Archive of Our Own ^beta

1. Middle School Second Year

“Who is that?” Atsumu asks his twin brother, who glances toward the player Atsumu is pointing at, decides he’s uninterested, and turns back to his phone.

“I need to know his name,” Atsumu hisses, elbowing Osamu as he watches the mysterious player spike the ball, ending the match with a vicious twist of his wrist and effectively delivering a sucker punch to Atsumu’s fragile heart.

“Then go ask him.”

“Go ask him for me.”

“Are you insane?  What is this, pre-school?”

“Samu, I think I might be in love.  This is serious.”

“You can’t fall in love with someone when you don’t even know their name.  And you can’t fall in love with someone watching them play two points.”

“Try me.  Oh fuck, he’s lookin’ over here.  Do you think he’s lookin’ at me?  He’s smilin’, Samu, maybe he fell in love at first sight too.  I’m gonna go talk to him,” Atsumu announces.  He walks forward with determination and as he gets closer, he realizes that his instincts were, as usual, on point.  The player is gorgeous, all wavy jet-black hair, dark eyes, long eyelashes, pretty twin beauty marks.  Atsumu wipes his hands on his volleyball shorts and prepares himself for a whirlwind romance.

The player walks toward him.

Then walks past him, and Atsumu turns to see him greeting Ushijima Wakatoshi, the player one year above Atsumu who has been making waves nationwide, standing a head taller than most of the players in the tournament.

“Kiyoomi-kun,” Ushijima nods, and Atsumu files the name into his brain right alongside the residual embarrassment of almost sticking his hand out to introduce himself a moment ago.

“Wakatoshi-kun,” the player replies.  He has on a small smile as they chatter about the upcoming games.

“I’m wishing you the best in your next match,” the boy with the name Kiyoomi says.  Atsumu bristles slightly at this, because his team is facing Shiratorizawa Junior High next, but he quickly forgives his newest crush when he turns, nearly runs into Atsumu, whispers a quiet “Sorry” before joining his team again.

“Sakusa, cool-down,” someone yells at him, and Atsumu has a full name now to spend the rest of the day or the rest of his life internet stalking.  Sakusa Kiyoomi.

He loses in the next round to Ushijima Wakatoshi and has to leave the tournament without getting another glance of Sakusa.  The handshake with the imposing player after the game feels like a personal attack, and Atsumu thinks he can see a tiny smirk on Ushijima’s face.  (Years later, he would learn that Ushijima’s facial muscles are not capable of smirking like normal petty beasts, but at the time, Ushijima had jeered at him like the devil himself).

“It’s not the last you’ll see of me Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he sobs into his hands as they drive away.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Osamu asks tiredly.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Atsumu replies, resting his head against the window and watching the passing cars with jaded eyes.  Love is, after all, a losing game, this middle-schooler decides.

~~~

2. High School Second Year

When Atsumu arrives at Ajinomoto National Training Center as a second-year at Inarizaki High and is told he is rooming with Sakusa, he does a tiny little dance in the lobby and hopes he packed his cool pajamas.

He did not.  That evening, after sheepishly slipping on his Vabo-chan shirt and checkered pajama bottoms, he sits cross-legged on his bed and tries to start a conversation with his crush.  Sakusa has been puttering around their shared room, wiping down exactly half of the surfaces, straightening the perfectly tidy furniture, unpacking approximately 20 different packing cubes of clothes and other belongings.  Now, he has settled into a lint-rolling routine of his Itachiyama uniform.  Atsumu wonders if something is wrong with himself for liking this strange being.

“Haven’t see ya since the Inter-High finals, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu says, as casually as he can.  It’s both a blessed and a painful memory.  Face to face with Sakusa in a match, but ending in their defeat.

Sakusa grunts.

“Didya miss me?” Atsumu asks cheekily.  From their limited interactions at volleyball tournaments and various training camps the past few years, he’s come to learn that Sakusa can deal with most of the shit that Atsumu throws at him and dish it right back.  Which hasn’t helped the whole burning crush situation.

“I forget you exist whenever your team gets knocked out of national tournaments and have to be horribly reminded that I know you whenever I’m blinded by your hair again,” Sakusa replies.

Atsumu clutches at his heart, both to be dramatic and to physically hold himself together after hearing the painful words.  “You wound me, Omi-kun.  But should be a fun week even if yer gonna be a jerk to me the whole time.”

Sakusa gives him a skeptical look but continues with his pointless cleaning task.

“I gotta watch the prefecture representative playoffs, scope out the competition,” Atsumu muses, “’Course I already watched your matches, Omi-kun.”

“I’ve watched them all except Miyagi’s,” Sakusa replies, his face turning sour like he’d just bitten into a particularly tart yuzu.  He launches into a monologue about Ushijima Wakatoshi and the missed opportunity of a third-year talent not making it into his last Spring High finals.  It’s maddening to Atsumu that he can’t get Sakusa to say more than two sentences to him, and Ushijima Wakatoshi gets multiple paragraphs and he’s not even there.

“Omi-kun, can ya stop talking about Toshi-san for like two seconds or will you explode?”

Sakusa stares at him impassively for two long seconds before continuing.  “The fact that someone as impressive as Wakatoshi-kun lost to a no name team of first years is a travesty.”

Atsumu groans, covering his head with his pillow as Sakusa carefully runs his lint roller over his Itachiyama jacket.  There’s nothing on it, as far as Atsumu can tell.  With the amount of time Sakusa has spent cleaning it, the jacket will disappear into nothing, taken apart bit by bit by sticky paper.

After acting like a child, Sakusa seems content to conduct his infinite evening routine in silence, which soon becomes stifling for Atsumu.

“Omi-kun, what do ya think about Karasuno’s setter?  Tobio-kun is pretty cute, right?”

“He’s acceptable as a setter, but I haven’t had very long to observe him.”

“You sound like a pedo, Omi-kun.  But he’s not as good as me, right?”

Sakusa looks up at this, giving him an appraising look that makes Atsumu want to burrow under his blankets in case Sakusa finds him wanting.

“You are the best Japanese high school volleyball setter currently,” he says, then turns back to lint rolling like he hasn’t just made Atsumu the happiest person alive.

“Omi-Omi,” Atsumu croons, leaping up, “I didn’t know you adored me so much.”

“You won the best setter award at the Inter-High, it’s an objective statement, don’t get a bigger head than you already have,” Sakusa snaps.

“Omi-kun thinks I’m the best Japanese high school volleyball player,” Atsumu laughs, dancing around the room.

“Wakatoshi-kun is the best Japanese high school volleyball player,” Sakusa glares, “In terms of his impact on the court, his power, his speed, his discipline.  If we were on the same team—”

Atsumu throws his hands in the air, deflating as soon as he heard “Wakatoshi” come out of Sakusa’s mouth.  He falls back on his bed and lies facedown.

“Yes yes, Omi-kun, I know Toshi-san is the source of half this training camp’s wet dreams.  Every time he spikes the ball, a new baby is born destined to play volleyball.  His form is like a rising phoenix, his hair flows like silk, he’s built like Adonis in compression gear, his face would make god himself weep.  He’s the best player, the most wondrous of boys, nay, of men, the most handsome person to wear a volleyball jersey.  I get it.”

“What are you talking about, Miya?” Sakusa asks.

“I’m mimicking you, Omi-Omi.  Since you so obviously have a crush on Toshi-san.  Like, so obvious, I should just write it on your forehead.”

“I don’t have a crush on Wakatoshi-kun,” Sakusa frowns.

“In denial, I see.”  Atsumu turns his head to rest his cheek on his pillow, having gotten tired of (and slightly lightheaded from) smothering his face in his pillow.  Sakusa looks… confused, his cheeks slightly pink, holding the lint roller in his hand like a knight with a shield.  Atsumu can’t believe Sakusa doesn’t realize he has a crush on Ushijima.  Surely the cheeky cousin who follows Sakusa around like a shadow would have teased Sakusa about it constantly the way Osamu teases Atsumu.

“You wax poetic about him like 24/7, Omi-kun.”

“I just really respect him as a volleyball player.”

“Sure, and my natural hair color is blonde.”

Sakusa holds his gaze for a moment, then turns away, a torn look on his face.  Atsumu begins to feel guilty for teasing him so much.  Sakusa goes back to lint rolling, movements more erratic than they were before.

Then, quietly, he asks, “Can you have a crush on more than one person at the same time?”

Atsumu nearly falls off his bed, shocked that Sakusa is consulting him on matters of the heart and also that he has another person to compete with for Sakusa’s attention.  The world truly isn’t fair.

“You have someone else yer crushin’ on, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu gasps dramatically, “Lemme guess.  Is it yer hot captain?  I’d have a crush on him if that handsome mug he ordered me around during drills.”

Sakusa glares at him, then stands to hang up his jacket, now apparently satisfied that not one speck of dirt remains on it.

“Or another strong and silent type?  Oh shit, Omi-kun, do you have a crush on Kita-san?  If so, get in line.”

“You… have a crush on Kita-san?” Sakusa asks.

Atsumu flips onto his back and puts his arms behind his head.  It’s not his topic of choice, discussing their crushes, but he’ll take any conversation he can get when it comes to Sakusa.

“Eh, the way you have a crush on your friend’s big brother, ya know what I mean?”

“Not really.”

“Like, if Kita-san told me to run to Hokkaido and back, I’d do it.  But I don’t have an overwhelming urge to like kiss him or something.  I mean, if he wanted to, I would, don’t get me wrong, but with a real crush it’s like yer heart can’t stop going doki doki around ‘em and you think about stupid stuff all the time like how they drink water real handsome.”

Sakusa wrinkles his nose and begins smoothing down the sheets of his bed.  He then sits down, defeating the purpose of his last action.  The topic must be uncomfortable for him.  Atsumu shuts up and starts thinking about how Sakusa drinks water real handsome.

“I don’t have a crush on Wakatoshi-kun.  Or on Iizuna-senpai.  Based on your ridiculous definition.”

“Okay, Omi,” Atsumu says tiredly.  He sits up and stretches.

“’m going to the vending machine.  You want anythin’?”

Sakusa fiddles with the corner of his blanket.

“I already brushed my teeth.

“You’re allowed to brush them again.”

“What do they have?” Sakusa frowns, “How often do they sanitize the contents of the machines?”

“Ugh,” Atsumu replies, holding his hand out, “Gimme yer phone.  I’ll give you my number and send you a pic of what they have.”  His heart races when Sakusa stares up at him, then hands over his phone.

Atsumu opens Sakusa’s contacts and sees a total of six names, one of which is the Poison Control Hotline.  His heart falls when he sees, at the bottom of the list, “Ushijima Wakatoshi.”  Atsumu clenches his jaw until it hurts as he adds his own number and resists the urge to delete Ushijima’s.  To make himself feel better, he texts himself a <3 to christen their text chain and hands the phone back.

“Be right back, Omi Omi,” he says brightly, slipping into his shoes, exiting into an empty hallway, and stomping toward the lobby imagining that he’s marching on Ushijima’s face with each step.

~~~

3. College Second Year

Omi-kun <3:  Your serves were off today.

Atsumu:  rude, Omi-Omi.  Still won.

Omi-kun <3:  You’re lucky Wakatoshi-kun didn’t play today.

Atsumu:  would have kicked his ass too.

Atsumu:  how’s chemistry?

Atsumu:  found any “chemistry” with yer classmates yet, Omi, or are u still a loner

Atsumu:  omi

Omi-kun <3:  I’m studying.

Atsumu:  studying a lover’s body?  ;)

Atsumu:  omi I’m sorry

Atsumu:  u know I can’t help it omi.

Atsumu:  omi I’m bord

Atsumu:  *bored

Omi-kun <3:  Do your cool-downs, then go to sleep.

Atsumu:  yes your majesty

Atsumu throws his phone to the side and begins to do his stretches.  Sakusa could probably sense on a spiritual level if he didn’t follow through.  He folds himself over his knees and smiles, his face out of sight of his teammates.  His serves had been shit that game, but they had still soundly beaten the Adlers.  And Sakusa had watched live.

Since worming his way into Sakusa’s limited phone contacts, Atsumu had engaged in a long warfare campaign to make sure Sakusa didn’t forget he existed, sending periodic “good morning Omi ;)” texts and memes and photos of random people with the caption “would you date?”  Surprisingly, for more than two years, Sakusa had responded to him consistently.  Mostly with the eye roll emoji, but occasionally he had started conversations himself.  Atsumu had set a special vibrate for Sakusa’s texts, so he could respond instantly to Sakusa while maintaining his prerogative to ignore Osamu’s texts.

Ushijima came up annoyingly often in their texts.  As soon as he had debuted on the Adlers, the golden boy had been snapped up for adverts of everything from electrolytes to underwear to vacuum cleaners.  Sakusa, having realized that this annoyed Atsumu, began sending him pictures every time he saw Ushijima in a commercial or on a billboard in Tokyo.  It was enough to make Atsumu consider murder or at least breaking Ushijima’s nose to ruin the perfect symmetry of his stupid hot face.

Atsumu’s phone buzzes three times in quick succession, and he lunges for it.

Omi-kun <3:  Wakatoshi-kun says you played well today.  He is far more gracious than he needs to be.

Murder then.  Murder is better than maiming in this situation.

Atsumu:  stop talking to Toshi-san when yer supposed to be studyin

Atsumu:  but u should keep talkin to me

Omi-kun <3:  I am going back to work.  Also, I’m going to be in Osaka this weekend.

“Fuck,” Atsumu yells when he hits the back of his head on the wall in his surprise.  As he rubs at it and waves away his concerned teammates, a thousand thoughts rush through his head.  He hadn’t seen Sakusa since Spring Nationals of their third year.  And that was only briefly as Inarizaki and Itachiyama were, as always, on opposite ends of the bracket.  They had graduated without fanfare, Atsumu to the Jackals and Sakusa to some fancy Tokyo university.  Would Sakusa want to stay with him?  Did he know anyone else in Osaka?  Was Atsumu’s room clean enough?  How clean could he get it?  Would Sakusa want to hang out with him?  How could he come off as not too desperate or too giddy about this?

He decides to do as he usually does, dive in without thinking too much.

Atsumu:  YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.  BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.

Omi-kun <3:  An overreaction.

Atsumu:  wanna stay with me, Omi?  I’ll spray everythin with bleach.  You can have the bed after I get the whole thing dry cleaned.  Or we can share it, it’s big ;)

Omi-kun <3:  I’m staying in a hotel with Motoya.  We are attending a wedding.

Atsumu’s heart fell.  So the cousin would come too.

Atsumu:  can ya spare me a meal at least, Omi :(  Also, you’re attending a wedding with your cousin as yer plus one?  Weird.

Omi-kun <3:  A relative is getting married.  Neither of us have a plus one.  And if you don’t have plans Sunday evening, we can get dinner before we go back to Tokyo.

Atsumu:  dope, I’ve penciled you into my horribly crammed schedule.  tho can I come to the wedding with ya, free food for Atsumu

Omi-kun <3:  No

Atsumu:  I’ll keep ya company.  I’m good at talkin to people I’ll never see again

Omi-kun <3:  Wakatoshi-kun has also been invited to the wedding.  He is friends with the groom.  So I will be fine.

Omi-kun <3:  If you choose a restaurant, I can make a reservation for four on Sunday night.

Murder.  Definitely murder.  How thoughtful of Ushijima to travel to Atsumu’s home to be murdered.  Maybe if he chose Osamu’s restaurant, Osamu could help him poison Ushijima.  Atsumu would have to call in a lot of favors, but it would be worth it to never hear Sakusa speak about Ushijima again.

Atsumu:  It’s a date <3

~~~

4. Volleyball Team Tryouts

“And here, Omi-kun, are the showers,” Atsumu says dramatically as he flings open the door and nearly sends Bokuto flying.

“Water pressure is great, lots of shampoo and soap, though I bet the Jackals would pay for yer specialty ones if you came here.”

Sakusa glances around the shower, an unimpressed look on his face.

“The Adlers have a steam room.  Do you have a steam room?”

Atsumu wants to punch the wall, but his hands are a national treasure.

“I heard steam rooms are super bad for yer lungs,” he says, “Also I never thought you would want to use a steam room, Omi-kun.  You gonna sit and breathe in other peoples’ nasty germs and muck around with drippin’ sweat?”

Sakusa shudders, and Atsumu congratulates himself.

“Now that we’ve finished the tour of our wonderful facilities, we’re takin’ you out to dinner,” Atsumu announces, taking a nearby towel and snapping it against Bokuto’s ass as he checks his hair in a mirror.  “Hurry up and shower, Bokkun, don’t make our highly esteemed guest wait.”

“Omi-kun, you’re going to love it here,” Bokuto says enthusiastically, all 6 feet plus of him naked as he jumps around beside them.  Deciding this isn’t the best pitch opportunity, Atsumu pushes Sakusa out of the showers and back into the locker room.

“Waddya think?  Not bad, eh?”

“It’s fine,” Sakusa shrugs, glancing around the locker room that Atsumu had painstakingly cleaned the day before.  The Jackals had hired professional cleaners in advance of this year’s most sought-after rookie’s visit, but Atsumu had known it wouldn’t be up to Sakusa’s exacting standards.

“We’re a better team than the Adlers this year,” Atsumu continues, “The Adlers just lost their libero, who’ll be hard to replace.  We just need a good outside hitter to round out our offense.  There’s rumors about another player we’re tryin to recruit from Brazil.  And don’t ya wanna finally play with me, Omi-kun?”  He is sure he sounds horribly needy.  But he is.  The chance to play with Sakusa on the same team had kept him up ever since Sakusa told him he was going to try out for professional teams after college.

“The Adlers are closer to home,” Sakusa says, “And I could play with Wakatoshi-kun.”

Him again.

Atsumu stares at a nearby locker, noting a tiny streak of dust.  He rubs it away with a pointer finger as a gnawing hole begins to open in his stomach.  Of course Sakusa would go to the Adlers.  They are the reigning champs, Sakusa could stay close to his family, and his beloved Ushijima is there.  The two of them could dance into the sunset, skipping and holding hands.

Sakusa clears his throat.

“I think I’ll probably sign with the Jackals though.”

The speed at which Atsumu whirls to stare at him breaks the sound barrier.

“I was impressed by Coach Foster and by Meian-san—”

“He’s married,” Atsumu says quickly.

“And I think my play style fits with Bokuto-san’s and I was impressed by Inunaki-san.  You do have some excellent players.”

“No truer words, Omi-kun.”

“I hardly see my family anyways.”

“Who cares about family?  Overrated.”

“And… I guess… I wouldn’t mind playing with you.”  Sakusa says this while looking away, his face turning pink, and Atsumu wants to take his shirt off, jump onto the nearby bench, and swing it around while singing the Japanese national anthem.

He settles for dancing around Sakusa, careful not to actually touch him, doing the approximation of a dance he saw on Tik Tok.

“You’re going to make me change my mind,” Sakusa glares.

“Let’s go tell Coach,” Atsumu says, “Get yer signature on a contract so you can’t back out.  Omi-kun, I’m so excited, you can’t even imagine.”

Sakusa is smiling now, and suddenly Atsumu remembers a time from years ago.  A middle schooler Sakusa gifting Ushijima with a shy smile, the corners of his eyes all cute and wrinkled, his whole face transforming with just the upturn of his lips.  And now the smile is directed at Atsumu.  Sakusa chose Atsumu.

“Omi-kun, you’re not going to regret this,” Atsumu says, surprised at the seriousness in his own voice, “I’m gonna do my best for you.  You’re never going to want for anything here in Osaka with me around, on or off the court.”

Sakusa’s face is pink, almost red against the paleness of his skin.  He nods minutely.

“I’m gonna rub this in Toshi-san’s face,” Atsumu crows.

“I already told him,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu is torn by this, happy that Sakusa had made his decision even before getting the grand tour of the Jackals’ facility.  But also distraught that Ushijima knew before Atsumu did.

“Okay, well, still gonna rub it in his face.  Come on, Omi, I’m gonna treat you to the best meal you’ll ever get in Osaka.”

“Are we just going back to your brother’s restaurant again?”

“Bokkun, are you done with your freakin’ shower?” Atsumu shouts into the showers to avoid answering Sakusa’s question.

~~~

5. MSBY

“Omi-kun, I’m still upset at you for getting a spread in Vogue Japan before me, but you look hot in this.”

Atsumu’s eyes take in the long line of Kiyoomi’s legs in the photoshoot as he rests his head on the very legs in real life, sprawled on top of Kiyoomi on the couch.

“It was the most uncomfortable thing I’ve done in my life.  I’m refusing to do any more of those exercises in ego from now on,” Kiyoomi replies.  He inspects Atsumu’s hair like a primate parent, pushing aside blonde strands to observe the dark undercut.

“You’re getting white hairs,” he states.

“I’m not, Omi, don’t you dare say that,” Atsumu says, looking up immediately.

“Hm,” Kiyoomi replies.  He purses his lips, and Atsumu takes the opportunity to push himself up and kiss them before dropping back down.

He goes back to looking through the magazine that Bokuto had shoved in his face after practice.

“You’re not going to want to keep looking,” Kiyoomi says.

“Oh please, seeing my boyfriend dressed in fancy clothes, in the sexiest positions, how could I stop?”

Atsumu turns the page and stops.

In the photo is a picture of Kiyoomi, a very handsome perfect man, standing next to Ushijima fucking Wakatoshi, also a very handsome perfect man but one whom Atsumu currently wants to rip limb from limb.  Kiyoomi is wearing a three-piece suit, but Ushijima is shirtless in only silk pajama bottoms.  A ringing begins between his ears, like a town bell warning of the arrival of Mongol hordes.

“What the fuck is this?  First of all, why wasn’t I invited to do this spread with you?  Second of all, the aesthetic looks horrible, why isn’t he wearing a shirt while you’re looking like you’re ready to organize a funeral?  Third of all, why wasn’t I invited to do this spread with you?  Fourth of all, fourth of all—”  Atsumu devolves at this point into a fit of muttering as he stares at the photo, his fingers scrunching and curling the edges of the magazine.

“Wakatoshi-kun is going to be on Vogue for the next issue.  They wanted to do a transition to get people excited,” Kiyoomi says smoothly.

“I hate this, I hate this so much,” Atsumu wails, tossing the magazine aside and burying his face in Kiyoomi’s stomach, “Am I not handsome enough, Omi-Omi?  Did you fall in love with him under the eye of the camera?  Is the issue going to have you as well, also naked or something?”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“That’s the way I am,” Atsumu moans, “Do you hate that?”

Atsumu can feel the heavy sigh Kiyoomi lets out.  He is pulled away from Kiyoomi by a hand grabbing his hair and looks up tearfully at his boyfriend who has a disgruntled, but fond look on his face.

“You are very handsome, you big dumb idiot.  I did not fall in love with Wakatoshi-kun.  I am not going to be in next week’s issue.  And I… don’t mind your dramatics.”

“Liar, you’ve had a crush on Toshi-san for years,” Atsumu replies, mostly appeased.

“You keep saying that,” Kiyoomi says, rolling his eyes, “No matter how many times I’ve told you I’ve had a crush on you for years.”

“Tell me more.”

“No,” Kiyoomi says and flicks Atsumu on the forehead.  “If I recall your stupid words from high school, if I had a crush on Wakatoshi-kun, it was ‘the way you have a crush on your friend’s big brother.’”

“You remember everything I’ve ever said to you, don’t you, Omi, you were crushin’ that hard.”

“Maybe I will offer to do the photoshoot with Wakatoshi-kun.”

“Anything but that,” Atsumu says, grabbing Kiyoomi around the waist and squeezing hard, “I’ll do anything if you promise to never be in the same room as Toshi-san again.”

“I’m going to be in the same room as him again some time.  We’re both professional volleyball players.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.”

“You’re horrifyingly jealous and possessive.”

“Aw, yer makin’ me blush, Omi-kun.”

A moment later, Atsumu is bodily tossed over Kiyoomi’s shoulder and brought kicking and shouting to the bedroom as Kiyoomi viciously tickles his sides on the way, before dumping him on the bed and kissing him senseless until Atsumu forgets the existence of Ushijima Wakatoshi.

~~~

And 1:  A Wedding

He does cut a handsome figure, Ushijima Wakatoshi.  Atsumu spots him immediately at the reception and makes a beeline toward him, putting his most annoying smirk on his face, the one that makes Osamu threaten to cut off his fingers with a blunt kitchen knife and the one that makes Kiyoomi threaten to smother him in his sleep.

“Toshi-san,” he croons.

“Ah, Miya, congratulations on your nuptials,” Ushijima replies, nodding his head at him.

Atsumu sees Kiyoomi glaring suspiciously at him from across the room but ignores him.

“Never thought I’d ever settle down, but boy did Omi make me want to put a ring on it fast as I could,” Atsumu says sagely.

“You and Kiyoomi-kun are a very ideal match.  I wish you all the happiness in the world,” Ushijima nods.

Atsumu tries to figure out if there’s some hidden snipe in Ushijima’s words, but the man is looking at him so seriously and graciously that Atsumu almost feels guilty for rubbing in his face that he got Sakusa Kiyoomi to marry him.

But the existence of Ushijima has been such a thorn in his side for years, and Atsumu has already accepted about himself that he’s a petty man.

“I still can’t believe that Omi chose me, over all the other eligible bachelors—ow.”

His newly-minted husband, after materializing by his side out of nowhere, squeezes between his fingertips a bit of flesh and skin on Atsumu’s lower back.  It hurts like hell.

Kiyoomi smiles at Ushijima, and then suddenly they’re hugging, and Atsumu looks around for the knife they used to cut the cake.

“Atsumu, a word,” Kiyoomi grits out when he finally separates from the mountain of perfect human body proportions, and they’ve exchanged murmured sweet talk or something.  Atsumu follows him sheepishly to the hallway outside the reception hall.

“What the fuck are you doing?  I can still stop your brother from getting the wedding certificate notarized,” Kiyoomi glares when they’re alone.

“Omi, I’m sorry, I’m a little shit, forgive me,” Atsumu pouts, knowing exactly what his expression does to Kiyoomi.  Indeed, Kiyoomi’s face softens slightly.

“Leave Wakatoshi-kun alone.”

“I will, imminently.”

“Do you even know what imminently means?”

“Nope, I have no idea, since I didn’t go to college like you, Mr. Smartypants.  I don’t know no big words,” Atsumu grins.

“I can’t believe you’re still jealous of Wakatoshi-kun after all of these years.”

“I will always be jealous of Toshi-san.  I’m taking all my envy to the grave, Omi-kun.  I’m gonna have them write ‘I kissed Omi-kun first, suckers’ on my gravestone.”

“You’re saying that as if I plan to kiss someone else at some point in time.”

“Are ya really not plannin’ on it?” Atsumu asks, crowding Kiyoomi against the wall and leaning into him, “Just gonna kiss me from now on?”

“If Wakatoshi-kun asks, I might consider it,” Kiyoomi says, a challenge in his eyes.

“Ya know, Omi-kun, I think you like me when I’m jealous,” Atsumu replies, “I think ya get off on it.”

“You make it very easy,” Kiyoomi hums, kissing Atsumu’s forehead before pushing him away.  “We should go back to our celebration, Atsumu.”

“Alright alright,” Atsumu nods when he hears the sound of breaking glass and the raised voices of Shouyo and Tobio bickering.

He feels a tug on his hand, and he turns to see Kiyoomi, who hasn’t moved from his place against the wall.  Atsumu raises an eyebrow when he sees how red Kiyoomi’s ears have become.  Kiyoomi clears his throat.

“You don’t have to be jealous, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says haltingly, “I know I provoke you sometimes, but it’s really just teasing.  I hope you don’t actually think…  I— for the longest time, I really haven’t— It’s just you, Atsumu, for me.”  His face has gotten impossibly redder, and Atsumu thinks he can see sparks flying from out of Kiyoomi’s ears.

Atsumu has already cried a few times that evening, during Osamu’s officiant speech, during Kiyoomi’s vows, during his own vows, during Kita-san’s toast, halfway through dinner when Kiyoomi wordlessly took the carrots Atsumu had piled on the side of his plate and ate them, during their first dance, and basically whenever his eyes gravitated to Kiyoomi and found Kiyoomi gazing back at him.

He cries again now, playing “It’s just you, Atsumu, for me” over and over again in his head like the perfect broken record as he buries his face in Kiyoomi’s shirt.

“’m getting yer nice suit all snotty,” he mumbles.

“I’m used to your lack of hygiene,” Kiyoomi replies, and when Atsumu looks up, he sees tears running tracks down Kiyoomi’s face as well.  In this little pocket of darkness and privacy they’ve found for themselves, Kiyoomi is crying for the first time that evening, something only Atsumu will ever see.  It fills Atsumu’s chest with an ache, makes his throat tight.

“Me too, Omi,” Atsumu whispers, “Since middle school fer me.  It’s just been you.”

They remain together a moment longer, until Atsumu hears his brother yelling his name and threatening to add an epilogue of embarrassing moments to his toast.  Atsumu wipes Kiyoomi’s face with the sleeve of his shirt and takes his hand.

As they walk back, Atsumu can’t help himself.  He grins at Kiyoomi.

“Okay, but if we did hypothetically establish a freebie list, who would be on yours?  Romero would definitely be on mine.  He’s a celebrity, it counts right?”

Kiyoomi glares at him viciously, squeezes his hand until it hurts, and lets go when they arrive back at the party, making his way directly toward Ushijima where he stands ramrod straight next to his strange red-head Willy Wonka chocolatier friend with the crazy eyes.

Atsumu laughs to himself, then looks around the room to find his brother and wrestle him to the ground for threatening to expose him, heart full with the knowledge that Sakusa Kiyoomi is his partner, till death do them part and well after that if Atsumu has any say about the afterlife.