main entrance. He stood toward towards back as the coaches checked them in. 

“Inarizaki’s here.” A voice said behind Atsumu. He refused to react, keeping his attention away from the voice. It was harder said than done, especially he couldn’t stare at something to space out. 

“I can’t believe they’re still bracketed as the final.”

“Well, they did win last year.”

“But this year…”

“It really is just getting to the finals, huh? That should be enough to get to Nationals.” Atsumu gritted his teeth. Underestimation, again. Over and over, he was doubted. 

“Don’t snap.” Osamu whispered in his ear. 

“Oh, I’m going to.” Atsumu whipped around and stormed in the direction of the voices. “Hey!” He shouted, coming to a stop. He felt the two rival players shift, turning their attention to him. 

“Oh- oh hey, look, it’s someone from I-Inarizaki!” The first guy stumbled over his words, clearly flustered. 

“Yeah, yeah shut up.” He spat out, his hands still in fists. He raised on and pointed in the general direction of the voices. “I am going to beat you, or whoever else plays me today.” 

“Good luck, you’ll need it.” The second voice said with a low laugh. 

“I don’t need luck, you expired coupon.” Atsumu responded. He crossed his arms and walked back to his team. The winning team. “I have talent , which you likely lack.” He didn’t bother listening for a reply. 

“Expired coupon? Really?” Ginjima deadpanned. 

“Best insult I could think of.” Atsumu said with a shrug.

“It was lame.” Osamu said, laughing, Atsumu slapped his arm, glaring at him. 

“Shut yer trap!” 

“Alright!” Kita said suddenly. “We aren’t playing until tonight. Let’s go take our place in the stands.” Atsumu walked in the middle, letting the team help guide him. He still hated the feeling of helplessness, having to rely on other people to help him walk without tripped. 

He should have sucked it up and brought the cane. 

“They’re still letting him play?” A haughty voice from the other team sounded. Atsumu sighed, running his hand through his hair. Another jackass confronting him, another idiot thinking that he couldn’t do it. He turned around, praying he was facing the right direction when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

“Don’t.” Kita said softly. Atsumu could feel how tense his captain was. He gently pulled away, sighing again. 

“I’m tired of hearing that.” 

“I know. But you’ll just have to kick their asses later, won’t you?” Atsumu could picture the grin spreading across Kita’s face. He nodded curtly. 

“I think getting beaten by a blind setter would be a tough pill to swallow.” He grinned slowly. 

“Then you force feed it to them. We will win this.” Kita led him back off of the court, to the stands in which Inarizaki made their home until their moment had come. 

Inarizaki had saved its spot as the top school within Hyōgo, meaning they only had to play in the finals. And so the team observed their competition, seeking out their soon to be challengers. Atsumu listened to the games. Each ball being sent over the net sent a new tremor of anxiety through his body.

But he would never show it. Atsumu Miya was confident, poised and egotistical. He had to maintain that mask, because he would crumble without it. 

The clock finally counted down, their midnight finally here. It was Inarizaki’s time to shine, time to prove that they were still the best in the prefecture. 

Atsumu would not let their reputation slide. He could do this, he would not be the weak link in the team. 

They were going to Tokyo again, and Atsumu would stay the top setter in Japan. 

“Alright team.” Kita said, his voice solemn. “The game is upon us. Now is the chance to prove that Inarizaki will not be beaten. Our team is stronger than it was last year.” Next to Atsumu, the rest of the team nodded in agreement. 

They believed they could win this. 

“The spot in Tokyo is ours for the taking. Our weaknesses make us stronger.  We are still a top team, and that is where we will stay!” Kita shouted the last part. Atsumu pictured him throwing his fist in the air. The captain had a flair for dramatics; it only made sense. 

“Who needs memories.” Atsumu muttered. “When you’ve got victory with your name on it?”

“That’s the spirit!” Ren said with a hearty laugh. The team began to walk down from the bleachers, filling to the locker room. Atsumu’s hands were already sweaty by the time they reached the court. He couldn’t fight the fear of losing. He would always try and fend it off, but it would come back.

Today he would face it. 

The orchestra was already playing a song, their warm-ups long since finished. Atsumu hated the band, finding them irritating. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t play at a soccer game, or find some other sport to harass. “ It’s good for school spirit!” 

Atsumu silenced the music with a wave of his hands. He had never been fond of having the band at the volleyball games. He found them distracting more than anything else; the fans were already irritating. But now with his blindness, he needed the silence. Only the crucial sounds could make it through. He knew he couldn’t stop the cheering, but the orchestra would listen to him. 

The music died down as Atsumu bounced the ball against the floor. The referee whistle blew and he tossed the ball up, listening to the bells. He bent his knees as the sound grew further away, and he leapt as the sound came closer to him. He felt his hand collide with the ball, hitting it with as much force as he could muster. 

The other team barely stood a chance. The first point was theirs. 

He served again, this time successfully being received. He ran back up to the net, ready for the set. Turns out, he didn’t need to. Suna and Omimi blocked it, securing another point for them. Rinse and repeat. 

Atsumu grinned. He could feel his confidence level rising again. They were going to win, if he had anything to say about it. The other team’s irritation levels were rising, higher and higher. 

Inarizaki took the first set. 

Atsumu sneered at the other team. He could feel the frustration radiating off of the other team. It felt good, knowing that he was causing the irritation. He strode over to the bench, keeping his chin lifted. He ruined the moment by nearly tripping over it, his foot catching on the metal edge. 

Atsumu righted himself quickly, a smile still across his face. Osamu clapped him on the back, snickering. Kita cleared his throat. 

“We’re doing good, team. We just need to take two more sets, and the win is ours. It will not be taken, and we will get to Nationals.” Kita’s tone was even, but Atsumu could imagine the confident smile on his face. The whistle blew and the team retook their positions, prepared to play the second set. 

Atsumu launched set after set, listening as the points began to add up. After this, no one would say anything about his blindness, because he won . He listened as the referee blew the whistle, signalling the end of the set. Inarizaki took it again.

“How the hell…” Atsumu turned his head in the direction of the voice, a lazy smile crossing his face. 

“Practice.” He said simply before walking away. 

Their opponents said nothing after that. 

The rest of the match flew by. There is no team like us in this entire damned prefecture. The ball slammed down again. The whistle blew. Atsumu’s confidence increased with every set, and reached new heights as the final match point was met. He was playing, he could play, he was winning. 

They said he was lesser. That his blindness made him weak, inherently unable to set or serve or play as well as anyone else. Atsumu tossed the ball to Aran. 

They said Inarizaki’s reign was over. That the great volleyball team of Hyōgo would be overthrown finally. That they would be thrown from the throne they had held so long on to. Arian’s hand hit the ball with a loud pop .

They said that he would not play again. That he would never taste victory again. That he would never be the top setter again. That all he would ever do was loose and have nothing but memories to remind him of his so-called prime.

Who needs memories.

The ball dropped. It hit the gym floor, bouncing slowly. The court was so silent a pen drop could be heard. The referee blew his whistle. He heard the whoosh of the flag, the flag the sounded like it was in their direction—

“WE WON!” Kita screeched. Atsumu felt someone grab his shoulders— presumably Osamu. 

“ATSUMU! WE FUCKING DID IT!” Osamu said, laughter emitting out of him. A euphoric giggle rose in Atsumu’s chest. They had won. Not only that, but he won a personal victory. He beat the other setters, the ones who could see. Their spot at Nationals was his. 

Atsumu let out a shout of joy. He heard the thundering footsteps of his team, running onto the court. The crowd was going berserk, awed by the win they just pulled off. He felt the team, his team, surrounding him, all of them embracing each other. We won, we won, we won. Atsumu let out another whoop, unable to keep the smile off his face. Kita patted his shoulder.

“Told you we would win this.” Atsumu grinned broader, imagining the beaming expressions on each of his teammates’ faces. They had done it. No one ever suspected that had a chance. The reporters said they would be eliminated in the first round they played in, because of him. And yet Atsumu helped them pull out the win. His greatest weapon was his unpredictably, and he wielded it like the double edged sword that it was. It paid off, and the reporters would have one hell of a story tonight. Because against all odds, Inarizaki had won . 

They were going to Nationals. 

--

“Who’s our first opponent?” Atsumu asked, leaning on the railing. 

“Either Tsubakihara from Kanagawa or Karasuno High from Miyagi. Depends on who wins.” Osamu said, flipping through his sheets.

“Oh! Karasuno, huh? Tobio-kun was from there.” Atsumu mused. He met Tobio Kageyama at the Olympic Training Camp, a fellow setter and a damn good one at that. 

“Wasn’t he the one who called Sakusa ‘average?’”

“Yeup! That’s the one!” Atsumu would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to playing the school. He wanted to see what Kageyama could do in a real match. And he wanted to hear the frustration from the other team when they lost. 

Atsumu wanted to win. 

Inarizaki was playing on the second day, exempt from the first due to their higher placement. Karasuno moved on, solidifying them as the opponent. Atsumu couldn’t wait. 

Warm-ups were dull. The opposing team was anxious to be facing them, and for good reason. Inarizaki was regarded as one of the best teams in the country. And Atsumu himself was viewed as a mystery; one that they learned about when it was too late. 

The band was playing once again as they warmed up. He had never been a fan of having musical accompaniments at the games. He found them distracting. But Atsumu kept his mouth shut about it whenever orchestra members were around. They already hated him for his “silencing” stunts.  

Atsumu heard the other team warming up, the spikes being sent down. “Bring it here!” Atsumu turned his head in the direction of the voice, his attention on the shout. The ball slammed into the floor. He turned away, deciding to focus on his own warmups.

This would be a fun game, he could already tell.

“Isn’t this the team with that ridiculous quick?” Suna commented. 

“Mhm.” Atsumu said, tossing the ball in his hands.

“Nice.” Suna responded, no emotion present. The topic didn’t resurface until the team speech, in which Kita warned them to pay attention. Atsumu wasn’t worried. Most attacks were hard to predict to him; he was lucky when he got it right without guidance. He would do his best, and be as unpredictable as he could in retaliation.

“Who needs memories.” He muttered. Inarizaki was up first to serve. Atsumu was up first to serve. He took a deep breath. The setter walked to the base line. The band continued to play as Atsumu raised his hand, balling it into a fist. He drew it down, silencing the orchestra.

The silence was deafening. He loved it.  

Atsumu tossed the ball up. The sounds of talking filled his ears, and his focus waivered. He hit the ball, and it felt awkward against his hand. Shit, shit, shit. He heard the yell of “out!” He glared at the stands, hoping it was in the right direction. 

He spun the ball once in his hands. Atsumu tossed it up again, running forward and hitting it as hard as he could. “Out!” 

“Damnit!” He yelped. 

“Lame.” Osamu chuckled slightly next to him. 

“Shuddup!” He protested. “My serve just slipped away!”

“Right.” Osamu said flatly. “Or you got distracted again.”

“Same difference.” The rest of the game progressed. Atsumu did his best to tune out the rest of the crowd as he launched set after set. The score continued to stay in flux, neither team either to secure a lead. 

“I forgot to hit the ball!” A loud cry sounded from the other side of the net. Shouyou Hinata. Atsumu normally would have laughed. Except for the fact that the first year had as many tricks up his sleeve as Kageyama did. The spiker was intriguing, to say the least. And he can work with Tobio Kageyama, of all people .

“They’re experimenting while playing us.” Osamu sounded shocked.

“Both him and Tobio-kun march to the beat of their own drum. They’re dangerous.” Atsumu nodded in agreement. He couldn’t see Hinata, but he didn’t need to in order to realize how dangerous he was. 

“Don’t you do the same thing?”

“Maybe. But I’m on your side.” The whistle sounded again, disrupting the conversation. Suna was serving next. Atsumu heard it being received. He tensed next to Osamu, ready to receive. They leapt in unison as the bells drew closer. It flew over their hands. No! 

Aran’s footsteps were on his right. 

He could save this. Atsumu threw his hands back, reaching for the sound of the bells. He felt his hands collide with it and he sent it to Aran, who slammed it back down. “Nice one!” He called, his elation rising. 

“Don’t surprise me like that again!” The Ace said gruffly.

“Everything I do is a surprise.” Atsumu pointed out, still smiling. Aran sighed. They retook their positions. He heard the ball go up just as the whistle blew. Suna loved to mess with the opponents by using the tempos of the game. He joked that he would’ve made a good band kid. 

Karasuno barely received it, attempting to send it back over to them. Their blockers shut them down. Atsumu expected to hear another whistle, signalling another point to them.

It didn’t come. 

Instead, he heard footsteps. Rapid ones. So quick, he could barely pinpoint them.

“Holy shit--” Atsumu heard the light footsteps suddenly cease on the other side. He could barely react as the ball was slammed down. That’s the quick. They couldn’t even react. It had happened like lightning, illuminating the court for one brief second before it was over.

“Holy crap, that sounded so cool….” Atsumu wished he could have seen it in action. If hearing it was this good, he could scarcely imagine what it looked like. 

“Why is it whenever we’re playing in a match, your mental age regresses by at least five years?” Osamu deadpanned. Atsumu could picture him rolling his eyes. 

“Can it! Oooh, I think it’s Tobio-kun’s serve!” He switched the subject quickly, waiting. The crowd began to cheer offbeat, trying to throw the rhythm of the server. Atsumu was not a fan of the antics, but he could admit that they were effective. 

Atsumu chose to set the ball to Ren, the quick pace stealing them another point. Osamu was up to serve next, his signature waiting game coming into play. Atsumu smirked, counting off the eight seconds in his head. The libero received it, and Karasuno took the point.

It hardly made a dent in the lead Inarizaki had. Another botched serve from one of their spikers and a powerful one from Aran continued to increase the gap. Atsumu allowed himself a smile. They would not lose .

And so the game progressed. 

Points continued to be scored by both sides. Atsumu continued to adapt. He sent a set to Ginjima, and he took a point. They failed to block Hinata. It was a trade-off, one point for another. 

He couldn’t help but be slightly sad that he could not witness it with his own eyes. 

Atsumu tossed another set to Ginjima, waiting to hear the ball collide with the ground. But it never came. He heard it hit… something. 

“Was that his foot?!” The coach shouted. 

“What the hell?” Atsumu yelped, hearing the ball coming over the net. Their captain took the point. A flicker of worry rose in his chest. The gap was being closed. But he would reopen it. Atsumu sent another set to Ren, who quickly widened the lead again. He exchanged a high-five with the spiker. He heard a huff of frustration from the other side, and couldn’t help but smile again. Blind, but not out.

His turn to serve rolled around again. Atsumu paced back four steps from the baseline. The gym was not silent, the other team’s cheer squad alight with a new fire. The drums rattled against his skull, but he could not afford to be phased by it. 

He tossed the ball up and pushed it with his hand. The bells rattled as it hit the other side. The other team’s shock came off in waves; they hadn’t expected the sheer velocity of the serve. His serious expression never faltered; his full focus was on the game. 

“Hey… ‘Samu.” Atsumu approached his brother, an idea forming. It was a wild, long shot, but he figured they were already halfway to achieving it.

“Yeah ‘Tsumu?” 

“Last thing we wanna do in this game is let opportunity get away from us, right?”

“What are you implying?” Osamu’s tone shifted to suspicious.

“Wanna try something crazy?” Atsumu asked with a grin.

“When is it normal with you?”

“Let’s do that quick attack.” Osamu stilled next to him. Atsumu could feel the shock radiating from him. “Listen. We already kind of do that anyway, since you guys have to deal with my blindness. Let’s just take it a step further.” 

“Okay.” 

“It’s a great idea, we just-- wait, okay?” 

“Might as well.” Osamu said apathetically. “If you think you can pull it off, then I trust you to make it happen.”

And they did. Atsumu pushed the ball to where he visualized Osamu being. He could imagine his brother being there, already in position to spike. And it worked. Osamu hit the ball, the Karasuno blockers barely able to react. 

“I can’t believe you did that.” Suna deadpanned.

“Hell yes! Not as good as Tobio-kun, but it sure as hell is fun to his mimic moves.” Atsumu laughed. “I wish I could see their faces.”

“They looked pissed.”

“Good to know.” Atsumu served again, this time the Karasuno receivers ready. They lost the point after a failed block on Inarizaki’s behalf. The game continued on, service ace after spiker after move causing the points to progress. Every card was laid on the table, both sides desperate to win. 

The turning points in the game blurred together. Inarizaki shut down the quick attack, partially thanks to Atsumu interpreting the pattern. He was rather proud of that play. He missed sets, but refused to let the moment drain. 

Atsumu wanted to win. 

He was shocked when their quick was shut down. Atsumu had heard rumors about Tsukishima Kei from the Shiratorizawa match. And he was not to be underestimated. He shut down spike after spike. 

Atsumu couldn’t pinpoint the patterns of the other team’s footsteps. They all moved too damn fast for him to catch on. And yet, the lead was theirs. They were going to win. 

The score continued to fluctuate, the sets moving slowly. No side could secure a lead. Atsumu had to adapt quickly. His blindness was proving to be a true double-edged sword; if he couldn’t pinpoint the sound, the ball would get past him. 

It didn’t stop him from making snide comments. Every chance he got, he would do his best to instil a seed of doubt into the opponent’s mind. Atsumu found it to be effective, and it helped them score points. But the score remained tied nonetheless. 

Karasuno took the first set.

Atsumu wasn’t worried. Not yet. 

Inarizaki took the second set by a landslide. Thanks to Kita coming back in and becoming a rally point. They had been losing focus, their game wild and chaotic. The captain drew it back in and led them to victory. 

The third set was close.

Kageyama hit the ball right to Atsumu, forcing him to receive it. He couldn’t set it. He was shocked, the footsteps the only sound he could truly hear. He couldn’t set it. 

He heard Osamu’s footsteps. Approaching the ball, as quickly as he could. His brother could set it. Atsumu heard the bells go up. He jumped without thinking, and felt it collide with his hand seconds later. The volleyball was sent down as the whistle blew. 

The gym was deathly silent. A pen could be dropped and the entire court would be able to hear it. Atsumu was standing slack-jawed, trying to gauge the reactions of Karasuno. 

“HOLY HELL!” Osamu shouted. 

“That WORKED!” Atsumu turned in the direction of Osamu’s voice. He couldn’t help the elation he felt. The euphoria coursed through his veins as the game progressed on. Inarizaki took the lead after that, their tempo going good. They were set to win the match, they were set to move on.

But Atsumu messed up the quick. 

He caused Kita to have to scramble for the ball. The score was tied. They managed to make it to match point first, with Karasuno close behind them. Each side played to the best of their abilities. Neither side was ready to admit defeat. 

They all wanted to win.  

Neither side willing to admit that they were defeated. That they were the lesser team. Atsumu wanted to win, he wanted to win, he wanted to-

The ball dropped. The spike was shut down. 

Inarizaki lost. 

Atsumu had been shocked. He had thought they would easily be able to beat the Flightless Crows… and yet, they were proving that they were not that any longer. As they walked off of the court, Atsumu kept his chin high. He was disappointed, and he was sure he would cry over the defeat later. 

He had been naive to think the quick would work. And yet it was exhilarating at the same time. After all, there was next year. He couldn’t shake the guilt of letting his upperclassmen down. The game had been thrilling, but in the end, he experimented too much. 

It wasn’t the blindness that led to the loss. 

That was the only part that made him smile. Atsumu had proved his abilities as a setter today. Despite the loss, he could not blame his lack of sight for that. 

As Atsumu was leaving he heard Hinata conversing with Kageyama. He turned around, his full attention on the short spiker. He raised one finger and pointed at him.

“One day, I’m gonna set for you.” Atsumu didn’t bother waiting for a response. He strode back to where his team was waiting. “But first, I’m going to crush you next year.” 

Atsumu bowed with his team, thanking the spectators for their support. He didn’t think that the applause was needed, as they had lost . And yet, one of the men had said that “it was a good, close game, and they did their best.”

There could only be one winner. 

He kept his mouth shut. Atsumu would be the victor next year.

He would not lose to Karasuno again. 

—

Atsumu had been chosen as the next captain. 

Osamu was just as surprised as him when he heard. But he couldn’t think of anyone more fitting then his brother. He worked his ass off and it paid off. 

Inarizaki placed second in the Spring Tournament that year. They beat Karasuno, just like Atsumu said they would. And yet, they lost to Itachiyama Institute, but everyone took the loss surprisingly well. Osamu actually caught Atsumu and Sakusa in the hallway afterward, making out as if they hadn’t just played a championship volleyball game. 

Pretty soon, graduation rolled around. Atsumu was still intending on playing volleyball professionally, while Osamu was already planning on heading to business school to learn to run a restaurant. Atsumu hadn’t taken the news well, but ultimately begrudgingly admitted that Osamu should pursue his dreams. 

The graduation ceremony had been slow. The principal droned on about the virtues of the class, and how they would show those in the real world, blah blah blah. Osamu almost fell asleep during it, barely awake for the diploma ceremony.

The class lined up, walking to receive their diplomas. Atsumu was ahead of him. He shook the principal’s hand, took his diploma and continued to walk. The principal nudged him slightly, intending on guiding him in the correct direction.

It was not the right direction. Osamu saw it happen in slow motion. His right foot along the edge of the stage. Atsumu stumbled, and could not regain his balance. He tripped, and disappeared from sight with a loud crash . 

“Did he just... fall off the stage—?” Ginjima’s face drained of color as he turned around. The dark circles under his eyes were even more prominent. Osamu sighed, peering over the side of the podium. Suna followed his gaze with his phone, already recording. He had a smirk plastered across his face; if Osamu had to guess, he’d already been documenting this in case something like Atsumu falling off the stage had the misfortune of occurring. 

“Atsumu, you good?”

“FUCK!”

“He’s fine.” Osamu said flatly. He thanked the principal, whose face was flushed from embarrassment, and took his diploma before hopping off of the stage himself to help Atsumu back up. “That’s gonna be viral in the next hour.”

“Suna recorded it, didn’t he?” Atsumu said with a groan. “It’s the fucking fist fight all over again. I’m going to slaughter that little shit.” 

“Please don’t, he’s my boyfriend.” Osamu responded, helping his brother stand back up. 

“Fine. I’ll think about it.” Atsumu grumbled. “We don’t even know the video will blow up.”

“There’s always that idea too. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

The video had over a million hits within the first twenty four hours. 

“It’ll be fine, my ass.” Atsumu face planted onto his bed when he heard the news (from roughly seven people). Osamu merely laughed at him. 

“It was pretty funny.”

“Shut up, ‘Samu.” Atsumu threw his pillow at him. Osamu smirked as it flew to his left.

“So…” He flopped next to his brother. “Any thought of where you’re gonna go now? Since you’re going all the way to Osaka ...” Osamu trailed off. His brother had elected to move to the new city, after being scouted for a professional volleyball team there. He remembered how excited Atsumu had been to receive offers. 

He really was proving he could change the world. 

“Kiyoomi offered to let me move in.” Atsumu blurted out, a grin across his face. “We’re going to be living in the same area. He’s going to college and I’m going pro. And we can keep training together now.” Osamu stared at him in shock. He let out a laugh, punching his shoulder. 

“That’s awesome!! Why didn’t ya tell me?”  

“He offered like three minutes ago.” Atsumu said sheepishly. “And I accepted.”

“Good for you, bro. I think that’s a good move. To practice for when you guys get married, and all.” Osamu teased his brother, poking his side again. Atsumu swatted his hand, smirking.

“Shut up. Say, when is Rintarou moving in? I think wedding bells are in your future, too.” Osamu buried his face in a pillow. 

“Shut up, ‘Tsumu.”

“No.” Atsumu said with a laugh. “You’re probably gonna get married first.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” Osamu said with a snort. Atsumu nodded, and the two laid in silence for a while. 

Who needs memories .

Their high school mantra. And yet Osamu found himself swimming through them. All the trials they had overcome. And now it was time for them to fly, to make their mark on the world. 

Summer flew by. It was full of preparations and procedures, final forms to be filled out. They enjoyed some off time they had, returning to the gym. The banner was still hanging up, blowing slightly in the wind. 

Who needs memories . 

The day finally arrived. Atsumu was headed to Osaka, and Osamu was heading further into the Hyōgo prefecture for his school. He drove his brother down to the train station. 

Who needs memories. 

Since day one, they only really had each other. Their parents were often absent, leaving Atsumu and Osamu with each other. They fought, but they also thrived. They could count on each other, forever. 

And now it was time for them to part ways. 

It wasn’t goodbye forever. Osamu knew his brother would be easily reachable, but it would be strange without him around 24/7. He sat with Atsumu as they waited for the train to arrive. It pulled into the station right on schedule. Atsumu stood up to board it. Osamu placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Wait a second.” Atsumu turned back around.

“Yeah?” Osamu pulled his brother into a hug. He felt Atsumu hug him back. He smiled. 

“Good luck, ‘Tsumu.”

“Good luck, ‘Samu.” 

The two brothers patted each other on the back one more time, before Atsumu turned to the train. He walked steadily with his cane, not a single falter in his cadence. Osamu watched as Atsumu boarded the train. His brother waved to him one more time, pushing down his sunglasses as the train door shut. 

He smiled once, then walked away. Atsumu would be fine. 

Memories are forever. 

—

Sakusa was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to fall into a routine with Atsumu.

He hadn’t been hesitant about asking Atsumu to move in. He was his boyfriend after all; and there was a point when living together became essential to the survival of the relationship. Sakusa was just nervous about sharing a room-- and how bad his mysophobia was in that situation.

The apartment was standard; a sitting room, small kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. Atsumu was respectful of his space. The blind man offered to sleep on the couch until Sakusa was ready to share a room. 

After three months, Sakusa was comfortable sharing a room. He built a pillow barrier, keeping their sides separate. He wasn’t prepared for physical contact yet. 

Five months after they moved in together, he tentatively took away the first pillow. Two and a half weeks later, the second. And he woke up with Atsumu in his arms. 

And he didn’t want to let go.

Sakusa went to college, working for a minimal four year degree. He was planning on going pro in volleyball, but he wanted higher education. Atsumu had practice most days, often spanning from the morning to the afternoon. They spent the nights together, complaining about how hard the day was or comment on Sakusa’s cooking or make fun of their teammates and classmates respectively. 

Sakusa couldn’t deny how in love he was. 

On weekends, he would help Atsumu keep training. It benefited them both; Sakusa kept up for post-college, and Atsumu got extra training. The Pro Leagues were cutthroat, and he knew how sharp they both had to stay sharp. 

But some days they took off. Some days they had to themselves. 

One Saturday, Sakusa had no classes, and Atsumu’s practice had been cut short. And so they relaxed. They lounged around for most of the day, their obligations fulfilled. Atsumu continued to pester him about joining the Black Jackals, to which Sakusa told him to be patient and wait for him to graduate. 

“Omi, you would fit  in perfectly.”

“Mhm.”

“Bokkkun’s on the team.”

“How low is the team’s IQ?”

“You wound me so!” Atsumu said with a laugh. The conversation dropped off as they both fell asleep, the exhaustion from the past weeks hitting them hard. Sakusa woke up first, Atsumu still softly snoring. He looked so peaceful, his scars hidden underneath his hair. He smiled softly and stood up. 

He shuffled into the kitchen, pulling out his tattered cookbook. He flipped open and turned on the stove. He hummed to himself as he worked. He heard a loud yawn from the couch. He didn’t bother turning his head. Atsumu always took forever to wake up. 

“Kiyooooooomi~!” Atsumu called from the couch after ten minutes, stretched across the olive pillows. Sakusa turned to him, resisting an eye-roll that would not be seen. He walked over and looked down at him. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, I’m just bored.” 

“Then suffer.” Sakusa turned back to the book, ignoring the sound of protest from the blonde. He laughed to himself and went back to cooking. 

Dinner flew by, their conversations turning to volleyball, and the day drew to a close. Atsumu had been oddly quiet since dinner. Sakusa could tell the setter had something on his mind. He didn’t pry. Atsumu would talk to him when he was ready. 

“Do you really think I can do it? I can stay pro?” Atsumu asked finally as they had settled into  bed. Sakusa looked over at him. He was sitting up, his expression strangely tranquil. 

“Of course I do.” Sakusa reassured him. 

“You’re not just saying that, right? To make me feel better?” The first crack in Atsumu’s defense gave in. He was nervous; Sakusa could tell. He reached over and patted his arm. The action once felt so foreign, so wrong , yet now it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do for Atsumu. 

“You know me well enough to know if I didn’t think you could do it, I would tell you.” 

“Fair enough.” Atsumu smiled, laying down. “Good night, Omi Omi.”

“Night, Atsumu.” 

—

The sound of blaring sirens filled Atsumu’s ears. Loud screaming, thrumming against his eardrums. He opened his eyes, only to see darkness. Why was he expecting anything else? He whipped his head around as people pushed past him. The panic from the people echoed through the building. Atsumu’s own began to well up inside of him, as he stumbled around, looking for the door. 

The room became silent. So silent, that Atsumu was sure he was alone. The smoke alarms continued to sound as the fire swept closer. Was the fire in this room? He continued to feel the walls, when heat filled his palms. He jumped back as the sharp scent of smoke filled his nostrils. He covered his mouth with his sleeves and paced backward. 

“Omi-kun? Where are you?” Atsumu called, reaching for something to grab on to. The crackle of fire grew louder and he drew his hand back quickly. The pungent scent of smoke grew sharper. Atsumu scrambled back as a gust of wind blew more of the heat in his direction.

“Osamu?” Atsumu tried next, raising his voice as something snapped above him. The smell of burning wood filled his nose and he leapt back again. A loud crash sound from beside him, and he felt something hot land on his hands. He let out a yelp and shook them furiously, until the burning sensation faded. The crackling do the flames grew louder as the wind howled in his ears, pushing the flames further in his direction. His sense of direction was skewed from the panic; he has no idea which direction he was even facing. 

“Kita? Suna? Anyone?! ” Atsumu shouted, his voice hoarse from the screaming. The only response was the fire, and the crash from the collapsing building. Another gust of wind brought the heat from the flames even closer to him. He could feel the sparks, sharp jolts of electricity and heat landing against his skin. He bit his lip to keep from screaming. 

Atsumu had to stay calm. He could make it out if he tried. Right ? He put his hands out in front of him and began feeling for a wall, a window, anything that could help him escape. His hands collided with something solid, and he let out a sigh of relief. 

He pushed himself to full height and continued to feel the wall, searching vainly for a door handle. The heat was getting closer, the snapping and crackling of the fire sounding like a snare drum beating in his ears. Every breath he took in was more labored as the smoke continued to surround him. He could feel it; an unnatural heaviness in the air, constricting his movements as its grey arms took a hold of him from the inside.  Astumu started coughing, his chest heaving from the effort of searching for an exit and the smoke finally forcing him to stop. 

“Help...” he tried to call. It only came out as a weak sound, completely drowned out by the fire. He thought he heard sirens in the distance, a glimmer of hope in the desolate situation. They won’t get here in time. He slid to the floor, his knees refusing to support his weight any longer. He held on to the wall, digging his nails in and trying to rise back to his feet. 

A wood beam snapped overhead, the sound like thunder in the middle of a storm. Atsumu couldn’t react fast enough, his thoughts already hazy from the smoke and limbs weighed down from exhaustion. 

A heavy weight landed on his legs, knocking him down. Atsumu screamed as pain ran through every nerve in his body, converging at his now-trapped legs. He tried to sit up, tried to reach for the wood and push it away before it was too late, before the fire got to him—

Atsumu felt the charred piece under his palms. He tried to push it off, letting out a grunt of pain as it shifted slightly. He continued to try and push it away, a small burst of triumph filling him as he felt it move the first time. 

It didn’t move again. 

Atsumu laid back against the ash covered floor, feeling the flakes cling to his scalp and soot-covered clothes. The smell of smoke was stronger than ever, and he could feel flames licking his face. He was going to die. 

Hot tears ran down Atsumu’s face. He was going to die, and he was alone. Everyone left him behind, left him to burn to death. He was a burden, and he would die like one. He coughed again as the smoke poured into his throat, the scratching feeling growing worse. He felt embers landing against his sleeve and a choked sob worked its way loose. 

“Why did you leave me?” Atsumu whispered, as the fire reached the wood holding his legs in place. “Why?” 

But there was no answer. The building was abandoned, and only ghosts roamed its halls. Atsumu was a ghost, a burden. He was left to this fate for things he could not control, for an accident that left him useless. He let out another sob, as the building continued to cry out with him, grieving for the souls lost to the flames. The last thing Atsumu heard was the roar of the flames as it consumed him.

.

.

.

Atsumu sat straight up, gasping for air. His hair was slick with sweat, and his face damp with tears. He clutched the side of the bed, his heart hammering against his chest. He inhaled sharply, the lingering smell of smoke still present in his nose. He coughed slightly. 

Kiyoomi was still asleep next to him, his breathing rhythmic while Atsumu’s was staggered, falling away from the steady beat. He rubbed his cheeks, wiping away the lingering tears. He took in a shuddering breath, counting to ten and allowing himself to calm down. He laid back down, holding on to his pillow for support. 

It felt so real. Atsumu genuinely thought he was going to die. He bit his lip, the memory replaying over and over in his head. Kiyoomi shifted next to him, as if he was sensing something was wrong. 

“Atsumu..?” Kiyoomi said wearily. “Are you alright?” He considered telling him the truth. Telling him about the dream, about the nagging fears. The incessant, nagging phobia always in the back of his mind, that he would someday be left behind. 

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” The lie flew easily from his mouth, rehearsed. Atsumu could fake it. He would be fine; it was just a nightmare. “Just kinda woke up. It’s too early, gonna go back to sleep.” He flipped onto his side, not waiting to hear Kiyoomi’s reaction. He heard a tired yawn, and then Kiyoomi laid back down himself. Atsumu breathed a sigh of relief. He shut his eyes, knowing sleep would not come for him. 

He could hide his fears, but Atsumu could not hide from them. 

—

Waking up the next day to go to the gym was a chore. Atsumu had barely slept the night before, his nightmare keeping him ill-rested. The fire nightmare had returned, even after a week since the initial dream passed. The exact same fear, over and over again. 

He wasn’t afraid of the fire anymore. It was the abandonment, the thought of being left alone to die. Because he was useless . 

Kiyoomi didn’t pry. Atsumu wanted him to. It was a paradox. Maybe opening up would alleviate some of the stress he was carrying, help make sense of the thousands of little doubts that circled his head. 

Practicing went even worse than Atsumu could have predicted. His exhaustion made pinpointing the ball even harder, even with the jingling bell. The bell did nothing but rattle against his skull, raising his irritation levels even higher. He felt the ball graze his hands. The setter struggled to keep it there, and ultimately dropped it. For the eleventh time.

Atsumu let out a shout of frustration. Kiyoomi said nothing, merely waiting for his temper to die down. But no matter what he did, it only continued to climb and climb. Useless, useless, useless. 

“I’m tired of this.” Atsumu said sharply, standing up. He kicked the volleyball away, listening as it rolled away. He heard Kiyoomi smooth down his jersey, the fabric making a small ruffle sound.

“You knew what you were signing up for.” Kiyoomi said simply. Atsumu heard his footsteps sounding away from his as he went to retrieve the ball. He reached out and felt for Kiyoomi’s arm, tapping his shoulder.

“I’m serious.” He said softly. “I don’t understand what the point is anymore.” The spiker turned to face him, a deathly silence descending over the deserted gym.

“Atsumu—“ Kiyoomi began, a note of unease entering his voice. Atsumu could imagine his normally placid and apathetic expression disturbed by Atsumu’s own agitation.

“This isn’t working! I hate having to rely on a volleyball with a fucking bell in it to play the damned sport!” He shouted back, all of his emotions spilling out at once. “How is this supposed to help me in the major leagues?”

“You learn. And you have been learning! Look at what you did during your second and third years of high school!” Kiyoomi was starting to raise his voice. Atsumu flinched slightly, but kept his attention on the spiker.

“That was high school ! This is—“ 

“No different! You played people like Ushijima Wakatoshi, like Koutarou Bokuto, like me ! That’s what the major leagues will be like. Which is why you will be fine.” Kiyoomi cut him off. Atsumu heard him pick up the volleyball, the familiar rattling bell jingling merrily inside it. He hated it. He hated the volleyball, hated the exceptions that were made because of his condition , hated the strange looks he could feel when he stepped into the gym. 

“I won’t be, Omi.” Atsumu said with a sigh. “There’s no point to keep trying when we know I’ll never be as good as the other, not broken setters.” He felt Kiyoomi suddenly grab his shoulders. Shock pulsed through him as Sakusa slammed him against the wall. He sputtered briefly, blindsided by the sudden shift in Kiyoomi.

“Don’t start this shitty self-pity, woe is me crap. It won’t do anything to help you.” He snapped, an iron grip on Atsumu’s shoulders. He refused to flinch, instead glowering at him. 

“I can’t do this, Kiyoomi!” 

“Give me one reason.” 

“ I CAN’T SEE! ” Atsumu shouted, the years of frustration finally spilling out of him. “I can’t see. You have to see the volleyball to play the game.”

“You’ve been proving that fact wrong for years now.” Kiyoomi said dryly. “Therefore, invalid point.” Atsumu let out a dry laugh, devoid of any humor. This time, Kiyoomi was the one to flinch slightly, his grip on his shoulders loosening. 

“Maybe in your eyes, Omi-kun. I’m broken, no one can deny that.”

“You aren’t broken.” Kiyoomi said, a sad undertone to his voice. Atsumu could picture him shaking his head in dismay. “No more than the rest of us.” 

“You don’t understand.” Atsumu pulled his hands off of his shoulder. He brushed Kiyoomi off, striding past him, forcing himself to keep walking. 

“Fine! Be selfish, be rude, and keep pushing me away!” Kiyoomi Sakusa shouted, his voice piercing Atsumu’s brain. He clenched his fists and kept his chin raised. Do not look back . “You’re gonna end up alone and all because you can’t grow up! People are trying to help you! But you keep pushing us away !” 

Atsumu knew he was right. Sakusa had been training him for three years, and knew what he was and wasn’t capable of. He wouldn’t sugar coat things; that wasn’t in his nature. And yet he could not shake the paranoia, the thoughts that he wasn’t good enough to achieve his dreams.

Part of him just wanted to give up. To say enough was enough. Atsumu hated relying on someone else to help him. Hated all the special exceptions made for him. He turned back around, his attention back on Sakusa. 

“Just leave.” Atsumu said, an edge to his voice, sharper than any sword. “You’re just like everyone else. I’m not helpless, and I don’t need your help— or you.”

Sakusa didn’t say anything. The silence was deafening, drowning out Atsumu’s thoughts. At last, footsteps sounded away from him. Walking toward the gym door. He heard it open with a small screech, and then slam shut moments later. The sound echoed through the deserted gym, leaving Atsumu alone in the darkness of his making.  

—

Dear Kiyoomi, 

God, this is stupid. I should just wait for him to come to me. Be patient. Wait, Osamu, are you writing this down? ...Osamu I swear to God, do not abuse this illustrious privilege I’ve given you—

—

It had been three days since Atsumu moved back in with Osamu. His brother and Suna slept in the master bedroom, and Atsumu stuck to the couch. He had left his and Sakusa’s place without fanfare, gathering up his possessions and walking out. By some miracle, he managed to avoid running into any door frames.

He was miserable. 

He was taking a hiatus from the Black Jackals. He missed his teammates, but he wasn’t ready to live in Tokyo alone yet. He would return by the end of the month, probably.

Or maybe not at all. He still wasn't certain he could do this. Play professionally. Two years, Miya. You’ve been doing it for two years now. Some would call it a bad day, a bad month. And yet this felt like so much more than a slump. 

Atsumu missed Kiyoomi. And yet he was angry. It was a sharp anger, jabbing at his stomach. It was a fire spreading through his entire body. He tried to tell himself that it was never meant to be, that Sakusa was just like everyone else. 

This fact remained, it was proven true: Atsumu could never love because no one would ever treat him like an equal. They would always view him as glass that shattered upon the slightest touch. 

The loneliness was heavier than any weight. It was as crushing as the dark abysses of the oceans, leaving Atsumu disoriented and depressed. He was drowning, and there was no way for him to find the surface.

—

Dear Kiyoomi,

I loved you. I love you. I promise you, it’s true. And yet I’m also tired. I’m tired of being treated like glass. Or of people stepping all over me because they deem me lesser. Both really fucking suck, and you were one of the only people who didn’t. 

Until you did. And it hurt. Fuck it, it hurt worse than being stabbed. What changed to make you think I had to be treated so with so much fragility? Fuck it, you probably thought I was made of glass since this happened. You were probably training with me out of pity. I don’t think you ever thought I could do it. 

Was it all a lie? 

I miss you. But I don’t want to be treated like glass. Fuck you for maybe doing that, fuck me for believing you did. I’m probably wrong. 

But it’s hard to believe anything different when you’re made to believe the other.

-I really don’t recommend using this one 

-You’re probably right. I just had to get it out.

—

Atsumu’s life was a void. He could see nothing but darkness. He dreamed that one day he would open his eyes and see the stars shining above him again, see the intricate patterns of the galaxy above him. He dreamed he would trace the constellations again and watch the darkly silhouetted trees sway gently in the wind. He dreamed he would be able to watch the meteor showers and the comets and the planets again. 

But the void of darkness had consumed it all. He was left to grope for a handhold in the shadows as the stars shone for everyone else. Atsumu’s stars were gone, the black hole having taken them away. He was left in the dark without a true north to guide him home.

—

Dear Kiyoomi,

I don’t even know where to start. 

I think I should apologize. But I don’t know how to say it. There are a thousand words to describe my feelings, but not enough for me to say sorry. 

I’m sinking, Omi. I’m going to drown in my sorrow at this point. I’m so tired of this fucking pining. I love you so much, it hurts. I want to come home. Please. 

Why am I begging. I sound so clingy. It’s like high school all over again. I’m too much for everyone to handle. At least I was the one pushing them away this time. After my accident, everyone treated me as special. I didn’t want to be that kind of special. I wanted to be human.

Was that too much to ask? 

Apparently so. 

I--

-’Tsumu?

-I can’t do this right now. 

--

Atsumu cried after trying to write that one. 

The memories hit him like lightning. He remembered the ostracization. It only increased after his accident. And now he was alone again.

He was going insane. He needed someone to talk to, someone to lean on. Atsumu could only take so much loneliness before he cracked. He appreciated everything that Osamu had done for him, but he had his own future to worry about. He had a partner who he clicked with.

Where Osamu and Suna were a river, flowing smoothly as life continued to roll, Atsumu and Kiyoomi were the ocean. They were cool one day, calm as the gentle waves of the Arctic Ocean lapping against the icebergs that dotted its waters. The next they were caught in a torrent, the raging seas throwing away everything and everyone. They destroyed as much as they built. 

The ocean was meant for storms. It picked up the damage apart, and it moved on. It held no grudges, because there was not enough time to relish in anger. 

Maybe Atsumu and Kiyoomi could do the same. 

--

Atsumu had taken up the habit of running his hands over his eyes when he was nervous. As if he could will them to see again, to take in the setting around him. Sakusa would never admit out loud how hard it was to see him like that, even as the years continued to pass. He still spoke with ill-disguised bitterness when the topic of sigh was brought up. 

Sakusa could never find the right words to counsel him. 

He was not an empathetic person in the first place; his strongest qualities laid in assessing people and telling them the problem. But he could see Atsumu was stressing again, so he tentatively put a hand on his arm. 

“Are you going to disappear someday, too? Will all I have are faulty memories?” His face was still tearstained from the panic attack he had fought off earlier. 

“I’m never going to leave you.” Sakusa said quietly. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

.

.

.

Sakusa wanted to keep that promise. And yet, he had failed. The guilt was weighing on him. 

But he was too stubborn. Too determined to not look back because Atsumu drove him away.

But he still loved him. 

--

  Dear Kiyoomi, 

It’s been two weeks since I last talked to you. I really miss you. I want to go home. Nothing against Osamu, I just need you. I was wrong to lash out. I think. 

I should probably have told you about the nightmares. I haven’t even told ‘Samu (he’s watching me closely now, I can feel it). I guess I should suck it up and tell you. So here it goes: 

Every night for the past however long, I’ve dreamed the same thing. There’s a fire, and I’m still blind. Sometimes I can see in my dreams, but never in these. I scream for help, but no one comes. I die slowly. Sometimes I’m crushed, sometimes I burn, sometimes it’s both. But the same fact remains: I’m always by myself.

I’m scared of being abandoned, Omi. 

Please. Let me come home. I’m sorry. 

Atsumu. 

-I’m scrapping this one. 

-Are you sure?

-Yes. 

--

Atsumu Miya was selfish. 

He knew this. 

Atsumu Miya cared about himself. He was a destroyer. He wrecked everything he touched, including his own life. Everything he laid his dirty hands on died. His nativity took his sight. He killed his relationship. 

He was tired of being a destroyer. He did not want his life to be an inferno. He wanted to live, to be happy. Atsumu Miya wanted to be happy . 

Kiyoomi Sakusa was part of that happiness.

Atsumu Miya was in love with Kiyoomi Sakusa. He wanted to come home to him. He wanted to build a life with him. He was willing to become a builder, to learn to let go of whatever it was inside him holding him back.

Atsumu Miya was selfish. Atsumu Miya wanted a life with Kiyoomi Sakusa, and he would be damned if he didn’t fix the mess he made. 

—

Dear Kiyoomi, 

This is the fifth letter I—(well, Osamu— ) has written out for me. Every time I start one, I break off because I know I messed up. I know you were just trying to help. I know you were just trying to be nice. 

And I snapped. I got mad at you for something that wasn’t your fault. You had every right to walk away from me, and I don’t blame you. I would’ve done the same thing. 

I miss you, Omi. I know this can’t make up for every shitty thing I’ve said or done, but I miss you. I didn’t realize how much I needed you until you were gone. I’m scared of being abandoned, so I lashed out when I thought you were treating me weird. It’s my fault, I can see that now. 

I love you, Kiyoomi. 

I want to go on a date with you. I want to give you roses, I want to give you chocolates, I want to give you hand sanitizer, if that’s what you want. I just want you . 

I am so sorry for the way I acted. 

Please, come back to me. Or at least give me closure. 

Love

Best Regards, 

Atsumu Miya 

P.s: this is Osamu. Please. Come back. He’s moping around the house and I am this close to cutting out his tongue too unless something changes. He really is sorry... Can you give him a chance?

--

Sakusa was surprised to receive the letter, to be frank.

Not just because Atsumu had no way to write without help, meaning he had to have someone record his words for him. But because he made the effort to reach out. Atsumu had never been one to apologize. Sakusa never expected him to. It would be asking too much. 

And yet he was holding an apology in his hands. 

He reread the lines over and over again. He could hear Atsumu’s voice in the letter, sense the pain in it. He cared . 

Sakusa cared, too. He wanted Atsumu to come home. He wanted Atsumu back in his life. He thought he would be fine, be able to move on. 

He had made many errors before, but that had to be one of his biggest. 

Sakusa was the blind one. If he thought he could move on from him, if he thought he could let Atsumu go. He wasn’t ready, and he never would be. 

He loved Atsumu Miya. He loved every part of that idiot, and he was not going to let him get away. Sakusa grabbed his wallet and was out the door five minutes after he read the letter. 

He didn’t even flinch at the thought of taking the train. 

—

Atsumu managed to drag himself back to the gym at the end of the month. It was painstaking, and lonely. Osamu had to work at his restaurant (which was already a hit), and Suna had his own practices to go to. He had been accepted into one of the V league teams, and was doing quite well according to his brother. 

Atsumu couldn’t help the stab of jealousy he felt every time it was brought up. 

He wanted to be there. To be on a professional team. It had always been his goal, and no matter what he did, it would not die. 

“You need to get out of the house.” Osamu said suddenly. Atsumu could feel his twin standing over him, probably sporting as a disapproving look. 

“No.”

“It wasn’t a question, ‘Tsumu. Come on. I’m dropping you off at the gym.” Atsumu groaned, but he knew there was no getting out of it. He pushed himself off of the couch and grabbed his workout bag. 

When he arrived at the gym, it was silent. It was a weekend; normally it would be full, but it was deserted for God knows why. Atsumu didn’t give a damn. He welcomed the silence.

Atsumu needed to be alone. He would’ve rather been back at Osamu’s house. The gym reminded him of Kiyoomi Sakusa, and of how badly he fucked up. He sighed and grabbed one of the spare volleyballs, spinning it in his hands. It didn’t have the bells in it. But Atsumu wanted to try playing normally.

He dribbled the ball against the gym floor. It made a hollow, echoing sound. It was familiar and comforting, in some regard. Atsumu threw the ball up, feeling the rush of air past his face. He jumped up and felt the ball collide with his hand. It landed on the other end of the court.

Atsumu smiled, a slight surge of satisfaction running through him. He smiled broadly, turning around.

“Hey Omi, did you…” He trailed off, remembering he was alone. He sighed, rubbing his face. He was alone. The setter gritted his teeth. Now was not the time to lose focus. He had to practice, had to try. 

Atsumu missed every serve after that. 

“I don’t know how this is supposed to work!” Atsumu threw the volleyball away in frustration. He heard it bounce across the gym, rolling to a halt against one of the far walls. He let out a hell of anger, burying his head in his hands. 

“I can’t do it.” He whispered. “I can’t do this without my sight.” Without Omi keeping me in line. On my toes. Pushing me to get better. He felt a sob bubbling up in his chest. It was a strange feeling, the hollow emptiness of defeat. Atsumu was no stranger to it, and he 

“I didn’t think you were a quitter, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi’s voice sounded from the other end of the hallway. He jolted his head up and scrambled to his feet. 

“Omi?” Atsumu called tentatively. 

“Who else, dumbass?” A note of haughtiness entered his familiar voice, and Atsumu could not help but smile. He walked over, and felt Kiyoomi’s arms wrap around him. He stiffened, shocked that he was the one to initiate the physical contact rather than Atsumu himself. 

He relaxed almost instantly, burying his face into Kiyoomi’s shoulder. They stayed together for a long time, enjoying each other’s company and just being there . They broke apart slowly, and Atsumu kept his hand in Kiyoomi’s. 

“I missed you.” He said quietly. 

“I missed you, too.” Kiyoomi said simply. There was a happy edge to his voice, one that Atsumu could listen to all day. 

“Will you help me train again?” Atsumu asked, poking him with a laugh. 

“For a box of Lysol wipes.” 

“So expensive.” He responded with a laugh. 

“That’s my price.” Kiyoomi shrugged next to him. Atsumu laid his head on his shoulder, still mildly shocked that he hadn’t been pushed away yet. Not that he was complaining; he could stay here forever.

“You drive a hard bargain.” Atsumu said, stroking his non-existent beard in mock thoughtfulness. 

“Do we have an accord?” 

“What if I say no?” That thought had not crossed Atsumu’s mind. He genuinely wouldn’t blame Kiyoomi if he decided not to train him anymore; he had been horrible to him, even though he had only been trying to help. The teasing tone was still in his voice, but Atsumu still couldn’t be sure. 

“...You’ll still do it ‘cause you wuv me.” Atsumu stuck out his tongue as he spoke. 

“You flatter yourself. Only your mother could love that face.” Kiyoomi said with a snort. 

“Your face is so hideous that I went blind to avoid seeing it.” He shot back quickly.  Kiyoomi stilled, and Atsumu wondered briefly if he had gone too far. But then he heard him laugh. 

Kiyoomi’s laugh was beautiful. It was like a stream cutting through the mountains, sharp yet so pretty that everyone was drawn to it. Atsumu wanted to hear that laugh everyday, and he would strive to make him laugh like that every morning. 

“...I have no response to that.”

Kiyoomi pulled him up, Keeping his arm around his shoulder protectively. Atsumu was still shocked he hadn’t pulled away. Maybe love was stronger than all of their challenges. Atsumu had never been one for the whole concept of true love and soulmates… but when he stood next to Kiyoomi, he wondered if there was some truth to those words. 

They managed to get over both of their fears, both of their restrictors aside for each other. Kiyoomi was hugging him. Without flinching. 

That was sure as hell some sort of progress. Atsumu knew he would never be truly comfortable with physical contact, or being in public places. But he was happy just being in his arms, being loved by Kiyoomi. 

“Come on. Let’s go home.” 

--

Atsumu fell back into a pattern with Kiyoomi after mere days. His graduation had passed, and Kiyoomi had already received multiple offers for various pro teams. He wouldn’t tell Atsumu which one was planning on choosing, which frustrated him to no end. 

He bounced the volleyball against the gym floor as he pondered it. He knew Kiyoomi had gotten offers from teams across the country; what if he picked one from Tokyo? Or Miyagi? How would that work? There was the train, but it was ultimately a chore to have to take one for two or more hours. 

He tossed the ball up and slammed it down with a powerful serve. The bells rattled madly, eventually coming to a halt on the other side. Atsumu walked over and retrieved it. The suspense was killing him. Kiyoomi said he was making his decision today.

He was so nervous. He served the ball again. The echo was relaxing. It was a constant sound, one that he had grown used to hearing. He loved it. 

It was the sound of victory. 

Atsumu picked up the ball and tossed it again. He jumped as the gym door creaked open. He still swung at the ball, feeling his hand collide with it as he practiced his float serve. 

“There you are.”

“Omi?” Atsumu turned his attention up in confusion as he heard the volleyball bouncing against the gym floor.

“Come on, we have to go. You don’t get to missing this.”

“Miss what?” He tilted his head, curios 

“I’ve been scouted for the Black Jackals, too. And you’re going to be my setter.” Kiyoomi said quickly. 

“You’re joining the Black Jackals?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“I get to set for you. I get to set for you, finally.” Atsumu said, a smile growing on his face. He heard Kiyoomi laugh softly. He loved that sound. He loved it when Kiyoomi laughed because of him. It only made him smile broader. 

“We’re gonna be a force to reckon with.” 

“Come on! You have to meet the others!” Atsumu grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the gym, laughing madly. He felt elated, as if a great weight had been lifted off of his chest. Of course Kiyoomi would choose the Jackals; he had even said that he was highly considering them before he graduated. 

And now, Atsumu would get to set for him. 

--

Shougo Meian was an easy-going, kind captain. He greeted them formally, a relaxed smile on his face. That left the moment Koutarou Bokuto entered the room, sprinting in at full-speed and nearly crashing into Atsumu. Sakusa side-stepped as the blind setter ducked, avoiding the grey-haired whirlwind. 

“TSUM-TSUM! IS THIS THE NEW GUY? YOUR boyfriend?” Bokuto shouted, lowering his voice slightly when he said “boyfriend.” Sakusa rolled his eyes, tugging on the mask he had put on. He was still uneasy around new people, his mysophobia an ever-present scar. He would grow comfortable around them eventually. 

“Yes Bokkun, this is Kiyoomi Sakusa. My boyfriend.” Atsumu laughed, righting himself. Meian blinked over at Sakusa, then back at Atsumu. 

“I should have put two and two together. He always talks about you, y’know.” Sakusa felt a blush rising over his face. He pulled his mask up higher as Bokuto let out a hearty laugh. 

“I don’t know why you’re laughing, Bokuto. How’s Akaashi doing?” Meian said nonchalantly. 

“He’s great! He’s been really busy editing for this manga that’s coming out next month. It looks really good!” Bokuto responded. 

“He proposed to Akaashi the moment he graduated college. It was a match made in heaven.” Atsumu informed Sakusa.

“I remember seeing their pining during matches.” Sakusa commented. “I’m not surprised.”

“We’re happy to have you here, Sakusa-san. Thank you for joining the team.” Meian came up to them again, his smile still on his face.

“There was no other team for me.” Sakusa shrugged. Meian nodded once, still smiling. 

“Do we have any other new members? I heard rumors you accepted two spikers.” Atsumu asked, a curious edge to his voice. 

“Shouyou Hinata also accepted. He’s moving back here in the next week or so.” Meian responded. 

“HINATAAAA!” Bokuto shouted, his eyes lighting up. Atsumu perked up too, a slow smile crossing his face. 

“Both people I wanted to set for, on the same team.” He smirked. “Everyone else is toast.”

“Oh no. Bokuto, Hinata, and Atsumu on the same team? This is like the Three Musketeers but worse .” Kiyoomi said with a sigh. Bokuto started cackling. 

“I feel like the migraine headaches will be a lot more frequent now.” Meian said. Atsumu snickered slightly.

“You know it, Cap.”

--

Atsumu passed the ball to Kiyoomi. He heard the spiker slam it down, the bells jingling. He smiled in Kiyoomi’s direction, giving him a thumbs up. 

“Told ya we would be unstoppable.” 

“I knew that for a while.” Kiyoomi said smugly. Atsumu opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by Bokuto’s heavy steps running toward them. He let out an exhale as the other man collided with him. 

“You’re excited.” Kiyoomi observed.

“TSUM-TSUM I HAVE SOMETHING TO SHOW YOUUUU!” Atsumu turned as Bokuto grabbed his arm and dragged him to the other side of the gym. He quickly righted himself, keeping up with Bokuto’s quick tempo. The taller man stopped running and Atsumu stopped next to him. “Close your eyes.” 

Atsumu sighed, but complied. He wanted to point out that it didn’t really matter , but he kept his mouth shut. 

“Okay, now open them!” Bokuto said excitedly. Atsumu opened them and continued to stare blankly ahead, not reacting at all. After a few seconds of silence, he turned back to Bokuto. 

“I’m still blind Bokuto, what were you trying to achieve?” He asked dryly, removing his sunglasses. 

“Oh... yeah.” Bokuto cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“So... what is it?” Atsumu asked. 

“The new Jackal banner.” He could hear the sadness in Bokuto’s voice. He sounded deflated, depressed over the fact that Atsumu could not see the new poster. “It’s super cool, too. It’s got a good jackal thing in the middle, and it’s bordered in black... white writing... it’s just... really pretty.” Bokuto trailed off.   

Atsumu was sad over it too. 

He heard another pair of footsteps approaching. He guessed it was Kiyoomi, based on the pattern of the steps. A hand was laid on his shoulder, comforting. 

“Don’t mind it.” Kiyoomi said, talking to both Bokuto and Atsumu himself.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it Bokuto.” Atsumu forced a smile. “I’m sure it looks great.”

Practice continued without a hitch. Atsumu tried to push the banner out of his mind, reminding himself that it didn’t matter in the end. He passed the ball in Hinata’s direction, listening as the short spiker made contact. 

“How was that?” He asked as Hinata jogged over. 

“It was good! Maybe a little low...” He trailed off, hesitating slightly. “You don’t have to fix it if you don’t want to!”

“Trust me, I want to.” Atsumu gave him a firm nod. “Can you do another running approach to the net?” 

“Yeah!” Hinata’s footsteps sounded away from him as he took his place back at the baseline. Atsumu stood to the sidelines, listening. He could learn the patterns by listening to the approach— it usually worked well. He nodded to Hinata, whose footsteps sounded almost immediately.

His steps were lighter than Bokuto’s or Kiyoomi’s. Atsumu also noted that he jumped sooner; he was used to the ball being in position. He nodded to himself, mentally imagining how he would set it. 

“Was that good?” The spiker came up to him. 

“Perfect. Let’s try this again.” Atsumu picked up the ball and tossed it to Hinata. The spiker tossed it up and started his approach. The ball arced down, the bells rattling signaling how close it was. Atsumu took a split second to assess where Hinata was and then pushed the ball up. His back arched as he tried to set it higher, closer to Hinata. He heard the spiker hit the ball, and it collided with the floor. 

“Was that better?” 

“Yeah!” Hinata exclaimed, his voice bright. 

“Excellent.” Atsumu smiled. “The other team is toast.”

“Game day tomorrow.” Meian said as he gathered the team around. Atsumu felt his gaze rest on him briefly, and he guessed the captain was surveying the team one by one. “Our new spikers, in action.”

“We won’t let you down!” Hinata shouted energetically. 

“I know you won’t.” Meian said with a chuckle. “Atsumu, are you ready to set for them?” Atsumu smiled, one full of confidence and assurance. He had been waiting for this. 

“I was born ready.” 

-- 

It was time. 

Atsumu was finally going to set for both Shouyou Hinata and Kiyoomi Sakusa. 

He had been waiting for this moment since he met both of the spikers. He knew he would be their setter one day, and he had finally reached it. 

“We’re gonna win this game today. The Hornets have no chance.” Inunaki declared. Bokuto let out a laugh as he ran out to the court to warm-up. Hinata followed him quickly, letting out a whoop. 

“Wait up!” Atsumu shouted, running after him. Bokuto’s footsteps stopped suddenly and Atsumu skidded to a stop next to him. 

“Don’t forget about the rest of the team, dumbasses.” Kiyoomi called.

“Fine…” Bokuto slumped over as Atsumu laughed again. He nudged the wing spiker.

“Cheer up, I bet Akaashi is here.” Atsumu whispered. He felt Bokuto perk up immediately, exiting his so-called emo mode. 

“AKAAAASHI!” He shouted. “I’M GONNA WIN FOR YOUUUUU!” Bokuto sprinted onto the court, cheering as he did. 

“He really is excited, isn’t he?” Kiyoomi commented dryly. 

“I think it’s enduring.” Atsumu laughed again. “Wouldn't you like it if I ran out onto the court, cheering your name?”

“I think I would die from embarrassment.” Kiyoomi brushed past him, only causing him to laugh harder. 

“You know you would love it!” Atsumu called after him, jogging to catch up. Kiyoomi continued to walk straight ahead, his footsteps at an even tempo. 

“Maybe.” He said. “Come on. We have warmups to go to.” Atsumu thought he detected a note of happiness in his voice. Maybe he was blushing; Atsumu liked to think he was. 

The warm-ups lasted a half hour. Atsumu could hear the other team whispering to themselves. Atsumu resisted a sigh, knowing full well the topic of their conversation. Despite the many years he had been playing, people still doubted him. He began to storm up the net, already forming insults in his mind. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened slightly. 

“Atsumu. We’ve been over this. It’s not worth it.” Meian’s even voice was calming. It washed over him like a wave, causing him to relax slightly. 

“Sorry. Got pissed.” Atsumu grumbled. He stepped away from the net, returning to the rest of the team. He could hear their footsteps around him as they warmed up, preparing for the game. He was ready.

He was going to win this.

The referee blew his whistle, and the starters took their positions at the net. Atsumu lifted his chin as he felt the stares of the other team on him. 

“Get a look at the best setter, you worthless dishwashers.” Atsumu declared.

“Shut up.” 

“What if I… don’t?” The referee blew his whistle again, causing the stadium to go silent. Atsumu shot one last smug expression toward the other team. He may not be able to see their expressions, but he could feel the irritation radiating off of them. 

The ball went up, the server hitting it over the net. The familiar bells resounded through the gym as the fans began cheering. Atsumu heard Inuoka grunt as he received the ball; it must have been hit fast. Atsumu ran to the net. It was his turn, he had to set. 

Or perhaps he could use a setter dump. He was positive the blockers were on the right; Atsumu had positioned his hands to make it seem he would launch it that way. He had learned by now to use his blindness to his best advantage. His feints were impossible to predict because his eyes never moved. 

It bought him time.

He flicked his wrist, sending the ball toward the ground. He heard it hit the floor as two of the players leapt for it, skidding across the floor. 

The whistle was blown and the scorecard flipped up. The first point went to the Jackals. Atsumu smirked over the net as he felt the other team’s irritation rise. The ball went up again, and the process repeated.

Meian received, taking him out of the running for the spiker. The other team would be prepared for a setter dump, so that was immediately out of the option panel. 

Atsumu felt the ball touch his fingers, a familiar feeling spreading down from the tips through his entire arms. He had less than a second to decide where to put it, who to give it to. He could hear the different gaits, visualize the individual players in his mind. They had only been training together a short while; he had no idea who would be most adapted to his style of setting. Bokuto was a strong player and could likely work around any challenges thrown his way due to Atsumu’s condition, but  he wasn’t solid on the grey haired man’s location. 

Sakusa had been training with Atsumu since high school. He could handle his set, could predict if he would be off. But Sakusa was in the back, and Astumu knew there was no way he could get up to the front in time if he hadn’t already started the approach. 

He supposed he could do a setter dump, but the net... there was always the distinct possibility that he may hit it. 

Atsumu felt a rush of air past him. *Hinata.* The short spiker was running up, already intending on acting like a decoy. He knew Atsumu would consider sending it to him; he had told the team to be prepared for the unexpected before the game had even begun. He would try to use hand signals as much as he could, but there were too many variables for a try foundation to be found. Hinata was already used to that, as Kageyama used to set to him similar to the way that Atsumu was setting now. 

Hinata could handle this. He could take unexpected sets, and work with it. Atsumu could send it to him, and he would be able to hit it. Hinata was in the perfect position, perfect timing. He gritted his teeth, his arm muscles tensing as the potential energy in the volleyball reached a peak. 

At that moment, he knew where to send it. 

He pushed it up, feeling the weight leave his hands and fly past him. A half second passed, one of ill uncertainty. A shiver of doubt he could feel work its way up his spine. 

He heard Hinata’s hand connect with the ball, a loud pop noise. The ball collided with the gym floor a mere heartbeat later. The blockers had been too slow; or they hadn’t registered what had happened at all. They didn’t know where he would send it. He heard Hinata reunite with the ground, his feet landing heavily. The ball continued to bounce away, the thuds growing softer and softer. 

For a moment, the entire gym was still. Not a single whisper was spoken, no taunts were being thrown in his direction. A pen could be dropped and the echo would be heard across the court. Atsumu couldn’t see the facial reactions, but he could only assume the flurry of emotions crossing the rival team’s face, and the slack-jawed awe of the spectators. The sudden onslaught of sounds broke through the darkness like water during the spring thaw, cracking the icy silence of winter.

A gasp from someone on the other team. A whoop of triumph from Hinata.  Applause from the crowd. Atsumu drew himself back to his full height as the referee blew the whistle. *A point for them. One he had helped score.* 

Atsumu smirked, a true smile stretching across his face. He could feel the other team’s shock across the net, a feeling he grew to enjoy sensing. They always expect him to be weak, barely able to toss a proper set. It filled him with petty satisfaction to prove them wrong. 

To win. To beat them. 

“That’s how the Jackals do it!” Bokuto nudged his shoulder, laughing. He pumped his fists in the air, a rush of air past Atsumu’s face. He started laughing himself, a sense of euphoria overtaking him. Hinata scrambled up next to them, his light gait echoing against the gym floor.

“Point to: Black Jackals.” The announcer called. Atsumu heard the scorecard being flipped and smiled over at the other team. 

“Sorry about that fellas. Just couldn’t really see where I was setting.” He backed up from the net, listening to the competitors sputter with embarrassment. 

“You’re an asshole sometimes.” Kiyoomi chided, amusement coloring his voice. 

“I know.” Atsumu said with a touch of pride. “It comes in handy when psyching out the competition.” 

“I’ve noticed. Get back to the net idiot, we have a game to play.” Atsumu sauntered back to the net, waiting for the ball to go up again. 

The rest of the game blurred together, points turning into sets. The Jackals managed to take the first set after a killer spike by Bokuto; the second set was taken by the Hornets, along with the third one. The Jackals stole the fourth set with a minor lead. 

The fifth set was nothing short of stressful. Point after point was scored, no side able to maintain a lead. Atsumu gritted his teeth in frustration. He wanted this win. The need for victory ran through his veins, rattling down to his bones. He heard the ball coming and ran up to the net, tensing to jump and block with Tomas. 

“Ready… now!” The two of them leapt. Atsumu felt the ball deflect off of their hands. He made out the libero shouting as he received the ball, the bells jingling madly as they were sent back up into the air. 

“One touch!” Atsumu sprinted back, preparing to set the ball again. He heard it go up again, and dropped into his ready position. They had to get this point, this would be match point, they could do this. He set the ball to Bokuto, who slammed it down with such force it could rupture the earth’s core. The referee blew his whistle. Match point was there. 

“One more! One more, guys, come on!” Inuoka cheered. The libero’s tone was joyus; he was certain they would win. Atsumu couldn’t help but flash a confident smile in Inuoka’s direction as the whistle was blown, signalling the start of the next point. 

The serve was tossed, hit down by the pinch server. Atsumu’s concentration was completely on the bells. He heard Meian receive it, shouting for him to get ready. Time seemed to slow as Atsumu discerned multiple footsteps approaching the net. 

Bokuto’s heavy gait, like thunder echoing across the sky. Hinata’s light footsteps, soft as rainfall. Barnes’ even tempo, steady as a gentle snowfall. And Kiyoomi’s gait, familiar as the stars. The blockers preparing to jump, preparing to try and shut down the spike. To stay alive, to keep playing.

Atsumu wasn’t going to let them steal his win.

The blockers were going right. Kiyoomi and Meian were to his left. 

Meian was further away, so he might be the safer bet. However, he was fairly certain that a blocker was at the edge of the net. Kiyoomi was closer to the center, so theoretically he would be easier to get to. Atsumu promised he would set for Kiyoomi. And he was going to keep that promise. The ball hit his fingers, and he pushed it left. 

He sent the ball to Kiyoomi. 

He heard the spiker hit it down. Atsumu heard the blockers shout, and panicked footsteps racing toward Kiyoomi. The libero throwing himself across the floor, vainly trying to reach the ball. The volleyball hitting the floor, the bells rattling and the impact deafening. 

The referee whistle blew. Atsumu held his breath in anticipation. The flag was up and he heard Hinata let out a shriek of joy. Atsumu let out a shout of his own, unable to keep the smile off of his face. He felt arms wrap around him and encase him in a hug. The rest of the team surrounded him. 

“We won!” Bokuto shouted. “Fuck yeah!”

“ Bokuto ! We’re on live television!” Meian chided him with a horrified tone. Barnes let out a loud guffaw, causing the rest of the team to start laughing as well. 

“When did that ever stop any of the four horsemen?” Tomas pointed out. 

“True.” Meian conceded. “I’m getting too old for this.” The comment sent off another spew of laughter as the newscasters talked in the background. Atsumu pulled out of the hug. 

“Hey, Bokkun…” Atsumu whispered. 

“Yeah?” 

“Where’s Omi?”

“Edge of the court. Diddja really think he would be in the group hug?” Bokuto said with a chuckle. 

“Thanks.” He responded. Atsumu walked over quickly. He felt another presence beside him, which he assumed was Kiyoomi.

“Good game, huh?” He said casually. 

“Yeah. Didn’t think we would win.” Kiyoomi commented. 

“I don’t know if that should be offensive toward the team or not.” Atsumu laughed slightly. 

“Just facts. I’m happy we won.” 

“Me too! I told ya I would set to you someday, didn’t I?” Atsumu nodded once, still smiling. He heard Kiyoomi snicker quietly. 

“And you did.” The conversation lulled. Atsumu stiffened slightly, an idea coming to his head. It was time. There would never be a better moment than now. He started sweating at the thought, but he had to be brave. 

“Hey… Omi-Omi…” Atsumu said softly. He heard him shift next to him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can you just— wait right here—“ Atsumu jogged over to the bench, nearly tripping over it. He cursed lightly but knelt down, feeling for his bag. He grabbed it and reached inside, hands closing on the object he was seeking for. He had been carrying it around for a few months now, waiting. And it seemed there was no better time than now. The setter turned back around and clutched said object in his hand, obscuring it from view. 

“What’s that…?” Kiyoomi asked. Atsumu could picture him tilting his head, imagine the curious light that filled his eyes. He wished he could see it for himself. He cleared his throat quickly, shaking out the sting of regret. 

“Kiyoomi, we’ve been dating for a couple of years now.” Atsumu began slowly. “We’ve had our ups and downs; we’ve had our trials and our triumphs. But through it all, I always find myself running back to you. And I love it. I love coming home to you, to being with you. I want to be with you forever. I want to wake up next to you every morning, and I want to stand by your side through everything.” He knelt down, pulling out the box. He felt briefly for the side that opened and swiveled it to face Kiyoomi. He pried it open and smiled as the crowd gasped, excitement suddenly filling the air. He heard Kiyoomi stammering slightly, unable to fully form words. 

“These past years have made me realize how much I need you, Omi. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to live life without you. So Kiyoomi Sakusa… will you marry me?” The words had barely left his mouth before he felt arms wrapped around him, pulling him to the gym floor. Kiyoomi was hugging him. In public. Atsumu grinned. Clearly he had done something right. He felt Kiyoomi’s hands on his face, gently tilting Atsumu’s lips towards his own. He kissed him, and Atsumu wrapped his own arms around him. 

“So… can I take that as a yes?” Atsumu asked sheepishly when they broke apart. He could practically feel the eyeroll sent in his direction. 

“Yes. Yes, Atsumu Miya, I will marry you.” Kiyoomi whispered back. Atsumu let out a laugh of joy, and kissed him again. He could hear the crowd in the background cheering them on. He could pick out his team mate’s voices, euphoria filling each and every one of them. The news reporters frantically trying to catch up on what just happened. None of that mattered. All that mattered in the moment was Kiyoomi. 

Kiyoomi had been his rock through everything. Kiyoomi stood by him after the attack, and put up with everything that happened since. Kiyoomi helped him pick up the pieces of his broken life and put the puzzle back together. And Atsumu loved him. He fell in love, and he wouldn’t trade anything for what he found.

Atsumu Miya was not a burden. He was not useless. He was not just the loud, annoying brother of Osamu Miya. He was not just the blind setter. He was not just another thing to be fixed. He was loved, and he was happy. He let out another laugh, still holding on to Kiyoomi. 

Atsumu Miya was happy . 

Anyone could see it. 

—

Blind Setter Proposes to Wing Spiker at Volleyball Game

Two Major League Volleyball Players Engaged Post-Win

Unexpected Win Turns to Unexpected Marriage

Ten MLV Players Openly LGTBQ+

MSYB Black Jackal Players to Marry in Autumn

The latest game within the pro leagues of men’s volleyball left fans shocked over more things then the unexpected win from MSYB Jackals. Most commentators had picked Hornets to win the match, many remarking  that, despite his disabilities, Atsumu Miya was still listed in the starting line-up.  When confronted about it, the captain, Shūgo Meian, stated that he was “just as capable as any other setter, if not more so.” Meian’s statement proved correct, as the Black Jackals took the first, third and fifth set, the team securing victory. [For a play by play of the game, click here .]

But that was not where the surprises from the game stopped. 

After the Jackals took the fifth set, Miya and Kiyoomi Sakusa, wing spiker , were conversing quietly, when the setter got down on one knee and proposed. The act came as a blindside to most fans, as Miya and Sakusa had kept their relationship a secret from the public. The two admitted to have been dating for three years, and Miya had decided it was time to pull the trigger. 

“It was time, ya know? Omi-kun’s been one of the best things in my life for years, and I thought it was time to tie the knot. He’s stood by me when everyone else left or wrote me off as a lost cause. I love him, and I want to spend the rest of my life with him.” 

Fans had various reactions, many of them happy for the two. Most of the team is openly LGTBQ as well, Koutarou Bokuto, wing spiker, having married Keiji Akaashi months earlier.  

“I’m quite shocked Atsumu hadn’t proposed earlier, with Bokuto harassing him about it.” Meian commented when asked about it. “Nonetheless, I am certainly looking forward to the wedding. I am very happy for them.” Sakusa opted to not comment, but his demeanor was cheerful post-game. 

“I’m just so happy for my bro! I thought he would NEVER do it, he was so slow.” Bokuto said when asked about his thoughts on the shock. “I did know about it, he told me he was gonna do it. Very dramatic and flashy. I thought it was top tier.”

“I think the LGTBQ representation coming from this sport is incredible. It signals a change in era, along with having a blind setter as a starter. Overall, it speaks volumes about what people can do when they put their minds to it. Atsumu Miya’s story [see: here ] is incredible, and one that can be used as an inspiration to all.” The coach commented. As the coach said, many of the newest generation of volleyball players are openly gay, many of them having significant others of their own that fall into that category. 

Miya and Sakusa left quickly post game, likely to celebrate. The rest of the team followed shortly and were spotted at the Onigiri Miya. 

The tentative wedding date is set for September 18th.

—

The Earth continued to spin around the Sun. The moon continued to shine. And as the world changed, they changed with it. But they would be okay. 

They would live on, and they would be happy.