Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Kiyoomi is six, his family packs up their apartment in Tokyo.

His mother dispassionately informs him that the company his father works for has transferred him to the Amagasaki branch in Hyogo prefecture. She doesn’t seem particularly happy about the move, but she doesn’t seem all that upset, either. She complains about having to find a new hairdresser, and packing up her extensive shoe collection. Kiyoomi helps her pack, admiring the way her high heels taper to the thinnest of points, gleaming red and black and blue in the lamplight. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t think he will miss Tokyo. The only thing he’s leaving behind is Motoya, and although Kiyoomi’s sure he will miss his cousin, Motoya tearfully promises to visit Kiyoomi once he’s settled. 

They make the move at the end of March, five days after Kiyoomi’s birthday. His mother had insisted on getting them settled in time to start school in April in order to make the transition easier on all of them. Kiyoomi’s older sister is starting high school, while his older brother’s only a year behind, so neither of them are too concerned with having to find their place. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t think he’s all that concerned, either. Then school starts, and Kiyoomi finds himself almost instantaneously overwhelmed by the crush of students around him, the grating sounds of voices speaking over one another, and worst of all, the casual touches. 

He doesn’t understand why it bothers him so much. He sees his classmates tapping each other’s shoulders to get their attention, holding hands, hugging, and he wonders why he doesn’t want that for himself. 

The first time a classmate touches him, Kiyoomi flinches away so hard he nearly topples out of his seat. The boy looks at him, wide-eyed, and says, “What’s yer problem?”

His tone is curious, but still prods at a sore spot for Kiyoomi. He scowls up at the boy and says, “Don’t touch me.”

“Ya talk funny,” is all he gets in response, and then the boy wanders off. 

It happens a few times throughout his first year. Eventually, though, the students in his class stop trying. Kiyoomi doesn’t think they understand his aversion to touch, but at least they respect it, for the most part. 

He wonders sometimes if he doesn’t like to be touched simply because he’s not used to it. His mother rarely attempts to hug him, and his father hasn’t touched him in years. Come to think of it, hardly anyone in Kiyoomi’s family touches him. Motoya used to, he remembers, and it never really bothered him, but then again he knew Motoya. He doesn’t know these kids, and he doesn’t really care if that changes. 

…

When Kiyoomi is seven, he meets Atsumu. 

Actually, he meets Osamu first, but he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t even know they’re different people for at least a month, and he only figures it out when Atsumu drops by Osamu and Kiyoomi’s class to drag his twin (twin!) to lunch. Kiyoomi stares at them, fascinated by their similarities. Their hair is parted differently, he notes, and one of the twins is a shade or two warmer than the other, in both looks and in disposition. Their voices are loud and careless, with strong accents that make it difficult for Kiyoomi to understand them, even though he’s slowly growing accustomed to the lilted sounds of the Kansai-ben dialect. 

“C’mon, ‘Samu,” the twin from the other class whines. “Aran already found us a spot outside!” He tugs at his brother’s shoulder demandingly.

“Fine,” his brother grumbles. “But yer gonna help me finish this assignment later, ‘kay?”

“Okay, okay, let’s jus’ go,” says the other one, voice colored with impatience.

Neither of the twins seem to notice Kiyoomi. The warmer of the two yanks his counterpart roughly to his feet and pulls him out the classroom door. 

Most of the students eat outside when the weather is nice, and the only reason Kiyoomi refrains is so that he doesn’t get roped into playing with his classmates. Still, he’s curious. Curious enough that the next day he follows one of the twins--the one in his class--out of the classroom and down the stairwell that leads to the yard. The sun is partially blocked by wispy clouds, and the trees are just starting to bloom. It smells nice, but it makes Kiyoomi’s nose itch. 

He watches from the doorway as the twins find a spot beneath a tree. There’s another boy with them, and he looks a bit older; he’s tall, with dark skin and close-cropped black hair. Kiyoomi wonders how he knows the twins when he’s clearly in another year.

He finds a spot a safe distance away, close enough to watch the twins talk animatedly to one another but far enough that he won’t get caught watching them. It becomes his regular spot, and he slowly grows to appreciate the soft grass and weight of the breeze as he eats his lunch. It’s peaceful, for the most part. No one approaches him, or if they do, he glares at them until they go away. It works, usually. 

Until it doesn’t.

One of the twins approaches him on an overcast day. The clouds are heavy with the promise of rain, but Kiyoomi had stubbornly refused to sit inside. It wasn’t exactly that he was obsessing over the twins and their friend, or anything like that. He just really enjoyed sitting outside. And, okay, maybe he found the twins fascinating. Maybe he stared at them sometimes. It wasn’t as if they noticed, right?

“Hey,” a voice says from above Kiyoomi. He looks up, ready to summon his harshest glare, and finds himself face to face with one of the twins. He’s not sure which one it is until the boy sticks out his hand. “I’m Atsumu,” he explains, “but ya can call me ‘Tsumu if yer gonna be my friend.”

Kiyoomi stares up at him. “What gave you the impression that I want to be your friend?”

Atsumu draws his hand back as if he’s already accepted the fact that Kiyoomi will refuse to touch him. “Well,” he starts, “Yer always starin’ at us. So I jus’ figured ya wanted to be friends or somethin’.

“I’m not staring,” Kiyoomi protests. “I just--”

“Wanna come play volleyball with us?” Atsumu interrupts.

Volleyball. Motoya likes that, Kiyoomi thinks absently, and then, without giving it a thought he says, “Okay.”

Atsumu’s face lights up. “Really?” He says excitedly. “That’s great ‘cause we really need another person ta play two-on-twos.”

Kiyoomi’s nose wrinkles involuntarily. “What’s a two-on-two?”

“Have ya never played before?” Atsumu exclaims. He goes to grab Kiyoomi’s hand and Kiyoomi flinches away, noticeably enough that Atsumu freezes and draws his hand back to his body. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I know ya don’ like ta be touched.”

“Who told you?” Kiyoomi says cautiously. 

Atsumu just shrugs. “Everyone knows that. That’s why no one else wants ta be yer friend, cause they don’ wanna have ta be careful around ya.”

“Is that...a bad thing?” Kiyoomi says slowly, uncertainly. 

“Nah,” says Atsumu, as if it’s obvious. “T’s not that hard ta remember ya don’t wanna be touched. If someone’s too lazy ta remember that, they’re a scrub.”

Kiyoomi decides against asking what ‘scrub’ means as Atsumu continues. “Anyway,” he says. “Ya don’t have ta touch anyone in volleyball. Yer gonna be fine,” he adds confidently. 

Kiyoomi considers for a moment before packing up his lunch and getting to his feet. When standing, he’s about an inch shorter than Atsumu, but they’re still pretty close. “Okay,” he replies. “Show me.”

He follows Atsumu over to where his twin--Osamu, Kiyoomi knows from class--and the other boy sit beneath a tree. “‘Samu!” He yells, racing up to his twin. “I found myself a teammate! Now we’ll finally know who’s the better volleyball player!”

“Yer on,” says Osamu. “Aran and I are gonna crush ya.”

Then Osamu turns to Kiyoomi. “Who’s this?” He addresses Atsumu. Atsumu puffs up his chest like he’s excited to introduce Kiyoomi, but then he rapidly deflates. “Shit,” he curses, alarming Kiyoomi, whose family never swears. “I fergot ta ask yer name!” He wails, sounding devastated. 

“Shaddup. Drama queen,” grumbles Osamu. Then to Kiyoomi he says, “Sorry ‘bout my idiot brother--”

“Hey!”

“--I’m Osamu,” Osamu continues, unbothered, “and this is Aran.” He gestures at the taller boy, who gives an awkward wave. Kiyoomi nods at them both. “I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he responds. “Nice to meet you.”

Atsumu scrunches up his nose. It looks funny, Kiyoomi thinks. “Why’d ya talk like that, anyway?”

“‘Tsumu!” Osamu hisses at him. “Don’ be rude!”

“I’m from Tokyo,” Kiyoomi answers his question, unfazed. “My family moved here last year.”

“Woah,” the twins say in unison. “That’s so cool!” Atsumu exclaims. “Ain’t that cool?”

“Why’d ya move?” Aran says curiously. 

“My dad’s job,” Kiyoomi explains. “He got transferred.”

Aran nods, understanding, while the twins both look confused. Atsumu just shakes his head like he’s dislodging a thought, or something. “Well,” he says, changing the subject, “we should prob’ly start playin’ soon, before lunch is over. Ain’t that right, Omi-kun?” He says, addressing Kiyoomi. 

Kiyoomi blinks at him. “What did you just call me?”

Atsumu grins. “Omi-kun! It’s a nickname I made up for ya jus’ now!”

Kiyoomi stares at him. “I don’t like it.”

“Ya don’ have ta!” Atsumu replies. Then he turns and sets off towards the gym. “C’mon, Omi-Omi! We’re gonna crush these scrubs!”

Kiyoomi sighs. He’s not really sure what he’s gotten himself into, but he follows Atsumu anyway.

Once they reach the gym, Aran takes charge and leads them through some quick warm ups and stretches. All of it is new to Kiyoomi--he’s never been very athletic before, despite his natural flexibility due to his hypermobile joints. 

“Woah! Are your wrists supposed ta bend like that?” Atsumu wonders as they stretch out their arms. 

“It’s called hypermobility,” Kiyoomi explains. “It makes me flexible.”

“That’s so cool!”

They start the two-on-two soon after they finish stretching. Kiyoomi’s not even sure where he’s supposed to stand, but Atsumu directs him easily as if he’s a pawn on a chess board, and demonstrates how to hold his arms, too. Aran serves from across the net, and the game begins. 

Kiyoomi feels distinctly inadequate as he flubs receive after receive. When he does manage to touch the ball, it smacks the side of his arm--or sometimes his shoulder--and flies out of bounds. Atsumu reassures him that he’ll get better; this is only his first time playing, after all. Still, Kiyoomi wonders if all the pain and sweat is worth it. 

He has trouble syncing up with Atsumu’s sets as well. He misses the ball entirely more often than not, and the few times he manages to touch it, he barely gets enough momentum to push it over the net. 

Aran and Osamu crush them. 

They’ve got an eleven point lead, and most of Atsumu and Kiyoomi’s points are either from the other team’s mistakes, Atsumu’s serves or his nearly flawless setter dumps. 

Somehow, over the course of the game, Kiyoomi becomes even more determined to improve. I can’t let him beat me, he thinks, and a fire ignites somewhere within him. He burns and burns and still plays terribly, but the more he does it, the more he begins to relish the feeling of the ball slapping against his forearms. 

By the end of the game, he’s uncomfortably sweaty, hunched over and panting. At least Atsumu’s not in much better shape, he thinks, eyeing the boy as he throws himself onto the floor in despair. “We’ll getcha next time,” he promises Osamu and Aran. Aran nods as if this is perfectly reasonable, while Osamu lets out a snicker. “Ya wish ya could,” he says. 

Atsumu’s face contorts in anger. “Ya take that back!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and chasing Osamu around the gym, pelting him with stray volleyballs. 

“Are they always like this?” Kiyoomi wonders aloud. 

“Pretty much, yes,” Aran responds tiredly. He turns to Kiyoomi and says, “Will you be joining us for practice after school?”

Kiyoomi hesitates. “I should probably talk to my parents first.”

Aran nods, understanding. “That’s probably a good idea. Maybe you can join tomorrow!”

“Maybe,” Kiyoomi says.

He helps Aran clean up the gym while the twins chase each other into the schoolyard. At some point during their game, it started to rain, and the twins are soaked within minutes. Kiyoomi walks with them back to their classrooms, Aran splitting off from them on the first floor with a friendly wave and a promise to see Kiyoomi tomorrow. 

Kiyoomi follows a sopping wet Osamu back to their class, while Atsumu heads to his class across the hall. “Ya better ask yer parents ‘bout volleyball today,” he threatens, “or else I’ll make ya regret it.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Osamu says. “He’s full of it.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Kiyoomi replies, and Atsumu scowls and sticks his tongue out at them both before heading into his classroom. 

After school, Kiyoomi walks home in the rain. He forgot his umbrella, so his curls are damp by the time he reaches his house. His mother is in the kitchen starting dinner, while neither of his siblings appear to be home. 

Kiyoomi takes a seat in the living room and unpacks his bag methodically. He pulls out his math textbook and notebook before pausing. Maybe I should just talk to her now, he thinks, and then takes a deep breath before bringing his bento to the kitchen to wash. 

“How was school?” His mother greets him as he scrubs out the box. 

“It was fine,” he answers. There’s a pause, and then he says, “Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you about. I made some friends today, and they’re on the volleyball team. I...I want to join,” he says hesitantly. 

His mother is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “Would it interfere with your studies?”

Kiyoomi shakes his head vehemently. “I would not allow that,” he responds. 

His mother appears deep in thought for a moment, and then she nods, slowly. “Perhaps that could help you develop some social skills,” she muses, chin cupped in her hand. Kiyoomi tries not to be offended by the careless comment. Then her eyes clear. “All right,” she says, and Kiyoomi’s heart soars. “You can join. But,” she adds, “if your grades start to drop, even a little…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t have to. 

Kiyoomi nods. “That won’t be an issue.”

The very next day, he joins the twins and Aran at volleyball practice after school. He fidgets, uncomfortable in his brand new workout clothing and sneakers. He’s not nervous, per se; it’s just that there’s a lot of new names to remember. He gives up after the fourth or fifth boy introduces himself.

He doesn’t need any more friends, anyway. 

When the coach asks him which position he wants to try, he hesitates. Atsumu whispers to him, loudly enough for the whole team to hear, “Play spiker so that ya can hit my sets!” Kiyoomi turns back to their coach and says, “I’ll try spiking.” Why not, he thinks. After all, Atsumu’s the only one he’s comfortable playing with so far. 

“Cheater,” he hears Osamu mutter to his brother. “Ya jus’ want him ta be on yer team.”

“So what if I do?” Atsumu’s voice rings out. “He’s gonna be the best, ya jus’ wait and see!”

Kiyoomi doubts Atsumu knows what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t mind the praise. He nervously approaches the line and prepares himself to jump as the coach throws the ball up into the air. Atsumu’s already in position, and he gets under the ball neatly and sets to Kiyoomi, who’s already in the air. 

Somehow, despite their inability to sync up the day before, Kiyoomi’s hand connects perfectly with the ball, and he slams it to the floor. He stares at his reddened hand, amazed, as Atsumu cheers. “I knew ya could do it, Omi!” He says, and Kiyoomi almost smiles. 

After practice, he walks with the twins to their bus stop before parting ways. “See ya tomorrow, Omi-kun!” Atsumu yells, and Osamu waves goodbye. 

Kiyoomi heads home, and this time, he’s unable to keep the smile from sliding across his lips.

…

Motoya comes to stay with Kiyoomi in June. Although they’re not yet on break from school, Kiyoomi still finds the time to hang out with Motoya after practice. He’s improved quite a bit, or so he thinks; he and Atsumu sync up nearly every time, and his serves almost always make it over the net. 

Motoya is over the moon when Kiyoomi tells him about volleyball. “I knew you’d like it!” He says excitedly. “You’ve gotta bring me to practice sometime, I wanna meet the twins!”

“I think you’ll like them,” Kiyoomi says truthfully. If he’s being honest, he’s not entirely sure how he feels about having them as friends. Aran is nice, he thinks. He has a calming presence, which is much needed within their small friend group. 

Osamu is capable of being calm, but gets riled easily whenever Atsumu says something stupid, and is prone to starting fights.

And then there’s Atsumu.

Kiyoomi’s not sure when Atsumu became such an important person to him. It certainly didn’t happen overnight. It probably has something to do with his extreme bluntness--Kiyoomi thinks he relates to Atsumu more than he’s ever related to anyone before. He’s rude, and a little too dirty for Kiyoomi’s taste, but surprisingly respectful of Kiyoomi’s boundaries. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t say any of this to Motoya, though.

“You can come with me today,” he finds himself saying instead. 

“Okay!” Says Motoya brightly. “I’ll meet you after school, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” Kiyoomi replies. 

After school, Motoya meets him at the entrance to the gym where he waits with Osamu. Atsumu and Aran have yet to show, but they’ll likely arrive within the next few minutes (Atsumu tends to run late in general, while Aran often stays after to get extra help from his teacher).

“Hey!” Greets Motoya enthusiastically. He holds out a hand. “I’m Komori Motoya! You can call me Toya, though. Are you one of the twins?”

Osamu reaches out to shake his hand. “Yeah,” he says. “You’ll meet my idiot brother shortly.”

Motoya chuckles. “Cool,” he says. His face brightens. “So, what’s it like being a twin?”

“Obnoxious,” Osamu replies neutrally. “But it’s okay, I guess.”

Atsumu takes that moment to barge into their conversation, the same way he barges into everything in life. “Oh!” He says, sounding surprised despite Kiyoomi having told him that Motoya would be meeting them today. “You must be Toya!”

Motoya grins. “Nice to meet you!” He says. Then his head swivels as he looks from Osamu to Atsumu, examining their faces closely. “Wow,” he says in wonder. “You really are twins!”

Kiyoomi barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Let’s get to practice,” he cuts in. “I don’t want to be late.”

Atsumu scans the yard, brightening when he spots Aran approaching their group. Motoya turns around to see what he’s looking at, and smiles when he sees Aran. “Hey,” he says, more subdued than when he met the twins. “I’m Motoya!”

“Aran,” says Aran, holding out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Kiyoomi’s told us a bit about you.”

Motoya turns to grin at Kiyoomi. “You’ve talked about me, Kiyo?” He coos. “I’m so flattered!”

Kiyoomi scowls. “You’ve come up once or twice, I suppose.”

“Omi-kun says you play volleyball, too! What position do you play?” Says Atsumu excitedly. 

Motoya’s chest puffs up with pride. “I’m a libero,” he brags. “I’m gonna be the best in the country one day!”

Atsumu’s eyes shine. “That’s so cool!”

Kiyoomi briefly regrets introducing them.

The five of them head to the gym, Atsumu and Motoya chattering energetically, Aran and Osamu chiming in occasionally. Kiyoomi is quiet, still adjusting to the way it feels to have his worlds collide. It’s an odd feeling; a little exciting, a bit nerve-wracking, and somehow, very normal. Motoya merges into their group as if he’s always been there. 

At practice, Kiyoomi introduces Motoya to the team, and their coach even allows him to jump in during one of their practice games. He plays on Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s team, and Kiyoomi realizes that he’s gotten good. It only makes him want to work harder, to get up to his level. He wants to be able to match him on the court, or even better, score a point against him, which seems as if it’s quite the feat, if the way the other team is performing is anything to go by. 

Kiyoomi leaves practice that day exhausted but satisfied. He walks home with Motoya talking his ear off all the way, and although Kiyoomi should be annoyed, he can’t be because it just reminds him of Atsumu. He wonders when he grew so comfortable with idle chatter, and he supposes it must have come with being a part of their group. 

Motoya leaves the following day with the promise to visit again as soon as possible. “You should visit me, too!” He tells Kiyoomi.

“Maybe,” Kiyoomi says uncertainly. Apart from Motoya, there’s not really anything that he misses about Tokyo. He’s hesitant to return to a life he’s left behind, even for a short amount of time. 

He lets Motoya hug him gently, and then he’s gone with a smile and a wave over his shoulder.

…

When Kiyoomi is ten, Atsumu touches him. 

It’s a total accident; they’re at volleyball practice, and the twins are carelessly roughhousing in that way that they always do. Then Osamu shoves Atsumu a bit too hard, and he goes careening--straight into Kiyoomi’s arms. 

Kiyoomi catches him without a thought, grunting as he realizes that Atsumu weighs far more than a volleyball. Atsumu sags in his arms as if dazed, and then springs to his feet, looking panicked. “‘M so sorry, Omi-kun!” he blurts. “I didn’t mean ta--”

“It’s fine,” Kiyoomi interrupts. “I didn’t mind it.”

Atsumu gapes at him for a moment before nodding slowly. “Okay,” he says, and that’s the end of it.

At least, it is until Kiyoomi’s lying in bed that night, recalling the incident and wondering why he didn’t mind the touch. It was an accident, of course, but still Kiyoomi thinks he should have felt repulsed, the way he did when anyone else touched him. The thought of Osamu or Aran touching him isn’t so bad either, he supposes, but still. He’d held Atsumu, and he hadn’t even spared a thought for his usual aversion to touch. 

It’s not until the following day that he wonders if he was okay with it only because he trusts Atsumu. On the court, Atsumu gets the ball to him without fail, no matter where he is, and off the court he acts as a human shield whenever necessary in order to prevent their classmates from bothering Kiyoomi. They still bicker much of the time, but Kiyoomi thinks he probably trusts Atsumu at least as much as he trusts Motoya, if not more.

The day after that, he realizes that he wants Atsumu to touch him. 

He’s eating lunch with Aran and Osamu when Atsumu comes bounding up, shoving lightly into his brother’s side. Osamu shoves him back, hard, and Atsumu tumbles over into the grass with an indignant squeal. Kiyoomi feels a brief flash of jealousy, and then he feels confused. Why would I be jealous of that?

At practice later that day, he watches as Atsumu high fives Aran, and he feels that streak of jealousy return. 

Oh.

He wants to be touched. Not often, or much; but maybe a little. A hug would be nice, he reflects. He would even settle for a high five or a tap on the shoulder at this point. 

He’s not sure yet if he’d be okay with Osamu or Aran touching him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them to respect his boundaries, it’s just that he doesn’t know them quite as well, and he’s a little less comfortable with them than he is with Atsumu. Besides, neither of them are quite as touchy-feely as Atsumu is. Atsumu will hang off of their shoulders, wrap his arms around them and squeeze, flick their foreheads. Aran doesn’t really reciprocate, and Osamu does, but violently. 

Once Kiyoomi realizes the issue, he’s not sure how to bring it up with Atsumu. For one, he doesn’t want to tell Osamu or Aran, just in case they get jealous and start treating him differently. This means that he has to ask Atsumu when they’re alone, which is more a difficult feat than it seems, as he and Osamu are nearly attached at the hip. 

Kiyoomi puts the thought to the back of his head for a while and lets it stew as he waits for the right time to talk to Atsumu. He doesn’t get his opportunity until the following week, when Osamu and Aran both choose to remain at school after practice to study. Kiyoomi doesn’t need to, since his grades are fine, and Atsumu simply doesn’t care. He’s clever enough that he always gets by, anyway. 

Kiyoomi walks Atsumu to his bus stop and then pauses, hesitating. Atsumu stops walking and turns to face him, uncertainty drawn into the lines of his face. “Are you okay?” He says, sounding mildly concerned. 

“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi lies. 

“Are you sure? You don’t sound sure,” Atsumu points out. 

“I…” Kiyoomi doesn’t know where to start. “Remember last week when you fell and I caught you?” He says suddenly. 

Atsumu looks embarrassed. “Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “M sorry ‘bout that, I didn’t mean ta make ya uncomfortable or anythin’--”

“I wasn’t,” Kiyoomi blurts. “Uncomfortable, I mean.”

Atsumu looks surprised. “Really?”

Kiyoomi nods. “I don’t know why I wasn’t,” he admits. “I think it’s because I trust you.”

Atsumu’s cheeks get a little red at that. “Oh,” he says. “So--”

“It’s okay if you touch me sometimes,” Kiyoomi clarifies. “Just--maybe warn me first, so I know that it’s you.”

“Are ya sure?” Atsumu says, sounding uncertain. 

Kiyoomi nods again. “I think I’m okay with touching people, sometimes,” he explains. “It depends on who it is, and also how I’m feeling. If I didn’t want you to touch me, I’d just tell you. I know you wouldn’t cross any lines.”

Atsumu is silent for a moment. Then he says, “Can I hug ya, Omi-kun?”

Kiyoomi’s mouth goes a little dry, but he nods. “Yes,” he confirms. “You can. Just...be gentle, okay?”

“Of course,” Atsumu says as if it’s obvious. He steps closer to Kiyoomi, and Kiyoomi’s breath hitches nervously. Atsumu lifts his arms, and Kiyoomi feels them slowly enclose his body. Atsumu moves carefully, as if a single wrong movement could scare him off. Kiyoomi considers telling him that he doesn’t need to be so hesitant.

He doesn’t. Instead, Kiyoomi lifts his arms, and returns the hug. 

He presses against Atsumu and fits his head onto Atsumu’s shoulder, feeling Atsumu’s hair brush his cheekbone. Atsumu squeezes him, a gentle pressure that makes Kiyoomi feel warm. It’s...nice, he thinks. He could get used to this. 

They hold each other tentatively for a minute or so before Atsumu draws back, examining Kiyoomi’s face. “Are ya okay?” He says, and Kiyoomi nods in response. He’s silent for a moment, and then he says, “Thank you, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu goes a little bit red in the face again. “No problem,” he replies. 

“I can’t promise that I’ll always want to be touched,” Kiyoomi warns. 

“Ya don’ have ta promise nothin’,” Atsumu says instantly. “Jus’ tell me what ya need, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

Kiyoomi nods. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Atsumu says. There’s a sound of wheels on pavement as the bus pulls up. Atsumu glances at the bus and then back at Kiyoomi. “See ya tomorrow?” He says, and Kiyoomi nods again. Before he can say anything else, Atsumu says, “Don’ worry ‘bout me snitchin’ ta ‘Samu an’ Aran ‘bout this, either. Wouldn’t want ‘em gettin’ jealous, now would we?” He shoots Kiyoomi a wink, and Kiyoomi finds himself smiling in response. Atsumu waves over his shoulder as he boards the bus, and Kiyoomi waves back before heading home, feeling unexpectedly calm. 

It’s not as if touching Atsumu transformed him into someone who wants to be touched. Kiyoomi never felt that he was broken, or that he needed to be fixed. But maybe, he thinks, maybe a part of him was hurting, and he never realized it until now. 

Chapter Text

“Omi-kun!”

Atsumu sets the ball to Kiyoomi, who’s already in the air, practically hovering over the net. It connects with his hand and slams into the court with a resounding smack.

“Nice kill!” Atsumu cheers. Kiyoomi just blinks at him, looking smug. “Thanks,” he replies. 

“So? Are ya gonna compliment my set, or…?”

“We’ve been over this, ‘Tsumu,” says Kiyoomi as he wipes the sweat from his forehead with a towel. “Your ego does not need to be inflated. I will not be complicit in the development of your narcissistic personality disorder.”

Atsumu squints at him. “Whas’ that?”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Nevermind.”

“Oi! When are ya gonna start settin’ ta me again, huh?” Osamu snaps, whacking the back of Atsumu’s head with his towel. Atsumu rubs his head. “Ow,” he complains. “I’ll set ta ya when I think ya can get us a point, all right?”

“My side was wide open,” Osamu argues. “Kiyoomi had three blockers on him. Stop playin’ favorites and start playin’ like ya mean it.”

Atsumu scowls. Osamu’s right, and he knows it, but he would rather die than admit it. “I’ll set ta ya when I think ya have a chance,” he repeats, slowly. “Is that not clear enough fer ya?”

Osamu looks murderous. “Yer such a b--”

“Everything all right over here?” Aran cuts in nervously. 

“Sure,” Kiyoomi answers for the twins as they stare each other down.

“Ya know, Osamu has a point--” Aran starts, but Atsumu cuts him off with a look. “Do ya think I’m playin’ favorites, Aran?”

Aran hesitates. “...No?”

“You are,” Kiyoomi confirms, “but I don’t mind.” 

“What did I do ta deserve not one, but two jerks harassin’ me every day?” Osamu mutters. 

Aran looks resigned. “Just...set ta the rest of us occasionally, ‘kay?” He says to Atsumu, who nods, feeling a bit guilty. He knows Osamu and Aran are talented spikers, but there’s just something about Kiyoomi’s spikes that makes every one of his sets feel amplified. “I’ll try,” he promises. 

Osamu scowls and opens his mouth to argue, but Aran gives him a look that shuts him up before he can get a word out. “Now,” says Aran, “I believe we have a game to play.”

“A practice game, with our team,” Atsumu corrects under his breath. He didn’t think Aran would hear him, but his answering glare says otherwise.

After practice, the four of them study together at the twins’ house for several hours. Aran is cramming both for finals and junior high school entrance exams. He’s applying to Yako Junior High, which is known for having a pretty decent volleyball team, as well as being located conveniently close to his neighborhood. Atsumu, Osamu and Kiyoomi have already discussed applying there the following year; after all, none of them want to see their group split up. Atsumu and Osamu’s mother jokes that the four of them are like a bunch of fox pups, both because they’re inseparable and because ‘they’ll eat practically anything’. 

They’re currently tearing into a giant bowl of dumplings that sits in the center of their table. Their notebooks are haphazardly spread across the rest of the table’s surface, and rather than bothering with individual dishes, they all share the same bowl (with the exception of Kiyoomi, who finds their habits disgusting).

Once they finish off the food, they turn their attention to their respective piles of homework. Atsumu’s working his way through a pre-algebra word problem, while Kiyoomi struggles with an essay in English. 

“This has got to be the stupidest language ever created,” he complains now, and Atsumu snorts. “Yer such a drama queen, Omi.”

“No, really!” Kiyoomi insists. “Look at this,” he despairs, pushing his notebook into Atsumu’s face. “How can there be so many meanings for the same word? And then there’s some that sound the same but they’re spelled differently? What the hell is this?”

Atsumu smothers a smile and wraps a hand around Kiyoomi’s wrist, gently pushing the notebook out of his face. “Guess what I gotcha yesterday,” he says, changing the subject expertly. 

Kiyoomi scowls. “What.”

Atsumu grins and pulls out a bag of umeboshi candy. Kiyoomi’s eyes grow wide as Atsumu says, “Now ya got somethin’ ta motivate ya, ain’t that nice?”

Kiyoomi groans. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll do the stupid essay. But you’d better give me at least three of those when I’m done.”

“Three? Seriously, I don’ even get how ya stomach these things,” Atsumu says, screwing up his face. ”They’re so sour .”

“That’s sort of the point,” Kiyoomi says dryly. 

Atsumu scowls. “I know that! Still. Shouldn’t be allowed ta call them candy, if ya ask me.”

“Wouldja both shut up? Some of us are actually tryin’ ta study here,” Osamu snaps. Aran, meanwhile, is ignoring all of them in favor of scanning his Japanese Lit textbook, his eyes moving rapidly from one side of the page to the next. He’s muttering under his breath as he reads, and looks a bit like a madman. 

Atsumu returns to the word problem at hand and frowns at the page. How is it possible for so many watermelons to fit in one shopping cart? The image beside the problem depicts only five watermelons, while the word problem exhibits at least a dozen more (Atsumu can’t keep track, to be honest. There’s a reason why math is his worst subject).

It’s dark outside by the time they finish studying. Aran and Kiyoomi wave goodbye before heading home for dinner, Aran looking just as stressed as he was before they’d started studying (if not more so) and Kiyoomi with a mouthful of umeboshi candy. 

There’s only a week left until Aran graduates elementary school, and Atsumu wonders briefly what it’ll be like without him. School will be the same, of course--it’s not as if Atsumu and Aran had ever shared a class. The team will be different without him, though. Aran is their captain, after all; having some random student lead them next year would be weird, to say the least (Atsumu already knows that Aran thinks neither Osamu nor Kiyoomi are cut out for the role of captain, and Atsumu least of all).

The following week flies by in a blur of endless exams and eventually, goodbyes. Atsumu blinks back tears as he hugs Aran after the graduation ceremony. Kiyoomi and Osamu make fun of him for crying, but Atsumu knows they’ll miss Aran just as much as Atsumu will. 

They have a short break the week after graduation, and then their final year of elementary school begins. They’re all in the same class for once, thanks to Kiyoomi and Osamu’s continued hard work and Atsumu’s extra studying. He still struggles with math, but Kiyoomi often helps him in exchange for Atsumu’s help with English. Osamu gets by without either of their help, much to Atsumu’s frustration. 

“It’s ‘cause I got all the smart genes,” Osamu explains to him while they’re studying at the twins house after practice one day. They never study at Kiyoomi’s house, and sometimes Atsumu wonders why, but he’s never gotten up the nerve to ask Kiyoomi about it. 

Atsumu hits him. “Yeah, well, I got the looks, so guess we’re even.”

“We look the same, dumbass,” Osamu retorts. 

“No, you don’t,” Kiyoomi interjects. Atsumu turns to him hopefully, but all he gets is a shit-eating grin and, “Osamu’s definitely better looking than you, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu scowls. “Ya better watch that mouth of yers,” he threatens. 

“Yeah? What are you gonna do, hit me?” Kiyoomi taunts. They both know Atsumu doesn’t have the guts to do it. Even though Kiyoomi’s become more accustomed to casual touches over the past few years, Atsumu would never do anything to jeopardize their tentative bond of trust. 

It took months for Kiyoomi to work up the nerve to touch Atsumu, after all, and years before he was willing to touch Osamu and Aran. The first time Kiyoomi tapped Aran on the back to get his attention, Aran visibly jumped in his seat, and Osamu stared at him as if he’d never seen him before.  

Atsumu was proud of his friend, happy they could give each other high fives during practice and push each other’s shoulders (that was the closest they came to roughhousing, really. Kiyoomi was kind of a wimp when it came down to it, and Atsumu was always afraid of hurting him on accident).

They still hug sometimes, and when they were younger they even held hands; that ended sometime during their third year of elementary school when they realized that boys don’t hold hands with other boys. After that, they kept their hugs short and touches fleeting, but still Atsumu was amazed at the progress Kiyoomi had made. 

Now, he sticks his tongue out at Kiyoomi before returning to his homework. His brow scrunches up as he examines the next equation. “This doesn’ make any sense,” he mumbles. “I keep gettin’ super long decimal answers, and none of the options have decimals in ‘em.”

“You forgot to multiply within the parentheses first,” Kiyoomi says without glancing over. 

“Ah,” Atsumu says, crossing out his previous work and starting anew. “I shoulda known.”

“How do ya manage ta keep repeatin’ the same mistake every time?” Osamu taunts him. 

“I already toldja--”

“Yeah, yeah. Ya always forget the order, we know. Remember PEMDAS?” Osamu pushes. Atsumu glowers. Sometimes it monumentally sucks to have not one, but two people who can read you like a book. 

“I know PEMDAS!” He snaps. “It goes ‘parentheses’, and then...uhh,” he falters.

“‘Exponents, multiplication, division, addition, subtraction,” Kiyoomi interjects, sounding bored.

Atsumu huffs. “I was jus’ gettin’ ta that,” he mutters. 

Kiyoomi snorts. “Sure you were.”

Kiyoomi leaves around seven that evening. It’s still a bit light out, the sun only just starting to set thanks to the lengthening days. He waves goodbye before turning down the street and disappearing from their view. 

“Do ya ever think it’s strange that we’ve never met his parents?” Osamu muses to Atsumu as they head back inside. The late April air is crisp, and the breeze just chilly enough to encourage warmer layers.

“Nah,” Atsumu says dismissively as they return to the living room. “I mean, he’s told us his dad’s always workin’ and his ma’s not super close ta him. His siblings are way older than him, too.”

“He has siblings?” Osamu exclaims. “Why didn’ I know this?”

Atsumu shrugs. “He doesn’ talk about them often,” he reasons. “I figure he’ll bring it up when he feels comfortable.”

Osamu eyes him. “He sure seems comfortable with us, dontja think?”

“Maybe,” Atsumu says, “but then again, think ‘bout how long it took him ta touch us. Years,” he emphasizes. 

“He touched ya before the rest of us,” Osamu says. Atsumu hadn’t realized he was aware of that. “So?” He says, nonchalantly.

“So, ya think maybe he trusts ya more than us?”

“Maybe,” Atsumu says as he puts away his math textbook. “No way ta know, really.”

“Ya could ask him,” Osamu suggests wryly.

“Yer sayin’ I should ask him if he trusts me more than ya?” Atsumu says, confused.

“No, dumbass. I’m sayin’ ya should ask him ‘bout his home life. Ya know, jus’ in case he’s got a bad situation or somethin’,” Osamu fires back.

“I think we’d know if he did,” Atsumu points out. “An’ anyway, I don’ wanna pry. He’s kinda a private guy sometimes, an’ we gotta learn ta respect that.”

It’s silent for a moment, and Atsumu glances up to find Osamu examining him. He’s got a strange look on his face. “Yer real conscientious when it comes ta Kiyoomi, aren’t ya?” He says carefully.

Atsumu shrugs. “Sure. I mean, he’s our best friend, right?”

“I thought Aran was our best friend,” Osamu says. 

Atsumu frowns. “Why can’t we have more than one?”

Osamu considers this for a moment before nodding slowly. “I guess there’s no reason why we can’t,” he says.

“Sure there ain’t,” Atsumu says. “After all, there are probably some people who’ll be our friends someday that we haven’t even met yet, right?”

“True,” Osamu acknowledges thoughtfully. “Still, I hope that even if we do make new friends, we can still keep the old ones.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu agrees. “I hope so too.”

…

The school year is nearly over, and Kiyoomi’s birthday looms on the horizon. He complains incessantly about having to study on his birth week, as if that’s even a thing. The three of them study endlessly, preparing for the middle school entrance exams. They’ve all decided to follow Aran to Yako Junior High school, as if they ever had a choice. Of course they would follow Aran; that went without saying.

Kiyoomi is oddly quiet in the week leading up to his birthday. Atsumu might not have noticed, had he not stumbled across Kiyoomi crying in the boy’s bathroom during lunch one day. When he asked him what was wrong, Kiyoomi had told him it was just the stress of exams. Atsumu figured that made sense, seeing as they were all overloaded with schoolwork, not to mention the fact that none of them have heard back from Yako Junior High regarding the status of their applications. 

Still, something about the whole situation seemed off. Kiyoomi had never cried from being stressed before, as far as Atsumu knew. In fact, he’d only seen Kiyoomi cry twice: once on the evening of Aran’s graduation (after making fun of Atsumu for doing the same) and then last year, when some guy had shoved Kiyoomi into a locker for no particular reason and he’d split his lip. 

Even then, Kiyoomi’s tears seemed involuntary--of course, tears usually are--but in Kiyoomi’s case, they appeared to be unconscious as well. They dripped rather than flowed, his breaths were even and steady, and he showed no other signs of distress. He cried as if he was entirely unaware of his emotions.

When Atsumu found him in the bathroom, he looked as if his favorite cat had died. Not that he had any cats, but still. It stunned Atsumu, and he just didn’t buy Kiyoomi’s reasoning. Still, he pushed the bathroom encounter to the back of his mind for the time being, instead focusing on planning Kiyoomi’s birthday party with Osamu and Aran.

The night before Kiyoomi’s birthday, Atsumu walks Kiyoomi to the end of their driveway. They’d finished studying later than usual, so the sky is fully dark, spotted with faint pinpricks of harsh white light. Atsumu has never liked the stars. They always seem so cold and detached, so distant and out of reach. He likes things he can touch and hold and play with.

Kiyoomi likes the stars, though. Sometimes he’ll talk about them--how they’re formed and how they die, what they become after their end. Atsumu supposes it is pretty fascinating that their so-called death leads to another form of life, both in how their components are distributed and in the way their outright form changes as well.

“Hey,” Kiyoomi says softly, interrupting his thoughts. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“‘Course,” Atsumu replies automatically. “After school too, ya?”

Kiyoomi nods. He takes a step back, then hesitates. “Tsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I hug you?” Kiyoomi says, and for some reason Atsumu feels a little scared. 

“Okay,” he says anyway, and steps forward into Kiyoomi’s embrace. They hold each other tightly for several long moments before letting go. Kiyoomi gives him a smile that Atsumu can’t help but think looks a little bit sad, and then he turns to go.

The next morning Atsumu awakes with a pit in his stomach. He couldn’t really say what he was so nervous about--the party is fully planned, after all, and it’s not as if it’s any different from their usual hangouts, except that Aran would be there too. Still, something felt distinctly wrong.

After class gets out, the three of them head to the twins’ house together in silence. Kiyoomi’s eyes are unfocused, like his head is elsewhere. When they reach the house, Osamu opens the door with a grand gesture and grins at Kiyoomi as Aran jumps out from behind the couch. 

“Surprise!” He yells, and then Kiyoomi’s face crumples. Aran’s gleeful expression quickly turns to concern, while Osamu looks confused. Atsumu touches Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says gently. “What’s wrong?”

Kiyoomi’s silent for a moment. His voice is choked when he says, “I’m leaving, ‘Tsumu.”

Now Atsumu is confused. “Wait, now? Do yer parents want ya ta come home or somethin’?”

Kiyoomi turns to look at him, cheeks already streaked with tears. “No,” he says, “I mean, I‘m leaving. My parents, they...we’re moving back to Tokyo.”

Atsumu is speechless. 

“When do you leave?” Aran asks him gently. 

“In a week,” Kiyoomi whispers. 

Atsumu’s stomach drops. “Yer really leavin’?” He says softly. 

Kiyoomi nods, another tear sliding down his cheek. Atsumu wants to wipe it away but he can’t remember how to move. 

“Do ya know what school yer goin’ ta attend?” Osamu asks him. 

Kiyoomi nods. “I found out last week,” he says. “I’ll be attending Dosho Junior High with Toya.”

“Maybe we’ll get ta play yer team,” Aran says hopefully. Kiyoomi just nods. “Maybe,” he replies, wiping his face with his sleeve. He turns back to Atsumu. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wasn’t sure how to--”

“It’s okay,” Atsumu cuts in. “It’s not your fault.”

Kiyoomi nods. “I know.” Then he sighs. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then Aran says, hesitantly, “Would you like some cake?”

Kiyoomi smiles a little at that. “I would,” he replies. “Thank you.”

The four of them sit at the table they usually use for studying as Atsumu cuts the cake and passes Kiyoomi a piece. “Here ya go,” he says, voice rough. “We made it ourselves.”

Kiyoomi stares at the cake. “I didn’t know you could bake.”

“ We can’t,” Osamu chimes in. “‘Tsumu did most of the work, we just fetched shit fer him.”

“Don’t say ‘shit’ while we’re eatin’,” Aran chastizes.

“Ya jus’ did,” Osamu points out.

“Yeah, but--”

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi interrupts. “All of you.” He looks at Atsumu, taking his hand and weaving their fingers together gently. “I...I couldn't’ ask for better friends.”

To Atsumu’s absolute horror, he feels his eyes welling up. “Dammit,” he mutters, scrubbing his eyes with his free hand. “I wanted to make ya happy,” he emphasizes jokingly.

“You did,” Kiyoomi says softly, and that’s what really does it. Now all of them are crying, and Atsumu knows the cake is going to taste salty at this rate but he doesn’t care because Kiyoomi is leaving .

Atsumu squeezes Kiyoomi’s hand under the table and wishes they had more time.

…

Kiyoomi leaves them three days after graduation. Atsumu cries throughout the ceremony and the three days following, but his eyes are oddly dry when hugs Kiyoomi goodbye. He knows he’s probably crushing him a bit too hard, but he can’t seem to help himself, and Kiyoomi doesn’t seem to mind.

Kiyoomi smiles when they pull away. “I’m going to miss you,” he says.

“We’re still gonna be friends, right?” Atsumu says uncertainly.

“Of course we are,” says Kiyoomi instantly. He hesitates for a moment, and then he says, “We’re going to play on the same team someday, you know.”

“Promise?” Atsumu says, and Kiyoomi nods seriously. “Promise.”

He says his goodbyes to Osamu and Aran next. He hugs them, too, but not for as long as he hugged Atsumu. Atsumu would feel smug about that if he weren’t so damn sad.

When Kiyoomi pulls away from Osamu, he looks at all of them and says, “Thank you. You were amazing.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry--

Atsumu doesn’t cry. Instead he smiles crookedly and says, “Stop soundin’ like this is the end of the world or whatever. We’re not gonna stop bein’ yer friends, Omi-kun. Yer stuck with us, whether ya like it or not.”

Kiyoomi smiles back. “Good.”

“Ya should probably get goin’,” Aran says, checking the time on his phone. “Call us if ya get the chance, and hopefully we’ll get the chance to kick yer ass in a game sometime.”

“With Motoya at my side, that’s not going to be an easy fight,” Kiyoomi says dryly. He turns to go, waving once over his shoulder. “See you later,” he says, and then he leaves. 

Atsumu doesn’t know how to feel, so he chooses to feel nothing, pressing his emotions down so deep he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to retrieve them.

A month goes by and Atsumu doesn’t hear from Kiyoomi. He’s a little worried that Kiyoomi is having a hard time settling into his new home. Knowing that he has Motoya to help him adjust is a small consolation, but a consolation nonetheless, and Atsumu breathes easier knowing that Motoya will ensure that no one touches Kiyoomi without his consent. 

Atsumu adjusts to Kiyoomi’s absence, because he has to, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t hard. The months go by with no word from Kiyoomi, and he and Osamu are still too young to have phones (even if they did, Atsumu doesn’t have a number to reach Kiyoomi by). So he gets by. Mostly, anyway. And if Osamu hears him sniffling from the bottom bunk, then he doesn’t tell Atsumu.

Atsumu’s life is consumed by volleyball. His schoolwork is secondary, and his grades start to drop as a result. Their mother scolds him for it, but it’s worth the extra effort he puts into the sport. His sets improve, and he learns not one, but two different ways of serving. So what if he still kind of sucks? He has time to improve before he meets Kiyoomi on the court, or so he tells himself. 

He gets along with the team, mostly. Actually, he gets along with Aran and Osamu. The rest are scrubs and he doesn’t need them. So what if his sets are too high for them? If they don’t meet his standards, they don’t deserve to be set to.

They’re in practice one day, about two weeks before the first match of the season, when it all comes to a head. Atsumu sets to one of the other first years, who falls short by about six inches and misses the ball entirely. 

“Omi-kun could’ve gotten that,” Atsumu mutters. 

The first year looks confused. “Who’s Omi-kun?”

“Nevermind.”

“Tsumu!” Osamu yells, storming across the court to grab Atsumu’s shirt front. He shakes him and snaps, “What is yer deal? Ya do realize we’re never gonna win a match at this rate, right?”

“As if that’s my fault?” Atsumu retorts. “They’re the ones that’re too weak to hit my sets. Even yer slackin’ lately.”

“Look,” Osamu says, sounding as if he’d very much like to strangle Atsumu. “I’m not Kiyoomi, okay? None of us are. Ya gotta get over it. He’s not comin’ back anytime soon, and ya need ta learn ta work with what ya’ve got, or ya aren’t gonna make it far in life.”

“Screw ya,” Atsumu snaps. 

Osamu breathes out through his nose. “That’s what I thought.” He throws Atsumu to the ground and stands over him. “I’m gonna tell coach yer not feelin’ well,” he announces. “Ya can come back ta practice when yer willin’ ta start workin’ with others.”

“Who died and made you captain?” Atsumu says, but there’s no heat behind the words. Osamu is too calm, and Atsumu knows that means he messed up. He slowly gets to his feet and stalks out of the gym, throwing his things back into his workout bag with unnecessary force before heading home alone. 

He skips practice for three days following their fight. On day four he returns, determined to make the most of practice, even if his teammates can’t keep up with him. He starts adjusting his sets to make his spikers more comfortable, though he still pushes them to jump higher and swing harder whenever possible. He still fights with Osamu, and Aran often has to physically split them up before things get too nasty. Still, the team is more cohesive than it’s been in months.

The season starts without much fanfare. Atsumu is disappointed when he checks the tournament bracket and finds that Dosho Junior High isn’t even on it. Atsumu supposes that makes sense, seeing as they’re not in the same prefecture. Still, he’s determined to play Kiyoomi, even if it takes making it to Nationals to get there.

Their team ends up losing to Hotoku Gakuen Junior High in the semi-finals. They don’t even make it to the finals, and Atsumu finds himself crying frustrated tears on the bus ride home from their final match.

There’s always next year, he thinks. Still, it all seems so far off. Even though he’s grown accustomed to Kiyoomi’s absence, he still feels it like a gaping hole in his chest. 

…

Atsumu is fifteen when he applies to Inarizaki High. When he and Osamu had talked about what high school they wanted to attend, Atsumu had insisted on Inarizaki. “We’ve gotta go there,” he’d said. “I don’ wanna lose Aran.” The ‘too’ was left unsaid. 

And so they follow Aran to high school and begin making a name for themselves on the court. 

Atsumu likes their new team a lot. Everyone is extremely hard working; Akagi is an excellent libero, Kita is brilliant at defense, and of course there’s Aran, Ginjima and Osamu, all of whom are superb spikers. Their middle blockers are strong as well. There’s Ren, aggressive and tall, and the ever-wily Suna Rintarou, who ends up becoming one of Atsumu and Osamu’s closest friends.

Suna reminds Atsumu of Kiyoomi a bit sometimes. Maybe it’s the bluntness, or the way he acts like he’s better than everyone else but secretly he knows he’s not. He’s uncomplicated where Kiyoomi was complex, manipulative where Kiyoomi was straightforward, but still the similarities persist, and sometimes Atsumu wishes he could introduce them (until, of course, he realizes how easily they would gang up on him). 

Suna and Osamu gang up on Atsumu enough as is. It’s fair enough, really. Though Atsumu would never admit to being the troublemaker of the team, he’s well aware that he’s a jerk. Osamu and Suna are jerks, too, but they get away with it because it comes out less often around the rest of their team. Kita always seems to catch Atsumu in the act of insulting one of their teammates, and by god if he isn’t the scariest person Atsumu’s ever encountered. It’s only fitting, really, that he ends up becoming their captain in their second year of high school. 

As a captain, Kita is conscientious, kind, compassionate. He’s strict when it matters, and brutally honest whether or not Atsumu wants him to be. Atsumu cries when he sees what Kita has left for him in the locker room when he shows up to practice sick. He cries even harder when he sees that Kita got him umeboshi, and even though the taste still makes him cringe, he forces one down his throat and smiles slightly as he imagine Kiyoomi’s reaction to him voluntarily consuming the pickled fruit.

It’s a testament to his proficiency as a captain, really, when Kita leads them all the way to the Interhigh National Tournament in June. 

Atsumu hasn’t heard from Kiyoomi in years. He and Osamu got cell phones when they started high school, but even if Kiyoomi has a phone, Atsumu doesn’t know his number. And to be honest, he doesn’t know if he wants to know it. Kiyoomi could have reached out at any point during their time in middle school; he has their address, after all, and people still write letters, right? It wasn’t as if he had no way to reach him, unlike Atsumu. 

So when Atsumu realizes he might see Kiyoomi at the Interhigh, he’s...apprehensive. His stomach squirms when he tries to imagine what Kiyoomi looks like now, whether he’s grown, or, god forbid, whether he’s taller than Atsumu now. He gets anxious at the thought of seeing him, and more anxious when he wonders whether he’ll even be able to recognize him. He’s not sure which high school Kiyoomi chose to attend, but Tokyo is riddled with powerhouse schools, and Atsumu’s sure Kiyoomi would have chosen only the best for himself and Motoya. 

Atsumu throws himself into volleyball in the weeks leading up to the Interhigh. He stays late every night without fail, barely making it home in time for a late dinner around eight or nine PM. He skims his readings for Japanese Lit and blows off his math homework entirely in favor of doing it in the morning before class. 

“Yer gonna run yerself inta the ground, ya know,” Osamu tells him one day. It’s early June, and Atsumu, Osamu and Suna are on break at practice, sipping water and stretching out their limbs. It’s hot in the gym--there’s no air conditioning, and the temperature’s rising by the day.

“Worry ‘bout yerself,” Atsumu grumbles. “Yer last spike was sloppy.”

Osamu growls. “Watch it.”

“Watch what? The slow deterioration of yer serves? Yer last one nearly clocked Aran-kun in the face,” Atsumu retorts. Osamu jumps to his feet and lunges at Atsumu, and Suna pulls out his phone. “Aaand, action,” he says, unaffected by the violence unfolding before him. Osamu shakes Atsumu and screams, “Yer gonna get yerself injured, and yer criticizing me?”

“Yer jus’ insecure ‘cause I’ve been workin’ harder than ya,” Atsumu yells in retaliation.

“What would Kiyoomi think of ya now, huh? He’d be upset ta see ya doin’ this ta yerself an’ ya know it!”

“Don’t ya dare tell me how Kiyoomi would feel,” Atsumu snarls. “He’s gone anyway, so it’s not like it matters.”

“Oh, please. Stop tryin’ ta pretend ya don’ care what he thinks, we all know that’s a lie.”

“What’re they fighting ‘bout now?” Atsumu hears Aran say as he comes up beside Suna.

“Some guy named ‘Kiyoomi’,” Suna says, sounding bored. 

“Shit,” mutters Aran. “Oi!” He yells at them both. “Quit fightin’ or I’m tellin’ Kita ya disrupted practice an’--”

“No need ta tell me anythin’,” Kita says calmly. Atsumu and Osamu spring apart as Aran jumps, not having noticed Kita’s approach. “Damn it, Kita,” he breathes. “Ya scare the livin’ hell outta me sometimes, ya know that?”

Kita ignores him. “Laps. Now,” he says to the twins, voice still eerily calm. Suna snickers and ends the video, saving it on his phone. Atsumu considers taking his phone and breaking it, except he doesn’t really want to earn himself more laps. 

“How many?” Osamu asks, voice resigned.

“Twenty,” Kita replies. 

Atsumu grumbles under his breath but gulps when Kita turns his stare on him. “I won’t make ya tell me what y’all were talkin’ bout,” he says, addressing them both. “But if this happens again, yer both benched fer the rest of the season. Got it? Ya can still fight,” he adds neutrally, “but don’ make it physical. Ya can’t be treatin’ yer bodies like throwaways. Ya hear me?”

“Yes, Kita-san,” Atsumu and Osamu respond glumly. Atsumu knows he has a point; an injury at this point in the season would be catastrophic. 

Osamu may have dealt a low blow when he brought Kiyoomi into their fight, but he wasn’t wrong. Kiyoomi wouldn’t approve of Atsumu’s habits, and Atsumu knows it. 

But Kiyoomi isn’t here, and Atsumu will do whatever it takes to get to Nationals if it means he gets to see him again.

Chapter Text

Kiyoomi is going to murder Motoya.

He furiously scans the crowd in search of his cousin. Motoya took his bag--which contains not only his spare mask, but his wipes and hand sanitizer as well--and disappeared into the crowd without a word as to where he was going.

Honestly, Kiyoomi’s not sure this day could get any worse. He woke up late and had to cut his shower short, so he already feels dirtier than he should when he hasn’t yet played a single match. And now his mask is dirty because a child (who brings children to a volleyball tournament anyway?) sneezed in his face. 

As if he wasn’t already stressed enough about having to play Atsumu.

He’d found out the previous day, when Inarizaki advanced to the finals after a brutal match against Mujinazaka High. He hadn’t even known that the twins and Aran attended Inarizaki until their coach had shown them video footage of possible competitors. When Kiyoomi saw the twins in action, it took his breath away, in part because they’d gotten really good, and in part because he was not ready to face them on the court, no matter what he’d been telling himself for the past four years.

Kiyoomi knows he fucked up when he chose not to reach out to his friends. He had their addresses; it wouldn’t have been hard for him to get in touch, had he tried. Really, he doesn’t know why he didn’t. At first it was because he felt so guilty for leaving them, and later he began to wonder if they were better off without him. They were fine before Kiyoomi came into their lives, why should they miss him now?

Kiyoomi would be lying if he said he didn’t miss them. He missed them all terribly, and though he loved his cousin, he didn’t really have anyone else. His parents were still distant, even more so since he came out to them in his first year of high school, and his siblings were both away at college. He spent most of his time alone, which wasn’t all that bad, seeing as his aversion to touch had evolved to the point where he hated being around most people for fear of getting sick. 

Kiyoomi’s not sure when it started, but he knows it happened sometime after the move. He feels less safe in Tokyo; the air quality is terrible, the people are loud and imposing, and no one seems to care about his boundaries. When he’s with Motoya it’s a little better, but he misses having not one, but three people by his side, keeping the crowds at bay.

And now, he’s completely alone. 

Kiyoomi squints, scanning the crowd for any sign of his teammates. They should be obvious in their highlighter yellow jackets, but Kiyoomi can’t seem to tell any of the colors apart anymore. He sighs and fights the urge to lean against the dirty wall. 

Where the hell is Toya?

Kiyoomi finds his mind drifting, as it often does, to Atsumu, Osamu and Aran. He wonders what they all look like now. Will he still be able to tell the twins apart? It used to be so easy for him. He wonders if they still bicker the way they used to, if Aran is still the peacekeeper of the group, if they still--

“Kiyoomi?” 

Kiyoomi glances up and locks eyes with Aran. 

“Aran?” Kiyoomi says, surprised. “What--”

“The twins are with Toya,” Aran explains. “He told me ta check on ya, and he says he has yer bag.”

“I’m aware,” says Kiyoomi dryly. Then he hesitates. “Do...do they want to see me?”

Aran smiles slightly. “Why don’tcha come see fer yerself?”

Kiyoomi nods slowly and pushes away from the wall, falling into step beside his old friend. Aran doesn’t try to hug him, which Kiyoomi appreciates; he’s a bit overwhelmed as is. He’s not really sure how to fill the silence, but it turns out he doesn’t have to.

“So,” Aran starts, “I hear yer pretty good these days.”

Kiyoomi nods. “I could say the same for you.”

Aran laughs. “Yeah, I guess we both made it all right, didn’ we?” He leads Kiyoomi over to a spot near the bathrooms behind an enormous square pillar. “We agreed ta meet here,” he explains to Kiyoomi. “Should be any minute now.”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi replies, stomach jumping with nerves. He glances at the crowd and spots Motoya almost instantly--his jacket and eyebrows together are an eye-catching sight, to say the least. He’s with two other guys that Kiyoomi doesn’t recognize. He frowns, trying to remember if Motoya knows anyone blond, and comes up short. It isn’t until they get closer and the gray-haired guy to Motoya’s left glances up that the breath punches out of Kiyoomi’s lungs. 

“Ya okay?” Aran says, sounding concerned. 

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi says, voice strained. “Just a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”

Aran nods, something like understanding shining in his eyes. 

The twins’ faces are the same. A bit leaner, perhaps, the angles sharper and the softness of youth all but gone but still, they’re as familiar as the back of Kiyoomi’s hand. He felt silly for ever thinking he wouldn’t recognize them.

Atsumu hasn’t noticed him yet. He’s chatting animatedly with Motoya, and even from this distance Kiyoomi can distinguish the twang of his accent from the other voices in the crowd. Then Osamu nudges his twin, and the three of them look over to where Kiyoomi and Aran are standing. 

Atsumu’s eyes grow wide, and Kiyoomi thinks his expression must mirror his own. Motoya, ever oblivious to the palpable tension hanging in the air, waves cheerfully and starts over to them, dragging the twins along with them. Kiyoomi unconsciously takes a step forward, and they meet in the middle. 

Up close, Atsumu’s hair is brighter, while Osamu’s gleams dully in the fluorescent lighting of the arena. It suits them both, Kiyoomi thinks. 

“Hey,” Osamu says first, voice rough. “How’ve ya been, Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi’s mouth goes dry, and he shrugs. “You know,” he gets out.

“We don’t, actually,” Atsumu cuts in. Osamu elbows him in the solar plexus, and his answering gasp is audible. “Ignore him,” Osamu says. “He’s jus’ nervous ta play ya, thas’ all.”

“Am not,” Atsumu wheezes. Kiyoomi stifles a smile and studies his face. It’s still a shade warmer than Osamu’s, and Kiyoomi likes to think he could tell them apart even if their hair hadn’t changed. 

“We were just talking about hanging out after the game,” Motoya explains then. “Whatever the outcome, I think we’d all like the chance to catch up, and their hotel is only a ten minute walk from ours.”

Kiyoomi considers this for a moment before nodding slowly. “Okay,” he says. 

Atsumu’s face is unreadable. “We should prob’ly get goin’,” he says, addressing Osamu and Aran. “Warm ups start pretty soon.”

“We should too, then,” Motoya says reluctantly. “See you guys after, though!”

“Good luck beatin’ us,” Aran says with a grin.

“We won’t need it,” Kiyoomi says bluntly, and that startles a surprised laugh out of Atsumu. It’s more of a quiet snort, really, but Kiyoomi still has to suppress a smile at the small victory as Aran and the twins head back to their team. 

“Well,” Motoya says, watching them go. “That was interesting.”

“You still have my bag,” is all Kiyoomi says in response.

“Oh. Whoops.”

Kiyoomi barely refrains from rolling his eyes as Motoya passes the bag over.

Warm ups go by quickly. Too quickly, Kiyoomi thinks. He doesn’t feel ready, but he knows that he is. He just needs to put himself on autopilot, same as he does before any big game. He stretches out his wrists and does some quick breathing exercises before joining his team where they’re huddled up on the side of the court. Iizuna gives them a short motivational speech, and then it’s time to line up. 

Kiyoomi stares at Atsumu from across the court. He’s looking straight ahead, and his eyes are sort of vacant. Kiyoomi’s not sure what he’s seeing right now but it sure as hell isn’t what’s in front of him.

The game starts off well in Itachiyama’s favor. They get three consecutive points right from the start before Inarizaki manages to score one against them, and now Kiyoomi’s up to serve. He knows his serve is powerful; his wrists are an uncanny weapon in their own right.

He tosses the ball up smoothly and slams it over the net, aiming for the far corner of the court just inside the line. That felt good, he thinks, and at first it looks like it might be a no-touch ace.

Then Atsumu receives it in a brilliant dig, sending it up perfectly. Kiyoomi gapes at him for a moment before remembering himself. The ball goes straight to Osamu, who smacks it over the net and into the floor before Itachiyama has time to react. 

Motoya swaps in during the next rotation, which makes Kiyoomi feel better about their odds of taking the set. As a team, the two of them are nearly unbeatable. 

Then again, they’ve never faced the twins on the court before. 

Atsumu’s jump float is excellent. If only he didn’t have that whole pretentious routine beforehand, Kiyoomi might actually be impressed. He gets two service aces over Itachiyama before Motoya finally manages to dig one. Still, the ball flies up in an unsteady arc, straight back to Inarizaki’s side of the court. Atsumu sets to Osamu, grossly perfect as usual, and they take another point.

Atsumu and Osamu work as one. They’re a well-oiled machine, both of them monsters in their own right. They score point after point, but it’s not enough to take the set from Itachiyama. 

Kiyoomi scores the final point, squeezing it onto the court right under Atsumu’s nose. Atsumu looks down at the ball as it slaps the ground and then back up at Kiyoomi. The look he gives Kiyoomi is nothing short of a glare.

Atsumu serves first in the next set, a regular jump serve (if anything that Atsumu does can be called regular, that is). Kiyoomi barely manages to get it up, and it immediately returns to Inarizaki. Aran takes the point this time, smiling smugly at Kiyoomi from across the net.

Inarizaki ends up taking the second set.

After that, everything falls apart. 

They’re a little ways into the third set, and Atsumu is uncharacteristically sloppy. He looks kind of out of it, too, with the same vacant look from earlier reflected in his eyes. His receives are off and his sets are barely managing to sync up. Several more points go to Itachiyama, and the score sits at 17-12 in their favor.

Atsumu gets benched. 

Kiyoomi sees it coming. His last set was so sloppy that Inarizaki’s star middle blocker, Suna Rintarou, barely managed to get a hand on it despite his incredible core strength and ridiculously flexible shoulders. It should have been an easy hit; instead it almost failed to connect entirely, the ball making it over the net by pure will alone, only to be dug up by Motoya a moment later.

Inarizaki’s backup setter comes onto the court, and the set’s over soon after. 

The fourth set is disastrous. To be fair, Itachiyama’s players are tired, and sloppier than usual as well, but they’ve got nothing on the many mistakes Inarizaki makes throughout the set. It’s a wonder the point gap isn’t wider than it is; Itachiyama takes the final set with a score of 25-16.

Kiyoomi watches out of the corner of his eye as Atsumu wearily rises to his feet to join his team’s lineup. He looks for him after both teams leave the court, too, and finds that he’s not with the rest of his team. Osamu and Aran are present and accounted for, at least. They’re standing with Suna, looking exhausted and unsatisfied, and Kiyoomi can only imagine how they must feel. He makes his way over to them without thinking.

Osamu is the first to notice his approach. He nudges Aran, who turns to face him as well, giving him a weak smile. Suna remains expressionless, his face famously difficult to read (not that Kiyoomi can talk). 

“Hey,” Kiyoomi says when he gets close. He hesitates before saying, “Have any of you seen Atsumu?”

Osamu eyes him warily. “Why’d ya want ta know?”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I just want to make sure he’s okay,” he says.

Osamu scowls. “‘Course he’s not okay, after that disaster of a game.”

Aran visibly winces, and Suna looks vaguely uncomfortable.

“What happened?” Kiyoomi says, confused. “He was fine before, I just don’t understand--”

“Look,” Osamu interrupts. “I know ya didn’ mean ta hurt ‘Tsumu, or any of us fer that matter. But he’s more upset than he lets on, and seein’ ya brought it all back. It’s no wonder it caught up to him when he’d already got the pressure of such an enormous game weighin’ on him, really. Jus’...give him some space,” he finishes, sounding tired.

Kiyoomi feels sick. “It’s my fault, isn’t it,” he says. “That he was so out of it during the game.” 

Aran shifts uncomfortably, and Suna looks like he’s trying to pretend he’s not listening.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Osamu replies. “Who knows what would’ve happened if ya were still on speakin’ terms. We still could’ve lost, ya know? No use worryin’ bout it now. Jus’ be careful with ‘Tsumu, okay? He’s pretty upset ‘bout the loss an’ blamin’ himself fer all of it. So watch what ya say ta him, and if yer gonna try an’ be a part of his life again, ya better be able ta back it up this time.”

Kiyoomi nods and turns to Aran. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have reached out.” He looks back at Osamu. “To all of you. I...I don’t know why I didn’t. I guess I just thought you’d move on without me, and I didn’t think you needed me anymore.”

“Kiyoomi,” Aran says gently, “We’ll always need ya. We’re not gonna leave ya behind, ya hear me?”

Kiyoomi nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. His own voice sounds rough in his ears. He glances at Osamu, who’s examining him like he’s trying to figure him out. “I guess I’ll see you both later tonight, then?”

“Yeah, see ya then,” Osamu replies. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t look angry, either, so Kiyoomi supposes that’s a start. 

Kiyoomi looks to Suna and says, “Your blocks were solid. Thanks for making it a challenge.” He looks around the group. “That goes for all of you.”

“Anytime,” Aran says with a smile. 

“Yeah, even through we got our asses kicked, I guess it was kind of fun,” Suna adds with a smirk. Kiyoomi nods in response before waving goodbye and heading back to his team, where Motoya is just finishing packing up his bag. He glances up and notices Kiyoomi, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Hey,” he says with a grin. “You ready to go?”

“Almost,” Kiyoomi replies. He tosses his water bottle and knee pads into his bag and throws on his warm up jacket before following the rest of their team back to the bus. 

Kiyoomi takes a thirty minute shower as soon as he’s back in their room. He would have taken longer if Motoya hadn’t started pounding on the door, complaining that his sweat was drying his hair into spikes. 

“Sounds like a good look for you,” Kiyoomi had replied. Motoya had only pounded louder in response.

Kiyoomi dresses comfortably and texts his mother briefly to update her on the win--as if she even cares. She probably won’t even see the text until later this week; she’s visiting a friend in Osaka until Thursday. His father is out of the country at the moment on some business trip, and Kiyoomi tries not to think about how he’ll be coming home to an empty house. Maybe he can get Motoya to take him in, at least for a little while.

When Motoya’s done showering, the two of them join their team for dinner at the hotel restaurant downstairs.  

“We’re going to meet the twins and Aran at eight,” Motoya announces as he piles slab after slab of barbecue onto his plate. “I think they said they were bringing Suna with them, too.” Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose at the excessive amount of meat. “That’s fine,” he says absently, trying to ignore the way his stomach turns over at the thought of seeing Atsumu again. 

After dinner, Kiyoomi and Motoya return to their room to relax for a while before they have to leave. Kiyoomi throws himself onto his bed, grimacing at the thought of all the bodies that have slept there before, and only slightly consoled by the clean sheets and smell of disinfectant that lingers in the room. 

“So,” Motoya starts, perching cross-legged on his own bed. “I noticed you spoke with Osamu and Aran earlier. How are they doing?” 

“They’re okay,” Kiyoomi says, staring into space. “Apparently Atsumu blames himself for their loss.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Did Osamu say why he was so out of it during the last half of the game?” Motoya asks him, and Kiyoomi grimaces in response. “That would be my fault, I think,” he mumbles. “I probably should’ve tried to clear the air with him before the game.” He chances a look at Motoya, whose expression is surprisingly soft. 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he says to Kiyoomi. “I’m sure Atsumu will understand, if you talk to him.” There’s a pause, and then Motoya says, “You are planning on talking to him, right?”

“I’m not going to avoid him,” Kiyoomi hedges. 

“Kiyo.”

“I’ll talk to him, okay?” Kiyoomi snaps. “I just--I don’t really know what to say. How do I tell him that I didn’t think he’d miss me? That I thought he’d be better off without me? Who was I to decide that for him?”

“Tell him that,” Motoya gently suggests. “Just like you told me. It’s Atsumu, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Kiyoomi sighs. “Maybe.”

“He’s your best friend, of course he will,” Motoya says.

“Is he, though?” Kiyoomi says skeptically.

“Yes,” Motoya says firmly. “He is.”

Kiyoomi wants to believe him.

…

Eight PM rolls around and Kiyoomi follows Motoya out into the warm, early-summer night. Their hotel is a ten minute walk from Inarizaki’s, and Motoya fills the time by chattering his ear off, which is good considering that Kiyoomi would rather not have to speak at all. His mouth is dry and his palms are sweaty, a sure sign of his nervousness that only builds the closer they get to the hotel.

The twins, along with Suna and Aran, are already outside the hotel entrance, leaning against the side of the building. Their hotel is much nicer than Itachiyama’s, Kiyoomi notes. The walls are a deep red shade of brick, the entrance framed by large decorative pillars.

Aran spots them first and waves excitedly, causing the others to glance up as well. Kiyoomi locks eyes with Atsumu and his breath gets caught in his throat. Atsumu looks terrible. At least he appears to be clean, but his hair is a mess, and his eyes are puffy and red. Osamu and Aran look a bit better than he does, at least, and Suna looks entirely unfazed by their earlier loss.

“Didja find the hotel all right?” Aran asks them, ever concerned about their well-being. 

“No, we got lost,” Kiyoomi deadpans. 

Suna snorts. “I like this one,” he says decisively, and Aran groans. “ Please don’ start gettin’ along with each other,” he jokes. “That’s the last thing I wanna see.”

“Yeah, the two of you make for a scary combination,”  Motoya agrees. “Kiyo’s scary enough on his own.”

“I’m not scary,” Kiyoomi protests.

“Yeah,” Osamu chimes in, “Ya jus’ got that restin’ bitch face goin’ on, don’tcha?” Kiyoomi scowls at that, and Osamu points at his face. “See? That’s it, righ’ there.”

“Whatever,” Kiyoomi deflects. “Can we go now?”

“Sure!” Motoya says brightly. “I was thinking we could swing by Yoyogi park, it’s about a fifteen minute walk away and it’s gorgeous at night…” He continues to babble to Aran, while Osamu and Suna trail behind. Kiyoomi falls into step beside Atsumu at the back of the group.

It hasn’t escaped Kiyoomi’s notice that Atsumu has yet to say a word, and he wonders if he should say something instead or wait for Atsumu to speak. He waffles back and forth for several long seconds, and impatience wins out in the end.

“So,” he says, shooting a glance at Atsumu. “What happened during the match?”

Atsumu eyes him. “‘S stupid,” he mumbles.

“Try me,” Kiyoomi challenges, and Atsumu sighs. “I--” he starts, breaking off after a moment. “I was thrown off,” he says carefully. “And I guess it kinda triggered a panic attack, and I didn’t really have any way to deal with that during a game, so.” He laughs bitterly. “That’s all. It’s dumb, I know.”

“It’s not,” Kiyoomi says instantly. Then he frowns. “You can just tell me if it was my fault,” he says quietly. 

Atsumu hesitates. “That might’ve been a part of it,” he admits. “Don’ go blamin’ yerself fer it, though,” he adds quickly. “I shoulda been able ta hold it together. ‘S practically my job, after all.”

“It’s okay if the pressure gets to you sometimes. It gets to all of us,” Kiyoomi says softly.

Atsumu sounds frustrated when he says, “I know that, ‘s jus’ hard ta keep in mind when there’s so many people countin’ on ya, ya know?”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi says, “I do.” They walk in silence for a minute before Kiyoomi says, “I think I owe you an apology.”

“I don’ wanna hear ya apologize,” Atsumu responds after a moment. He must notice Kiyoomi’s face fall, because he adds, “I’ll accept an explanation, though.”

Kiyoomi feels relief wash over him as he says, “You’re still dramatic, huh?”

Atsumu smiles a little at that. “Guess so.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t know where to start. “I--” 

Tell him that, just like you told me. It’s Atsumu, I’m sure he’ll understand.

“I was scared,” Kiyoomi admits. “I thought that if I tried to stay in touch, you’d all get sick of trying, and it would hurt far worse than if I just cut it off right then. So that’s what I did,” he explains. “I know it wasn’t right for me to make that decision for you, I was just so worried that you’d stop wanting to be my friend that I didn’t want to give you the chance to say it.”

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu says softly. “I wouldn’t do that ta ya.”

“I know,” Kiyoomi replies. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay,” says Atsumu. “I’m not mad at ya fer any of it.”

“So you forgive me then?” Kiyoomi says hopefully. 

“Nothin’ ta forgive,” Atsumu says, and Kiyoomi breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“So?” Prompts Atsumu, a teasing smile curling his lips. “Are we cool?”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi says, “we are.”

Atsumu’s answering grin is satisfied. “Good.”

They catch up to the others at the edge of the park and make their way onto the lawn. The trees are mostly leafed out at this point, swaying gently in the breeze, and the night is clear enough to see the few stars that are visible despite the overwhelming light pollution that surrounds them.

“Ya still like the stars, huh?” Atsumu observes, following his gaze. 

“You could say that,” Kiyoomi says dryly. “Toya got me a constellation map for my birthday. I’ve been trying to memorize it since.”

“How far have ya gotten?” Atsumu says curiously.

Kiyoomi points. “That’s the big dipper,” he says impassively. He looks back at Atsumu. “That’s about it.”

Atsumu gapes at him. “Seriously? Even I know that one!”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, it’s right--oh, fuck.”

“You lost it, didn’t you,” Kiyoomi says, stifling a laugh.

“Yep,” Atsumu says, “Sure did. But hey, I’m not the one who claimed ta be good at this--”

“I never claimed to be good at this, it’s not my fault you just assumed that I--”

“Oh, great, they’re back,” Osamu cuts in. Kiyoomi hadn’t noticed his approach. “So y’all are fine now? No more tears?” He looks pointedly at Atsumu, who scowls. “I wasn’t cryin’ over him! Shut it, ‘Samu!”

“Your face says otherwise,” Kiyoomi blurts without thinking. Osamu roars with laughter as Atsumu protests weakly, “That was low, Omi-kun! Kickin’ a man when he’s down, I thought ya had more honor than that.”

“Honor is overrated,” Suna says, appearing at Osamu’s side with Motoya and Aran close behind. “Are we insulting Atsumu now? ‘Cause I could probably think of something if I tried.”

“Don’t ya dare, Sunarin,” Atsumu warns.

“You just don’t want me to embarrass you in front of Kiyoomi,” Suna replies. He turns to Kiyoomi then. “Want to hear about the time he got so nervous about a math test that he threw up in a bush?”

“ Rin!”

“Oh, yeah, that was pretty funny,” Osamu chuckles. “On school property, too.”

“So you still hate math then, huh?” Kiyoomi says, prodding at Atsumu’s shoulder. 

“No comment,” Atsumu grumbles.

“I have photos if you’d like me to send them to you,” Suna offers, and Kiyoomi can’t help but take him up on his offer. “Sure,” he says. “I can give you my number--”

“Hey!” Atsumu squawks. “Shouldn’t I be the first one ta get yer number?”

“You can be the second,” Kiyoomi says coolly. He turns back to Suna. “Hand me your phone, I’ll type it in.”

They all end up exchanging numbers, and Motoya even suggests a group chat. 

“Absolutely not,” Kiyoomi vetoes instantly. 

“Yeah, that sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Aran agrees.

“Fine,” grumbles Motoya. “I’ll make one with Osamu and Suna, then. Don’t come crying to me when you get left out of all the hot gossip.”

“Yer jus’ gonna use it ta talk shit ‘bout me an’ Kiyoomi, aren’t ya,” Atsumu says miserably. 

“Nah,” Suna says, “just you.”

Atsumu makes a face at Suna, who sticks his tongue out in response. 

“Well!” Motoya says cheerfully. “This was great and all, but it’s getting late and we all need to be up pretty early for the awards ceremony, so we should probably start heading back.”

“Good idea,” says Aran. He starts walking towards the path, but Motoya stops him gently. “It’s the other way,” he explains.

Aran looks embarrassed. “Oops.”

“‘S okay, Aran,” Atsumu teases. “It’s not yer fault yer such a country boy.”

“As if you have room to talk,” Kiyoomi points out, and Suna snickers. “Yeah, ‘Tsumu, you’re as country as they get.”

Atsumu scowls at them. “Shaddup, both of ya. God, I am so goin’ ta regret introducin’ ya, I already know.”

“Probably,” Kiyoomi agrees.

Later that night, Kiyoomi receives several messages on his phone from unknown numbers. The first one says, ‘Hey Kiyoomi! This is Aran :)’ while the second one, clearly from Osamu, says, ‘ My brother’s the other 7-98 number if ya wanna block him’. Kiyoomi smiles and saves both of their numbers before moving onto the next text, which reads, ‘ I know ‘Samu told ya to block me, you’d better not listen to him’. He saves that one as Atsumu. 

The final text is from Suna. It comes in the form of several images, each one capturing a different angle of Atsumu projectile vomiting into a bush. Kiyoomi responds with a ‘ thank you for this’ before saving his number.

And if he ends up saving the photos as well, then Atsumu doesn’t need to know.

Chapter Text

In early December, Atsumu receives an invitation to the All-Japan Youth Camp. Osamu does not.

This bothers Atsumu more than it should. He should feel happy, or at least a little smug that he finally got one over his brother. Instead he’s annoyed, mostly because of how unbothered Osamu appears. When he brings it up, Osamu says, “Ya jus’ love volleyball a smidge more than I do, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu will never understand why Osamu believes that. They love volleyball the same amount, or at least they should. They’ve been an unstoppable duo ever since Kiyoomi left, and Atsumu doesn’t really know how to play without him. 

One small consolation is the text he receives from Kiyoomi the following night. It reads, ‘ You’ll be at All-Japan, right?’

‘Yea’, he replies, to which Kiyoomi responds, ‘ Good. See you there.’

Atsumu feels his stomach jump at the thought of getting to see Kiyoomi again. He hasn’t since the Interhigh in June, nearly six months ago now, and although they’ve texted back and forth a bit since then, it’s really not the same as their in-person interactions. Atsumu can’t wait to set for him again. 

He’d been so out of it at the Interhigh that he hadn’t even had the chance to appreciate Kiyoomi’s skill on the court. He’d known Kiyoomi was good, of course--one of many reasons why Itachiyama beat Inarizaki in the end. Still, he hadn’t really been paying attention, and he’s excited to see what Kiyoomi’s like when they’re on the same side of the net. 

Mid-December rolls around, and Atsumu packs a bag before saying his goodbyes and taking the train to Tokyo. He’s a bit apprehensive about traveling alone, but it helps to know that Kiyoomi and Motoya will be waiting for him at the Ajinomoto National training center. 

Atsumu wonders what the gym is like. They’ll be staying in dorms for the week, and Atsumu and Kiyoomi requested to room with each other since Motoya is staying with his friend Hoshiumi from Kamomedai. 

Atsumu arrives at the training center around one PM. He spots his friends almost instantly; they’re easily recognizable in their hideous neon jackets. Motoya waves excitedly when he sees Atsumu, while Kiyoomi’s face remains impassive--or the part that’s visible, anyway. The bottom half is covered by a surgical mask. Atsumu frowns. That’s new. He wonders if Kiyoomi is sick, or just bothered by the shitty air quality in Tokyo.

“Hey,” he greets as he approaches them. 

“Hey!” Motoya chirps. Kiyoomi just nods at him. “Glad to see you didn’t manage to get yourself lost,” he says. 

Atsumu scowls. “I’ll have ya know, my sense of direction is excellent!” 

“Whatever you say.”

The three of them head into the training center, stopping by the dorms to find their rooms and drop off their bags. Motoya and Hoshiumi are in the room next to Atsumu and Kiyoomi. Atsumu’s never met Hoshiumi, but he’s heard about him. Apparently he’s an endless fountain of energy with jumps that rival those of players far taller than he is. Atsumu has heard other players refer to him as the ‘Little Giant’. Oh, yeah, and he’s only about 170 centimeters tall. 

Atsumu chooses not to bring up his height upon meeting the guy. Not that he would, anyway--he might be rude, but he’s got manners . Hoshiumi’s hair is fluffy and white, contrasting sharply with his dark blue t-shirt and lending him at least another few inches of height. 

“Nice to finally meet ya,” Atsumu says when he shakes his hand. “I’ve heard quite a bit about yer jumps.”

“That would be correct,” Hoshiumi confirms. “Nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard a bit about you and your brother.” He pauses. “Is he here?”

Atsumu tenses involuntarily. “Nah,” he says, “didn’t get the invite.”

“Shame,” says Hoshiumi. “Either way, I look forward to hitting your sets.”

“Lookin’ forward ta settin’ ta ya,” Atsumu replies with an easy smile. 

“‘Tsumu,” Kiyoomi says, coming up behind him. “You should get changed. We have to meet in the gym in fifteen.”

“Cool,” says Atsumu. He waves at Hoshiumi. “See ya soon,” he says, and Hoshiumi nods in response.

Atsumu gets changed quickly, leaving his bag on the bed near the window. Kiyoomi already claimed the one closest to the door (“So that I don’t wake you up at night when I have to pee,” Kiyoomi had explained. Atsumu knew he often had to use the bathroom at three in the morning, so he was grateful for the gesture.)

Kiyoomi and Atsumu meet Motoya and Hoshiumi in the hall before following them to the gym where they wait with the other players for the coaches to arrive. Coach Hibarida shows up several minutes later with two assistant coaches in tow. 

“Welcome to Ajinomoto training center!” He booms in greeting. There’s a chorus of ‘thank you’s, and Hibarida gives them all a warm smile. “I look forward to working with each and every one of you.”

Atsumu feels Kiyoomi shift beside him. He seems uncomfortable sitting on the floor for some reason. Maybe it hurts his hypermobile joints or something, Atsumu thinks. 

Hibarida explains that they’ll be starting off with some passing drills as an ice breaker. “Pair up with someone who’s not on your team and who you’re not rooming with,” he suggests. Kiyoomi claims Hoshiumi, while Motoya grabs some random nervous-looking kid. Atsumu ends up paired with a guy from Karasuno High in Miyagi prefecture who introduces himself as Kageyama Tobio. Atsumu’s heard his name thrown around quite a bit, so he’s excited to see what the kid can do.

“I’m a setter,” Kageyama informs Atsumu as they begin to pass the ball back and forth.

“Me, too,” Atsumu replies.

Kageyama perks up at that. “Really?”

“Yep,” Atsumu replies. “Always have been.”

Kageyama gets a competitive glint in his eye, a sign of life on an otherwise blank face. Atsumu wonders if he has any brain cells, or just a bunch of tiny volleyballs bouncing around in his head.

“So,” Atsumu says to make conversation, “what’s yer team like this year?”

“Pretty good,” Kageyama replies absently. “We beat Shiratorizawa.”

Atsumu catches the ball, mouth dropping open. “No shit,” he says, and Kageyama nods. “It was a close game, though.”

“So I guess we’ll be seein’ ya at Nationals, then,” Atsumu replies casually. A team that was good enough to beat Ushiwaka was one to be taken seriously. Not that Inarizaki was guaranteed to get to play them, but still.

“Guess so,” Kageyama replies absently. Atsumu frowns. Seriously, he thinks, what makes this guy tick?

He finds out later, when they’re stretching after a short practice game and he drops the phrase ‘goody-two-shoes’. 

“What do you mean by that?” Kageyama says, confused. 

“Well,” Atsumu explains, “ya make it easy fer the spikers, that’s all. There’s no greater toss than one that’s easy fer spikers ta hit.”

“So it’s a compliment?” Kageyama says, still sounding lost. 

Atsumu shrugs. “Could be,” he says, and then he walks away. 

He joins Kiyoomi where he stretches out his hamstrings against the wall. Kiyoomi eyes him. “Do you really feel the need to bully that poor first year?”

“I wasn’t bullyin’ him,” Atsumu protests. “‘Sides, he can take a little heat.”

“Sure,” Kiyoomi says skeptically. He flicks Atsumu’s forehead. “Help me stretch,” he says before sitting down and stretching his legs out in front of him. Atsumu presses down on his back and says, “So what didja think of Hoshiumi?”

“He’s loud,” Kiyoomi replies after a moment. “And very excitable.”

“I meant his jumps, ya goon,” Atsumu teases. He can practically feel Kiyoomi roll his eyes. 

“They were pretty high,” Kiyoomi comments. 

“No shit,” Atsumu says. “The guy must have some serious leg muscles.”

“That’s some praise, coming from you,” Kiyoomi says.

Atsumu gasps dramatically. “Omi-kun, didja jus’ compliment my legs?”

“Just stating the obvious,” Kiyoomi says. The back of his neck is pink. 

“Whatever ya say.” 

They switch positions, and Atsumu relishes the burn in his legs as he reaches for his toes. “Do ya think we’ll get ta be on the same team anytime soon?” He wonders aloud.

“I hope so,” Kiyoomi says. “I’m really sick of your serve.”

Atsumu smirks. “Aw, does Omi-Omi have a hard time receiving my jump floats?”

“They’re obnoxious,” Kiyoomi says irritably. “Why can’t you just be good at spike serves like the rest of us?”

“I am,” Atsumu says smugly. “I can do both.”

“Still annoying.”

“Admit it, ya like tryin’ ta receive them,” Atsumu goads. “It’s a nice challenge fer ya, at least.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Kiyoomi grits out. 

“I live ta serve, Omi-kun.”

When they’re done stretching, they join Motoya and Hoshiumi in the dining hall. The food is pretty decent for cafeteria food, and Atsumu says as much to Kiyoomi. “That’s quite the compliment coming from Miya Osamu’s brother,” Kiyoomi observes. “He does still cook, right?”

“Yep,” Atsumu says. “He’s only gotten better since ya last tried his cookin’.”

“That’s not too surprising,” Kiyoomi says as he passes over his mushrooms. He loathes the things, and Atsumu can’t get enough of them. Atsumu gives him an umeboshi onigiri in return.

“Yeah, he sure loves cookin’. Sometimes I think he likes it more than volleyball,” Atsumu says wistfully. 

“Do you still bake?” Kiyoomi asks him curiously. 

Atsumu grins. “Why, ya tryin’ ta get another cake outta me?”

“Only if you’re offering,” Kiyoomi replies around a mouthful of rice.

“I might be. Guess it depends on whether we’re still friends by yer next birthday,” Atsumu jokes.

“We will be,” Kiyoomi responds confidently.

“Have you two known each other long?” Hoshiumi says, breaking into their conversation. 

“We grew up together,” Atsumu replies fondly. “Ain’t that right, Omi-kun?”

“I grew, at least,” Kiyoomi says. “You, not so much.”

Atsumu scowls. “Yer only an inch taller than me!”

“Two inches,” Kiyoomi corrects smugly,

“Whatever. Anyway,” he says, turning back to Hoshiumi, “we were pretty close when we were kids. We kinda lost touch when Omi moved to Tokyo, but we got over that pretty quickly.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Motoya says. “You were pretty torn up about Kiyoomi leaving, if I remember correctly.”

“Rude, Toya!” Atsumu complains. 

“I was referring to both of you,” Motoya clarifies, looking at Kiyoomi. 

“I wasn’t torn up,” Kiyoomi deflects. “I didn’t even miss him.” He avoids Atsumu’s eyes as he shoves a bite of curry into his mouth, a sure sign that he’s lying. 

“Whatever ya say, Omi,” Atsumu says. He changes the subject. “Yer gonna be at Nationals, right?” He says, addressing Hoshiumi. 

Hoshiumi nods vigorously. “I hope we get to play you! Both of you,” he adds, glancing from Atsumu to Kiyoomi. 

“‘M sure ya will, assumin’ we all make it far enough,” Atsumu says. 

“Yeah, we didn’t make it far during the Interhigh,” Hoshiumi admits. “Our setter, Suwa, was injured during our final match and our reserve setter’s a first year, so our odds weren’t great. But,” he adds determinedly, “this time we’re gonna make it to the end, no matter what it takes!”

“That’s what I like ta hear,” Atsumu crows. “Playin’ ya is gonna be fun, I already know.”

“‘Tsumu,” says Kiyoomi, nudging his shoulder lightly. “We should probably go get changed for afternoon practice.”

Atsumu nods before turning back to the others. “Wanna head back to the dorm with us?”

“Sure!” Says Hoshiumi. The four of them dump their trays and walk to the dorm together, parting ways when they get to their rooms. 

They end up heading to the gym together, too. Hoshiumi starts jabbering to Kiyoomi, who shoots Atsumu a pleading glance. Atsumu just grins at him in response, and Kiyoomi makes a face at him before turning back to Hoshiumi. Motoya falls into step beside Atsumu and says, “I’m glad you two are getting along so well again.”

Atsumu hums. “It’s easy with him,” he explains, not sure how else to put it.

“Most people would disagree,” Motoya says.

“Most people are idiots,” Atsumu counters. Switching topics, he says, “I heard yer setter’s goin’ pro next year Do ya know what team he’ll be joinin’?”

“He’s looking at the DESEO Hornets, I think,” Motoya says. “Have you thought about whether you want to go pro after this?”

“I’m considerin’ it, definitely,” Atsumu says. “Depends on what kinda offers I get, I guess.”

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of options,” Motoya says confidently.

“We’ll see,” says Atsumu. “What about ya? Have ya thought much about it?” 

“A bit, yeah,” Motoya says. “I like the way EJP Raijin has been doing, and the MSBY Jackals are gaining momentum, too. I’d consider joining the Adlers but I doubt I’ll get an offer from them.”

“That’s the team Ushiwaka’s gonna play fer, right?” Atsumu confirms. 

“Yeah,” Motoya says, “most likely. I know he got a pretty decent offer.”

“Damn,” Atsumu says. “Imagine being him.”

“I can’t,” Motoya replies with a grin. Atsumu cackles. “Fair enough.”

Afternoon practice goes by quickly. He and Kiyoomi have yet to be placed on the same team, to Atsumu’s immense disappointment. Maybe tomorrow, he thinks as they head back to the dorm. He says goodnight to Motoya and Hoshiumi, who has quickly become one of his favorite people at the camp, before following Kiyoomi into their room. 

“Geez, I’m gonna be sore tomorrow,” Atsumu complains. 

Kiyoomi snorts. “You wouldn’t be if you’d taken the time to stretch properly.”

“I stretched plenty!” Atsumu protests. “Sorry I can’t be ya, with yer freaky wrists n’ everythin’.”

“Yeah, well, having ‘freaky wrists’ isn’t always all fun and games,” Kiyoomi shoots back. 

Atsumu instantly feels guilty. “Sorry,” he says. “Ya still get joint pain, then?”

Kiyoomi nods. “It’s gotten worse with age,” he admits. “The stretching helps a lot, and I take painkillers on the bad days.”

“So that’s why it’s hard for ya ta sit on the floor then, huh?” Atsumu comments. 

“What makes you think that?” Kiyoomi says, confused.

“Well, I noticed ya lookin’ uncomfortable sittin’ on the floor the first day,” Atsumu explains. “Figured it’s ‘cause of yer joints.”

“My joints were fine,” Kiyoomi says. “I didn’t want to sit on the floor because of my mysophobia.”

Now Atsumu’s confused. “Yer miso-what?” He echoes.

“Mysophobia. It’s a fear of being contaminated, basically,” Kiyoomi clarifies.

“Contaminated by what?” Atsumu says curiously. 

“Germs. Dirt. Viruses,” Kiyoomi lists off. He hesitates, then says, “That’s why I was wearing a mask when you saw me the other day. I don’t wear one most of the time when I’m here, since I’m usually either eating, practicing, or just in my room. I wear one most of the time otherwise.”

“Really?” Atsumu says. “When did that start?”

“After we moved back to Tokyo,” Kiyoomi says, “I got really sick. I had a cough for weeks, and I could hardly breathe at times. I was convinced I got it from being around so many people--which is likely true--and my fear of crowds only escalated from there, later developing into a fear of germs.”

“I wish I’d known that,” Atsumu says. “I could’ve--”

“There’s nothing you could have done to help me,” Kiyoomi says matter of factly. “So don’t go blaming yourself. But, for the record,” he adds, “I regret not telling you sooner. I don’t talk about it often, but you deserve to know.”

“Omi, ya don’ have ta tell me anythin’ yer not comfortable talkin’ about,” Atsumu says seriously. “Ya know that, right?”

“I know,” says Kiyoomi. “I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t want to. I trust you.”

Atsumu feels warm. “Thanks, Omi,” he says quietly.

“Of course.”

They get ready for bed, brushing their teeth side by side in front of the bathroom mirror. Atsumu does his nightly skincare routine while Kiyoomi dons a mud mask, all the while making fun of each other’s respective habits. 

“How is it possible fer one person ta use so many products on their hair?” Atsumu wonders as he watches Kiyoomi rub creme into his curls. 

“Maybe you should try it sometime,” Kiyoomi retorts. “I’m sure all that bleach dries your hair out.”

“I’ll have ya know, my hair is perfectly soft,” Atsumu says indignantly.

“Sure,” Kiyoomi says. 

Atsumu marches over to where Kiyoomi stands at the sink and shoves his head forward. “Feel it,” he insists. Kiyoomi reaches out and gently weaves a hand into his hair, sending tingles down Atsumu’s spine. Kiyoomi’s hand combs through his hair once, twice before falling back to the bathroom counter. “It’s not so bad, I guess,” he says.

“Not bad?” Atsumu squawks. “It’s silky smooth!”

“Mine is smoother,” Kiyoomi says smugly. “See for yourself.”

Atsumu pets Kiyoomi’s soft curls, and god they’re soft. Atsumu’s hair isn’t bad, but Kiyoomi could star in a shampoo commercial. His jaw drops. “How?” He grumbles. 

“Product,” Kiyoomi says simply. He holds out the creme. “Want to try?”

Atsumu eyes it skeptically. “Won’t it work differently on me? Since my hair’s straight and all?”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “Won’t know until you try.”

Atsumu hesitates before carefully scooping out a glob of hair creme. “What now?” He asks Kiyoomi.

“Just run it through your hair,” Kiyoomi says. “Like this.” He demonstrates on himself, running a hand through his hair several times to distribute the product evenly. Atsumu examines his hair before copying his movements. The creme feels nice and cool against his scalp. Atsumu finishes working it through his hair and washes his hands, ridding them of the slimy residue. 

“Now, wait thirty minutes before rinsing it out,” Kiyoomi instructs. 

“What do ya usually do while ya wait?” Atsumu asks him.

“Watch something, sometimes,” Kiyoomi says. “Or read.”

“Too bad we don’t have a TV,” Atsumu says wistfully. Then he brightens. “Ooh! We could play a drinkin’ game or somethin’!”

Kiyoomi raises a brow. “There’s so much wrong with that sentence I don’t know where to begin.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Don’ worry, Omi-kun. I’m not tryin’ ta get ya drunk. Unless ya want me ta,” he says with a grin. “Seriously, though, I didn’t exactly bring my super extensive supply of alcohol with me ta trainin’ camp,” he adds. “And in case yer still worried, that was also a joke--”

“I knew that,” Kiyoomi replies irritably. “Anyway, what kind of game did you have in mind?”

“Well, there’s only two of us, so that sorta limits our options,” Atsumu says, considering. “Hmm. Oh, I guess there’s always ‘Never Have I Ever’!”

Kiyoomi groans. “I hate that game.”

Atsumu snorts. “Why?”

“I just do.”

“So yer either real nasty or real tame, is what yer sayin’,” Atsumu says slyly.

“I am neither, thank you very much,” Kiyoomi says icily. 

“Prove it, then,” Atsumu goads him.

“Fine. Never have I ever done a face receive.”

Atsumu scowls. “Playin’ dirty, I see. Fine.” He puts a finger down and says, “Never have I ever been drunk.”

Now it’s Kiyoomi’s turn to scowl. “How’d you figure that one out?”

“First, Toya’s yer cousin. Second, ya didn’ totally shoot me down when I brought up drinkin’ games. It added up nicely,” Atsumu concludes.

“Whatever. Never have I ever thrown up on school property.”

“I’m gonna kill Rin for that one,” Atsumu grumbles. “Never have I ever had hypermobile wrists.”

“Now who’s playing dirty?” Kiyoomi retorts as he puts a finger down. “Never have I ever had a twin.”

“Okay, now that should be considered cheatin’,” Atsumu announces. 

Kiyoomi smirks. “I thought you said anything goes.”

“I never said that,” Atsumu protests. 

“It was implied.”

“Fine. Never have I ever voluntarily eaten umeboshi,” Atsumu lies. The time he did it when Kita gave it to him doesn’t count, he reasons. He was sick, after all. It was a moment of weakness, nothing more.

Kiyoomi puts a finger down. Then he hesitates.

“Givin’ up so soon, Omi-kun?” Atsumu taunts. 

Something in Kiyoomi’s eyes hardens as he says, “Never have I ever liked a girl.”

Atsumu grins smugly. “Ha! Neither have I, so I guess we’re even,” he counters.

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen. “You’re gay too?”

“I dunno,” Atsumu says, suddenly feeling awkward. “Never thought much ‘bout labels. I jus’ don’ like anyone, period.”

“You could be asexual,” Kiyoomi muses.

“Maybe,” Atsumu says, frowning. He’s never really considered that before. He makes a note to do some research on it later. “Yer gay though?”

Kiyoomi’s hands drop to his lap. “Yeah. I came out to my parents last year. They...didn’t take it too well,” he says, voice subdued.

“I’m sorry,” Atsumu says. “That’s real shitty.”

“Yeah, it is. They don’t really talk to me much anymore.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“Ya know, if ya ever need someone ta talk about it with, I’m here fer ya,” Atsumu offers.

Kiyoomi smiles softly. “Thanks, ‘Tsumu.”

“Anytime,” Atsumu replies. 

Kiyoomi changes the subject. “This was fun, but we should probably rinse our hair before it gets all stiff,” he points out.

Atsumu yelps. “Whaddya mean, ‘get stiff’? Are ya tryin’ ta ruin my hair or somethin’?”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Stop being such a big baby. It’ll be fine if we rinse it now.”

“Race ya to the sink,” Atsumu says with a grin. He jumps up and starts towards the bathroom, promptly tripping over his own feet and slamming into the ground. He lands flat on his back,

groaning, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d bruised his tailbone in the process. 

“Ah, the epitome of grace,” says Kiyoomi, looking down at him. “Looks like I win by default.”

“Yer a menace.”

“And you’ve only got yourself to blame for that,” Kiyoomi shoots back.

Atsumu sticks his tongue out at Kiyoomi but wisely chooses not to argue. He’s right, after all; Atsumu’s a terrible influence on him.

“C’mon,” Kiyoomi says, holding out a hand for Atsumu to take. “Let’s go fix your hair.”

…

The next day at practice Atsumu and Kiyoomi get placed on the same team. Atsumu thinks they would be unstoppable, if it wasn’t for the fact that they’re playing against both Motoya and Hoshiumi. Despite their challenging opponents, though, Kiyoomi and Atsumu sync up quickly, and their quick attack scores point after point as Motoya dives for the ball, again and again.

Setting to Kiyoomi is as easy as breathing. Kiyoomi is the type of player that multiplies the power of a set rather than simply adding to it. It’s satisfying to see, even more so knowing that if Kiyoomi doesn’t trust a set, he won’t jump for it. Kiyoomi only jumps for the best sets, and Atsumu’s proud to learn that he qualifies. 

They’re on a water break between practice games when Hoshiumi brings it up. “Your hair is really shiny today, Atsumu!” He says. 

“Yeah, it looks nice,” Motoya agrees.

Atsumu grins. “I know, right? Omi-Omi lent me some of his cool hair stuff, I guess it actually did somethin’ after all.”

“Of course it did,” Kiyoomi says. He reaches a hand out and ruffles Atsumu’s hair. “What, you think I’d spend money on a product if it wasn’t effective?”

“I never said that,” Atsumu denies. “‘Sides, ya said yerself that ya didn’ know whether it would work the same on me.”

“I lied,” Kiyoomi says easily. “It’s for all hair types. I just wanted you to suffer.”

Atsumu looks at Motoya and Hoshiumi. “Are ya guys hearin’ this? What kinda bastard wants his best friend ta suffer?”

“The kind that knows your ego needs to be checked,” Kiyoomi responds pragmatically. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to side with Kiyo on this one,” Motoya agrees. Atsumu scowls. Traitor, he mouths, and Motoya shrugs in response. 

The rest of the week flies by, and Atsumu finds himself wishing it could last for longer. He misses his team, and Osamu of course, but there’s something about the environment of the camp that’s conducive to his learning curve. Atsumu’s improved his technique more in the past week than he had over the course of the six months following the Interhigh.

Also, Atsumu’s not ready to say goodbye to his friends. He’s having a blast with Hoshiumi--the guy’s actually hilarious, he decides--and Motoya is the perfect gossip buddy. And then of course there’s Kiyoomi. He and Atsumu had spent nearly every waking minute together, and being at his side has become a second nature once again. Atsumu doesn’t want to stop setting to him, and he certainly doesn’t want to stop being around him. He’s less worried now that they’ll lose touch, but even so he knows he likely won’t see Kiyoomi again until Spring Nationals. 

I’ll see him again soon, he continuously reminds himself. Spring Nationals always comes up quickly, and Atsumu’s sure he’ll be plenty busy with practice in the meantime. 

On their final night there, Atsumu figures out how to get onto the roof. Naturally, he drags Kiyoomi with him. Kiyoomi complains about the cold and the fact that Atsumu didn’t even let him brush his teeth before forcing him to climb a rusty fire escape, and for what? So they could sit on top of the dorm and stare into the void?

“Now yer gettin’ it,” Atsumu replies. 

“I literally can’t see a thing.”

“Wow, Omi-kun, ya must be as blind as a bat,” Atsumu says, impressed.

“I am not,” Kiyoomi insists. “I’m slightly near-sighted, but not even enough to wear glasses--stop laughing at me, I’m being serious!”

Atsumu chuckles. “Sorry,” he says, “I was jus’ tryin’ ta picture ya with glasses and I gotta say, Omi-kun, ya would look like a major dork.”

Even in the dim light Atsumu can make out Kiyoomi’s scowl. “Yeah, well, I’d still pull them off better than you,” Kiyoomi fires back.

“Rude!” Atsumu complains. “I could rock lenses if I had ta.”

“ Lenses? What are you, an eighty-year-old man?” Kiyoomi says with a snort. 

“People still say ‘lenses’!” Atsumu defends. “Ya jus’ hang out with rich Tokyo boys who talk all posh, so it’s no wonder yer not used ta anythin’ else.”

“I don’t, actually. Hang out with rich boys, I mean,” Kiyoomi clarifies. “Or any boys, for that matter. Or girls,” he adds as an afterthought. “I’m fine with just Toya.”

“Doesn’ that get lonely?” Atsumu wonders. “What if Toya’s busy? What do ya do then?”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “I read, mostly. Watch TV, do schoolwork, practice volleyball. It’s really not that complicated.”

Atsumu hesitates. “If ya ever wanna call me, ya can,” he offers.

“You sure about that?” Kiyooi says skeptically. “You seem pretty busy nowadays.”

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu says dramatically. “I’m never too busy ta talk ta ya! ‘Sides, I need someone ta listen ta me vent ‘bout ‘Samu and Sunarin, and ya know them both, so yer perfect fer the job.”

“I’ll listen to you vent if you let me complain about Toya,” Kiyoomi proposes.

“Deal.”

They sit in comfortable silence for several minutes. Eventually, Kiyoomi says, “We should probably get some sleep. You have a ways to travel tomorrow, and we wouldn’t want you to pass out from exhaustion on the train. Or worse, you pass out on the platform, fall into the tracks and get run over by a train. Now that would be tragic.”

Right on cue, Atsumu yawns. “Fine,” he grumbles. “But only ‘cause I know ya couldn’t live without me.”

Kiyoomi whacks him on the arm. “Good to see your ego’s still the size of Mercury.”

“Really, Omi? Yer puttin’ my ego on a planetary scale? Yer such a nerd,” Atsumu says fondly. “Why Mercury, anyway?”

“It’s the closest planet to the sun,” Kiyoomi states, “and you’re a hothead.”

“Wow, Omi, fer a second there I thought ya were jus’ gonna say that I’m hot,” Atsumu teases. “Are ya sure that’s not what ya meant?”

“Very sure.”

“Whatever ya say, Omi.”

As they descend the rusty stairwell, Atsumu says, “‘M glad we were both invited ta camp this time around.”

“Me, too,” Kiyoomi admits. “It was...nice, having you to set for me again.”

“Aw, Omi, didja miss my sets?” Atsumu says, prodding at his shoulder. Kiyoomi swats at his hand, pretending to be irritated. “No.”

“Yer lyin’! Ya didn’ reject a single one,” Atsumu says smugly. “So there.”

“I knew you’d be devastated if I did,” Kiyoomi says coolly. “You’re a big baby, after all.”

“Take that back or I’m never gonna set ta ya again!” Atsumu threatens. 

“No.”

They reach the landing and carefully open the door to the fire escape. It creaks a bit, and they both freeze when it lets out a loud whine. The hall is silent and empty, and Atsumu lets out a relieved breath as he opens the door the rest of the way and pulls Kiyoomi through it.

They return to their room and get ready for bed in silence, not bothering to turn the lights on since their eyes are already adjusted to the dark. It’s a bit past midnight, which isn’t so late by Atsumu’s standards, but Kiyoomi looks wiped. He’s sprawled out on his bed, teeth freshly brushed and hair neatly combed (Atsumu likes to make fun of him for brushing it at night only to wake up with bedhead in the morning).

Atsumu crawls under the blankets, still a bit chilled from the cold night air, and says, “Night, Omi.”

Kiyoomi mumbles something unintelligible, and Atsumu would probably tease him for it if his eyes weren’t already closing. 

In the morning, he packs up his things and accompanies Kiyoomi, Motoya and Hoshiumi to the train station. Kiyoomi and Motoya are a short train ride away from their home, while both Atsumu and Hoshiumi have to undergo multiple transfers and hours of travel before reaching their homes. Atsumu’s exhausted just thinking about it.

They part ways with Hoshiumi at the entrance to the station. “You’d all better be ready to get your asses kicked at Nationals,” he warns them with a maniacal grin.

“Good luck with that,” Atsumu replies, unfazed.

Hoshiumi makes a face at him before heading upstairs to his platform, while the three of them remain on the lower level. They’re technically all catching the same train, just going in opposite directions.

“I guess this is it,” Atsumu says mournfully, eyeing the platform.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Kiyoomi scolds, voice slightly muffled by the mask he wears. “We’ll see each other at Nationals.” 

“Right,” Atsumu says, “that’s, what, only two weeks away?”

“Three,” Motoya chimes in. He grins. “Can’t wait to beat you for real this time!”

“Last time wasn’t real?” Atsumu says, confused. 

“Nah. You were all hung up on Kiyoomi, it wasn’t really a fair fight,” Motoya explains. “You were a hot mess.”

Atsumu groans. “Don’t remind me.” Then he perks up. “Wait, Toya, didja jus’ call me hot?”

Kiyoomi grabs Motoya’s arm and tugs him towards the other platform. “We’re leaving. See you soon, ‘Tsumu.”

“Wait!” Atsumu protests. “Hug?” He holds his arms out, and he must look especially pathetic, because Kiyoomi sighs and indulges him. 

“See you soon,” Kiyoomi says as he pulls away. 

“Try not ta be too hard on yer setter, I know he won’t compare ta me but I’m sure he’s doin’ his best,” Atsumu says seriously. 

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Try not to kill your brother,” is all he says in response. 

Atsumu’s train is bound to arrive any minute now, so he gives Motoya a quick hug before shouldering his duffel bag. Kiyoomi gives him one last long look, and then he turns to go, tugging Motoya with him. 

Atsumu boards his train, finding a seat near the window before putting in his earbuds to block out the noise. As the train pulls out of the station, he checks his phone and finds several messages waiting for him. The first one is from his mother, telling him to let her know when he arrives at Amagasaki Station. The second is from Osamu, containing a picture of a bird with a shock of blindingly yellow feathers on its head and a text that reads, ‘ That’s u.’

The final message is from Motoya. It features a photo of Kiyoomi, somehow already fast asleep with his mouth hanging open and his head flopped back against the window. There’s no accompanying text; the photo doesn’t need it. Atsumu smiles before saving the photo in his camera roll, making a note to make it his wallpaper later. 

Three weeks, he thinks, repeating it like a mantra. It feels like a promise.

Chapter Text

Kiyoomi lines up with the rest of his team, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Thank you for the game!”

It wasn’t even a close one. They played Tamamime High and took the match in two sets, with more than a five-point lead each time. 

And they’re only getting started. 

Kiyoomi follows Motoya to the edge of the court, shucking off his knee pads and chugging water before throwing his warm-ups back on. They have another game in just under an hour; it’s a bit before Inarizaki’s first game against Karasuno, and Kiyoomi finds himself hoping that Itachiyama’s match will be a quick one so that he can catch the end of Atsumu’s.

Kiyoomi hasn’t seen Atsumu yet. Inarizaki only just arrived, from what he’s heard, and they’ve yet to start their warmups. Kiyoomi wonders how they’ll fare against Karasuno. It should be an easy win--they’re not referred to as ‘the ultimate challengers’ for nothing, after all. Still, Karasuno has Kageyama Tobio, and Kiyoomi has seen for himself how skilled the setter truly is. 

“You ready to start warming up again?” Motoya says, pulling Kiyoomi from his thoughts. Kiyoomi nods, following Motoya over to the other side of the gym where they’ll be playing Inubushi Higashi High. The other team has yet to show, but they’ll likely be here soon; there’s only about forty-five minutes now until the match begins. Kiyoomi hasn’t heard much about Inubushi, but he’s fairly certain Itachiyama will be fine. 

Inubushi files into the gym several minutes later. Their captain is unassuming and the rest of the team is nothing special, either. Piece of cake, Kiyoomi thinks as he goes to line up.

The match starts out fine; Itachiyama takes the first set with ease, Kiyoomi scoring the final point with a service ace of all things. 

Inubushi certainly puts up more of a fight in the second set. They’re fighting for their lives, after all, and quite frankly Kiyoomi would be disappointed if they weren’t. Still, Itachiyama’s got a three point lead on them halfway through the set, and Kiyoomi can tell the other team’s beginning to get frustrated as they lose their momentum. 

That’s when it happens. 

Later, Kiyoomi will marvel at how quickly everything went to shit. It was one simple movement, one wrong landing.

Iizuna falls. Kiyoomi watches as if in slow motion as his feet touch ground and his body crumples to the floor. It happens so fast, but Kiyoomi will never forget the way it looks, the way the angle of his foot looks wrong.

Ankles aren’t supposed to look like that, he thinks, dazed. He’s frozen in place as his teammates crowd around Iizuna, while Motoya runs to fetch the physician. Iizuna is loaded onto a stretcher, teeth bared in an attempt at a brave smile that fools no one, and then he’s off the court. 

It’s no wonder that Itachiyama loses the set. Their reserve setter is a first year who hasn’t played in a single match before this one. He’s nervous and untested, and the rest of the team is shaken from the whole ordeal. Inubushi ends up beating them with a score of 25-20; really, it’s a wonder the point gap isn’t wider. 

The third set feels like a dream. More of a nightmare, really--the entire team is off their game, and Kiyoomi’s serves go out more often than not. Even Motoya, who’s rarely fazed by emotional turmoil, misses more digs than usual.

Itachiyama fights hard, bringing the game to a deuce, but still it’s not enough. The final score is 29-27 in favor of Inubushi, and just like that, Itachiyama is out. 

Physically and emotionally defeated, Kiyoomi leaves the court, Motoya following close behind. Their coach had advised them not to visit Iizuna just yet--the physician is still with him, and they’ll have the chance to see him soon enough anyway. Kiyoomi and Motoya decide that they may as well catch the tail end of the Inarizaki versus Karasuno game, which is still ongoing at the far end of the gym. 

They’re well into the third set, and Inarizaki is losing.

This can’t be happening, Kiyoomi thinks miserably. At least they're only behind by a point at the moment, Kiyoomi consoles himself, and neither team seems to have a firm lead on the other.

As the end of the set nears, it actually looks like Inarizaki might take the match. Kiyoomi begins to relax as he watches Inarizaki take another point, bringing them up to match point. 

But Karasuno is not so easily beaten, it seems. They reach a deuce, and the score continues to see-saw back and forth as each team desperately fights to stay in the lead. There’s plenty of close calls; Kiyoomi finds himself tensing involuntarily as he watches the two teams battle it out. 

Karasuno reaches match point for what seems like the millionth time with a score of 31-30. Kiyoomi’s on edge, but at least Inarizaki has the ball. It goes straight to Atsumu, and Kiyoomi knows they’ll be okay, because Osamu’s already in the air, suspended over the net.

And then, before Kiyoomi can even begin to process what’s happening, Kageyama and that orange-haired midget, Hinata, launch themselves upwards. Their hands hit the ball and tip it towards the ground, and it sails to the back of the court, hitting the floor just within the lines.

And then it’s all over.

Kiyoomi watches his friends collapse to the ground, exhausted and broken. Atsumu looks devastated, even from this distance. Kiyoomi knows he’s not upset for himself so much as he is for their third years; Atsumu’s often spoken fondly about his captain, Kita, and then of course there’s Aran. Atsumu would brag that he was going to win Nationals, just for them. He was always so sure of himself, and Kiyoomi really thought they could make it happen (if they managed to beat Itachiyama, that is).

Now, Kiyoomi doesn’t know how to feel. 

He doesn’t see Atsumu anywhere when he finally leaves the stands. Motoya is uncharacteristically quiet beside him, clearly deep in thought. Kiyoomi can relate. How could they let this happen? He wonders. Is Karasuno just that good?

Motoya must be thinking the same thing, because he remarks, “That was some block, wasn’t it? I mean, not only did they sense exactly who the ball was going to, but the height of their jump? They might be the team to watch.”

Kiyoomi says nothing, silently scanning the crowd for any sign of Atsumu. He sees a shock of silver hair, and presses his way through the crush of people towards Osamu, leaving Motoya in the throng.

“Have you seen ‘Tsumu?” Is the first thing out of his mouth when he reaches Osamu. Osamu looks up at him, clearly distraught, and Kiyoomi grimaces. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me,” he apologizes. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“I know,” Osamu reassures him. “Don’ worry about it. He’s prob’ly hidin’ in the bathroom upstairs like the coward he is. Said he didn’ wanna face ya, not after that loss.”

“Well, then, I guess it should be a comfort to hear that we lost as well,” Kiyoomi replies.

Osamu looks shocked. “Really? Ta who?”

“Inubushi Higashi High,” Kiyoomi answers. 

“Damn,” says Osamu. “I’ve never even heard of the team.”

“Me neither,” Kiyoomi admits. “It would’ve been a cinch, except Iizuna got injured in the second set.”

“That’s some shit luck,” Osamu sympathizes. 

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be winners, I suppose,” Kiyoomi says dryly. 

“True enough,” Osamu says with a laugh. Still, Kiyoomi can sense the grief in his tone, and he’s once again reminded that Osamu wanted to win for the third years every bit as much as Atsumu.

Atsumu, who’s probably suffering alone at this very moment. Kiyoomi winces. “I should probably--”

“Yeah,” Osamu agrees. “Find us when ya get him, wouldja?”

“I’ll deliver him to you,” Kiyoomi promises. 

Osamu nods, and Kiyoomi turns and makes for the stairwell that leads to the second floor. He finds the bathroom easily--it’s the only one on that level. At a glance, it appears to be empty, or at least it does until Kiyoomi hears a sniffle coming from the stall at the end. 

“Atsumu,” he calls. “I know you’re in here.”

The sniffles pause and he hears a tentative, “Omi-kun?”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “What do you think,” he deadpans. 

The stall unlatches and Atsumu shuffles out, letting the door swing shut behind him. He looks terrible, the fluorescent lighting highlighting his puffy face and red eyes, his cheeks damp with tears.

“Don’ look at me,” he wails dramatically, covering his face. “I’m a mess,” he mumbles.

Kiyoomi barely refrains from rolling his eyes again. Then he crosses the bathroom and yanks Atsumu’s hands away from his face. “You think you’re the only one who’s upset right now? You’re not the only one who lost today,” he snaps.

Atsumu stiffens. “Ya...Itachiyama...lost?” He says slowly, sounding utterly shocked. 

“I was surprised, too,” Kiyoomi mutters. “Iizuna got injured in the second set,” he clarifies. “His ankle. Not sure what condition he’s in now, but it looked pretty bad.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” They stand in silence for a moment, and Kiyoomi realizes after a beat that he’s still holding Atsumu’s hands. He doesn’t let go.

“What happened ta us,” Atsumu groans eventually. “We were s’pposed ta make it ta the end, remember?”

“I know,” Kiyoomi says quietly.

Atsumu sniffles. “Hey, Omi?”

“Yeah?”

“Couldja...maybe hold me? Jus’ fer a bit,” he quickly adds.

Kiyoomi nods and steps forward into his space, wrapping his arms around Atsumu. Atsumu returns the hug, and Kiyoomi can feel his body trembling as he cries. Kiyoomi doesn’t cry; he’s too exhausted to produce tears, and anyway, it wouldn’t do much good if both of them were completely wrecked. 

Still, the loss hurts. Everything about it--Iizuna’s injury, losing to a team he’d barely even heard of, and now Atsumu’s grief--it all starts to weigh on him. He squeezes Atsumu tightly until his shaking subsides. He’s silent for a while, and Kiyoomi is just starting to wonder if he’s fallen asleep when he lifts his head. 

“Thanks, Omi,” he says softly. 

Kiyoomi nods again, mouth dry. “No problem.” Their faces are inches apart, so close that Kiyoomi can make out the flecks of gold in Atsumu’s eyes. Atsumu’s breath is warm on his face, and he holds Kiyoomi’s eyes with care. Neither of them move away.

Then the door flies open. “‘Tsumu! Are ya--oh.”

Kiyoomi watches, frozen, as Osamu takes in the scene before him. Kiyoomi’s arms are wrapped around Atsumu, while Atsumu’s hands rest at Kiyoomi’s waist. 

“Uh,” Osamu says awkwardly. He addresses Atsumu. “Bus leaves in ten. Don’ be late.” Then he leaves, the bathroom door slamming shut in his wake. 

Kiyoomi turns back to Atsumu to say something, anything, but the words die on his lips. Was he this close before? He probably was. But now Kiyoomi’s hyper aware of their proximity, and of his stupid mouth, which is uncharacteristically still. 

Kiyoomi feels Atsumu’s hands tighten on his waist. “Omi,” he breathes, and then Kiyoomi kisses him. 

It’s not really a conscious decision, in retrospect. It’s an impulse, a need to shut Atsumu up, or so he tells himself. Really, it’s just an indulgence; something he wants.

Kiyoomi kisses him gently, carefully, before pulling away. Atsumu’s eyes are wide and his cheeks are colored pink, and for a moment Kiyoomi thinks they’re on the same page. 

I jus’ don’ like anyone, period.

Kiyoomi freezes. Shit. How could he forget what Atsumu had told him? He had trusted Kiyoomi enough to reveal that part of himself, and Kiyoomi had kissed him as if it meant nothing. Kiyoomi had kissed him, even though he knew Atsumu had no interest in being intimate with anyone , let alone the one person who understood why that was.

“I--” Atsumu starts, but Kiyoomi cuts him off. “I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I--I have to go.” He steps back, out of Atsumu’s arms, trying to ignore the look of hurt that crosses Atsumu’s face. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, trying to keep his voice from cracking as he backs away slowly.

“Omi,” Atsumu pleads, “don’t--”

Kiyoomi runs.

...

“Hey, Kiyo, are you ready to--” Motoya stops, clearly noticing something is up. “What’s wrong?” He asks Kiyoomi, concerned. “Is this about Iizuna? Because the doctor said he’s going to be fine, he just needs to take a little bit of time off--”

“I kissed Atsumu,” Kiyoomi blurts. Motoya falls silent. Then he says, “Oh, thank god that’s all this is about. I thought someone had died or something, you looked so upset.” He pauses. “No one died, right?” He checks.

Kiyoomi laughs bitterly. “Just my dignity. I...I kind of...ran away from him.” He mumbles the last part.

“Oh, Kiyo,” Motoya sighs. “Was he not into it or something?”

“I don’t know,” Kiyoomi says honestly. “I didn’t really give him the chance to say anything before I left.”

“Then what are you so worried about?” Motoya asks him gently. “You don’t even know how he feels. Why don’t you just ask him?”

Kiyoomi hesitates. “At the training camp, he said he’s never been into anyone before,” he explains. “So, yes, I do know how he feels, and I violated his trust. Oh, god, Toya,” he says with no small amount of horror, “What if he hates me now?”

“Atsumu could never hate you,” Motoya reassures him. “Trust me on this one.”

“Still,” Kiyoomi groans, “how am I supposed to face him after this?”

Motoya has the audacity to roll his eyes. “Kiyo,” he says, exasperated, “it’ll be fine. Just talk to him. He’s an upfront guy, he’ll say something if that wasn’t what he wanted. And who’s to say it’s not? I mean, if he was going to like anyone, it would be--”

“Don’t,” Kiyoomi warns. “He doesn’t like people like that,” he reiterates. “Can we go now, please?”

Motoya eyes him. Then he sighs. “Whatever you say, cuz,” he says. He sounds tired, Kiyoomi thinks. It’s been a long day for them both, and Kiyoomi’s more than ready to forget it ever happened. With any luck, Atsumu will do the same.

…

Kiyoomi tries to forget. He does; it’s just that every time he so much as touches a volleyball, he thinks about Itachiyama’s loss, and Nationals, and Atsumu--

Kiyoomi has yet to answer a single one of his texts. There are a lot of them--some of them begging Kiyoomi to say something, anything to confirm that they’re still friends, some of them apologizing for misreading the situation, as if that’s not the most backwards thing Kiyoomi’s ever heard. The most recent text, sent three days ago, reads, ‘ I hope you’re okay. Call me if you get the chance.’

Kiyoomi’s had plenty of chances since then, and still he hasn’t called. What is he supposed to say, anyway? ‘Sorry I kissed you even though you explicitly told me you’re not interested in that kind of thing’? Or worse, ‘Sorry I left you (again)’?

Kiyoomi’s stomach churns with guilt, and stupid Motoya keeps giving him these knowing glances that Kiyoomi stubbornly ignores. He curses his cousin’s academic proficiency; why did they have to end up in the same class? Maybe he should just drop out. And leave the country. And change his number. That would fix everything, right?

Of course, it’s only a matter of time before he breaks. 

He calls Atsumu the following Monday. Practice went late, and Kiyoomi’s bone tired from serving so hard that he wouldn’t have to think. It worked, for the most part, but the moment he leaves the gym it’s like a dam breaks, flooding his brain with repressed emotions.

“Uh oh, I know that look,” Motoya says as they walk home together. Kiyoomi’s apartment is a ten minute walk from his, so they often take the same route home.

“What look,” Kiyoomi says flatly.

“The one you get when you’re overthinking. It’s been present an awful lot lately,” Motoya explains.

Kiyoomi glares at him. “I am not overthinking,” he insists. “Just...regular thinking.”

Motoya eyes him. “Sure. And I suppose none of this ‘regular thinking’ has anything to do with Atsumu?”

“No,” Kiyoomi lies.

“Sure.”

“It doesn’t,” Kiyoomi states. 

“So does this mean you’ve cleared everything up? Or are you still avoiding him?” Motoya says shrewdly.

“I’m not avoiding him. I’m just giving him space,” Kiyoomi argues. “He probably doesn’t want to talk to me, anyway.”

“The fact that he’s blowing up your phone says otherwise.”

Kiyoomi ignores the jab, continuing in silence.

Then Motoya stops him in his tracks. “You know,” he says, “I get it. Being raised as an emotionally repressed, closeted gay disaster must have been really, really difficult for you. Always a responsibility, never just a child, not a single person in your family giving you the space to be your own person. Sounds rough. But tell me, when did you become such a coward ?”

Kiyoomi’s mouth drops open. “You--”

“Called you a coward, yes,” Motoya says, tone clipped. “Am I wrong?”

Kiyoomi stares at his too-sharp eyes. Then he sighs. “No,” he says, “you’re not.”

Motoya brightens instantly. “Glad to hear you admit it! So that means you’ll talk to him then, right?”

“I’ll call him when I get home,” Kiyoomi promises wearily. 

“Great!” Motoya says crisply. “Then I guess my work here is done.” He splits off from Kiyoomi--Kiyoomi hadn’t even noticed that they’d reached his street--and waves behind him. “Good luck!” He yells cheerfully. Kiyoomi scowls at his retreating back. When did he get so scary?

Kiyoomi gets home around nine PM. The apartment is empty--his father is still out of town, while his mother is probably at the office and most likely won’t be back until well after midnight. Sometimes Kiyoomi wonders how they do it. It must be so exhausting to commit so much time to a single pursuit. 

Then again, he can’t exactly talk.

He makes himself a quick dinner of instant ramen, adding an egg to make himself feel better about slacking on his nutrition plan. When he’s done, cleans up the kitchen before retreating to his room. 

It’s close to ten PM now. Kiyoomi sits on his bed, phone in hand, hesitating to press the call button. He wonders if Motoya would believe him if Kiyoomi lied and said he’d spoken to Atsumu. Then he remembers that Motoya has both Atsumu and Osamu’s numbers, and wouldn’t hesitate to call both of them to verify whether or not Kiyoomi had actually called.

Damn it.

Kiyoomi presses the call button and holds the phone to his ear, breathing shallowly. The phone rings twice before Atsumu picks up.

“ Kiyoomi?”

“Hey, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says in greeting. “I’ve been meaning to call, I just--”

“ Oh, thank god. So yer not mad at me then?”

Kiyoomi pauses. “Mad at you? Why would I be?”

“ I dunno, I jus’ thought ya were since ya’ve been avoidin’ me an’ all--”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Kiyoomi blurts. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake, I know you don’t think of me like that and I shouldn’t have done it. It won’t happen again,” he promises. He holds his breath as he waits for Atsumu’s response. 

He’s silent for a moment, and when he speaks his voice sounds small. “ Ya really think it was a mistake?”

“That’s what I said, yes. It won’t happen again,” he repeats firmly.

There’s a pause, and then Atsumu says, “ Okay. If that’s what ya want, Kiyoomi.”

“So you’re not mad then?” Kiyoomi’s relief is tangible.

“ Nah. How could I be mad at ya?” Atsumu laughs, and it sounds kind of off but then again everything sounds different over the phone. “ I was jus’ worried ya were gonna ditch me again.”

“I would never,” Kiyoomi says honestly.

“ Glad ta hear it. ” Kiyoomi hears a yawn, and then Atsumu says, “ Sorry, I’m real tired from practice an’ all. Can I call ya back another time so we can catch up fer real? I never did get ta hear about yer game.”

“Yes, of course,” Kiyoomi says instantly. “When are you free?”

He can hear the smile in Atsumu’s voice when he says, “ How ‘bout tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s good for me. I usually get home around nine, so maybe 9:15?”

“ Works fer me. Night, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says softly. 

“Good night, ‘Tsumu,” Kiyoomi replies before he hangs up.

It’s not until he’s on the edge of sleep that he realizes Atsumu had called him ‘Kiyoomi’. It unsettles him more than it should.

But we’re fine now, he reminds himself. Right?

Chapter Text

In June, Atsumu invites Kiyoomi and Motoya to stay with them in Amagasaki over the summer break. Motoya agrees after consulting his parents, while Kiyoomi says yes instantly, telling Atsumu that his parents will probably be glad to have a break from him. Hearing that from Kiyoomi leaves a bitter taste in Atsumu’s mouth, but it’s far outweighed by the excitement he feels in the weeks leading up to their arrival. 

In early July, Atsumu, Osamu, Suna and Aran go to pick Motoya and Kiyoomi up at the train station.

Atsumu’s nervous, more than he usually is before seeing Kiyoomi. Or rather, in a different way; usually it’s more of an excited nervous. Not that he’s not excited, of course. He is. It’s just that he hasn’t seen Kiyoomi since Nationals, so he’s a bit...apprehensive, to say the least. 

Still, he feels an odd sort of relief when he sees Kiyoomi standing on the platform with Motoya. Kiyoomi’s hair has grown out a bit, soft curls hanging over his eyes and framing the moles on his forehead. Atsumu hesitates before hugging him, but only for a moment. Hugging him shouldn’t be a big deal. And Kiyoomi seems cool with it, so. It’s fine.

“How was the trip?” Says Aran, addressing both of them.

“Not too bad!” Motoya says brightly at the same time as Kiyoomi says, “Terrible.”

“Someone sneezed on ya, didn’ they,” Atsumu says knowingly.

“Coughing fit, actually. Some old guy who was clearly sick and not wearing a mask,” Kiyoomi replies distastefully.

Atsumu suppresses a smile and pushes at Kiyoomi’s back, gently guiding him back to the car. “C’mon,” he says, “let’s go get ya settled in.” 

Aran drives them all back to the Miyas’ place--he’s the only one who’s got a license out of all of them, apart from Osamu, who’s barely passable as a driver--and Atsumu helps Kiyoomi and Motoya set up their guest futons in the twins’ room before the six of them file downstairs to eat lunch. 

Osamu makes them all onigiri while Atsumu assists him, which essentially means getting out ingredients and reminding him of everyone’s orders. 

“Don’ forget Kiyoomi’s umeboshi,” he says. 

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Ya’ve only told me, what, ten times now? I won’ forget, dumbass.”

Atsumu scowls. “What do ya even need me fer, then?”

“I’m tired of havin’ ta get everythin’ out on my own,” Osamu replies casually. Atsumu repressed the urge to hit him. Aran will be disappointed in you, he reminds himself. It would make Omi laugh, though.

He pushes the thought from his mind as he passes Osamu another bowl of rice. Osamu finishes sculpting the final onigiri, and the two of them gather the trays to bring them out to the dining room. 

Their mom is chatting with Aran at the moment about his decision to go pro--he’ll be signing a contract with the Tachibana Red Falcons in mid July. It’ll be weird not having him around, Atsumu knows, but at least he’ll still have Osamu and Suna, even if he will have to deal with them ganging up on him every three seconds. 

Besides, he’s no stranger to long distance friendships. 

After lunch, Aran and Suna head home for the day. “See you guys on Tuesday,” Aran says as he waves. Atsumu had almost forgotten that they’d made plans to go camping for a few days this week, he’d been so caught up in the excitement of seeing Kiyoomi again. 

“Still can’t believe ya agreed ta camp with us,” he comments to Kiyoomi now as he watches Suna and Aran’s retreating backs. 

“Being in nature isn’t the worst, I suppose,” Kiyoomi says mildly. “It’s not nearly as germy as a public restroom, at least.”

“Uh-oh,” mutters Motoya. 

“Ya didn’ tell him?” Hisses Atsumu.

“I can hear you, you know,” Kiyoomi says dryly. “What is it?”

“Erm,” Atsumu says awkwardly. “So, about the whole public restroom thing…”

He watches as Kiyoomi’s face morphs to one of confusion, then understanding, and finally, horror. 

“You’re not serious,” he says.

“I mean, what didja think we were gonna do? Bring a toilet with us?” Atsumu says. 

“I guess I didn’t consider that aspect of camping,” Kiyoomi mumbles. Then he takes a deep breath. “I can do this,” he mutters, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. “I can do this.”

Atsumu and Motoya exchange a concerned glance.

“I’ve never seen him do this before,” Motoya whispers. 

“Me neither,” Atsumu whispers back. Kiyoomi’s eyes snap open and Atsumu jumps a bit under the weight of his glare. “You’d better find us a campsite with a decently clean restroom,” he says. “And bring extra hand sanitizer, because I will not be sharing.”

They both know that’s a lie.

“Sure, Omi-kun,” Atsumu replies, relieved that he appears to be taking the news fairly well. “We’ll bring so much hand sanitizer the truck’ll be overflowin’ with it.” (In the end they only bring four sixteen ounce bottles, but Kiyoomi deems it a reasonable amount). 

Tuesday rolls around, and the group loads up the truck with tents, tarps, and camping chairs. They’re taking two cars--Osamu is driving the truck with Suna, Kiyoomi and Atsumu, while Aran and Motoya are taking Aran’s parents’ Subaru, loaded with food and bottled water among other camping necessities. They’re bringing their own firewood as well, so that they don’t have to pay extra at the campground. 

They’re headed to Arima Fuji park, which is about an hour away from Amagasaki if they avoid tolls. Osamu’s not great with directions, so Suna, who’s acting as his co-pilot, has a map spread across his lap. He chimes in occasionally with instructions to ‘turn here’ or ‘get over a lane, that truck’s got some nasty fumes’.

Kiyoomi and Atsumu are jammed into the backseat, knees nearly touching their chests. The backseat of the Miyas’ truck was not made for six-foot-tall volleyball players with muscular legs, apparently. The two of them are pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, and Atsumu tries to focus on the feeling of the slight movements Kiyoomi makes to distract himself from getting carsick. 

“You good?” Kiyoomi says, brow raised as he examines Atsumu’s probably green face. 

“Fine,” Atsumu grunts. “Jus’...distract me, maybe. If ya wanna help.”

Kiyoomi considers him for a moment. “Okay,” he says. “Have I ever told you about the first and only time I’ve been camping to date?”

“Nah,” Atsumu gets out. “Never took ya fer an outdoorsy kinda guy, Omi.”

“I’m not, and you know that,” Kiyoomi informs him. “But anyway, our coach decided that we should take an overnight camping trip for the sake of ‘team bonding’,” Kiyoomi says, sounding so disgusted that Atsumu has to choke down a laugh. “So we’re out in the wilderness, right? Toya and I were sharing a tent, and right before we all went to bed, we were sitting around the campfire, telling ghost stories and such. Have you heard the one about the girl who was stabbed in Oze National park? That’s where we were staying, by the way. I forgot about that part.”

Atsumu shakes his head. “Never heard of that story,” he says. “Speakin’ of stories, yer terrible at tellin’ them, Omi. No flair whatsoever.”

Kiyoomi scowls. “You should just be grateful I’m helping you at all.” Atsumu rolls his eyes as Kiyoomi continues, “Anyway, Iizuna tells us this absolutely horrifying story about this girl that was stabbed by another camper, and she’s been haunting the area ever si--whatever. You get the picture. So then we’re all kind of shaken, right? And I’m in the tent, while Toya goes off to use the bathroom or something. Anyway, he’s out there for a while, and I started to worry. 

All of the sudden, I hear this scream. God, Atsumu, it was terrifying. I actually thought my cousin was getting murdered by a ghost-- and don’t you ever tell him this, but I was actually quite upset at the idea of his demise--”

“Would never,” Atsumu promises.

“--So then I book it out of the tent and sprint to the bathroom, where I find Motoya cowering in the corner, hiding from...a spider. Atsumu, it was a spider. And he was terrified. He actually looked as if he’d seen a ghost--which at that point, I knew for a fact he hadn’t. Now, you already know that I’m not a huge fan of spiders myself. At least, not when they’re large or hairy or particularly close to me. But this one, this one was small, hairless, and entirely out of Motoya’s way. 

Long story short, after receiving the scare of my life, I moved the spider outside using a leaf and then escorted a very freaked out Motoya back to our tent. Honestly, I’m not sure that either of us slept a wink that night. So, in conclusion,” he finishes, “I am not a fan of camping.”

“Why’d ya come, then?” Atsumu asks him curiously. 

“Because I want to hang out with you guys,” Kiyoomi says instantly. “Besides, now I have you to deal with Toya so that I don’t have to.”

“Gee, thanks,” Atsumu says sarcastically. 

“No problem.” They ride in silence for a minute, and then Kiyoomi says, “How’s your stomach?”

Atsumu is surprised to find that his stomach is fine. He doesn’t feel the slightest bit nauseous, and his headache has mostly subsided. “It’s feelin’ a whole lot better. Thanks, Omi,” Atsumu acknowledges.

“Glad I could help.”

“Even if yer story was a bit dry--ow! No need ta elbow me, I was jus’ jokin’!”

“No, you weren’t,” Kiyoomi quips. 

“No, I wasn’t,” Atsumu agrees.

They arrive at the campground shortly after one in the afternoon, just in time to check in. They find a pretty decent spot, close to the restrooms (which Kiyoomi deems ‘relatively sanitary’, whatever that means) and not too far from the parking lot, which makes unloading a whole lot easier. 

They lay out the tarps first, and then quickly get to work assembling the tents. There are three smallish tents, the first for Suna and Osamu, the second for Atsumu and Kiyoomi, and the third for Motoya and Aran. They set them up in a sort of triangle around the fire pit, though far enough away that they won’t be hit by any stray sparks. 

It’s not long before Atsumu notices Kiyoomi struggling with one of their tent poles. “Need some help, Omi?” He says, amused. 

“No,” Kiyoomi lies. Atsumu can practically hear him gritting his teeth. Kiyoomi tries to force the pole into the tent sleeve, but it catches on the edge and he swears. 

“Damn, Omi, didn’ know ya had such a dirty mouth,” Atsumu jokes. 

“‘Tsumu.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut it,” Kiyoomi says, glaring at the pole as if it had personally insulted his volleyball skills. “I don’t need your help.”

“Are ya sure? Because I’m pretty sure yer holding the pole upside-down.”

“No, I’m not,” Kiyoomi insists, refusing to look at the pole in his hands.

“Fine, be that way. Come get me when yer done with that part,” Atsumu says over his shoulder, wandering over to bother Osamu.

“Wait!” He hears behind him. He whirls around, already smiling smugly. “Yes, Omi?”

Kiyoomi looks like he’s sucking on a lemon when he says, “I...need help.”

“What’s the magic word?” Atsumu prompts. 

“Fuck you.”

“Not quite,” Atsumu replies. “I’ll give ya one more shot.”

“...Fine. Atsumu, help me...please.” Kiyoomi grimaces as he says the final word, looking positively disgusted with himself. Atsumu smirks. “At yer assistance, Omi-kun,” he sings, skipping over to Kiyoomi and snatching the pole from his grasp. He quickly finishes putting the pole together before sliding it into the sleeve, instructing Kiyoomi to hold the edge of the tent while he weaves the pole through the hole at the top of the tent before pulling it through to the other side. 

They finish quickly after that and start setting up the inside of the tent. It’s deceptively small inside, barely enough space for the both of them. Atsumu curses as he examines the interior. 

“What?” Kiyoomi says warily.

“‘Samu gave us the small tent,” Atsumu explains, glaring at the tent walls. “I mean, they’re all pretty small, but this one’s gotta be the smallest. We used ta sleep in it as kids.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kiyoomi dismisses. “As long as you don’t mind.”

“Ya sure? We can get him ta swap if ya don’t wanna be so close ta someone all night,” Atsumu says uncertainly.

“‘Tsumu. I’m fine,” Kiyoomi says calmly. “As I said, I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“‘M good,” Atsumu reassures him. He peers into the tiny space, frowning. “Maybe we should jus’ push our futons together so there’s more space on the sides for our things,” he points out. 

“Good idea. Here, I’ll go in and you can pass me stuff,” Kiyoomi directs. 

“Yessir!” Atsumu hands Kiyoomi his duffel, and then the bedrolls one by one. Kiyoomi unrolls them and pushes them together in the center of the tent before arranging their bags at the far side. “We can put our shoes in the front,” he explains. 

Once they’re all done setting up their tents, Aran suggests they explore the campground. 

“Good idea,” says Motoya. “I wanna see if there are any older people who can give us alcohol.”

“Didn’t you bring, like, two handles of vodka?” Kiyoomi says dryly as they start down the path.

Atsumu whips around and stares at Motoya. “ What?”

“Oh, yeah,” Motoya says sheepishly. “I maaay have gotten a bit carried away.”

“How the hell didja manage ta get yer hands on that?”

“We raided my mom’s stash,” Kiyoomi replies instantly. They all stare at him, scandalized, and he says, “What? It’s not like she’ll notice.”

Aran sighs. “Toya is a terrible influence on you.”

“Yup,” says Motoya while Kiyoomi says, “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Did you even bring anything to chase it with?” Atsumu says. 

Motoya says, “Does beer count?”

Kiyoomi frowns. “Where’d you get that? My parents don’t drink beer.”

“Mine do,” Motoya says. “I didn’t get it from them, though.”

“That’s a shock,” mutters Atsumu. “Where’d ya get it, then?”

“The store,” says Motoya matter of factly.

“What store sells to underage people?” Osamu wonders. 

“Yes, do tell,” Suna chimes in.

“Don’ tell ‘em,” says Aran. “I’m the one who’s gonna have ta supervise ‘em and drive ‘em around.”

“And we appreciate you for it,” says Suna, nodding seriously. 

“It’s just a corner store in Tokyo. Most of them sell to minors, actually,” Motoya explains. 

“That’s...not good,” Aran says faintly. 

“Also,” Kiyoomi pipes up, “beer is a terrible chaser. Couldn’t you have just brought juice?”

“Ah, but Kiyo,” says Motoya, tapping his temple. “If you chase alcohol with alcohol, you just get drunker. It’s a win win.”

“You forgot to add that it tastes terrible, ” Kiyoomi says. Atsumu winces; he hates the taste of alcohol, and can barely handle even the taste of wine.

Osamu seems to be thinking the same thing. “‘Tsumu, yer gonna die,” he says. 

Suna smirks. “What, can the baby not handle his juice?”

Atsumu glares at them both. “Worry ‘bout yerself,” he shoots back. “‘Samu’s the biggest lightweight there is. Last time he had a single glass of wine n’ he said that--” 

Osamu launches himself at Atsumu and slaps a hand over his mouth. “Not another word,” he warns. 

“Wait, now I’m interested,” Motoya says, eyes gleaming. 

“Yer the last person I’d share my secrets with, Toya-kun,” says Osamu.

Motoya clutches at his chest dramatically. “That hurts, ‘Samu.”

“Anyway,” Atsumu breaks in, “When can we start drinkin’?”

“I vote now,” Kiyoomi says.

“Are you really that sick of us already?” Says Suna.

“Yes.”

“How ‘bout we get the fire set up,” suggests Osamu, “an’ then we can start.”

“Sure!” Says Motoya. “I can grab the alcohol from the truck on the way back. Oh, also, who here is good at starting fires?”

Atsumu glares at the ground. “‘S me,” Osamu says smugly. “Atsumu can’t start a fire fer shit.”

Suna snickers. “Of course he can’t. He has the patience of a five year old.”

“More like a chicken,” suggests Motoya thoughtfully.

“An’ the memory of a goldfish ta boot,” says Osamu, nodding wisely.

“I’m right here!” Atsumu says, glaring at them all.

“We know,” says Suna in his ‘duh’ voice.

“Aran, Omi, help me out here!” Atsumu pleads. Aran puts his hands up in a ‘don’t get me involved in this’ gesture while Kiyoomi appears to be ignoring their conversation entirely. Atsumu gives up. “Let’s get movin,” he grumbles. “I need a drink.”

Osamu and Suna grab firewood from the truck on the way back and get to work building up a fire while Motoya fetches the alcohol from Aran’s car. By five PM, the fire’s going strong and all of them are getting hungrier by the minute. Osamu heats up rice and curry in a giant pan over the fire while Atsumu fetches plates. 

“We shouldn’t start drinking until we’ve got some food in us,” Motoya instructs.

“Then can we please start eating?” Kiyoomi complains. 

“Patience, Kiyoomi-kun,” Suna says while Osamu mutters, “Sometimes, I swear you’re worse than ‘Tsumu.”

The food is done a few minutes later, and the group makes quick work of the meal. Atsumu swears he’s never seen such a large quantity of food disappear so quickly in his life, and he lives with Osamu.

After dinner, the group gets settled in camping chairs around the fire. Atsumu takes the chair beside Kiyoomi, with Suna on his other side. Motoya passes out solo cups of vodka and beers to each of them before plopping down in the seat on Kiyoomi’s other side. “Cheers!” He yells, holding his two drinks aloft before taking a sip of vodka and immediately chasing it with beer.

Atsumu follows suit and quickly finds that vodka and beer are the worst flavor combination imaginable. He gags as he swallows and is actually concerned it might come back up. The second sip isn’t quite as bad, but still it burns all the way down to his stomach. 

“How’re ya drinkin’ that so calmly?” He asks Kiyoomi, eyeing his relaxed face. 

“Practice,” Kiyoomi simply replies. 

“Omi-kun! Since when are ya a partier?” Atsumu exclaims. 

“Since he started hanging out with me,” Motoya says proudly. 

“Ya really like bein’ a bad influence, huh,” Aran comments.. 

Motoya grins. “You know it!”

“We should play a drinking game,” Suna suggests. “I vote never have I ever. I want dirt on all of you,” he clarifies. 

Osamu sighs. “We know, Sunarin.”

“Let’s do it,” Atsumu decides. He’s starting to feel the alcohol in the warmth that spreads outward from his stomach and in the way his tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

“I still hate this game,” Kiyoomi mutters. 

Atsumu chuckles. “Of course ya do.”

“I’ll start,” Aran volunteers. He thinks for a moment before saying, “Never have I ever lived in Tokyo.”

“No fair,” Motoya pouts before taking an enormous sip of his drink. Kiyoomi takes a far smaller sip.

“Okay,” Osamu says. He’s seated to Aran’s left. “Never have I ever thrown up on school property.”

“How many times are y’all gonna bring that up?” Atsumu groans. He takes a cautious sip of his drink and winces. Shouldn’t it be tasting better by now?

“I’m going to have it engraved on your gravestone,” says Suna. 

“Then I’ll make sure I outlive ya,” Atsumu fires back. 

“Good luck. Never have I ever dyed my hair,” says Suna.

“Bastard,” Osamu grumbles before taking a sip. Atsumu sips again, grimacing, and glares at Suna, who shrugs. 

“My turn,” Atsumu announces. “Never have I ever...hmm. Never have I ever won the interhigh,” he says, grinning at Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi scowls into his drink, while Motoya takes another monster sip. Atsumu thinks he must have the alcohol tolerance of an elephant.

Kiyoomi’s next. He says, “Never have I ever done karaoke.”

“Ya said ya would, though! S’not my fault ya bailed on our duet,” complains Atsumu. 

“Drink,” Kiyoomi commands, and Atsumu rolls his eyes but obeys regardless.

Then it’s Motoya’s turn. He says, “Never have I ever kissed anyone.”

Atsumu freezes. He considers not drinking at all, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Kiyoomi take a tiny sip. Atsumu thinks fuck it and drinks too, quickly enough not to be noticed by the others. He’s not so lucky, though; Osamu catches him sipping his drink, eyes growing wide with shock, and Suna seems equally surprised.

“What!” Yell Osamu and Suna, pointing at Atsumu. “When the hell didja kiss someone?” Osamu demands. “I literally live with ya and ya never leave the house except ta go ta school n’ practice.”

“Yeah, I don’t buy it,” says Suna. 

“Who was it?” Aran says curiously. 

Atsumu tenses. He still hasn’t told Osamu that Kiyoomi had kissed him because he knew that he’d just tell Suna and Aran and then probably their whole team, too. “Uhh. Jus’ some guy at Nationals,” he says. It’s not even a lie; it’s just not the whole truth.

“ What!” Osamu and Suna yell again. Atsumu winces. “Couldja please stop doin’ that?” He snaps. “God, yer gonna make me go deaf by my early twenties. An’ stop actin’ all surprised that I kissed someone! I’m hot, okay?”

Atsumu sees Kiyoomi roll his eyes, while Suna snickers meanly. “If you’re into the whole yellow hair thing, I suppose.”

“Well, I guess someone was,” Motoya says suggestively, waggling his brows. Atsumu frowns, wondering if he knows it was Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi, who is suspiciously quiet and noticeably not being made fun of. 

“Why aren’tcha makin fun of Omi?” He points out. “He drank too!” Atsumu feels smug as the whole group turns to Kiyoomi, who glares daggers at Atsumu. Traitor, he mouths. 

Motoya looks unsurprised, so Atsumu surmises that he must know something. At the very least Kiyoomi’s told him he kissed someone, and he knows Motoya’s smart enough to put the pieces together.

“Who?” Osamu demands. “And when?”

Kiyoomi fidgets. “It...was just someone from school. You don’t know him.” He doesn’t meet their eyes, and only Atsumu seems to notice the obvious lie.

“Wait,” says Osamu. “Yer gay?”

Kiyoomi raises a brow. “Got a problem?”

“Nah,” says Osamu. “‘Course not. Jus’ didn’ know, that’s all.”

“Really? I thought it was kind of obviou--ow ow ow!” Motoya whines as Kiyoomi kicks him in the shin.

“Anyway,” Kiyoomi continues, “can we please move on? I’m pretty sure Atsumu just ran out of fingers.”

Atsumu realizes that he’s right; he hadn’t been keeping track, but he’d drunk at least five times by now. Probably.

“Ah, but we’re playing by drinks, remember?” Motoya says slyly. Kiyoomi sighs. “Okay, fine,” he says. “We can keep going.”

“Actually,” says Suna, eyes glinting in the firelight. “Why don’t we play a game of truth or dare?”

Atsumu groans. “Ya jus’ wan’ us ta make fools of ourselves so that ya can blackmail us later,” he says. 

“Yes, and?” Says Suna.

“Fine. But jus’ fer the record, I’m waaay dunker than y’all right now, so if I embarrass myself s’not my fault,” Atsumu informs them.

Motoya cackles. “Oh, this is going to be fun. ” 

Aran looks nervous. “Just...nothing too wild, right guys?”

“No promises,” says Suna. “I’ll ask first. Atsumu, truth or dare?”

“How’d I know it was gonna be me,” Atsumu grumbles. “And dare. Duh.”

“Why would you give him power over you like that?” Says Kiyoomi, exasperated. 

“‘Cause it’s better than the alternative, trust me,” Atsumu tells him.

“Finish your drink and then do a handstand,” Suna says. 

“Yer gonna film it, aren’tcha,” says Atsumu, resigned to his fate.

“What do you think?”

Atsumu throws back his drink, finding his mouth is almost numb to the taste (but not quite) and then stands, wobbling on his feet. Shit. He can’t even do a handstand sober.

“Well, here goes nothin’’,” he says aloud, stepping away from the fire. He puts his hands on the ground and kicks up, holding it for a moment. He’s illuminated suddenly by the flash of Suna’s camera, and the light startles him, causing him to topple over with a yelp. Suna ends the video and checks his phone. “Yep, got it,” he says, satisfied.

“I hate ya. I really do, Sunarin,” Atsumu says, no heat behind his words. “”S it my turn ta ask?”

“Sure,” says Motoya. “We can just go in a circle. Makes it easier, anyway.”

“All righty, then,” says Atsumu, turning to Kiyoomi with a grin. “Omiiiii! Truth or dare,” he sings. 

Kiyoomi eyes him. “Truth,” he says. Atsumu’s mind goes blank. “Uhhh,” he falters. “What’s the dumbest shit ya’ve ever done?” 

“Go camping with Toya,” Kiyoomi says instantly.

“Ouch!” Says Motoya. “I thought I was your favorite person!”

“You’re not even my favorite cousin,” says Kiyoomi. “Toya, truth or dare?”

Motoya scowls. “Truth.”

“Did you steal my favorite shirt, spill soy sauce all over it, return it in secret and then lie to my face about it,” Kiyoomi says flatly. 

“Um,” says Motoya. “...Pass?”

“Answer the question, Toya,” Kiyoomi demands.

“Fine, fine! I did, but to be fair, you would have killed me if I fessed up!” Says Toya.

“Killing’s not off the table,” says Kiyoomi calmly. Motoya gulps. Without taking his eyes off of his cousin, he says, “Aran, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Aran decides. 

“Hmm. Ooh! I know,” Motoya says. “Which current member of the Tachibana falcons would you makeout with? And yes, we all know you’re very straight, but the question stands,” Motoya adds.

Aran hums, thinking. “Can it be someone who’s also about to join?”

“Sure, why not,” says Motoya. 

“Okay, then,” says Aran. “I guess it’d have to be Hakuba from Kamomedai. I mean, have you seen the guy’s spikes? They’re powerful,” he emphasizes. 

“Ya sure yer not a little gay?” Atsumu teases.

“Pretty sure,” says Aran. “It’s just a volleyball crush, really. We’ve all had those, right?”

“Sure,” says Atsumu. Motoya nods as well. “I know what you mean,” he says. 

“Who’s yer volleyball crush,” Osamu addresses Atsumu suspiciously. “I’ve never heard ya talk about other players before, except fer--”

“It’s probably that midget middle blocker from Karasuno,” Suna says. “What’s the name again? Hinota?”

“Shouyou Hinata,” Atsumu says automatically. “And no, it’s not.”

“Really? ‘Cause now that I’m thinkin’ bout it, ya did tell him ya were gonna set ta him one day,” Osamu says slowly.

Atsumu shrugs. “He’s a great spiker,” he says. “Doesn’t mean I got a crush, volleyball or otherwise.”

“I think it’s Hoshiumi,” Motoya jokes. “It’s the hair, isn’t it?”

Atsumu grins. “Definitely,” he says. 

“Can we call it a night?” Aran breaks in. “Some of us maintain a decent sleep schedule.”

“Yer such an old man,” Atsumu teases. 

“I agree with Aran,” says Kiyoomi. “I’d like to preserve my circadian rhythms, thank you very much.”

“Yer circa-what?” Says Osamu, confused. 

“Sleep stuff,” Suna explains vaguely.

“Ah.”

“Wait,” Atsumu realizes, “neither of them had to take a turn!” He points a finger accusingly at Suna and Osamu, who have the audacity to look smug. 

“Too bad,” says Suna dismissively. “Better luck next time.”

“I really hate ya, Sunarin.”

Osamu and Suna get to work putting out the fire as Kiyoomi and Atsumu rinse out the cups and throw away the beer cans. It’s fully dark by now, and even though Atsumu’s not afraid of the dark--he’s not-- still he finds himself gripping Kiyoomi’s arm as they head to the restroom to brush their teeth. 

When they return to the campsite Atsumu dives straight into the tent and groans. “‘M gonna feel so shit in the mornin’,” he mumbles into his pillow. He distantly hears the sound of Kiyoomi climbing into their tent and zipping the door shut behind him. Then he feels something cool against his cheek. 

“Drink,” Kiyoomi commands. Atsumu sits up and takes the offered water bottle, sipping from it slowly until his head stops spinning, for the most part.

“Thanks, Omi,” he slurs. 

Kiyoomi just nods, pulling the blanket over Atsumu’s body. They’re already dressed comfortably enough, and although Atsumu knows he’ll probably regret falling asleep in clothes that reek of wood smoke, he can’t summon the energy to change. 

His eyes flutter shut and he feels a hand comb gently through his hair. “‘Night, ‘Tsumu,” he hears, and he’s asleep before he can respond.

He wakes up feeling warm but uncomfortable--his neck is at a funny angle, and his head is pressed against something hard. He slowly comes awake, and realizes that his head is resting against Kiyoomi’s shoulder. The rest of him is pressed up against Kiyoomi as well, and one of Kiyoomi’s arms is thrown across Atsumu’s torso. Kiyoomi’s still asleep, breathing peacefully, but by god does Atsumu have to pee. 

He carefully disentangles himself from Kiyoomi and checks his phone--the time reads 6:47 AM--before stumbling to the bathroom. He nearly trips over roots on three separate occasions on the way there alone, and the way back is nearly worse. I’m not awake enough for this, he thinks blearily as he trips over the edge of the tent and tumbles onto his futon. 

Kiyoomi wakes at the sound of the impact and turns to face Atsumu, rubbing his eyes. He’s pretty ugly in the morning, Atsumu observes. His hair is a mess, and there’s drool dried at the corner of his mouth. Atsumu wants to wipe it away with his sleeve, but he decides that would be weird. 

Fellas, is it gay to tenderly wipe away your friend’s drool?

Kiyoomi yawns. “Why’re you up,” he mumbles. 

“Had ta pee,” Atsumu explains. “I’ll probably try an’ squeeze in another hour of sleep, though.”

“Two hours,” Kiyoomi suggests. 

“One and a half,” Atsumu amends. He lies beside Kiyoomi in silence for a moment. Then Kiyoomi says, quietly, “It’s going to be so weird hanging out without Aran.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu agrees. “Can’t believe we’ve only got a week left with him.”

“He’s not dying, ” Kiyoomi says. “And it’s not as if we won’t go to his games.”

“True,” Atsumu says. “We’ll probably see most of ‘em on TV, at least. An’ maybe we can make one in person! I vote Falcons versus Black Jackals,” he says. There’s a pause, and then he says, “Ya know, I’m thinkin’ bout joinin’ the Jackals when I graduate.”

The admission doesn’t demand a response, but Kiyoomi replies anyway. “They’re a great team,” he says. “I think they’re going to rival the Adlers before too long. Not to mention that now they’ve got Bokuto,” he points out. 

“Exactly,” says Atsumu. “What about ya?”

Kiyoomi’s silent for a moment. Then he says, softly, “Tsumu...my parents want me to get a degree.”

Atsumu doesn’t know what to say to that. “They...yer goin’ ta college?” He says slowly.

Kiyoomi nods. “I’m still going pro,” he assures Atsumu. “But if I don’t go to school first…” he hesitates. “I’m worried I might lose my family entirely,” he eventually admits. “They have a hard enough time accepting that their son is gay. But gay and without a degree...I don’t know if they’d want to see me.”

Atsumu knows he’s not asking for comfort or sympathy. He’s just stating the truth as he knows it. Still, Atsumu says, “Kiyoomi, what do ya want?”

“I want,” Kiyoomi starts, “I want to go pro. And I want to do it with you,” he continues, “and ‘Samu, and Toya and Suna and I want all of us to play together or play each other. I don’t care which. Except for you,” he adds. “You’re on my team, okay?”

Atsumu smiles. “‘Course, Omi-kun. Yer always gonna be my partner.”

Kiyoomi smiles too. “Okay.”

…

They drop Aran off at the train station the following week. Atsumu cries--of course he does, he’s only human--and the others are similarly glum. 

When they reach the platform, Aran hugs them all goodbye. Even Kiyoomi allows it, a sure sign that he’s feeling emotional. Kiyoomi may not have been as close with Aran as he was with the twins, but Aran was like an older brother to him, Atsumu knows. His departure will affect all of them, probably more than he knows. 

Aran doesn’t cry. He tells them he’s sad to be leaving, but he seems excited to start his future, and so of course Atsumu is happy for him. Before he boards the train, Atsumu claps a hand on his shoulder and says, “One day we’re gonna play together again. We’ll represent Japan together. Got it?”

Aran grins at him. “Of course, ‘Tsumu. ‘M countin’ on it.” His eyes scan over their faces and his smile turns soft. “I really will miss y’all,” he says. Then he looks at Kiyoomi. “I’m counting on ya ta be the responsible one,” he says. 

“What? Why not me?” Motoya whines. 

Aran stares him down. “Because yer an enabler, an’ I don’t trust the others one bit,” he says firmly. He looks back at Kiyoomi. “Don’ be afraid to get mean,” he says. “I wasn’t nearly mean enough ta them.”

“Don’t worry,” says Kiyoomi. “I’ll be fine.”

Aran laughs. “Don’t I know it.” He turns to leave, waving over his shoulder. “See y’all in the future,” he calls, and then he boards the train. 

Atsumu wonders what it feels like to be so close to a dream. He glances at Kiyoomi and thinks, maybe soon, I’ll know.

Chapter Text

Several days before graduating Itachiyama, Kiyoomi calls Atsumu. 

Atsumu’s graduation ceremony had already taken place, and Kiyoomi can tell Atsumu is a mess when he speaks with him over the phone. 

“‘Samu n’ Suna didn’ even cry,” he blubbers to Kiyoomi. “An’ then they had the audacity ta laugh at my tears!”

Kiyoomi has to suppress a smile of his own. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. 

“”S fine,” says Atsumu, sniffling. “Anyway, when’s yer ceremony?”

“Tuesday,” Kiyoomi replies. “Motoya can’t wait to get on that stage. Personally, I can’t relate.”

“Crowds, huh?” Says Atsumu sympathetically.

“Yup.”

“Have ya decided what school yer gonna go ta yet?” Atsumu asks.

“Waseda, probably,” says Kiyoomi. “It’s between that and Chuo, but I’m leaning towards Waseda since I’ve heard great things about their sports medicine department. I’m considering minoring in Japanese Literature, too,” he adds thoughtfully. “But yeah, Chuo’s been on a winning streak lately, so I haven’t made a final decision just yet.”

“Whatever team ya join’s gonna win,” Atsumu says dismissively. “After all, they’ve got ya.”

Kiyoomi pauses. That’s a good point.

“‘Sides,” Atsumu continues, “Yer goin’ fer the studies, right? So it makes sense that ya’d choose the school based on the program, not necessarily the volleyball team. Yer gonna go pro soon enough, anyway.”

Another good point. Kiyoomi doesn’t say that, though. Instead he changes the subject, saying, “So are you fully decided on signing with the MSBY Black Jackals, then?”

“Yeah,” says Atsumu. “They’re a great team, ‘least I think so. Got a lot of offensive power, ‘specially with Bokuto on the court. I’m lookin’ forward ta bein’ on a team with the guy, actually.”

“MSBY’s definitely an up-and-coming powerhouse team,” Kiyoomi muses. “I’d rather be there then with the Adlers, anyway. Even with Hoshiumi and Ushijima in the equation. Besides, I’d like Osaka, I think.”

Atsumu’s voice is hopeful when he says, “So yer considerin’ it then?”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi says decisively. “I am.”

He hears Atsumu hesitate, and then he says, “I don’ wanna influence yer decision too much, though. If there’s another team you’d prefer--”

“There’s really not,” says Kiyoomi. “I mean, joining a team with Motoya is out of the question, and I’d like to be able to play Aran as well. There’s always the DESEO Hornets, I suppose, but I’d rather be in Osaka. And besides,” he reasons, “I want to play with you again.”

He hears a sniffle. “Damn it, Omi, yer gonna make me cry again!”

Kiyoomi smiles into the phone. “Good.” Then he says, more seriously, “I’m going to join you after college. Assuming the team is good enough, of course.”

“It will be,” Atsumu promises. “We’ll make it good for ya.”

Kiyoomi knows he will.

…

Kiyoomi starts classes at Waseda in April. Atsumu signs with the Black Jackals the following week, calling Kiyoomi up excitedly to announce the good news. 

“Bokuto’s a riot,” he chortles over the phone. “Such a funny guy. A whole lot more stable than he was in high school, too.”

“That’s good to hear,” Kiyoomi says, recalling Bokuto’s volatile mood swings that only his setter at the time, Akaashi Keiji, could bring him down from. “How’s the rest of the team?”

“Meian’s great,” Atsumu gushes. “He’s the captain. Coach Foster’s real nice, too. And strict,” he adds. “Inunaki’s great, too. Definitely a bit of a troublemaker, but always up for a good time. And then of course there’s Barnes…”

Atsumu continues to ramble on about his teammates for several minutes, and Kiyoomi lets him. He doesn’t have much to say about his own life right now, anyway. His classes are all right, he supposes, and the team’s proficient, but nothing much stands out. He misses his friends, even Motoya, who had been such a steady presence in his life that Kiyoomi isn’t really sure how to navigate school without him. 

Aran is still with the Falcons, while Suna ended up signing with EJP Raijin as well. He and Motoya are going to be insufferable as teammates, Kiyoomi already knows. 

Osamu is attending culinary school in Osaka so as to remain close to Atsumu. Atsumu was distraught when Osamu had told him he would not be pursuing volleyball after high school. He called Kiyoomi at three in the morning, sobbing over the phone about how he was going to be all alone. His partner of 18 years would no longer be by his side, at least not all of the time; Atsumu was understandably upset. 

Kiyoomi had listened to him vent for a good half hour before reminding him that he wasn’t alone. He still had all of his friends, now as rivals as well, and of course he had Kiyoomi. “I’ll join you after college, remember?” He’d said to Atsumu. “I promise.”

Now, Atsumu asks him, “How are yer classes goin’?”

Kiyoomi sighs. “Good, but hard,” he admits. “It’s as challenging as I expected it to be, if not more.”

“Ya do well with challenges, though,” Atsumu comments.

“True,” Kiyoomi acknowledges, “but sometimes I wonder if I bit off more than I can chew.”

Atsumu’s silent for a moment. Then he says, “When’s yer first game?”

“September 27th,” Kiyoomi tells him. “Yours?”

“May 13th,” Atsumu says. 

“I probably can’t make it to that one, but it’ll be televised, right?”

“Yeah!” Says Atsumu. “Do ya still wanna come watch our game against EJP? It’s June 5th, I think.”

“Definitely,” says Kiyoomi. “Toya would kill me if I bailed on that. And Suna,” he adds as an afterthought.

“What, not me?” Atsumu teases.

“No. You’d understand if I couldn’t make it because of school,” Kiyoomi explains. “But I know you want me there anyway.”

“‘Course I do,” says Atsumu. 

The line goes quiet for a minute and then Kiyoomi hears Atsumu yawn. “I should prob’ly go,” he says, and Kiyoomi nods before remembering that Atsumu can’t see him. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I should probably start my Lit essay soon anyway.”

Kiyoomi can hear the smile in Atsumu’s voice when he says, “Good luck with that. Talk tomorrow?” 

“My schedule’s pretty packed tomorrow, how about Wednesday? We could facetime,” Kiyoomi suggests.

“Sure!” Atsumu says brightly. “See ya then.”

“Bye.” Kiyoomi hangs up the phone and sighs. He and Atsumu are used to the distance, of course, but there’s something so odd about them being in such different places in life that makes the whole experience just that much more alienating.

It’s not forever, Kiyoomi reminds himself.

May rolls around, and Kiyoomi’s fallen into a sort of routine. He doesn’t really have friends, but he has his teammates, and his classmates are fine. He studies with them in the library when he’s not busy with practice or calling Atsumu.

They call at least twice a week just to keep each other updated on how their lives are going. It’s...nice, Kiyoomi supposes. He’s still not used to talking to Atsumu so often, but it’s always easy with him.

On May 13th, Kiyoomi eats dinner in front of the television as he watches Atsumu’s debut game. They’re playing the DESEO Hornets, and it’s exciting to see Atsumu--and Bokuto--going up against Kiyoomi’s former captain. He’s still a great setter, Kiyoomi notes. Atsumu’s better, though. The Jackals take the game at a score of 4:1, Atsumu taking the final point with a setter dump. 

“ Would you look at that nerve! Miya Atsumu, former captain of Inarizaki High and current starting setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, takes the final point in a glorious dump! What a strong debut! He certainly demonstrated skill worthy of being part of such a powerful team, that’s for sure.”

Kiyoomi makes himself a cup of tea as the reporter interviews the Hornets and makes it back to the TV just in time to watch Atsumu’s interview.

“ So, Atsumu-kun, what exactly made you want to join this team?” Says the reporter, holding a mic up in front of Atsumu’s face.

Atsumu smiles and leans into the mic before saying, “ I think they’re gonna be the best in the league! I mean, they’ve been on the up for years now, and I think Bokuto’s arrival last year was just the extra push they needed ta become a full-on powerhouse.”

“So would you say you’ve been contributing to the team’s powerhouse reputation so far?”

Atsumu grins into the camera. “ I’d like ta think so!”

The reporter laughs. “ I would have to agree, ” she says with a smile. “T hank you for your time, and good luck in all of your future games! Your team shows a lot of promise,” she concludes. Atsumu smiles as she turns back to the camera, and then goes to join his team. Kiyoomi watches as he jumps onto Bokuto’s back in the background, laughing, and then the camera pans away as they replay the game’s highlights. 

Kiyoomi shuts off the TV and sighs. There’s a large part of him that wishes he could just be out there already, playing by Atsumu’s side and winning every game. Kiyoomi’s certain that once he joins, once he and Atsumu become a duo once more, their team will be unstoppable.

For now, all he can do is wait.

…

In June, Kiyoomi takes the train to Osaka to watch the EJP Raijin versus MSBY Black Jackals game. He arrives just as the game is starting; he couldn’t leave Tokyo until he got out of class, but at least he has tomorrow off, and then it’s the weekend. He plans to stay in Osaka until Sunday so that he has time to catch up with his friends. 

Kiyoomi had made plans to meet Aran and Osamu near the front of the gymnasium. As he draws closer to the building, he spots a couple of figures standing off to the side of the path. Osamu is staring at his phone, likely texting Atsumu something along the lines of ‘don’t choke, scrub’ (Kiyoomi is quite familiar with the many ways they wish each other luck at this point) while Aran is scanning the crowd, probably looking for Kiyoomi. 

Kiyoomi waves at Aran, who grins when he catches sight of him. Osamu glances up from his phone and gives a small smile as well. 

“Suna scored us front row seats,” Aran says excitedly when Kiyoomi gets closer. Kiyoomi frowns. “I thought it was open seating?”

“It is, but I guess the teams reserved the front rows fer family and friends,” Aran explains. 

“Ah. That was nice of him,” Kiyoomi comments. 

Aran laughs. “Yeah, I think he just did it ta spite ‘Tsumu. He was goin’ ta do it instead, but Suna beat him ta it,” he clarifies.

“Suna’s a bastard,” Osamu drawls, but his tone is fond. “T’s nice knowin’ that I have someone on the inside ta harass ‘Tsumu when I’m not around.”

“Has he tried to strangle Toya yet?” Kiyoomi asks mildly.

“Nah,” says Osamu, “not yet.”

“It’s only a matter of time,” says Kiyoomi confidently.

The three of them head into the venue and weave their way through the crowd until they reach the stairs leading up to the stands. They find seats easily, and Kiyoomi’s grateful to be out of the bulk of the crowd. He’s wearing a mask, but still he can practically feel the germs in the air around him. He tries to focus on the court, examining the teams in search of his friends instead of hyperfixating.

He looks for Suna and Toya first. Toya is easy--Kiyoomi swears his eyebrows stand out, even from this distance--and Suna’s standing beside him, along with the middle blocker from Fukurodani, Washio. 

Kiyoomi’s eyes flit to the opposite side of the court to where the MSBY Black Jackals stand in a huddle. He recognizes Bokuto instantly--he’d recognize that hair anywhere--but Atsumu’s blond head is nowhere to be seen. Kiyoomi frowns, wondering if maybe he’d dyed his hair back without telling Kiyoomi, but then he sees a figure jogging over from the door that must lead to the locker rooms. 

Atsumu joins the team huddle, and their coach gives a short speech before both teams go to line up. The Jackals’ captain, Meian, goes to shake hands with EJP’s captain and determine who will be serving first. The Jackals win the toss and choose to receive, which Kiyoomi thinks is a good decision, if everything Atsumu’s told him about their libero is true. 

Washio serves first, and it’s certainly powerful, but it’s no match for Inunaki. He digs the ball beautifully, in a perfect A-pass that goes straight to Atsumu. Atsumu sets to one of the spikers Kiyoomi hasn’t met--he thinks it might be Barnes, from what Atsumu’s told him--and the Jackals take the first point of the game. 

The Jackals are a well-oiled machine, moving in perfect synchronicity. EJP has a lot of strong individuals, but they lack the level of connection that the Jackals seem to have achieved. 

And now, they’ve got Atsumu.

He takes three service aces in the first set alone, and this is only his third game of the season. The crowd is loving him, screaming his name and asking for his hand in marriage after every serve. He’s really got a nasty spin on his serves now, Kiyoomi notes. His spike serves are more aggressive than ever, and one of his serves appears to be a sort of hybrid. Kiyoomi wonders what else he’s been working on since he’d last seen Atsumu.

The Jackals take the first set with a score of 25-21. 

The second set is a bit closer, and EJP ends up taking it after a hard-won deuce. The third set starts off strong for the Jackals, but partway through Atsumu appears to be losing steam. It’s not all that noticeable, really, but Kiyoomi knows his tells. His serves are slightly easier to receive, his sets slightly less ambitious than usual. Halfway through the set, the Jackals call for a timeout. They’re behind right now with a score of 15-13, so they’re likely trying to put an end to EJP’s momentum. 

“I’ll be right back,” says Kiyoomi. Aran gives him a funny look but nods. “I’ll make sure no one steals your seat,” he promises. 

Kiyoomi races down from the stands and approaches the edge of the court. He can’t go onto the court, of course, but there plenty of people watching from the side. He pushes his way to the front and calls out, “Tsumu!”

Atsumu’s head snaps up at the sound of Kiyoomi’s voice, and a grin spreads across his face. Kiyoomi knows he can’t come over, so he tries to communicate what he can with his eyes. 

Win, he tries to say. 

You’re better than this.

Atsumu nods once as if he understands, still smiling slightly. Kiyoomi gives a tentative smile back, and then the timeout’s over and Kiyoomi breaks eye contact with Atsumu, rushing back to his seat in the stands.

Atsumu seems invigorated when he steps back up to serve. He gets two service aces in a row before Motoya manages to dig one of them, and still it goes long, straight to Meian who passes to Atsumu who sets to Bokuto and then, just like that, they’ve got the lead. 

The Jackals take the third set with a score of 25-23. It’s closer than the first set, but still a satisfying win. Bokuto takes the final point, slamming the ball straight through a triple block and into the floor with a resounding smack. Atsumu cheers and jumps on him, the rest of the team crowding around them as well. 

The fourth set is brutal . It’s an intense back-and-forth in which no one seems to be able to keep a steady lead, and even Atsumu’s newfound energy doesn’t seem to be helping. They end up going to a deuce, and the score reaches into the thirties. 

The Jackals are behind by a point, but Atsumu performs one of his sickeningly gorgeous setter dumps to bring them to a tie. The next point goes to the Jackals as well; Bokuto really is unstoppable today, and his infamous mood swings have yet to show (from what Atsumu’s told Kiyoomi recently, it’s possible they won’t make an appearance at all). 

Now the Jackals are at match point, and Atsumu’s up to serve. 

Kiyoomi is quite familiar with the pressure that comes with serving at such a critical moment. It’s a pressure unlike no other in volleyball. Even though a team consists of six players, serves are dealt solo, and it’s the only move in which a single mistake can make (or crush) the resolve of an individual. 

But then again, this is Atsumu.

He does the hybrid one again--Kiyoomi knows this because he noticed earlier that Atsumu takes exactly four and a half steps for that one--and the toss is perfect. Atsumu’s hand slams into the ball, and it crosses the net, wobbling slightly as it veers to the side. It almost looks as if it’s about to go out, and Kiyoomi feels Aran tensing beside him. Motoya must be thinking the same thing, because he doesn’t bother diving for it.

It goes in.

It’s barely in, to be fair; certainly a hard call for Motoya to make. Still, Kiyoomi can’t help but feel a bit bad for him. It’s not his fault alone that they lost, but it probably feels like it right now. 

The Jackals group around Atsumu, screaming and lifting him into the air as EJP collapses to the floor in a mess of tired, sweaty limbs. Aran cheers wildly from beside Kiyoomi, while Osamu wears one of his rare genuine smiles. 

The players go to line up, and then the Jackals are assaulted by reporters eager to begin the post game interviews. Kiyoomi follows Aran and Osamu down from the stands, and Aran falls into step beside Atsumu. “What did ya say ta him, before?” Aran says, and Kiyoomi looks at him, confused. Aran clarifies, “When ya went ta talk to Atsumu durin’ the timeout. Ya must’ve said somethin’, he looked completely different after.”

“I didn’t,” Kiyoomi says honestly. 

“Really?” Says Aran, sounding surprised.

“He didn’t need me to say anything,” Kiyoomi tries to explain. “He just needed a reminder that he could do better than he was.”

“Huh,” says Aran. He opens his mouth to say something else but is interrupted by Osamu poking him in the arm. “‘M gonna go say hi to Suna first,” he says. “‘Tsumu will be in interviews fer a while, prob’ly. Do ya both wanna come?”

“I will,” offers Aran. 

“I’m going to stay,” Kiyoomi decides. “Tell Toya I’ll see him soon, though. And that I’m sorry for his loss.”

“Jeez, Kiyoomi,” Aran says, scandalized. “No need ta sound like someone died .”

“His pride did, probably,” Kiyoomi points out. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

Aran smirks. “Don’ worry bout it. Meet out front after so we can go get dinner, ya?”

“Sounds good,” says Kiyoomi, and then Aran and Osamu melt into the crowd. 

Kiyoomi scans the gym for Atsumu, but doesn’t see him anywhere. Frowning, he makes for the locker room and waits outside the entrance. Atsumu takes fairly quick showers, so it shouldn’t be long. 

Sure enough, not even five minutes later Atsumu and Bokuto appear in the locker room doorway. They’re locked in an animated conversation about the game, and Bokuto’s the first to notice Kiyoomi standing there. 

“Hey, Tsum-Tsum, isn’t that your friend?” He says, and Atsumu whips around, locking eyes with Kiyoomi. His grin practically splits his face in two, and Kiyoomi feels himself smiling as well. 

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu cheers, throwing himself at Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi catches him with a grunt--Atsumu’s really beefed up in the last year, he can tell--and holds him up. 

“Use your feet, you big baby,” he grumbles. Atsumu chuckles and goes completely limp in response, forcing Kiyoomi to support his entire weight. Kiyoomi looks over Atsumu’s shoulder at Bokuto, who’s watching them with a slight look of confusion. “I thought Tsum-Tsum said you don’t like touching people,” he says.

Kiyoomi opens his mouth to respond but Atsumu beats him to it. “I’m special,” he announces, getting back to his feet. Kiyoomi sighs at the relief of not having to support Atsumu and explains to Bokuto, “We’ve known each other a long time, so I trust him.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen. “Woah, really?” He turns to Atsumu. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re friends with Itachiyama’s ace?” He accuses.

Atsumu laughs. “I figured it’d come up sooner or later,” he says. “Omi-kun’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were kids,” he adds proudly.

“That’s so cool!” Says Bokuto. “I wish I had a childhood friend. I have Akaashi, though, and that’s pretty close.”

“Fukurodani’s former setter, right?” Kiyoomi checks.

“Yeah! His sets are the best,” says Bokuto dreamily. “Except for yours, Tsum-Tsum!”

“That’s what I like ta hear,” Atsumu says smugly. Kiyoomi smacks his arm, and he yelps. “What was that for? I’m sore,” he whines.

“Your ego needed checking,” Kiyoomi explains.

“Rude,” grumbles Atsumu. He looks at Bokuto and says, “Do ya see what I have ta deal with here?”

Bokuto has a funny expression on his face. “Seems real rough,” he comments. “Anyway, I gotta go meet ‘Kaashi now, and I’m sure you both have plans, so I’ll catch ya later, ‘kay?”

“See you, Bokkun!” Says Atsumu cheerfully. Kiyoomi nods at him. “It was nice to meet you,” he says. 

“You, too!” Bokuto hollers over his shoulder as he jogs away. Kiyoomi has to wonder if he’s capable of sitting still for longer than three seconds, and decides that is most likely not the case.

Atsumu turns to Kiyoomi. “So,” he says, “shall we meet the others? And where are they, anyway?” He scans the crown, probably searching for his brother.

“They’re out front,” Kiyoomi says. “Osamu and Aran wanted to meet Motoya and Suna first.”

“I can’t believe my own brother would betray me like that!” Atsumu wails as Kiyoomi drags him through the crowd in the gym’s atrium. 

“Really? Because it seems exactly like something he would do,” Kiyoomi says.

Atsumu sighs. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it.”

They break free of the masses and exit the building, Kiyoomi tearing off his mask to breathe in the fresh air. He looks at Atsumu, who’s staring at him. More specifically, at his mouth.

“What?” Kiyoomi says self-consciously. 

Atsumu blinks. “Uh. Jus’ forgot what yer whole face looked like fer a second there,” he explains, laughing awkwardly. Then his usual bravado returns, and he says, “‘Sides, ya got a nice mouth, Omi-Omi. Even if it says mean things, like, 90% of the time.” He winks at Kiyoomi and it’s an effort not to blush. 

“I’m going to be mean to you 100% of the time if you don’t start looking for your brother now,” he says sternly. 

“Easy,” says Atsumu, pointing at the side of the building. Suna, Osamu, Motoya and Aran are grouped together, chatting. Suna and Motoya are leaning against the wall, looking exhausted.

Kiyoomi looks at Atsumu. “You knew they were there the whole time, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but can ya blame me fer wantin’ ya to myself fer a bit?” Atsumu says defensively.

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Let’s go.” Atsumu pouts in response but allows Kiyoomi to drag him by the sleeve over to where the others are standing. Motoya catches sight of them first and pushes off the wall excitedly. “There you guys are!” He says. “Kiyooo!” He coos, going in for a hug. Kiyoomi stiffens but hugs him back, nodding at Suna over Motoya’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” says Suna, glancing between Kiyoomi and Atsumu. “What took you guys so long?”

“Got caught up talkin’ ta Bokkun,” Atsumu explains as he hugs Aran. He punches Osamu on the shoulder. “That’s fer goin’ ta see Suna an’ Toya before me!” He declares. 

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Don’ go gettin’ mad about that, it’s not as if ya wouldn’t choose Kiyoomi over me, anyway.”

Atsumu splutters. “That--that’s not the point,” he fires back. “I’m yer brother, yer own flesh-and-blood--”

“I should've eaten him in the womb,” Osamu mutters, and Suna snickers in response. 

“Are y’all ready ta go?” Aran breaks in. “We have reservations at the izakaya for seven PM, and it’s about a 20 minute walk from here.”

Motoya groans. “We just played four sets and you want us to walk? For shame, Aran.”

Aran just shrugs and turns to leave. “Ya don’ have ta come if ya don’t want ta,” he calls over his shoulder, “but I heard the barbecue’s excellent.”

Motoya perks up at that. “You know what?” He says, “I could play another three sets and still not be tired. I have so much energy, it’s like I--”

“We get it, you want meat,” Suna says tiredly. Kiyoomi smiles inwardly as he thinks about Suna having to deal with Motoya on a regular basis. 

They arrive at the izakaya shortly after their reservation time. Osamu, Kiyoomi and Aran look on in awe as Suna, Motoya and Atsumu consume inhuman amounts of meat.

“Whatthyu lookin’ ath,” Atsumu demands with a mouthful of meat, glaring at Kiyoomi.

“You’re disgusting,” Kiyoomi comments. Atsumu grins, revealing several pieces of chewed up meat, mixed with sauce and saliva, and Kiyoomi gags. 

“I think I need a drink,” he hears Aran mutter, and despite being technically underage Kiyoomi has to agree. Aran seems to catch on, and orders Kiyoomi a drink as well.

“How come ya never do that fer me?” Atsumu complains. 

“Ya don’ need it like we do,” Aran replies. Kiyoomi smirks at Atsumu’s distraught expression and offers him a sip of beer. They end up sharing it, mostly because Kiyoomi’s still a lightweight and isn’t quite in the mood to get drunk. 

They file out of the izakaya an hour later, sleepy and full. Aran has a hotel room booked, while Suna and Motoya are staying with Osamu. Kiyoomi already agreed to spend the night at Atsumu’s, so the group parts ways with the promise to see each other the following day.

Atsumu lives in a sharehouse with several other teammates, including Bokuto, Inunaki, and Meian. “Yer only required ta live here for yer first two years,” Atsumu explains, “so Barnes n’ Adriah have their own places now. Meian stays here part time, since he’s the captain, but he lives with his wife durin’ the off season.”

Kiyoomi nods, examining the simple space. There’s a shared kitchen and living room, and each bedroom has a private bathroom attached. Overall it’s not a bad space, and Kiyoomi thinks he wouldn’t really mind living here. 

“This is me,” Atsumu announces when they get to his door. His room is clean, the bed freshly made, and the air smells of Kiyoomi’s favorite lemon-scented disinfectant. 

“Uhh,” Atsumu says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hope yer okay with sharin’ a bed, Inunaki stole the spare futon last week and hasn’t given it back jus’ yet. The bed’s pretty big though, so--”

“Tsumu. I don’t mind,” says Kiyoomi firmly.

“All righty, then,” Atsumu says awkwardly. “Do ya need a toothbrush or anythin’?”

Kiyoomi hefts the duffel that sits on his shoulder. “I’ve got one,” he says. 

They get ready for bed in comfortable silence. It’s not until they’re in bed that Kiyoomi says, “You played really well today.”

Atsumu gasps. “Omi-kun! Was that a compliment?”

“I was referring to the whole team,” Kiyoomi lies.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? We’re a powerhouse,” Atsumu boasts, shifting his legs around beneath the blankets. One of them ends up pressed against Kiyoomi’s, and he finds he doesn’t mind. 

“So are the Adlers, though,” Kiyoomi points out, just to make Atsumu squirm. It works; Kiyoomi stifles a smile as Atsumu’s face goes red. “Sure,” he says, “if ya wanna hang out with a buncha stick-in-the-mud volleyball robots, be my guest! The Jackals, now, we’ve got heart .” Atsumu thumps his chest to emphasize his point, and this time Kiyoomi can’t hold back a chuckle. Atsumu’s head snaps up and his eyes narrow. “Yer messin’ with me, aren’tcha?” He guesses, correctly. “Yer not gonna join the Adlers.”

“Are you sure about that?” Says Kiyoomi, struggling to keep a straight face.

“No,” Atsumu admits, “but I’m pretty sure I’m yer favorite setter. ‘Sides, didn’ that Kageyama kid refer ta ya as ‘normal’ once?”

Kiyoomi scowls at the memory. “Yeah,” he grumbles. “All I wanted to know was how he’d managed to beat Wakatoshi-kun, and he had the audacity to call me normal? Me, normal?”

Atsumu snickers. “Yeah, Omi, we get it, yer a freak.”

“I am,” Kiyoomi agrees solemnly. “I’m glad someone understands.”

Atsumu gives him a sleepy smile. “‘Course, Omi. Yer my favorite hitter, ya know? Nothin’ beats those nasty wrists. Don’ ya ever tell Bokkun I said that, though,” he warns. 

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure Bokuto’s favorite setter will always be Akaashi,” Kiyoomi says. 

“Yer probably right,” Atsumu grumbles. “Bokuto jus’ likes him ‘cause his sets are as pretty as his face.”

“He does have a pretty face,” Kiyoomi agrees. Sure, he’s still hung up on Atsumu, but he’s not blind.

“He’s not as pretty as me, though, right?” Atsumu probes. 

“You’re fishing for compliments again,” Kiyoomi tells him flatly. 

“‘Course I am! Who do ya think I am, ‘Samu? I swear,” Atsumu grumbles, “that guy gets more compliments than I do, an’ we have the same face an’ everythin’!”

“You wear it differently, though,” Kiyoomi says automatically.

Atsumu’s looks interested. “Oh?”

“You...have very different energy,” Kiyoomi tries to explain, “and...ugh. I don’t know how to--”

“Ya can jus’ call me hot, Omi, I won’t mind,” says Atsumu, head perched in his hand. 

“I think your ego’s had enough for one night,” Kiyoomi deflects. “And anyway, we should probably get to sleep. Aren’t we meeting Aran at ten tomorrow?” They’d made plans to head over to Osamu’s place together to have breakfast with everyone.

Atsumu curses. “Right. Kinda forgot ‘bout that,” he admits. “Lights out time?”

Kiyoomi nods, and Atsumu rolls over to shut off the bedside lamp. 

“Night, Omi-kun,” he hears. 

“Goodnight, Atsumu.”

…

The next morning, Atsumu and Kiyoomi meet Aran at his hotel before heading to Osamu’s apartment. The other three are already up when they arrive, with the exception of Motoya, who claims to be awake but is sprawled limply across the sofa, snoring occasionally. He only perks up when he smells Osamu’s pancakes on the griddle, and gets up for long enough to take a couple.

Kiyoomi takes a seat beside Suna, Atsumu flopping into the chair on his other side. “You’re all late,” Suna points out. 

“By, like, five minutes!” Atsumu fires back. “‘Sides, Toya’s still asleep!”

“‘M not sleepin’,” Motoya slurs from the couch. His face is cushioned by his pancakes, and his eyes are rolled back in his head. Atsumu looks pointedly at Motoya and then back at Suna as if to say, ‘see?’

Aran says, “I mean, he did play four sets yesterday, it’s no wonder he’s tired--”

“So did I!” Atsumu interjects. 

“Stop making everything about yourself,” says Suna, sounding bored. 

“Are y’all fightin’ in there? Ya better not be by the time these eggs are done,” Osamu threatens from the kitchen. 

“Yes, mom,” Suna replies. Osamu flips him off.

Kiyoomi snorts and turns to Aran. “How long are you in town for?” He says.

“Until Saturday evening,” says Aran. “Then I gotta get back ta the girls.” Aran’s been raising ducks on the roof of his apartment. Kiyoomi thinks his neighbors should probably hate him, except they don’t because Aran is a perfect gentleman and everyone loves him so of course he gets away with the occasional quirky habit. “The nice old lady that lives next door to me is taking care of ‘em now,” Aran explains, “but she’s going ta visit her son in Sendai on Saturday, so I need ta be back by then.”

Kiyoomi nods. “I’m here through Sunday,” he says. “I’m heading out Sunday morning so that I have time to get my work done before class.”

“Do ya have classes every day?” Aran asks him curiously. 

“I do, but most of them aren’t longer than a couple of hours,” he explains. “Practice takes up most of my time, anyway.”

Aran grins. “That’s what I like ta hear! So yer still definitely goin’ pro after this then?”

“Yeah,” says Kiyoomi, “I am.” Then, just to mess with Atsumu he says, “I was contacted by the Adlers’ coach a while back, actually. They gave me a pretty good offer, but I turned them down since I had already decided to attend college first.”

Atsumu whips around and scowls at Kiyoomi. “Yer lyin’!” He says.

“I’m not,” says Kiyoomi, mouth twitching. He isn’t; they really had contacted him. That doesn’t mean he has any intention of joining them, though.

“So yer considering them, then?” Aran says, sounding confused.

“No,” Kiyoomi says at the same time as Atsumu grumbles, “Ya better not be.”

Aran’s eyes flick between them and he laughs. “Ah. Well, whatever team ya join, I can’t wait ta kick yer ass,” says Aran, eyes twinkling. 

“We’re gonna beat ya,” Atsumu says. “Right, Omi?”

“Sure,” says Kiyoomi mildly. 

Atsumu scowls. “Why dont’cha sound more excited ‘bout it?”

“What do you want me to say? ‘No, Aran, we’re gonna kick yer ass’?”

“That was the worst Kansai imitation I’ve ever heard,” Atsumu declares.

“Good thing I wasn’t trying.”

“Now, now, children,” Osamu coos, coming over to the table with a plate of eggs. “Play nice!”

“ Ya play nice, ya piece of shi--”

“Thank you for the food, Osamu,” Kiyooi says respectfully.

“Anytime, Kiyoomi,” says Osamu warmly.

“Hey, how come yer nice ta him and not yer own brother?” Atsumu cries.

“He’s less of a jerk than you are. Obviously,” says Suna, sounding bored. He piles eggs onto a plate for himself and then brings a second one over to Motoya, who’s currently still passed out in his pancakes. 

After they’ve eaten their fill, Atsumu goes to the kitchen to help Osamu with the dishes, which is in retrospect a terrible idea, but then again neither of them end up killing the other so Kiyoomi considers it a success. 

Now Aran is in the living room, trying to rouse Motoya, while Suna and Kiyoomi remain at the table chatting about EJP’s starting lineup this season. 

“I never really paid that much attention to Washio in high school, to be honest,” Kiyoomi admits. “He took me by surprise. Then again, I definitely got stuffed by him a couple of times in the qualifiers, so it’s not like that one was a total shock.”

“Yeah,” Suna agrees, “he doesn’t stand out too much, but he’s one of our most consistent players. Very reliable.”

Kiyoomi agrees, understanding the importance of reliability in the sport. Then Suna says, “So I’m guessing you won’t be joining us after college?”

“Probably not,” Kiyoomi admits. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for Toya and I to play for the same team. Besides, I want to see if I can get a spike past him every now and then, you know?”

Suna nods like he gets it. Then he glances at the twins. “You know,” he says, conversationally, “Atsumu hasn’t really clicked with a hitter since ‘Samu quit.”

“So I’ve heard,” Kiyoomi says.

Suna looks back at him sharply. “I know you’re joining the Jackals,” he says. “So you’d better give us a challenge, because I don’t want an easy win.”

“You’re on,” says Kiyoomi, staring down the fierce determination in Suna’s eyes. 

Suna’s words stick with him throughout the weekend, all the way up until he leaves on Sunday. Atsumu accompanies him to the station, fretting over him and his luggage as if he’s a small child. 

“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi says irritably for probably the tenth time that hour. “And yes, my ticket is in my pocket,” he says, seeing Atsumu open his mouth again.

“I know,” Atsumu snaps. “I wasn’ gonna say anythin’ bout yer ticket.”

Kiyoomi raises a brow. “Really!” Atsumu insists. “I was jus’ gonna say that I’ll miss ya. That’s all,” he says softly. 

“I’ll miss you, too,” says Kiyoomi. “I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

“Okay,” says Atsumu. He goes in for a hug, and Kiyoomi wraps his arms around Atsumu’s neck, squeezing tightly. His train will be here any minute now, and in the back of his mind he knows that, but still he can’t seem to let go.

…

Kiyoomi goes to line up with his teammates. He’s not nervous at all; his first collegiate game is nothing compared to the V. Leagues. 

Still, he wishes his friends could have made it.

Aran has a game this weekend against the DESEO Hornets--Kiyoomi’s actually a bit sad that he can’t watch that one in real time--while Suna and Motoya are in Miyagi playing the Sendai Frogs. Osamu works weekends at a local sushi joint, and Atsumu claimed to be busy as well.

Kiyoomi rolls his wrists absently as he stands beside his teammates, glancing briefly at the stands. They’re packed, which makes sense, seeing as Waseda is one of the schools favored to do well in the tournament this year. Kiyoomi scans the audience, and his eyes catch on a figure with a shock of blond hair. Kiyoomi squints for a moment, doubting his own eyes, but that freshly-toned shade of blond is unmistakable. 

Kiyoomi smiles slowly. He’s too far away to see Atsumu’s face, but Kiyoomi would know him anywhere.

Chapter Text

Three years after Atsumu signs with the Jackals, Kiyoomi spends the holidays with the Miyas. 

Atsumu brings it up when he’s back in Amagasaki for Thanksgiving break. He calls Kiyoomi just after nine PM; Osamu is hanging out with Suna and Aran, and Atsumu had been too, but he’d already made plans to call Kiyoomi later that evening, so he’d dipped around 8. Now he’s lying on his bunk, staring at a small stain on the ceiling as he talks to Kiyoomi.

“How’s yer day been, Omi?” Says Atsumu when he’s finally done recounting the story of Osamu getting peed on by a frog in the woods behind their house. 

“It was fine,” Kiyoomi replies. “I just spent the day resting in my dorm. I didn’t end up getting any homework done, so that was a nice break.”

There’s a pause as Atsumu processes this, and then he says, “Wait a minute. Ya said yer still on campus? Like, ya didn’ go home?”

“Well, yeah,” Kiyoomi says. “My parents aren’t really around, so there was no point in going home, anyway.”

“Is that...normal? Like, what ya usually do?”

“Uhh...yeah? ” Says Kiyoomi weakly. 

“God damn it, Kiyoomi!” Atsumu yells. “How couldja not tell me this?”

“I...didn’t really think it was important,” Kiyoomi admits. “ Does it matter?”

“Course it does!” Atsumu yelps. “Ya don’ have plans fer the holidays then, I’m guessin’ ?”

“No, ” says Kiyoomi, “I don’t.”

“Then it’s settled! Yer stayin’ with us, ” Atsumu announces. “Ya can meet me in Osaka when yer done with class, and we can take the train together with ‘Samu!”

“Okay, ” Kiyoomi says after a pause. “ That sounds good.”

“Great!” Says Atsumu. satisfied. “I’ll let Ma know tomorrow.”

“ Are you sure she’ll be okay with me staying with you all?” Says Kiyoomi, voice hesitant.

“Kiyoomi, I swear ta god, if I were there right now I’d slap ya so hard yer head’d fly right off yer body,” Atsumu says seriously.

“ Okay, okay, I get the idea,” says Kiyoomi. Atsumu can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Let me know what time ya’ll be arrivin’ when ya figure that out,” says Atsumu. “That way we’ll know what time ta meet ya at the station. Also, does Motoya have a place ta stay?”

“ He’ll be with his family,” Kiyoomi explains. “ I’d join them, too, but they’re kind of overwhelmingly loud.”

“Wow, even compared ta my family? They must really be somethin’,” Atsumu marvels. “Anyway, tell Toya he’s welcome to join us for New Years, either way. ‘S more fun ta celebrate that one with friends, anyway.”

“ I’ll let him know.”

Late December rolls around, and Atsumu finds himself getting excited for the holidays. There’s the usual sort of excitement, the one that comes with holidays and the promise of snow. And then there’s excitement , excitement to see Suna and Aran (and Osamu) and, of course, Kiyoomi.

He and Osamu go to meet Kiyoomi at Osaka Station at three PM. They arrive a few minutes late, because despite Atsumu and Osamu’s knowledge of the area, they still manage to get lost sometimes, which inevitably leads to bickering that only serves to delay them further.

Kiyoomi’s waiting on the platform when they arrive, still a good fifteen minutes before their train is due to board. Atsumu bounds right up to Kiyoomi and sweeps him into a hug; he hasn’t seen him since their last game against the Adlers, when he’d stayed with Kiyoomi at his apartment in Tokyo.

Kiyoomi hugs him back, and even gives Osamu a small hug as well. “How’s the trip from Tokyo?” Osamu asks Kiyoomi. 

“It was fine,” Kiyoomi responds. “Long, I guess.”

“Bet yer ‘bout ready ta be done with trains, huh?” Says Atsumu, nodding sagely. Kiyoomi rolls his eyes at Atsumu. “Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbles. 

Their train pulls up a few minutes later, and a few minutes after that they’re allowed to board. They manage to find three forward-facing seats near the front--though Atsumu doesn’t get nearly as sick in trains as he does in cars, he’s still prone to getting nauseous if he isn’t facing the front of the train.

Atsumu is sandwiched between Osamu and Kiyoomi, which is probably a bad idea, seeing as Osamu won’t stop fucking elbowing him in the side, and by the time the train leaves the station Atsumu’s practically in Kiyoomi’s lap.

“Ever heard of personal space, Miya?” Kiyoomi says irritably as Atsumu is shoved further into his side.

“It’s ‘Samu’s fault! He’s…” Atsumu trails off as he glances at Osamu, who’s all the way on the other side of his seat, headphones in and leaned up against the window, ignoring them both. “Bastard,” mutters Atsumu, and Kiyoomi shoots him a questioning glance. 

“‘Samu kept pushin’ me over,” Atsumu explains. “S’not my fault, I swear.”

Kiyoomi looks amused. “If you wanted to sit on my lap you could’ve just asked.”

Atsumu sputters. “I didn’--what?”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Nevermind,” he says, leaning back against the seat and pulling his eye mask over his face. Atsumu can never sleep on trains, but Kiyoomi does every time without fail. And by the time they arrive at their destination, he’s asleep on Atsumu’s shoulder. Just like clockwork. 

Aran is waiting for them at the train station. He grins when he spots them and waves enthusiastically. “How’s the baby?” He says when they get close, referring to Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi grumbles something unintelligible into Atsumu’s shoulder. Atsumu’s practically holding him up, and it’s not easy. How can a college student that survives on eggs and instant ramen be so heavy? Atsumu wonders as he drags Kiyoomi to the Subaru. He shoves him unceremoniously into the backseat and slides in beside him, while Osamu takes the front seat. 

They pull into the Miya family’s driveway fifteen minutes later. Kiyoomi’s asleep--again--and Atsumu’s eyeing the line of drool connecting his mouth to Atsumu’s jacket. I really should start documenting this, he thinks. He pokes Kiyoomi’s cheek to wake him before sliding out of the car and grabbing both of their bags. 

Once they’re inside, Atsumu goes to help Kiyoomi set up the spare futon while Aran and Osamu remain downstairs, chatting with the twins’ parents. Atsumu pulls the futon from their closet and puts fresh sheets on it as Kiyoomi methodically unpacks their bags. They work in silence, both too exhausted from traveling to make conversation. 

Once the room’s set up, they join the others downstairs for an early dinner. Aran leaves shortly after, promising to meet up with them and Suna the following afternoon, and the twins’ parents and Osamu retire around eight thirty. 

Atsumu’s tired, but antsy from having spent so much of his day sitting down, and Kiyoomi seems to feel the same. Atsumu turns to Kiyoomi, who’s zoned out on the sofa, and says, “Wanna go pass the ball ‘round?”

Kiyoomi snaps to attention and nods. Atsumu leads him outside, swinging by the garage to grab the volleyball. They don’t bother warming up, since they’ll just be doing some basic passing drills, but Atsumu notices Kiyoomi subconsciously stretching out his wrists as he gets into position. 

Atsumu feels better the instant the ball’s in the air. The feel of it against his fingertips is calming, meditative in a way. Kiyoomi seems to feel the same; his eyes follow the ball as if he’s hypnotized by the steady rise and fall. 

“Are ya glad ya came?” Atsumu says quietly, just to have something to say.

Kiyoomi nods. “Of course. It’s not like there’s anything for me in Tokyo, anyway.”

Atsumu sighs. “I know. I’m sorry ta remind ya--”

“Don’t be,” Kiyoomi interrupts. “It’s not your fault my parents don’t want to be around.”

“It’s not yers, either,” Atsumu points out. 

“I know.”

They pass the ball silently until their arms are weak from exertion. They turn in around ten thirty, finding the lights off and Osamu already passed out on the bottom bunk. Atsumu climbs onto his bunk, muttering a soft ‘goodnight’ to Kiyoomi, and he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow. 

The next day, Atsumu, Osamu and Kiyoomi meet up with Suna and Aran, and, to Atsumu’s delight, Kita comes as well. They meet for coffee at a shop downtown and find a table on the patio in the back. Once they’re seated with their coffee orders, Atsumu falls into conversation with Kita while Aran catches up with the other three.

Atsumu says, “So, Kita-san, how’s the farm life treatin’ ya?”

“It’s good,” Kita replies after taking a sip of his tea. Atsumu is unsurprised to find that he still prefers green tea over coffee. “It’s peaceful, ya know?”

“I can only imagine,” says Atsumu.

“Yes, well, I’m sure your lives are all far more exciting than mine at the moment,” Kita says pointedly. 

Atsumu grimaces. “I didn’ mean it like that--”

Kita laughs. “I’m well aware, Atsumu. How’s life with MSBY?”

“Fast,” Atsumu admits. “An’ very chaotic.”

“It must be, if yer still livin’ with Bokuto Koutarou,” Kita comments. 

“Oh yeah, Bokuto’s a lotta fun,” says Atsumu. “Great ta have at parties.”

“Speakin’ of,” Kita says, “Akagi’s throwin’ a New Year’s party. It’s sort of an Inarizaki reunion, I believe. Though Kiyoomi is welcome as well, of course,” Kita says warmly. Kiyoomi glances over briefly as if he’d heard his name before turning back to Suna. 

Atsumu smiles. “Thanks, Kita-san.”

“Of course.”

They continue chatting until Kita says he needs to get back to work--even though he’s employed by his family, he still tries to keep his breaks short when possible.

“See ya,” says Atsumu, and Kita gives him a small smile in return. “See ya next week, Atsumu.”

“What’s next week?” Osamu says curiously. 

“Ah,” says Atsumu, “Kita invited us to Akagi’s New Year’s party.”

“Oh, yeah, he mentioned that ta me, too,” Aran says. “We’re all going, right?”

“Duh,” says Suna. “I’m assuming he invited Kiyoomi, too?”

“‘Course!” Says Atsumu. “This is Kita we’re talkin’ bout here.”

“Can Toya come, too?” Kiyoomi says. “He said he might be able to make it down on the 27th.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Atsumu says. “Akagi’s one of those ‘more-the-merrier’ kinda guys, if ya know what I mean.”

“Cool,” says Kiyoomi. “I’ll let Toya know. He’ll probably be bringing a lot of alcohol,” he warns. 

Atsumu smiles. “Good.”

…

Christmas is a casual affair this year. The Miya family celebrates by making copious amounts of food, and Atsumu’s in the kitchen for most of the day, fighting Osamu for space as he tries to finish his cookie recipe while Osamu hand-rolls onigiri.

“They were like this in the womb, too,” Atsumu overhears their mother whisper to Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi snorts and replies, “That must have been painful.”

“Still is,” their mother agrees.

The leftovers from Christmas end up lasting them well into the next week. Motoya arrives on the 27th, and there’s a dusting of snow on the ground when they go to pick him up from the station. Atsumu and Osamu’s mother ends up driving them, because Atsumu still doesn’t have a license and Osamu is ‘not fit ta drive when the roads could be icy, and ya know it’.

Motoya seems overjoyed to see them all. “You guys, I brought so much alcohol, you don’t even want to know--” He freezes as he notices the Miya’s mother standing there with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “Oh, hey there, Mamma Miya,” he says. He’s always called her that, and she’s never seemed to mind. 

“Hey there, Toya,” their mother parrots dryly. “You do realize you’re all legal, right?”

Motoya looks embarrassed. “Well, yeah, but--”

“Y’all think I don’ know what ya get up ta in yer free time?”

“Maa,” Atsumu whines. “Yer embarrassin’ us!”

“The only one who’s embarrassed by that is you,” Kiyoomi points out.

“No one asked ya, Omi-kun.”

Motoya settles in easily, merging into the family as if he’d always been there. In a way, he had; he’d visited Kiyoomi whenever he could throughout their time in middle school, so having him there again felt natural. 

New Year’s Eve rolls around quickly. Aran and Suna meet Atsumu, Osamu, Motoya and Kiyoomi at their place and eat dinner together before heading to the party. Though Atsumu’s only been to Akagi’s house once, it’s pretty easy to identify, if the colored lights spilling from the windows and pounding, pulsing bass is any indication. Kiyoomi takes a step closer to Atsumu and grips his arm. He’s wearing his mask, but still Atsumu knows he must be anxious to be around so many other people. 

Kita had told Atsumu over text that there would likely be anywhere between twenty and thirty people present at the party, if not more. This included all of Inarizaki’s former volleyball team, along with Akagi’s friends from college, Motoya, Kiyoomi, and various other friends of Akagi.

The six of them make their way into the house, Kiyoomi wincing slightly at the volume of the music that spills from the open door. Several people that Atsumu doesn’t know stand in the yard, sipping beers and smoking cigarettes. Atsumu wrinkles his nose at the rancid smell and tries to avoid breathing in the smoke as they walk past.

The colored lights are even more vibrant up close. As they step inside the house, their faces are bathed in purples, reds, blues and greens, and their clothing changes color accordingly. Atsumu loses Suna, Osamu, Motoya and Aran the instant they get further into the house. It’s relatively crowded, and parts of the house are pretty dim, so Atsumu’s grateful to have Kiyoomi attached to him, keeping him anchored. 

They find a wide variety of drinks spread out across the counter in the kitchen. Atsumu mixes lemonade and cheap vodka for him and Kiyoomi, knowing that Kiyoomi prefers sour drinks to mask the flavor of the alcohol. 

“How is it?” Atsumu asks as Kiyoomi takes a sip.

“Fine,” Kiyoomi replies. “Where’d Motoya put our alcohol?”

“I think he still has the bag on him,” Atsumu says. “Do ya wanna find him?”

Kiyoomi nods. “I’ll be right back.” He disappears into the crowd, and Atsumu turns back to the counter, taking another swig of his own drink.

“Miya Atsumu?” He hears, and turns to find himself face to face with Akagi and Ren. “It is ya!” Akagi exclaims excitedly. “I thought I saw Osamu earlier but it’s kinda dark in here, and I’m ya know,” he waves a hand at himself, “drunk.”

Atsumu grins. “Never thought I’d see the day!”

“Yeah, well,” says Akagi, “college does wonders to yer alcohol tolerance.”

“So I’ve heard. Yer in yer fourth year now, yeah?”

“Yeah! Studyin’ physical education,” Akagi says proudly. “M’ thinkin I might end up teachin’ high school kids. Might get some of ‘em into volleyball, ya know?”

“A noble profession,” Atsumu says, nodding seriously. He turns to Ren. “How about ya?”

“I’m trainin’ ta become a customs officer,” says Ren in that deep voice of his. “Ya know, airport security type.”

“Woah!” Says Atsumu. “Ya definitely have the face fer it.”

“I’ve been told,” says Ren gravely.

“We caught yer last game against the Green Rockets!” Says Akagi. “Ya crushed em’!”

“Yeah,” says Atsumu, remembering the game, which they’d won in straight sets. “I guess we did.”

“Yer current line up is very powerful,” says Ren.

“Yeah, we’ve got some great players,” Atsumu agrees.

“I heard ya’ve got a couple of hitters who are retirin’ soon, though,” Akagi chimes in. “Is your coach lookin’ fer new ones yet?”

“I think he’s lookin’ into it,” Atsumu says vaguely. He doesn’t want to say anything about Kiyoomi wanting to join just yet.

“Well, keep us posted on that!” Akagi chirps. He claps a hand on Atsumu’s shoulder. “We’re gonna go make the rounds, but ya should totally say hi ta Gin if ya see him!”

“I will,” promises Atsumu. 

He finds Gin with Osamu and Suna. Aran, Motoya and Kiyoomi are nowhere to be seen, and Atsumu hasn’t caught sight of Kita yet, either.

“Hey,” he says, approaching the three of them. Gin smiles at him and goes in for a hug, which Atsumu returns enthusiastically. “How’ve ya been, Ginjima?” He says.

“Not too bad,” replies Gin. “Been trainin’ ta be a gym instructor, actually!”

“Oh, like Akagi!” Atsumu says. Gin’s face goes dark, and Atsumu wonders if he’s said the wrong thing. “That bastard,” Gin growls. “In our second year I told him I thought it’d be a cool job, n’ I was thinkin’ of pursuin’ it, and then he went and did the same thing! Can ya believe it?”

Atsumu nods, eyes wide, while Suna and Osamu visibly repress their laughter. “Uh,” he says, “so yer sayin’ he...stole yer job?”

“Well, not my job, exactly,” Gin corrects himself. “Jus’ my idea of a job.”

Atsumu genuinely doesn’t know what to say to this, so he says, “I...uh, I gotta--use the restroom,” he says, realizing as he does that it’s not entirely a lie. “So I’ll be back in a few!” He ignores Suna and Osamu, both of whom are smirking at his lame excuse, and claps Gin on the shoulder. 

“It’s upstairs, first door on the left,” Gin tells him. Atsumu nods before making his way through the crowd until he reaches the stairs. When he gets to the bathroom, he hears voices coming from inside. 

Atsumu frowns, hoping he’s not about to interrupt a hookup. He lifts his hand to knock, but before he can, it swings open to reveal Kita, wearing a mask, an apron, and a large pair of kitchen gloves. He’s holding a sponge in one hand and a plunger in the other, and behind him stands Kiyoomi. 

“What the hell,” Atsumu says out loud. And then, “Uh, good ta see ya, Kita, but...what the hell?”

“We’re cleaning the bathroom,” Kiyoomi explains. He’s decked out in cleaning gear as well, holding a bottle of windex and a towel that he appears to be using on the mirror. “It was disgusting,” Kiyoomi continues, “but someone had to do it.”

“What he said,” says Kita. He opens the door wider in invitation and Atsumu steps into the bathroom, looking around in amazement. 

The bathroom is sparkling. The shower stall shines, the toilet glimmers, and Atsumu swears he can see his reflection on the floor. “What the--”

“If you say ‘what the hell’ one more time I swear to god I’ll kick you right out,” Kiyoomi threatens. 

“Sorry. Jus’ didn’ expect this, and can ya blame me fer bein’ a bit surprised? I mean, forgive me fer sayin’ this, but this is not yer typical house party behaviour,” Atsumu points out. 

“We’re aware,” says Kita dryly. “But thank ya for yer commentary. It’s much appreciated.”

Yikes. Atsumu can’t even tell if that was intended to be shade or if he just took it that way because Kita’s so damn intimidating.

Kiyoomi finishes wiping down the mirror as Atsumu watches, fascinated by his methodicalness. Kiyoomi then turns to Kita and says, “I think we’re done, unless you want to get the toilet tank.”

“People clean those?” Says Atsumu incredulously.

Kiyoomi looks at him. “Sometimes I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“I think it’s good,” says Kita, ignoring Atsumu’s comment entirely. “Akagi deserves to take care of that part, I think.”

“Fair enough,” says Kiyoomi. He pulls off his cleaning gear with the exception of the mask and stows it all in the cabinet beneath the sink. Kita follows suit, and then the two of them file out of the bathroom. Kiyoomi pauses and turns back to Atsumu. “Coming?”

“I’m gonna pee,” says Atsumu. “Then I’ll join ya, I swear.”

“Better hurry,” Kiyoomi says. “It’s 11:53.”

“What?” Exclaims Atsumu. “How?”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “Alcohol. Anyway, Kita and I will be downstairs with the others, so come find us when you’re done, all right?”

“Sure,” says Atsumu. He shuts the door and does his business, marveling at the way the sink gleams in the light as he washes his hands. As he exits the bathroom, he holds the door open for one of Akagi’s college friends who must have been waiting his turn. Before the door shuts behind him Atsumu hears, “What the hell? Why can’t he clean our dorm bathroom like this?”

Atsumu finds his friends at 11:57. They’re gathered in the living room, most of them squeezed onto a tiny sofa, while Motoya and Aran take the arms. Kiyoomi’s squished into the middle, and Atsumu grins at the look of discomfort on his face before sitting directly on top of him, accidentally elbowing Osamu’s shoulder in the process. 

“Watch it, scrub!” He snaps at Atsumu. 

“I wouldn’t have ta, if ya’d ever heard of personal space,” retorts Atsumu. 

“Like yer one ta talk!”

Atsumu rolls his eyes and turns to Kiyoomi, suddenly concerned. “I’m not crushin’ ya, am I?”

“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi replies, voice slightly muffled by the mask. “Your ass is kind of bony, though.”

“Hey!” Atsumu cries. “I’ll have ya know, people would pay ta have this ass on them, and ya get it fer free!”

Kiyoomi snorts. “What a gift,” he deadpans.

Suddenly, Motoya screams “Thirty!” In Atsumu’s ear, and Atsumu is incredibly confused until he remembers the countdown. Why the hell did he start at thirty though? Atsumu wonders. At this rate it’ll take forever.

When Motoya gets to ten, the rest of them join in. 

Ten!

Atsumu glances over at Kita and Aran, who are seated at the edge of the sofa, laughing at Motoya. 

Nine!

Suna has his legs thrown over Osamu’s lap and his head is resting in Kita’s, and he’s only mouthing the numbers, rather than saying them.

Eight!

Akagi and Gin are jumping up and down, screaming, while Ren stands passively beside them, holding their drinks so they don’t get spilled. 

Seven!

Motoya is singing the numbers now rather than yelling them, his voice surprisingly melodic for someone who talks so carelessly.

Six!

Osamu’s elbow is digging into Atsumu’s side but Atsumu doesn’t say anything because he’s feeling nice.

Five!

Kiyoomi’s lap is really comfortable.

Four!

Atsumu could probably fall asleep here, if everyone around them weren’t screaming.

Three!

Atsumu takes Kiyoomi’s hand and squeezes it lightly. Kiyoomi squeezes back.

Two!

Atsumu lifts Kiyoomi’s hand to his mouth and kisses it lightly.

One!

Kiyoomi stares at Atsumu, unblinking. Atsumu stares back.

“Happy New Year!” 

…

In November of the following year, Coach Foster announces that they’ll be signing two new players. 

“They’ll be coming in for tryouts later today,” Foster tells them. “It’s more symbolic than anything, I’m not concerned about their skill level whatsoever. They are both very talented players, renowned in their own rights.”

“What are their names?” Says Bokuto curiously. 

“I’m not supposed to reveal them just yet, but you’ll see soon enough,” Foster replies. 

Five o’clock rolls around, signaling the end of practice. Atsumu gathers with his teammates for some post-practice stretching, sipping intermittently from his water bottle as his eyes wander to the door. Any minute now, they’ll be finding out who their new teammates are going to be. Atsumu has already volunteered to stay after to set for them, seeing as they’re both hitters, and trying out is procedure even if it’s technically just for show. He’d like to get to know his new teammates early on, anyway.

The first one to show is a familiar face. Atsumu grins when he spots the shock of orange hair and wide smile of Hinata Shouyou, who had formerly been playing beach volleyball in Brazil since he graduated high school. 

“Atsumu-san!” Shouyou yells. 

“Shou-kun!” Atsumu exclaims. “Does this mean yer gonna be joinin’ us, then?”

“If everything goes as planned, then yes!” Says Shouyou excitedly. “I can’t wait to hit your sets, they always looked so nice and easy!”

“That’s the goal, Shou-kun,” says Atsumu smugly. Then he glances up at the door and his next words die on his tongue. Shouyou notices the change in his expression and frowns, concerned. “Atsumu-san? What is it?”

Sakusa Kiyoomi stands in the doorway.

Chapter Text

“Omi-kun!”

Atsumu sets the ball to Kiyoomi, who spikes it into the ground just shy of Inunaki’s outstretched fingers. It’s a beautiful spike, and the sound of the ball against the floor echoes throughout the gym, very nearly bringing tears to Atsumu’s eyes. 

They’re playing three on threes today--Atsumu, Kiyoomi and Barnes versus Hinata, Bokuto and Inunaki. Hinata learned how to set in Brazil, so he’s acting as their team’s setter. Meian and Adriah are watching for the time being, critiquing their form in between plays, while Coach Foster is in a meeting with several other coaches in the V. League, helping organize the bracket for the season. 

Kiyoomi merged into life with the MSBY Black Jackals easily. Life with them feels familiar, and having Atsumu by his side makes it all the better. He’s living in the sharehouse for now, though he and Atsumu have discussed finding an apartment together once Kiyoomi’s two years are up. 

Living with Bokuto, Hinata and Atsumu together is...interesting. At first, Kiyoomi was a bit worried about integrating into such a chaotic group. Inunaki is quite fiery as well, and seeing as Meian only stays in the sharehouse part time, much of the time Kiyoomi acts as the functioning responsible adult of the group. 

He doesn’t mind, really; Atsumu is surprisingly helpful when it comes to managing ‘the idiots’, as they refer to the other three. He also helps Kiyoomi keep the kitchen and living room clean and functional--Bokuto and Inunaki are prone to skimping on cleaning, and although Hinata is always offering to help, he can’t quite reach the areas that need to be cleaned more often than not. 

In early December, about a week before Kiyoomi and Atsumu plan to return to Amagasaki for the holidays, the Jackals take part in a gift exchange. 

Kiyoomi ends up drawing Hinata’s name, which is both lucky and unlucky. It’s lucky because Kiyoomi’s fairly certain that Hinata would be happy with pretty much anything Kiyoomi gets him, and unlucky because Kiyoomi still hardly knows him well enough to decide on anything for a gift. 

He goes gift shopping with Atsumu, who drew Adriah’s name, and is also relatively stumped regarding what to get him. 

“Adriah has a wife, right? Why don’t you get him some kind of cooking gadget? You know, something they’ll both appreciate?” Suggests Kiyoomi. 

“Maybe,” says Atsumu dubiously. “What if I get her somethin’ she’s already got, though?”

“You can never have too many blenders,” says Kiyoomi seriously.

Atsumu groans. “Uuuuhgh. Why couldn’t I just have gotten Bokkun instead? All I’d have ta do is buy him a round trip ticket ta Tokyo ta visit Akaashi an’ I’d be set!”

“You think you’ve got it bad? What am I supposed to get for Hinata?” Kiyoomi shoots back.

“Easy! Get him volleyball merch or somethin’! Maybe a picture of Kageyama with a mustache drawn on it or somethin’.”

“I think you’re projecting.”

Atsumu ends up deciding on getting Adriah a variety of cooking necessities, including a ‘Kiss The Cook’ apron, several potato peelers (“They were on sale, okay?”) and an oven mitt designed to look as if it’s spiking a volleyball, as well as a coupon for free onigiri from Onigiri Miya. Kiyoomi, meanwhile, decides on an in-depth book on the history of volleyball for Hinata, along with a volleyball plushy with arms (“So that it’s extra huggable!” Atsumu had insisted). They return to the sharehouse to wrap their gifts together, Kiyoomi meticulous as always, and Atsumu on the sloppy side despite him trying his best to do a neat job.

“Omiiii,” he whines, “why don’tcha help a guy out? Yers looks so nice!”

“It’s not as genuine that way,” Kiyoomi replies automatically. Really, he’s just not in the mood to wrap another gift. 

The gift exchange happens later that week. They decide to do it in the sharehouse living room, since it’s large enough to fit them all while still maintaining a cozy vibe. There’s a fake, gaudily decorated Christmas tree in the corner of the room, the gifts residing beneath it. Inunaki and Meian pass out the presents to the rest of the team. Kiyoomi’s is from Barnes, and he opens his first. 

He unwraps the paper gently, so gently that Atsumu starts whining for him to “hurry up and rip it apart already”.

“I think it’s cute!” Bokuto says. “Do you keep the wrapping paper?”

“If I like it enough,” Kiyoomi says, eyeing the wrapped box in his hands, the paper emblazoned with honey bees. He carefully tears the last of the paper from the box and opens the lid, examining the contents before pulling it out. 

“It’s a mask,” he says, surprised. The mask is made of simple black cotton, double-layered with a pocket for a filter in the center. The MSBY logo is embroidered in the bottom right corner.

Barnes scratches the back of his head. “I couldn’t really decide what to get you, since I don’t know you that well yet,” he admits. “Do you like it?”

“It’s great,” says Kiyoomi honestly, and Barnes’s face breaks into a grin. Kiyoomi tries the mask on and finds that it fits his face perfectly. 

“Who did you have, Kiyoomi?” Says Meian. 

“I had Hinata,” says Kiyoomi. Hinata excitedly tears the wrapping paper of his gift to shreds, so violently that Kiyoomi can’t help but flinch. Atsumu notices, of course, and smirks at his obvious discomfort. 

“Woah!” Says Hinata, examining the contents of the gift. “This is so cool! Thanks, Omi-san!”

“No problem,” replies Kiyoomi. 

Inunaki goes next. Hinata got him a stuffed Orca whale and a ticket to the Osaka Aquarium, since he’s crazy about the ocean.

“Thanks, Shou-kun!” Inunaki exclaims. “I’ve been wanting to take a trip there on the off season for a while now.”

Next up is Bokuto, who receives a hoodie designed to look like an owl, complete with an owl face on the hood. 

“Ooooh!” Bokuto crows. “Thank you thank you thank you! Oh boy, ‘Kaashi’s gonna love this! I gotta send him a photo!”

Meian receives a print of a Noguchi drawing from Bokuto. 

“Kaashi said you’d probably be into him,” says Bokuto. “He took me to see some of his work at the National Museum of Art! It was really cool. I tried to sit on one of his sculptures, but then Akaashi told me it wasn’t a bench, so I didn’t.”

“That’s...nice,” Meian says faintly. Then he adds, “Noguchi’s one of my favorites. This is really thoughtful, Bokuto.”

“Sure thing!”

Meian had Atsumu, who receives a t-shirt inscribed with the words “The Better Twin” as well as a keychain with a miniature fox on it. 

“Thanks, Cap!” Says Atsumu, delighted. “Can’t wait ta rub this in ‘Samu’s face!”

“I was afraid this would happen,” Meian mutters. 

Adriah opens his gift from Atsumu, looking immensely confused at the sheer amount of potato peelers. 

“Ya can never have too many,” Atsumu explains. “That’s what ya said, right, Omi?”

“Actually, I said that about blenders--”

“Of course you both told each other who you had,” Meian says with a sigh. 

“Well, yeah,” says Atsumu. “Someone had ta help me find a gift, right?”

“It’s okay, ‘Tsum-Tsum!” Says Hinata. “Bokuto came shopping with me too!”

“Does anyone listen to me when I talk?” Says Meian, exasperated. 

“I do! When I feel like it, anyway,” adds Inunaki.

“RIght. Who’s next?” Says Meian, changing the subject. 

“I had Barnes,” says Adriah. 

Barnes tears open his gift excitedly to find a backpack filled with smaller goodies, including a comb, a scented candle, and a pair of knitted gloves. 

“I didn’t make the gloves,” Adriah admits, “but I promise they’re warm.”

“They’re really soft! Thanks, Adriah!” Says Barnes happily.

Now that they’re done exchanging gifts, the team digs into the plate of cookies Atsumu brought for them to share. 

“Wow, ‘Tsum-Tsum, I didn’t know you could bake!” Exclaims Hinata as he tears into a meticulously decorated gingerbread man.

“Yeah, I’m kinda the baker of the family,” Atsumu brags. 

“Really?” Says Bokuto. “And here I thought Osamu was the food guy!”

“Nah, we’re both food guys, ‘Samu’s jus’ a little more passionate about it than I am,” explains Atsumu.

“Tsumu’s great at making cake, too,” Kiyoomi offers. 

“I’ll be fully expecting you to make one to celebrate our next win, then,” Meian says seriously.

“Sure thing, Cap!” Atsumu promises. 

Kiyoomi smiles a bit as he watches his team interact. He’d mainly joined because he wanted to be with Atsumu, but that wasn’t the only reason. Bokuto and Hinata are incredibly skilled in their own right, and Kiyoomi has grown to enjoy their company. Barnes, Adriah, Inunaki and Meian are quite good as well, and Kiyoomi appreciates each of them in their own way. 

Being on a team with Atsumu is somehow not at all how he expected it to be. It’s...different, to play with him for real, and not just in casual practice or at training camps. He can be hard to work with at times; he’s stubborn and often unwilling to compromise, but he always wants the best for his spikers, and he cares deeply for the team.

And really, Kiyoomi wouldn’t have it any other way. 

…

In February of Kiyoomi’s first year on the team, they play a close five-set game against EJP Raijin. They eventually end up narrowly taking the win by two points, and afterwards both teams go out to a local izakaya to celebrate together. Kiyoomi is glad for the chance to catch up with his cousin; he hasn’t seen him in person since he’d joined the Jackals. 

He finds a seat at the table beside Motoya and across from Atsumu and Suna, and it’s beyond easy to fall into conversation with the three of them. 

“Are we still planning on visiting Amagasaki after the Falcons game?” Says Motoya. “I called Aran the other day and he wanted to make sure he got train tickets for the right day.”

“Yeah, I think we were plannin’ on leavin’ the day after the game, right?” Says Atsumu. 

Motoya nods. “Yeah, that sounds right. I think that’s the 18th?”

“Yup! I remember ‘cause it’s two days before Omi’s birthday,” says Atsumu confidently.

“Cool,” says Motoya. “I’ll text Aran. Do we have any plans for that yet, by the way?”

They all turn to Kiyoomi, who hesitates. “I don’t really know what I want to do,” he says eventually. “I want cake, though,” he adds immediately after. 

“That, I can do,” Atsumu declares. He looks positively vibrant in the dim light of the izakaya, his blond hair gleaming and eyes practically glowing. Kiyoomi loves the way they light up when he gets excited about something. He loves the way Atsumu can’t seem to sit still, either. His leg is jiggling a bit, not quite enough to upset the table but just enough that the silverware shakes a little. Kiyoomi loves watching him speak, his voice so animated and his hands gesturing wildly. Kiyoomi loves…

Oh, shit.

Kiyoomi loves him, doesn’t he?

To some extent he knew this, of course. He’d had feelings of some capacity for Atsumu for as long as he could remember. Still, Kiyoomi doesn’t feel romantic attraction often, if at all. He certainly doesn’t feel things like love, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. 

Maybe he loved Atsumu before, too, and never really considered what that entailed. 

Still, for some reason, the realization hits him like a face receive. Kiyoomi feels out of breath, and when he glances at Motoya, Kiyoomi can tell he knows something is up.

You okay? Motoya mouths. Kiyoomi nods in response and then to the others he says, “I’ll be right back.” He stands from the table, napkin falling carelessly from his lap. Atsumu looks concerned, but Kiyoomi leaves before he can ask if he’s all right.

In the bathroom, Kiyoomi splashes cold water on his face and stares at himself in the mirror. His face is sort of flushed and his eyes are wide; he definitely looks visibly out of sorts. 

Motoya enters the bathroom a moment later, coming over to lean against the sink beside Kiyoomi. After a pause he says, “So. You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Kiyoomi thinks about that for a moment. Then he says, decisively, “I think I’m in love with Atsumu.”

“Ah. Well, it was only a matter of time before you figured that out,” Motoya replies.

Kiyoomi stares at him. “You knew?”

“Well, yeah. I assumed you did too, and just weren’t ready to face it, ya know?”

“Maybe a part of me did,” Kiyoomi admits. “It’s just that...I don’t feel romantic attraction usually. I don’t know why it’s so different with Atsumu. Maybe it’s because I trust him not to cross my boundaries, or because I know him so well, but for whatever reason, I feel safe with him.”

“Of course you feel safe with him,” Motoya says gently. “He’s your best friend.”

“Yeah,” says Kiyoomi after a pause. “He is.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Probably nothing,” Kiyoomi says. “Unless I feel like my feelings might be reciprocated, of course. And even then, what if it doesn’t work out? How terrible would that be?”

Motoya’s silent for a moment. Then he says, “You’re not going to lose him, you know. No matter how he feels, he would never leave you.”

“ I left him, Kiyoomi points out. “What’s to stop him from doing the same?”

“Kiyoomi,” says Motoya, sounding exasperated. “Did you want to leave him?”

“Of course not!” Says Kiyoomi emphatically. 

“So that’s your answer,” says Motoya, as if it’s obvious. “And just for the record, I really think you should say something.”

Kiyoomi hesitates. “We’ll see.”

…

The month goes by and Kiyoomi says nothing. 

He doesn’t forget about his feelings so much, but they fade into the background as the finals loom. Three days before Kiyoomi’s birthday, they play the Tachibana Red Falcons. Osamu, Suna and Motoya all come to watch, and Kiyoomi can’t help but be excited for his first opportunity to go up against Aran. 

The game is a close one, going to five sets and a deuce in the fourth, but the Jackals end up taking it by a small margin of three points in the final set. Atsumu envelops Kiyoomi in a bone crushing hug after he takes the final point with a brilliant spike that lands just on the edge of the court, and Kiyoomi squeezes him right back.

Beating Aran feels like a revelation, and Kiyoomi can’t help but recall the first game he ever played, the two-on-two in which he and Atsumu went up against Aran and Osamu. They’d lost to them then, and although Osamu hadn’t been fighting alongside Aran this time around, winning against him had felt like a reclaiming of sorts. And maybe it was. 

They go out for drinks afterward, as has become their tradition. They’re leaving early the next morning for Amagasaki, so Kiyoomi tries to go easy, knowing from experience that traveling with a hangover is a bitch.

Still, he’s just drunk enough that the room feels hazy and his limbs feel light and loose. He finds himself staring at Atsumu more often than not, and he can’t seem to make himself look away. He turns back to his drink in an attempt to distract himself, and as he does he notices Suna watching him. 

“What?” Kiyoomi says self-consciously.

“You’re all he ever talks about,” says Suna casually. “It’s really kind of disgusting.”

“Atsumu?”

“No, ‘Samu,” Suna says sarcastically. “Seriously, though. He’s got it pretty bad for you, and I’m only telling you this because he’s too much of a coward to tell you himself and I seriously cannot stand the pining any longer. So. Please, for the love of god, just...say something.”

“I was already going to,” Kiyoomi lies. 

Suna narrows his eyes at Kiyoomi. “Right.”

“Okay, I wasn’t, but I swear I will. Eventually.”

Suna rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “Just...try not to drool over him too much in the meantime, all right?”

Kiyoomi sputters. “I do not drool--”

“Atsumu literally has an entire album on his phone dedicated to photos of you drooling on him.”

“I,” declares Kiyoomi, “am going to murder him.”

“Who’re we killin’?” Atsumu says, breaking into their conversation. 

“You,” replies Suna. 

“What is it this time?” Atsumu says warily.

“Give me your phone,” Kiyoomi demands. 

Atsumu grins. “Ah. It’s about the album, isn’t it?”

“No,” Kiyoomi lies, “I just need to check something.”

Atsumu pretends to think for a moment. “Nope,” he decides. “Sorry!”

“No, you’re not,” says Suna.

“You’re right,” Atsumu agrees. “Sorry, Omi-kun, but yer never gonna get yer grubby little paws on those photos.”

“I will if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Sure, Omi.”

Kiyoomi subtly tries to steal Atsumu’s phone throughout the night, but to no avail. He’s so distracted by the task at hand that he even forgets to stare at Atsumu, which is probably for the best. 

The two of them head back to the sharehouse together around eleven PM. Atsumu still has to pack, which he insists on doing in the morning because he’s a self-proclaimed ‘fast packer’ (Kiyoomi can attest to this not being the case) while Kiyoomi goes straight to bed, since he’d already packed earlier that day. 

They catch the 9:45 train to Amagasaki the next morning. All of them are yawning and at least a little bit hungover; Kiyoomi’s too tired even to care when he falls asleep on Atsumu, probably providing him with even more drool photos than he already has. 

They split up when they reach Amagasaki, Aran and Suna taking the bus to their respective homes while Atsumu and Osamu’s mother drives them, along with Motoya and Kiyoomi, back to the Miya family home. 

Atsumu sets up the guest futons for Kiyoomi and Motoya, and then they go into town to meet up with the others for lunch. They end up at the ramen place that the twins, along with Suna and Aran, frequented in high school.

“So,” Motoya says once they’re seated with their orders. “Kiyo, what’s the deal with your birthday this year?”

Kiyoomi stares at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

Motoya rolls his eyes. “Like, what do you want?”

“Uhh. Cake?” Kiyoomi offers. 

“Duh,” says Suna. “What else?”

“I don’t know. Maybe just a quiet night with the six of us--”

“Let’s throw him a rager,” Suna suggests. 

“Ooh, yeah!” Says Motoya right as Aran says, “That’s a fuckin’ terrible idea.”

Motoya pouts. “Buzzkill.”

“I mean, if anyone has any reasonable suggestions, I’d be happy to take them,” Kiyoomi states. He eyes Suna warily.

“Jus’ a nice dinner courtesy of ‘Samu an’ I, maybe?” Suggests Atsumu. “An’ drinks, of course. We can get the good stuff and make that one cocktail ya really like.”

“The fruity one?” Says Kiyoomi hopefully. He notices Suna and Motoya smirk at each other out of the corner of his eye but chooses to ignore them.

“That’s the one,” Atsumu agrees. 

“I suppose that sounds acceptable.”

“Great! Sounds like enough of a plan ta me, what do y’all think?” Says Atsumu brightly.

“Lame,” says Suna, “but could be worse.” Kiyoomi sticks his tongue out at him, and Suna grins. 

“Dinner’s easy,” says Osamu. “Umeboshi onigiri, I’m guessin’?”

“You know it.”

They stroll around town after lunch, window shopping without actually buying anything, except for Kiyoomi, who impulse-buys a pair of socks with foxes on them. “I just think they’re neat,” he defends himself to Suna when he narrows his eyes at Kiyoomi’s purchase. 

“Uh huh,” says Suna knowingly. 

Kiyoomi’s birthday rolls around, and he wakes up to the sound of loud rock music blaring throughout the Miya household. The bedroom is empty except for a snoring Motoya--how he’s managing to sleep through the noise, Kiyoomi can only wonder--so Kiyoomi throws on a hoodie and heads downstairs to throttle Atsumu for interrupting his beauty sleep. 

Of course Atsumu would be behind this, Kiyoomi thinks as he rounds the corner into the kitchen and finds Atsumu loudly--and badly--singing along to the radio as he cooks pancakes on a large griddle. He turns when he notices Kiyoomi standing there, glaring at him soundly.

“Mornin’, Omi!” He says brightly. “I made ya breakfast!”

Kiyoomi groans internally. How the fuck am I supposed to stay mad at him? To Atsumu he says, “And you couldn’t have done that quietly?”

“Nope!” Says Atsumu. 

Kiyoomi glances around the house, which appears to be otherwise empty. “Where is everyone?”

“Parents are workin’, and ‘Samu went ta get groceries fer dinner later,” Atsumu replies, flipping a pancake onto a plate for Kiyoomi. “Is Toya up yet?”

“I am now!” Yells Motoya from the stairwell. “The smell of pancakes woke me up.”

“Not...the noise?” Says Kiyoomi faintly. 

Motoya shakes his head sadly. “Kiyo, I thought you knew me!”

“I really don’t.”

They eat breakfast on the front porch. The sun is out, and the trees are just starting to blossom. Kiyoomi is once again grateful to have a birthday in the spring. It’s his favorite season, apart from the whole allergy thing. 

Osamu returns about an hour later and gripes about Atsumu eating all the pancakes, but for once it’s good natured. 

“Ya don’ even like sweets that much!” Atsumu protested. 

“Pancakes aren’t sweet if ya make em’ right!” Osamu retorts. 

“Yer so stupid! How are they not sweet?”

They go on like that for a while, but it fades into the background, like always. Aran and Suna show up around three in the afternoon, Aran with a bouquet of wildflowers and Suna with an entire cooler full of liquor.

“You really didn’t have to,” Kiyoomi says, staring down at the insane amount of alcohol. 

“I very much did,” says Suna. “Do you even know how long it’s been since I’ve gotten properly wasted? Weeks, Kiyoomi.”

“You’re a professional athlete,” Kiyoomi points out.

“And?”

Kiyoomi sighs and drops the subject. “When do you guys want to have dinner?”

“I say we start drinking at five, have dinner at six thirty, and cake at eight,” Motoya announces.

“That...actually sounds fairly reasonable,” Kiyoomi admits. 

“Do we really have ta wait until five ta start drinkin’?” Atsumu whines. 

Kiyoomi slaps his arm. “Yes. And it’s my birthday, so you have to do what I want.”

“Pretty sure he does what ya want any day,” Osamu mutters.

“We should play party games!” Motoya exclaims. “Like, drinking games, but maybe also board games? Ooh, also charades!”

“No charades,” Kiyoomi and Atsumu say simultaneously.

Motoya looks at them funny. “Can I ask why?”

“Inunaki ruined the game for us,” Kiyoomi states. “Permanently.”

“Yeah, never play games with him,” Atsumu agrees, voice haunted. “He’s the worst.”

“Coming from you, that’s a serious allegation,” Suna claims.

“Shaddup, scrub.”

At five o’clock, Atsumu starts mixing drinks in the kitchen, acting as bartender for the night. He pours a whisky for Motoya, a shot of vodka for Suna, a beer for Aran and Osamu each, and then mixes fruity cocktails for himself and Kiyoomi. 

“Let’s play BS,” Motoya suggests once they’re all seated in the living room.

“No way,” Osamu declares. “Atsumu’s obnoxious at that game.”

“Yer jus’ salty ‘cause I always win,” Atsumu taunts. 

“‘Cause ya cheat!”

“How is it cheating to put down extra cards? The game is about lying!”

“Yeah, but ya gotta put down the right number of cards at the very least!”

“Okay, okay, no BS,” Motoya says, putting his hands up. “How about Go Fish?”

“What are we, five?” Says Atsumu.

“Not if every time you draw a card, you have to take a shot,” Kiyoomi points out. 

Motoya gapes at him. “Kiyo! You’re coming up with drinking games now? Who are you?”

“Your favorite cousin,” Kiyoomi replies. Then he turns to the rest of the group. “Well? What’s the consensus?”

“How ‘bout we vote?” Suggests Aran.

“Okay,” says Motoya. “Who wants BS?”

Atsumu’s hand shoots up, but the rest remain lowered. Atsumu scowls. “Y’all are jus’ scared ta play with me ‘cause ya know I’ll beat yer asses.”

Osamu coughs. “ Cheater.”

“Okay, and Go Fish?” Says Motoya, raising his own hand. All of the other hands go up, with the exception of Atsumu’s. “All right, Go Fish it is!” Announces Motoya. 

Aran doles out the deck as they seat themselves in a circle on the carpet. “Who wants ta start?” Says Aran, glancing around the group.”

“Kiyo has to! Birthday rights and all,” Motoya explains. 

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He turns to Atsumu. “Got any fours?”

Atsumu passes one over wordlessly. Then he turns to Suna. “Got any fives?”

“Go fish,” replies Suna. Atsumu draws a card and takes a swig of his drink, which is already half empty. 

They continue around the circle for several rounds until most of them are in need of refills. The exceptions are Kiyoomi and Suna, who are spectacularly lucky and both already well on their way to winning the game. 

Suna ends up taking the first game by a single set of cards, but Kiyoomi’s drunk enough that he doesn’t mind. They play another two games, until Atsumu starts to look a little green (he’s pretty unlucky when it comes to Go Fish, apparently).

After the third game, they take a break for dinner, since none of them have eaten since lunch and all of them are getting exceedingly drunker. It’s nearly dark outside by the time Osamu serves them onigiri--Kiyoomi takes three, hoping the rice will help absorb some of the alcohol in his system--and the last rays of the sun illuminate the walls of the rapidly darkening room. 

Kiyoomi has a glass of wine with dinner, and everything after that is a bit fuzzy. They play some more games--badly, since all of them are very drunk at this point--and then Atsumu serves them cake. They stay up for several hours after that, fueled by sugar and adrenaline, drinking liquor from the bottle and sprawling across every piece of furniture in the living room. Suna is once again lying across Osamu and Aran’s laps, while Motoya is perched on the arm of the sofa, and Kiyoomi and Atsumu are squeezed into the armchair across from them.

“Do ya think my ducks miss me when I’m gone?” Aran wonders aloud.

“Probably,” says Suna. “They must think of you as an absentee father at this point.”

Aran looks concerned. “Do ya really believe that?”

Atsumu’s quick to jump in. “Nah,” he says, “ducks are pretty stupid. I’m sure they love ya, but it’s a simple love, ya know? Uncomplicated.”

“Love is complicated,” Motoya slurs. He’d probably had the most to drink out of all of them, and it shows. “Not that I would know, but like--” he waves his hands wildly, nearly clocking Suna in the face, “--it just seems like a whole lot of work, ya know?”

“And here I thought we were just going to have a nice conversation about ducks,” Kiyoomi mutters.

“We still can,” Aran says hopefully.

Motoya shakes his head vehemently. “No,” he insists, “We gotta talk about the deep stuff. You know, love, life--” he mumbles the last bit and then lets out a massive snore.

“There it is,” announces Kiyoomi. “I’m going to take him upstairs. You’re all welcome to stay over, of course.”

“Good,” mumbles Suna, “because I think I could fall asleep right here.”

“ Please get off of me first,” Osamu begs, but Suna’s eyes are already fluttering shut. “God damn it,” Osamu mutters. “Every damn time, I swear--”

“Want some help gettin’ Toya up there, Omi?” Atsumu offers. Kiyoomi nods, and together they heft Motoya from his precarious perch and drag him upstairs, depositing him on his futon. Kiyoomi sits down heavily on his own futon, Atsumu taking a seat beside him. He glances at Kiyoomi, seeming concerned. “Ya good?”

Kiyoomi smiles. “Yeah. Thanks, ‘Tsumu.”

“‘Course.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t remember passing out, but he wakes up with Atsumu’s arms wrapped around him, a stream of drool barely visible on his shoulder. Kiyoomi mentally reminds himself to find those pictures later, and then his eyes fall shut once more. 

...

They’re standing side by side in the kitchen of the sharehouse cooking dinner. It’s early April, and the sun is just starting to fall behind the line of buildings across the street. The room is silent but for the distant sound of birds chirping in the tree outside the kitchen window and Atsumu humming under his breath.

“Why aren’t we together?” Kiyoomi says impulsively. 

Atsumu fumbles and drops the glass he’d been using as a measuring device, cursing as it shatters on the floor. “Fuck,” he says. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Kiyoomi says dismissively. “It doesn’t matter.”

Atsumu gapes at him. “What do ya mean it doesn’t matter? Don’ ya want me ta clean this up so we don’ get shards in our feet?”

“Later,” Kiyoomi insists. He tugs Atsumu’s sleeve, pulling him gingerly around the scattered pieces of glass, and leads him to the living room. Once they’re properly seated, Kiyoomi looks at Atsumu and repeats, “Why aren’t we together?”

Atsumu’s ears are red. “Uhh,” he says, “What do ya mean?”

Kiyoomi sighs. “I know you’re in love with me.”

Atsumu goes bright red. “Omi!” He sputters. “Ya can’t jus’ say shit like that--”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Yeah. but I was supposed ta say it to ya,” Atsumu explains, flustered. 

“Well, when were you planning on doing that?” Kiyoomi says. “Because I think we both know that neither of us have the guts to say it.”

“ One of us does, apparently,” Atsumu mutters.

“Yeah, well, what other choice did I have? Keep dancing around the subject until we’re too old to care?”

“I’d never be too old to care about ya, Omi,” Atsumu replies instantly. He pauses for a moment, and then he says, decisively, “I’d rather die first.”

“Morbid,” Kiyoomi comments. 

“Still true.”

Kiyoomi hums, staring at a spot on the wall somewhere behind Atsumu’s head. Now that it’s out in the open, he really doesn’t know what to do. 

“Well?” Atsumu prompts, and Kiyoomi’s eyes snap back to his face. “Where’s yer confession, then?”

“You call that a confession?” Kiyoomi scoffs. 

“I said I’d rather die than stop carin’ about ya, that’s about as romantic as it gets!”

“Well, what do you want me to say, then?” Kiyoomi demands. “That you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel this way and I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember?”

“ Yes!”

“Okay, then,” says Kiyoomi, “You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel this way and I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.” He pauses. “How was that?”

“Not the worst confession I’ve ever received,” Atsumu informs him. 

“What was the worst one?” Kiyoomi asks, too curious to be insulted. 

“Ah,” Atsumu says, rubbing his neck as if he’s embarrassed. “This one time a girl confessed ta me after a game--this was before ya joined the team, obviously--an’ she gives me a nice little box of chocolates. At least, I thought they were chocolates.”

“Oh no .”

“Turns out they were decorative soaps,” Atsumu says sheepishly. “An’ bein’ the gentleman that I am, of course I had ta try one in front of her. Now, that was embarrassing. I was spittin’ out bubbles fer the rest of the week.”

“How the fuck did I manage to fall in love with such a dumbass,” Kiyoomi wonders aloud.

“Look,” protests Atsumu, “The soaps were brown, okay? They even smelled like chocolate! An’ the girl didn’ even bother ta warn me before!”

Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose. “What kind of soap is brown ?”

“Exactly! An’ then I still had ta reject her an’ all, an’ of course she cried, so that was a whole thing. Bokkun and Shouyou-kun made fun of me for weeks followin’ that, Omi. Weeks!”

“That sounds bad,” Kiyoomi admits. “Seems like it would be pretty hard to top that one.”

“Yeah, well, ya came pretty close,” Atsumu teases.

“You want another? Because I can get one to you in seven to ten business days, but only if you pay fo shipping.”

“ Smartass,” Atsumu mumbles. “I’m good.”

“Cool.” On impulse, Kiyoomi grabs Atsumu’s hand and yanks him closer. Atsumu topples into Kiyoomi with a startled ‘oof’, and Kiyoomi realizes he may have gotten a bit too excited. “Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. 

Atsumu cackles. “Don’ be,” he says, staring down at Kiyoomi. Then he leans in, pressing his mouth to Kiyoomi’s, and Kiyoomi sighs and kisses him back. 

…

Kiyoomi watches the ball as it arcs through the air, directly into Atsumu’s waiting hands. He sets to Hinata, who’s already launching himself upwards, and Hinata spikes it straight through Kageyama and Hoshiumi’s block, sending the ball straight into the floor. 

The whistle blows, signifying the end of the match. Hinata screams with joy and jumps into Bokuto’s arms, who in turn jumps into Inunaki’s, sending them all toppling to the floor. Barnes embraces Adriah and Meian, and Atsumu launches himself at Kiyoomi, squeezing him tightly against his chest. 

They’re not technically out to the public yet, or even the team, though Kiyoomi’s fairly certain that Bokuto and Meian both know they’re in a relationship and are just too nice to say anything. Inunaki probably suspects as well, while Adriah and Barnes don’t interact with them enough to know, and Hinata’s just an idiot.

Times like these, Kiyoomi just wants to kiss Atsumu senseless with no regard for who’s watching. He knows they’re not ready for that yet, though. Instead, he waits--for the locker room to empty, for the gym to fall silent, for their teammates to leave. 

Kiyoomi’s patient, anyway. He’d waited years to kiss Atsumu ; what’s a few short hours?