Chapter Text
Prologue
Deep breaths. In and out. In a minute, everything was going to change.
He smoothed down his tux, the satin a comforting touch against his trembling hands. He stared at himself in the mirror, then at the clock, and ordered his legs to move. He was going to have to take that step himself because no one else could do it for him.
With one final breath, he left the dressing room and walked to the garden. It was a peaceful day, accentuated by the cream chiffon hanging on the arbor, the yellow chrysanthemums and white daisies that lined the aisle, and the rustic wooden chairs forming neat rows on the grass. The guests were already settled on their seats and they watched him step up onto the altar. He accepted their stares with as much grace as he could.
He knew why they were staring. He knew he was handsome, of course — he was Miya Atsumu, voted Hottest Athlete for three years straight by a landslide, and as he inches closer to 24 years old, he was still leading the polls. In fact, he was more handsome than ever, if he did say so himself. As he should be.
Because it was his wedding day.
He felt a presence behind him and he turned to look at his best man. Suna looked pained, mournful, and Atsumu was suddenly on edge.
“What is it?” he asked.
Suna leaned in and whispered, “He’s not here.”
His stomach dropped. “Where…”
“Osamu just found out and told me. Tsumu, Omi’s leaving. He’s catching a train to the airport.”
He croaked out, “Going where?”
“I don’t know,” Suna said, frustrated. “What’s it matter? He’s going away from you.”
Atsumu shut his eyes briefly, taking more deep breaths, trying to center himself. “I can’t do anything about it now.”
Suna looked like he wanted to protest, but they were interrupted by the sound of the classic wedding march.
He turned to watch his bride walk towards him. She was beautiful. This was their big day — this was supposed to be their happiest day. He faked a smile and didn’t even have to force out the tears, because it was the easiest thing to do to let them out. He felt like he was dying. He felt like he was falling apart.
This was a mistake.
He wanted to call off the wedding. He wanted to put an end to the nightmare. He wanted to run away, to turn back time, back to the very beginning.
He wanted to go back to when they knew nothing of true pain and irreversible mistakes — back before life became too much of a rollercoaster they couldn’t keep up with. He wanted to go back to the very start.
But it was too late.
They’ve run out of time.
Chapter 1
It started, of all things, with a new boy in town.
New things were a rarity in the sleepy neighborhood the Miyas resided in. They lived in the same house their ancestors built, right at the edges of Amagasaki. It was a small city with a population of 400,000, but in their corner of the world, it all felt a lot smaller. Nothing really happened in Amagasaki.
Until the Sakusas moved in.
They were the talk of the town before they even arrived — married doctors who transferred from Tokyo to Kobe? It was exciting. Why they chose Amagasaki as their city of residence was a mystery, but everyone was excited to see them. However, they ended up being more of a recluse than they expected. Nobody caught sight of the elusive couple and their only child for at least a week since they moved in.
But Atsumu would always remember that he saw him first.
It was a Saturday, a day with no consequence. He and his twin Osamu biked over to the store right outside their neighborhood to buy some snacks so they had something to munch on while playing “Dragon Quest.” It was busier in that area, because it was near the train station, but at nine years old, they were proudly independent.
Goodies in hand, they were about to return home when Atsumu remembered. “Osamu, I forgot to buy my drink!” He wanted to try the banana flavor of this drink he liked because he always drank the peach one.
“Fine, hurry up,” his twin said, unbothered. He straddled his bike and placed their purchases in the basket between his bike handles.
Atsumu abandoned his own bike and ran around the corner back to the store. It only took a couple minutes before he was walking out the exit, clutching a paper bag.
And it was there that he saw him: a little boy with curly black hair looking from left to right, seemingly distressed. He had his back to Atsumu, so he couldn’t see his face, but it was clear from the way his shoulders were shaking that he was crying. His interest was piqued.
“Why are you crying?”
The boy turned to look at him. His nose and mouth were covered by a face mask, and his dark eyes were wet. In his hands were his own bag of goodies.
“I’m lost. I don’t know how to get home,” the boy said, voice wobbly.
Atsumu put his hands on his waist. “Well, how did you get here?”
“I walked.”
“How far did you walk?”
His brows furrowed. “Dunno…”
How could he not know? This city was small and perfectly safe. Kids younger than Atsumu could navigate it easily. Was he new?
And then a lightbulb switched on in his head. He’s new. He’s the new boy.
Keeping his excitement down, he said, “Well, you probably live around here, I live nearby too. If you can’t find your house, wanna go to mine?”
The boy studied him. Then, surprisingly, he shrugged and said, “Okay.”
He couldn’t help but grin. “I’m Atsumu! What’s your name?”
The boy mumbled out an answer, and because his voice was muffled by his mask, all Atsumu heard was “...Omi.”
“Omi?”
“Kiyoomi,” the boy said in a much clearer voice.
But Atsumu was already attached to the name. “Omi-Omi! Let’s go!” Shamelessly, he grabbed him by the hand and tugged him behind him. He felt responsible for him — the boy clearly needed all the protection and guidance he could get. Atsumu can be his hero.
The boy tried to worm his hand out of Atsumu’s grip, but gave up after a while, and simply followed. When they arrived where his brother was waiting, he declared, “Osamu, I made a friend!”
Osamu looked up, puzzled and skeptical.
“Look, Omi, that’s my twin, Osamu. Osamu, this is Omi!”
“Kiyoomi,” the boy tried to correct again.
“Whatdya buy?” Osamu asked his new friend.
“Candies.” Kiyoomi had a very straightforward way of speaking, Atsumu noticed. He decided it was because he was speaking standard Japanese, though he seemed to have no trouble understanding Kansai-ben.
“Cool,” Osamu said. “We got some, too. Let’s go home and see what we got.”
Atsumu led Kiyoomi to his bike and hopped on. Then he patted at the spot in front of him. “Sit here. Gimme your bag.”
Frowning doubtfully, Kiyoomi obeyed, squeezing into the small space. And then, bracing his arms on either side of Kiyoomi to reach the handles, Atsumu pushed off from the ground and on they went. He heard Kiyoomi gasp before him and he grinned.
He biked across the neighborhood he’d known all his life. There was the house with the bright pink car parked in front, and the house with the colorful garden, and the house with the English bulldog. Nothing ever really changes around here. He turned left to their own street, which he thought he could navigate even while he’s asleep. He liked their village. It was peaceful, filled with kind people.
But when he put the brakes on in front of their house, he misjudged the additional weight, and he and Kiyoomi came crashing down on the ground.
Osamu burst into laughter. “Stupid Atsumu!”
He dragged himself up and patted himself down. Kiyoomi was on his hands and knees, giving Atsumu a hurt and accusing glance. His eyes were wet again.
Feeling guilty, he helped Kiyoomi up and gently brushed the dirt off him. “Sorry, Omi-kun. Let’s go in now.”
When they got inside, he heard his mother say, “I heard a crash, what happened?”
“Me and Omi-Omi just fell, Okaasan.”
She paused. “Omi-Omi?”
Atsumu could feel Kiyoomi clinging to the back of his shirt, peeking out from behind him when his name was called.
“Oh, dear. Who’s this?” His mother walked closer to him and crouched down. “Hello there. I’m Miya Shiko. What’s your name?”
“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” So Atsumu was right!
“Oh! Sakusa! The doctors who just moved in the other street! Am I right?”
He turned to see Kiyoomi nod.
“I found him outside the store, he was lost and all alone,” Atsumu informed his mother.
“So you took him home?” She shook her head. “No matter. Where are your parents, Kiyoomi-kun?”
“Work.”
“I suppose they would always be on call, even on weekends,” she said thoughtfully. “Hmm. Well, stay here, and then when they’re about to return home, we’ll take you back. Just tell us when. How about that?”
Kiyoomi nodded again, looking more eager. Atsumu bounced on his heels in excitement.
“Wonderful. I’ll prepare something for you to eat. Run along now. Atsumu, be nice to our guest, hmm?”
“Of course,” he said, offended. “Let’s go, Omi-Omi, I’ll show you to our room.”
Their room was rather messy. There were clothes on the floor, manga issues dumped on a desk, and video game consoles abandoned on the floor. He shared a bunk bed with Osamu, and his twin was already sitting at the bottom, snacks strewn on the mattress. He looked up when they arrived and said, “Took you long enough. C’mon I wanna try these new flavors.”
Atsumu was clutching Kiyoomi’s purchases. “Let’s all share everything.”
Kiyoomi carefully sat at the edge of the bed, looking uncomfortable. Well, that was only normal. They were strangers to him after all.
They tried to fix that by chattering to him about anything and everything. At some point their mother arrived with chocolate spread sandwiches. Atsumu was fascinated by the way Kiyoomi peeled apart the bread and nibbled on one first, his mask lowered down to his chin. He took the chance to study him — he was rather pale, if you asked him, and he had two curious-looking moles on his forehead. He had eyebrows that looked like caterpillars, and like caterpillars, they had a life of their own. It was his eyebrows that told Atsumu that he was confused.
“Did you understand what Samu just said?”
“No,” Kiyoomi admitted. “I’m not very good at Kansai-ben, yet. When you talk fast, I don’t understand.”
“Oh. Okay. Samu, talk slower,” he ordered.
“Yeah, whatever. We can teach you, too,” his twin said.
After a while, he couldn’t bear not asking any longer. “Say, what’s this for?” He poked at the mask.
“It’s to keep me safe,” he replied. Well, he knew that much, but he prodded anyway. What was he afraid of?
“Safe from what?”
“From viruses. I don’t wanna get sick.”
Atsumu tilted his head. “Why would you get sick?”
“Yeah, it’s not flu season anymore. It’s the middle of March,” Osamu pointed out.
Kiyoomi frowned. “I just don’t want to be sick.”
“You’re being silly.” Atsumu reached out and Kiyoomi moved his head back. “Seriously, it’s fine, you’ll see.”
Kiyoomi glared at him and pushed his hand away. “I’ll still wear this later, don’t take it off.”
“I just wanna show you that you’re worried about nothing, doesn’t that feel uncomfy?” Then, quick as a flash, he tugged at Kiyoomi’s mask until it was off his face. One of the elastic bands even snapped off.
Kiyoomi stared at the ruined mask in Atsumu’s hand, and then up to his face.
“See! Isn’t that better? You’re not gonna get sick,” Atsumu said knowingly.
And then Kiyoomi did something that shocked Atsumu to the core. He lifted his hand and smashed his uneaten piece of chocolate-covered bread right on Atsumu’s face.
For a moment he was frozen, confused. Did his new friend really do that?
And then Osamu howled in laughter and in a rush of anger, Atsumu tackled Kiyoomi. The scuffle his mother running into the room to pry them apart. The rest of the afternoon was spent in annoyed silence as the three of them played video games, only broken by Osamu’s occasional guffaws.
And that was the start of his lifelong complicated relationship with Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Chapter 2
If he tried to track down where everything went wrong, he would never be able to come up with just one moment. His life was a series of mistakes, one following another, until it turned into a web of regret touching every corner of his soul.
But Atsumu would always, always blame Osamu.
It was a strange thing, having a twin. On one hand, you had someone who’ll go through everything with you. You automatically had a best friend, a companion, a supporter. But that also meant you automatically had an arch-nemesis, a clone, a rival.
When they were young, it was amusing when people would mistake one for the other; as he grew older, it grated on him. He wanted to be his own self, not half of a whole. Even looking at his twin was disconcerting sometimes — since Osamu styled his hair the opposite of his, it was akin to looking at a mirror. The only difference was Osamu’s eyes were steel gray while his were honey brown.
When they hit their teens, he got his wish. But he didn’t know if it was any better, being identified as the “troublesome twin,” while Osamu got the title of “nice twin.” He was the “arrogant twin,” while Osamu was the “sweet twin.”
Despite that though, Osamu had always been his constant. Their mother once told them they shared a crib, because they cried when they were separated. Growing up, they shared phases and obsessions, be it a particular candy that they simply had to eat every day, or a video game they stayed up all night playing, or perhaps most importantly, volleyball.
He couldn’t help but love Osamu; their blood and their bond demanded it. And in the beginning, when life was easy, it was a no-brainer to do so. Of course he loved his brother who was with him every step of the way. He loved him because every time he yelled “Race ya!” before taking off without another word, Osamu would be at his side in a blink. Every time he wanted to try out something new, Osamu would always join him so he didn’t have to be so scared. They knew each other like the back of their hands. There were no mysteries, no secrets between them, and nothing they do could ever surprise the other.
But life wasn’t always easy.
The night he got engaged, he called up his twin.
“Tsumu.”
“Yo, Samu. I’m engaged.”
“You’re what?”
He rolled his eyes. “Engaged, dumbass. There’s no date, yet, wedding might not be for a while. But it’s probably gonna be all over the internet soon, so I’m telling ya.”
“Well, all I can say is she deserves better.”
“Shut up, Samu.”
“Who else knows?”
“I haven’t called anyone else,” he admitted.
“Wow, you actually told me first.”
“Yeah, well, you’re my twin.” He didn’t know why he did, honestly. He supposed bad habits are hard to break.
There was a pause in their conversation. Then carefully, Osamu said, “Have you told Omi?”
He stared into space. “He’ll find out soon.”
Osamu sighed. “Look, Tsumu, I know I have no right but you should talk to him.”
He did know that. He knew he was being an immature coward. But an old anger stirred at Osamu’s words. “You’re right.”
“Oh?”
“You have no right.”
He hung up.
Chapter 3
He learned that Kiyoomi needed him the second time he saw him cry. Atsumu was ten and Kiyoomi was nine, and he’d just gotten pushed to the dirt by a playground bully. Shocked and in pain, his eyes welled up with tears and he gazed up at Atsumu for help. Atsumu always liked to think it was because he succeeded in becoming Kiyoomi’s hero regardless of their rocky relationship.
He stepped in immediately, almost impulsively, and shoved the bully right back. No one else would stand up to the guy, but Atsumu couldn’t care less about the status quo — he protected what was his, and Kiyoomi was his the moment he found him lost in the street.
When the bully was gone, Atsumu picked Kiyoomi up, as usual, and patted his face mask back into place. “There. You’re fine.”
Kiyoomi just nodded, tears nowhere in sight, looking for all the world like he was over it. He was good at that. Osamu liked to tease him about his perpetual bored expression, and this quirk of his was funny sometimes, but annoying most of the time. Kiyoomi was such a strange child. Such an immovable child.
But he was also just a vulnerable child. He didn’t always make sense to Atsumu and that was fine; he loved him all the same. He was not like any person he’d ever known — Kiyoomi took some coaxing, some sweet talking before he’d open up, and there was always the danger he’d snap closed again and you’d be left injured. Sometimes dealing with him was like taking one step forward, two steps back. Everytime he thought he was getting somewhere, he’d say something to offend him and suddenly he was Public Enemy Number One.
He liked the most boring things: puzzles and umeboshi and birds. And he disliked almost everything else — especially germs, and dirt, and anything he thought would get him sick.
In all honesty, Kiyoomi was troublesome. But Atsumu always made the effort to adjust for him anyway. It was always the best feeling when Kiyoomi would slip his hand into Atsumu’s and follow him without complaint, or when he would agree to something as long as Atsumu would be there. When he and Osamu finally coaxed him into riding a skateboard, it was Atsumu’s hand he was clutching while Osamu slowly pushed from behind.
And maybe it was the months of growing up that Atsumu had over him, but he always felt protective over him. He would never ever let Kiyoomi fall, never.
Kiyoomi was his most special person. He was prickly and moody and grumpy, but his appearance in their life was like a breath of fresh air regardless. He slipped into place like the puzzle pieces he always loved to play with.
Which was why Atsumu was understandably upset when Kiyoomi poked his tongue out at him one day and declared, “Osamu is nicer. Osamu is my best friend.”
Perhaps Kiyoomi would never understand the impact that had left in his young heart — perhaps he himself didn’t, either. At the time he simply crossed his arms and let the tears flow, treating Kiyoomi and Osamu to cold, bitter silence. After half an hour of this, Kiyoomi eventually sat beside him and hugged him and said, “But you’re still my favorite person, I think.”
He didn’t ask how the two statements could coexist. He was just glad to hear it because he needed Kiyoomi, too.
Chapter 4
Growing up, he and Osamu had plenty of passing interests. They skated, they biked, they collected bugs, they played badminton, they played soccer.
But volleyball was different.
The sport sank its claws on Atsumu first, when he first watched a match on television. The next time a match was on, he dragged Osamu to watch with him and they both decided it was the coolest thing ever. They bugged their parents for a ball, watched every tape they could find, scoured bookstores for sports magazines and quickly got attached to their favorite players.
It wasn’t until Kiyoomi arrived in town that their parents deemed that it wasn’t just something they’d forget about in a month or two. One day, in the spring before fourth grade, they finally handed them a ball and said, “Go play with Kiyoomi-kun.”
They shouted an affirmative and ran out the door, not bothering with their bikes. It was a short walk from their house to Kiyoomi’s — at the end of their street they only needed to turn left and then go straight ahead. Like them, the Sakusas had a small front yard, and a backyard. The house was simple but it had room for children to run around in. It was the perfect suburban home.
They dragged a reluctant Kiyoomi from his bed and forced him to play with them. He didn’t seem like he particularly liked it or hated it. It was just something for him to do. But the thing about Kiyoomi was that once you get him started on something, he couldn’t stop until he finished it. Atsumu was counting on that.
“What do you think? Is it fun?” Osamu asked Kiyoomi when they were sitting on the grass after. Atsumu was pleased by the way Kiyoomi didn’t even blink at the prospect of dirt anymore.
He just shrugged. “It’s fine.”
Later that night, he and Osamu chattered the ears off their parents until they gave in and said they’ll sign the three of them up for a volleyball workshop.
It was there they met someone who’d later end up becoming a bigger part of their lives: Ojiro Aran.
He was a tall, foreign-looking kid, and they were instantly fascinated. They were jealous of his cool name and decided from then on: Atsumu was Tsumu, and Osamu was Samu. Atsumu also developed a great big interest in becoming a setter, having been enlightened by one of the instructors who told one of the kids, “I’ll let you hit it.”
Kiyoomi didn’t seem particularly inclined to join their conversation because he was busy hiding behind Atsumu, as was his habit. It seemed like he was intimidated by Aran.
It was also there in that workshop that they figured out why it was sometimes hard to receive Kiyoomi’s hits.
“It’s the spin,” Aran commented.
“The spin,” Atsumu and Osamu said in simultaneous realization.
Then Atsumu exclaimed, “Your wrist!”
“My wrist,” Kiyoomi agreed. He bent one until the tips of his fingers grazed his forearm and Aran’s face scrunched up with disgust.
Atsumu’s thoughts were racing with the possibilities. This particular quirk could set Kiyoomi apart. He could be the best. Atsumu wanted to help him get there.
“You totally have to use that,” Atsumu finally said, intensely. “You can be the bestest spiker ever!”
Kiyoomi just stared at him in that impassive way he liked to do, and Atsumu knew he didn’t have such big dreams. Not yet. But if there was one thing he learned about Kiyoomi was that he would eventually always follow. It was just a matter of time.
They had time.
Chapter 5
I ran out of time.
This was the thought that was running through his mind on the night before his wedding. He was having cold feet — hell his feet were so damn cold, he was a little surprised to remember it wasn’t winter yet. His entire body was stiff, but that was due to the shock, not the cold.
Suna chugged the bottle of wine he’d been nursing, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Shit.”
He couldn’t even speak.
“So, you know it’s not too late, right? You can still change your mind.”
Atsumu turned his head to stare at his best friend. “Yes, it is, Rin.”
“Atsumu. After all this time…”
“It’s too late. I can’t get off this train, Rin. And there’s just too many shitty things to process —” He groaned, clawing at his hair. “Why now?”
“So what, you’re gonna marry her?”
“Of course I’m gonna marry her!”
“Damn it, Tsumu!” Suna slammed a palm on the table. Startled, he could only stare. Suna never got angry, never. “You can’t just settle. And she deserves better than a husband who’ll always love her second.”
“She could make me happy. She does make me happy.”
“That’s fucking selfish, and you know it. And I know you could be happy with her, Tsumu, but I also know you could be happier. This...this just doesn’t feel right.”
He rubbed his hands on his face. “Look, Rin, she was there for me through it all. She saved me. She makes me want to be better. Isn’t that good?”
“It is, it really is. And maybe if you got married two years ago, I’d support you all the way. But things are different now, don’t you see? Things have changed.”
Atsumu slumped, pressing his forehead on the table. “When am I going to be free of him?”
“That’s not what you want, and you know it.” Suna sighed. “You know, I really don’t understand, Tsumu. You had all the time in the world. You had a goddamn lifetime. Why aren’t you and Omi together?”
How could he even begin to explain? “We just keep missing chances. I don’t know, Rin. It’s just not meant to be. I’m getting married tomorrow. Everything's in place, everything’s planned, that’s it.”
Suna stared at him. “You are the stupidest person on the planet,” He shook his head. “Whatever, I don’t care. We’re too damn old for me to still be taking care of you. If this explodes in your face, at least I’ll get front row seats.”
With that, Suna got up and walked out the room, leaving him with memories that were demanding to be relived. Suna was right, he had a lifetime’s worth of them. And it looked like they were going to haunt him until the next.
Chapter 6
When they were eleven, Atsumu dislocated his elbow, and Kiyoomi had to get stitches on his calf. These were perhaps the worst physical damage they had done to each other, and they had caused a lot.
When it came to Atsumu, Kiyoomi had a hair-trigger temper, for reasons nobody could quite understand. Atsumu just seemed to always get under his skin — he knew just how to tease him of course, and he’d admit to saying the worst things at the worst times. He knew he grated on Kiyoomi’s nerves but he couldn’t help but find delight in saying, “You’re so prickly, Omi-Omi,” or simply, “Sea urchin Omi!” And Kiyoomi, who’d get so frustrated that his words get tangled up in his mouth, would just let out a frustrated scream and attack him.
Their fights tended to be explosive and damaging in a way his fights with Osamu never were. He and Osamu coud beat each other up, sure, but those were just boyish scuffles, brotherly disagreements. They were normal, expected even. His fights with Kiyoomi, on the other hand, always shook everyone to the core, including them.
Kiyoomi had stabbed Atsumu with a pencil once, right on the thigh — he still had a lead-colored spot there, which he still liked to sulk about from time to time.
And there was the time he shoved Kiyoomi in anger while they were walking down the street.
Atsumu knew he could be sensitive and conscious about the most ridiculous things. He did know that, and at that point, Kiyoomi knew that too. Kiyoomi knew most of what set him off, but there were times where he was so petty. Kiyoomi had said something about Osamu’s gray eyes being more interesting than Atsumu’s brown, which he knew would irritate Atsumu, but he said it anyway.
His push sent Kiyoomi tumbling to the ground, hard, hand smacking the sidewalk when he landed and leg grazing an errant piece of wood that just so happened to have a nail sticking out of it. The impact looked painful, and Kiyoomi received a long, nasty gash running down his calf. The memory was traumatizing for Atsumu, but he remembered that there was a lot of blood and that he cried harder than Kiyoomi did, the latter gazing at his tears in confusion.
Kiyoomi ended up receiving five stitches and some anti-tetanus shots. Osamu was pale and looked like he was in shock, but he held Kiyoomi’s hand the entire time they were in the hospital. Atsumu stared at their clasped hands, guilty and confused.
And then there was the time Kiyoomi’s temper snapped clean in half while Atsumu was teasing him. To this day, it surprised him that Kiyoomi was set off by such a random remark — something silly about his moles. But it clearly irritated him and he kicked Atsumu in his side, causing him to tumble off Kiyoomi’s bed and straight onto the floor. There was a truly terrifying pop in his elbow, and he was unprepared for the pain that shot up his arm. He screamed. Osamu jumped off the bed and checked on him before running out the room, yelling, “Kenji-san!”
He started to hyperventilate and Kiyoomi finally peeked down at him, eyes wide and scared.
And then Kiyoomi started crying.
Kiyoomi’s father, Kenji, rushed in — it was Wednesday after school, they were lucky — and what followed was something Atsumu never wanted to live through again. He snapped his elbow back in place, the quick procedure punctuated with another shocked scream of pain.
Strangely enough, Kiyoomi’s tears caused Atsumu’s panic to ease. As they were preparing to take him to the hospital, Atsumu patted his hand clumsily. “It’s a’ight, Omi-Omi. It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”
Still crying, he hugged Atsumu in the side, seeking comfort. “Atsu,” he hiccuped.
Atsumu patted him on the head. “I don’t really think your moles are ugly.”
“I can’t believe you two,” Osamu said, shaken. “You hafta stop doing this.”
Kiyoomi got a stern talking-to from his father about the consequences of his actions, his normally warm brown eyes suddenly hard and furious. He was placed under house arrest for an entire month.
Not that it mattered. He and Osamu still visited every day, his elbow encased in a cast. They continued their day to day life as if it was never interrupted.
No one apologized — no one ever did. No one ever needed to.
Chapter 7
For all their disagreements though, Atsumu always thought he and Kiyoomi were cut from the same cloth. When he was younger, the word ‘soulmates’ whispered in his mind. It was silly and cheesy so he banished it the moment he grew half a mind. His younger self had no idea what he was thinking. Surely, it was all in the platonic sense.
He could still recall one training camp back when they were in middle school. Atsumu absolutely loved training camps, because playing against different schools was a challenge, but it irritated him that his teammates didn’t have the same drive to win. Even Osamu sometimes didn’t put on a hundred percent. But he could tell by the glint in Kiyoomi’s eyes that he understood.
“Hey, Tsumu,” Osamu said one day as they were eating lunch. “The team hates you.”
“So?” Atsumu said, mid-chew. Kiyoomi wrinkled his nose at him and he rolled his eyes. Kiyoomi was so stuck-up sometimes. Must be his Tokyo upbringing.
Osamu didn’t bother answering him and instead looked at Kiyoomi. “You could stand to be nicer too, Omi.”
“Why?” Kiyoomi looked at Osamu blankly.
Osamu stared at the both of them then sighed. “I’ve decided I don’t ever wanna be like the two of you. I’m gonna be nice to folks and live in peace with them.”
Kiyoomi and Atsumu looked at each other, silently wondering what was up with Osamu now. He’s always been prone to being contrary, especially when it came to Atsumu.
But it didn’t matter — it was all temporary, just a milestone. In another couple years, they’ll move on to a bigger and better team.
He had no patience for scrubs. He wanted the best, and nothing but the best.
And the way Kiyoomi slammed the ball home with the delayed tempo attack they practiced over and over the past months? The best.
Chapter 8
There was a place they used to go to that they simply called the Cemetery.
Atsumu first stumbled upon it after his grandmother died of diabetes. At the young age of nine, death wasn’t a very easy concept to grasp and it didn’t sink in until they were at the graveyard. In a fit of emotion, he ran away, crying, wanting to be alone.
Like many cemeteries, this one was attached to a temple. Atsumu ran past it, and found solace in a pocket of grass and trees. He sat on the ground, pressing his back against a large rock, and sniffled.
His peace was disrupted by the appearance of Osamu, and at his heels, Kiyoomi.
“Stupid Atsumu, don’t run away like that,” Osamu told him. His face was also wet with tears. They both sat beside him.
Kiyoomi was uncomprehending in the face of loss, but he understood that Atsumu and Osamu were grieving. He comforted them with clumsy hugs and head pats and offered them his favorite candy — a big sacrifice. Fondly, Atsumu ruffled his hair and told him to just eat it. He did, staring at them wide-eyed. Then he touched Atsumu’s face. “But Atsu doesn’t cry.”
“Yeah he does, I’ve seen it,” Osamu said.
Atsumu wiped his face, feeling self-conscious. He was the eldest of them, he should be the strong one. His parents told him he was born seven minutes ahead of Osamu and he took that extremely seriously. “Let’s go back in a bit, our parents will be looking for us.”
“Later,” Osamu said. “This place is pretty cool.”
They all agreed it was to be their secret hiding place, and vowed to return. They did, repeatedly over the years. They’d bike their way there, because it had a scenic route, and they’d visit their grandmother’s grave before heading to their tiny little spot.
Back then they had so much time. They were in their own little world. Nothing could touch them.
They stopped going to the Cemetery when they were eighteen.
Chapter 9
He knew he was in love with Kiyoomi by the time they were fifteen. Gone was the little boy who used to hide behind Atsumu, who looked to him for saving — they were young men now, smack in the middle of torturous puberty.
The years were good to Atsumu and Osamu. They got taller like they always hoped (and naturally they managed to keep up with each other in height), and they grew into their features — they were still a bit gangly, still a bit awkward, but everyone always said they were growing up to be “handsome young men.” Atsumu preened and secretly agreed.
But Kiyoomi got even taller than them. Nothing significant, just a couple of inches really, but it was enough of a bucket of cold water to Atsumu’s face: they were not children any longer.
And Kiyoomi was really, really good-looking.
Or perhaps it was just him who thought so. Unlike them, Kiyoomi suffered from acne, to his utmost disgust. He always sulked and moped about it and unfairly snapped at them for “not getting pimples even though you’re both gross and I’m always clean.” His hair was ridiculous, because he never liked getting haircuts, so his curls fell around his face. He was a mess. Atsumu thought, He’s beautiful.
And then, Oh, shit, am I gay?
The realization set off a crisis that resulted in two weeks of avoiding Kiyoomi and Osamu, as he conducted research by reading up articles on the internet and watching porn. After that filthy endeavor, he’d come off with the decision that he was bisexual.
He wondered how he should tell people. Did he have to? He at least had to tell Osamu. He hesitated on the thought of telling Kiyoomi — what did he want to accomplish there? They were only fifteen, just because he might have a crush on his best friend didn’t mean he wanted a relationship. In fact, that was probably a bad idea, right? They were friends. They were teammates. He can’t be homo.
He decided to tell them over the weekend once he’d mustered enough courage. They had a training camp to go through first.
But his plans — and subsequently, his world — were shattered when he caught Kiyoomi and Ushijima Wakatoshi in a liplock one night in camp.
They didn’t even notice him at first. He watched as Kiyoomi — prickly, moody, untouchable Kiyoomi — grasped Ushijima’s broad shoulders and pulled him closer. He’d only ever kicked Atsumu away from him before, and that was just due to proximity. When they were children he was more open to hugs, and Atsumu got away with cuddles when they were in their tween years, but now? There was a space between them that society dictated was proper.
(But there were times, when it was just the two of them, that the space seemed easy to bridge. The awareness prickled at Atsumu, but he always seemed to be the only one affected.)
He was apparently very wrong about two things. The first was that it wasn’t just him who thought Kiyoomi was good-looking, of course not. It was silly to think so. The second was that it wasn’t just a crush.
If it was, then his heart wouldn’t feel like it was breaking.
He stared at them, unable to look away, until Kiyoomi felt his presence and jumped away. When he spotted Atsumu, his face went from flushed to pale. “Atsu —”
But he was already walking away.
The bus ride back to Hyogo was painfully long and silent. He didn’t know where to place his scattered feelings, most of which were overridden by anger.
Because it was eventually clear to Atsumu that Osamu knew.
Knew about Kiyoomi’s newfound sexualty, knew about his crush on Ushijima fucking Wakatoshi, their rival.
Atsumu had noticed something was up — something shifted in their dynamic the past year but it was unnoticeable at first, and so easy to brush off. It started with Kiyoomi and Osamu suddenly shutting up when he returned from the bathroom, or wherever it was that he came from. Then they would all agree to meet up in the Cemetery, but whenever Atsumu arrived the two of them always looked like they’d been there for quite some time. Slowly but surely, Atsumu felt like he was being edged out of the circle, but that was impossible right? They were a trio. They couldn’t get rid of him even if they tried.
But Osamu and Kiyoomi’s slowly growing friendship grated at Atsumu. Sure, Kiyoomi always said Osamu was his best friend but Atsumu never felt out of place before. He held on the “most favorite person” title with truly idiotic desperation, but now he thought he was losing even that. Perhaps it was never even true at all. After all, what did he ever contribute to Kiyoomi’s life other than a constant source of annoyance and pain?
By the time they arrived back in school, Atsumu was raring to go. He stormed his way home without looking back.
He could hear Kiyoomi and Osamu hissing at each other behind him and it angered him further.
When they reached the part of the road where they must part, Kiyoomi began, “Atsu —”
“Don’t fucking say a word to me right now, Omi.”
“Fucking fine,” he snapped back.
Osamu just sighed.
They parted ways.
Later that night, when they were settled in their beds, Osamu said, “He just didn’t know how to tell you. He was scared.”
The fuck did he have to be scared of Atsumu for? When was Kiyoomi ever scared of him? Voice thick, he asked, “When did he tell you?”
There was silence for a while. Then Osamu said, “Last year.”
He figured. But the confirmation was no less painful.
Was he really so despicable that the two most important people in his life wouldn’t tell him something of such importance?
Did he even matter to them? They seemed to be content enough just by themselves.
“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Osamu said.
He pretended not to hear. He slept poorly that night.
Atsumu avoided Osamu and Kiyoomi at school. It was difficult because he and Kiyoomi were in the same class, and the three of them had practice together with the rest of the Inarizaki High Volleyball Club, but he stopped eating lunch with them. He started bugging Aran — who they’d been delighted to see when they first applied for the team — in his classroom. The first time he did that, Aran just sighed and said, “Fighting again?”
When he kept coming, he frowned and said, “Okay, this is going on for too long. What happened?”
Their fellow club member and Aran’s classmate, Kita Shinsuke, looked over. “What’s going on with you three now?”
“Nothing,” he insisted. “We’re just having a fight.”
He also started purposely staying back after practice so he wouldn’t have to walk home with Kiyoomi and Osamu. One day, one of their middle blockers and Osamu’s classmate, Suna Rintarou, said, “Alright, what’s going on?”
Atsumu paused from where he was placing volleyballs in the basket. “Huh?”
Suna gestured with the net he’d just rolled up and was carrying in his arms. “The three of you are usually inseparable but now you’re not talking.”
“We’re just having a fight,” he explained again.
“Hmm. Feels kinda different from your previous ones.”
The team had witnessed countless incidents involving the three of them — at first it was just him and Osamu, and it alarmed them at first, because of how violent it had gotten. After one too many times of this, they accepted it as normal. But when he and Kiyoomi started going at it, well — that was another round of shock for them. Kiyoomi was supposedly the sensible one, and he really usually was. But while he and Atsumu were like cats and dogs growing up, now they were like a tiger and a wolf going at it, claws out, fangs bared. They always walked away wounded.
This time shouldn't be different, but it was.
“Yeah,” he finally said. It was all he could say.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Suna said. “I don’t really know you three that well yet, but I can’t really imagine you guys apart. It’s weird.”
He and Suna walked out of campus together, idly chatting. He was glad for it — it pulled him out of the storm inside of him, reminded him there were people outside of the three of them. He’d been too complacent with the company he kept. Perhaps there was room for more.
Before he and Suna parted ways — they were going in different directions though the distance wasn’t significant — Atsumu said, “Hey. Thanks. You’re not so bad.”
“Gee, thanks,” Suna said drily.
He thought he might like this dude. He appraised him for a while. Suna had narrow grayish-yellow eyes that were too shrewd and clever for his own comfort, but he had that deadpan attitude and dry humor he appreciated. He was tall and he was a skilled volleyball player, even though his hair was rather weird.
He announced, “We should be friends.”
“What an honor,” Suna said sarcastically. But then he pulled out his phone and handed it over. “Put your number in.”
He did. He went home feeling lighter.
It took about a week before Atsumu could look at Kiyoomi in the face, and another few days before he would talk to him normally. One afternoon, after club practice, Atsumu caught him alone and demanded, “So you’re gay then?”
“Yes,” Kiyoomi said defiantly, ready for a fight.
“And Osamu knew this whole time?”
“Yes.”
Atsumu scoffed. “No wonder you two always acted like you had a secret. I thought maybe I was imagining me being sidelined but —” he laughed bitterly.
Something like regret softened Kiyoomi’s face, but Atsumu didn’t let him speak.
He bit out, “And what, you’re fucking dating Ushiwaka?”
“So what if I am?” Kiyoomi shot back, angry again, just like that.
It incensed him further. “He’s the fucking enemy, Omi. And he lives in Tokyo!”
Kiyoomi dragged a hand down his face. “We aren’t dating, we aren’t ever going to be dating. We just wanted to try it!”
“What, kissing?” Atsumu sneered. “You didn’t have to go to him, or all the way to fucking Tokyo for that.”
Before he let his words run away from him again, Atsumu whirled around and stormed away.
He heard Kiyoomi let out a noise of frustration, before he stomped away, too.
They went home separately again that afternoon. But the next day, it was like the past two weeks never happened. They went to school together, and went home together, and ate lunch together, only this time they had Suna.
Funny how that happened.
Still, Atsumu couldn’t help the way he held Kiyoomi at arm’s length from then on. There was suddenly a wall between them, and Atsumu had to admit he became a little bit more careless with his words around him, a little less thoughtful, a little bit...off. Maybe even a little mean. He regretted it sometimes, when Kiyoomi’s expression would melt to that of hurt, which reminded him too much of a lost eight-year-old that had immediately wormed himself into his heart. But most of the time he didn’t. He felt like an injured animal lashing out. Kiyoomi didn’t deserve it, he knew he didn’t deserve it, but he couldn’t help himself.
There was a distance between him and Osamu, too. Neither of them apologized. Most days, they were fine. But when it came to the subject of Kiyoomi, they were one careless word away from going at it. He was their kryptonite.
Just what kind of monster did they let into their lives?
Chapter 10
The idea came to him one lazy Sunday morning. Spurred by the need to further be separated from his twin, Atsumu declared, “I’m changing my hair.”
“Eh?” Osamu said from his bed below. “How?”
“I was thinking of bleaching it blonde.”
Osamu hummed. “Interesting...I wanna do it, too.”
He clenched his jaw in irritation. He was doing this to have his own identity, damn it.
“But I think I want gray,” Osamu continued.
He considered it. That didn’t sound bad. Blonde for him, gray for Osamu. The colors would match their eyes. Their grandmother used to say Atsumu was like the sun, and Osamu was like the moon; this felt right.
Inspired, he sat up and scaled down the stairs of their bunk bed. “Alright, let’s go.”
“Where?” Osamu stared at him.
“To the store, to buy the stuff.”
“Do you even know what stuff?”
“Uh...right. Let’s Google it.”
After researching for an hour, they left the house with a list of things to buy. As they were boarding their bikes — which were much bigger now — Osamu said, “We can go to Omi’s after, he can do it for us.”
“Hmm.” That didn’t sound like a bad idea, even though his stomach twisted at the thought of seeing him. It hasn’t been long since their big fight, and things haven’t had the chance to go back to the way they were. Atsumu didn’t think it was possible anymore. He hasn’t even told him, or Osamu that he himself was bisexual. After the shit they pulled, he wasn’t particularly inclined to. But it wasn’t like he could avoid Kiyoomi. So he said, “Yeah, fine.”
It didn’t take long until they were knocking on the Sakusa household’s door. Kiyoomi’s mother, Kanna, greeted them with a small smile. “Hello, boys. He’s in his room. Moping, if you ask me. But why, I do not know.”
Was he upset about their fight, too?
They waved at Kanna and climbed the stairs. Atsumu braced himself before throwing open the door. Just act normal.
Kiyoomi was in bed, curled up under the sheets. He lifted his head when the door opened and glared at them. “What.”
“Yo,” Osamu said. “We need you to bleach our hair.”
This made Kiyoomi sit up. “What?”
Atsumu lifted the plastic bag of supplies. “Bleach our hair. I’m going blonde, Samu’s going gray.”
Kiyoomi stared at them. “What in the world has gotten to you two idiots now?”
After some whining and explaining, they managed to coax the lazy fuck out of his bed and into the bathroom. After consulting the internet, they decided to do two rounds of bleaching each. And then Osamu would need to suffer through an extra round of coloring to get his hair to turn gray.
Atsumu took his turn after Osamu. He sat on the cold tiles between Kiyoomi’s legs and stared idly at the wall as gloved fingers worked through his hair with a brush. The bleach stung but he bore it stoically. They had requested that Kiyoomi leave their undercuts alone. It was probably going to turn out fine. Probably.
At that moment, it was easy to forget about their messy fight. It’s always been easy to forget about all the ways they’ve hurt each other through the years, and that must be the worst part of it all, because they always did it again.
But you always hurt the one you love, don’t you? Atsumu mused. That was just life.
“Hey, Omi-Omi.”
Kiyoomi paused in his ministrations. “What?”
“You know I don’t hate you for being gay, right?”
Softly, Kiyoomi said, “Yeah.”
He waited but nothing more seemed forthcoming. So instead, he said, with a touch of nostalgia, “Remember when we were kids and we’d fight, and I only needed to buy you your favorite candy in the store and we’d be fine? And we’d spend the afternoon biking around aimlessly, just the two of us.”
“Yeah.” It was just one word but Atsumu knew Kiyoomi’s voice well enough to spot that he was Having Emotions and that at no point should he turn around and look at him because he hated being vulnerable. So Atsumu didn’t. He looked at the wall ahead of him respectfully.
“Things were easier back then,” he said instead.
“Guess life gets harder as we go.”
Yeah. And the wounds get deeper as they go, too. Broken bones and bleeding cuts had nothing on the way they threw words like knives.
“Hey, Atsu,” Kiyoomi suddenly said. “Let’s bike over to the Cemetery again. Just the two of us.”
Like old times, huh? He was wary, but he liked the sound of that. “When?”
“Next weekend? Saturday? I want to tell you something.”
“Ah, sorry. Got a thing with Rin. There’s this game in the arcade we’ve been playing, and we’re still keeping score. Can’t let him beat me.” In the wake of all that had happened lately, he couldn’t help but feel like the distance between them was widening. He wasn’t sure if it was his fault or if it was just life, but it made room for Suna. He was hanging out with him more often than Kiyoomi and Osamu now.
“Oh. Sunday?”
“We’re catching a movie,” he said, apologetic.
Kiyoomi didn’t offer a third time. Atsumu didn’t say a word.
And then Kiyoomi said, “Okay, we’ll rinse that off in a bit then let’s apply the toner.”
Atsumu craned his head to look at him. “The what now?”
“The toner? To neutralize the yellow?”
“We didn’t buy no toner.”
Kiyoomi was looking at him like he was stupid. A familiar sight. “Then that’s your problem, idiot.”
He had to wait half an hour before rinsing and then suffering through it again. Later, Kiyoomi applied the gray color to Osamu’s hair and he seemed pleased by the results of his own work. Atsumu had to admit the gray suited his twin. It brought out the color of his eyes. Osamu admired himself in the mirror and said, “Nice job, Omi.”
Atsumu dried his hair with a blow dryer, excitement pumping through him. He was already liking what he saw. This was just the change he needed.
But Kiyoomi had something to say about it, naturally. “Your hair looks like uncooked spaghetti noodles.”
Atsumu rolled his eyes, but didn’t take the bait, because Kiyoomi sounded more amused than anything. That was fine. He can have his fun. Osamu poked curiously at his hair and he smacked his twin’s hand away.
Hair dry — the texture was noticeable different, but it was still soft, thank god — he ran a hand through it, pleased.
He turned to Kiyoomi and struck a pose, needing his approval. “Well?”
For a while, Kiyoomi only stared at him, eyes wide. Why was he looking at him like that? Was it that horrible?
“It’s not bad,” he finally admitted. “Samu’s is better though.”
Osamu preened and Atsumu rolled his eyes, but he could help but grin at him. He likes it, he realized. That was a bonus.
“Now I can finally tell you two apart,” Kiyoomi said, recovering.
“Don’t be silly,” Osamu said. “You never mistook us for the other since we were in fifth grade.”
It was true. Atsumu felt like Kiyoomi had them memorized since they were ten. He knew all their habits, bad and good, and subconsciously adjusted his own. He only wore face masks when they were entering unfamiliar territories now, and his mysophobia wasn’t as debilitating as it was before. He once told them, “You two are the most disgusting cockroaches in the world, it couldn’t possibly get worse than this. I’m desensitized.” He even talked like them now, his standard Japanese steadily morphing to the lilting sounds of Kansai-ben over the years. None of them even really noticed it happening. Were they really fifteen now? Where did the time go?
It’s only been five years since Kiyoomi slipped into their life silently and made a home there, but it felt like a lifetime. And there was a lifetime waiting for them still.
It sounded exciting.
He had no idea what was in store for them, yet.