Archive of Our Own

The only condition Kiyoomi had insisted on when he agreed to go to college was to live on his own. It wasn’t hard to convince his parents, considering the fact that they were making him study against his will - and the more important fact that they were filthy rich - so he got his way without too much of a fight.

He actually didn’t mind the studying part so much. Although he entertained the idea of going pro right after high school, he knew securing a future for when volleyball was no longer an option was the sensible thing to do. What he did mind, however, was the thought of sharing a microscopic living space with some random guy whose personal hygiene could not be accounted for beforehand, and of having to bear the living nightmare that took shape in the form of a disgusting college dorm.

So, having made his bargain, he found himself peacefully enjoying his student life in a cozy apartment within walking distance of the campus, free from any sort of trouble. It was spacious, the view was fantastic, and, most importantly, his neighbors were quiet. To his left, nothing but a middle-aged woman who was barely ever home and, to his right, an old couple whose only sign of life was the occasional shout of “How do I change the channel again?!”

Peace and quiet reigned and Kiyoomi’s life was as calm as could be.

And then came the storm.

It was 4 pm on a placid Saturday afternoon when he heard the first thud. He had been working on an assignment, enjoying the quiet atmosphere, when the roaring sound of something hitting the floor interrupted his thoughts. He figured one of his neighbors had dropped something or had fallen by accident - and prayed that it hadn’t been the old lady next door - so he paid no mind to it and proceeded with his task.

Unfortunately, he heard it again only moments later. It was now a constant loud rumble - clearly coming from upstairs - which sounded like a bunch of heavy boxes or a king-sized bed being dragged across-

Oh, no. The realization hit him like a truck. Please, no. Anything but this. He had made it this far without a single disturbance. When he had moved in and found out that the apartment above him was empty, he’d felt like the luckiest man in the world. He remembered thinking that it sounded too good to be true. And apparently, it was.

Now lo and behold, what had once been heaven above him - calm, silent heaven - turned into the fiery pits of hell.

An upstairs neighbor was never good news.

He tried to concentrate and ignore the commotion, but since the new resident seemed to have enough belongings to furnish an entire mansion, he eventually gave up. He gathered his notes and stormed out of the building, heading for the familiar cafe in the corner - which was sure to be more serene than the Ikea orchestra echoing through his ceiling. Surely when he came back things would have quieted down and his neighbor would turn out to be a respectable person, decent enough not to disrupt his harmonious life.

Naturally, he could not have been more fucking mistaken.

His fantasy of the ideal, prudent neighbor only held true for a total of five hours after he got back from the cafe. Kiyoomi was getting ready for bed after a very stressful day - to watch Netflix until 4 am, mind you. He was a responsible student, but not a psychopath - when he thought to himself, “Hey, I haven’t heard a single noise from upstairs. Maybe the new neighbor is actually okay.” And of course, that’s all it took to summon the devil above.

One second everything was quiet and the next all hell broke loose. The ceiling started vibrating and Kiyoomi’s ears were close to bleeding due to the most unpleasant screeching sound he had ever heard. The music was actually calm, which only made it worse because he could not find a reasonable explanation as to why someone would play it that fucking loud. Yet sadly, it wasn’t loud enough to stifle the unholy shriek rising above it that was either someone’s singing or a chorus of pigs giving birth to rocks. The guy’s voice - Kiyoomi realized now that it was a guy - was worthy of being used as a sonic military weapon to knock out a whole army of men. It was so bad that letting him raise his voice even above a whisper should be considered a federal offense.

Kiyoomi really didn’t want to confront him. He felt like killing him, yes. He figured he would be doing a favor to any living being within a ten-mile radius by doing so, but he restrained himself. “It’s the first night,” he thought. “I’m not going to go knock on someone’s door at 11pm right after they moved in.” He would just put on his headphones, drown out the noise, and hopefully get some sleep once the guy felt like he had tortured the neighborhood enough.

Seven hours later, without a single minute of rest and the whole damn indie album engraved in his brain after hearing it on a loop about 50 consecutive times, Kiyoomi got out of bed and grabbed a pen. “I’m going to be civil,” he told himself. “I’m going to be civil and that way he will listen.” He jotted down some words onto a piece of paper and stumbled out of his apartment and onto the elevator, where he stuck the recently scribbled note for anyone to see.

Dear 5B,
First of all, I wish to extend my welcome to you for recently moving in. However, I would like to kindly ask if you could please refrain from playing music at such late hours, or at least keep it down a little since it prevents me from sleeping.
Thank you for understanding.
Regards, your new neighbor.

That sounded nice enough, right? Nothing a polite, straightforward request couldn’t fix. All he had to do was wait for the guy to read it and things would go back to normal.

When Kiyoomi got back later that day and stepped into the elevator he was surprised to find a note attached next to his.

Dear Anonymous neighbor,
Thank you! I’m happy to be here.
I’m sorry for disturbing you but, you see, when Taylor Swift releases a new album you just HAVE to blast that shit until your ears bleed, am I right? Still, I’m really sorry for the inconvenience and I will try to keep it down (although you should REALLY listen to that album. Then you’ll understand what I’m talking about).
Best wishes, your local Swiftie, your new 5B neighbor.

The audacity of this bitch.

His ears had bled alright. Kiyoomi didn’t need to listen to the album to understand. He was pretty sure he could recite every single lyric by memory and, honestly? Overrated.

And what was with that pretend politeness? Well, to be honest, Kiyoomi had done it too, but it’s not as fun when you’re the butt of the joke. He was supposed to have the higher ground in this situation. He was the victim, after all.

If this was the guy’s reaction to getting a complaint, Kiyoomi didn’t want to imagine how annoying he could get if he called him out on his insolence. He would probably be better off not wasting his time and effort trying to drill some sense into the man. It wasn’t worth it and it would just take more years from Kiyoomi’s already miserable life.

He ripped the two notes from the mirror and headed for his apartment. At least the guy had apologized, right? Maybe he could just let him off with a warning.

That warning expired no later than the following morning.

It was a sunny day, the wind was light, and there was no traffic on the road, so Kiyoomi decided to take his stuff outside and get some work done on his balcony. He was blissfully sipping on his tea, listening to the birds chirp and looking over his class notes, when he felt the first drop. It had left a small, wet imprint on his papers and he looked up at the sky, confused. There was not a single cloud there and the weather forecast hadn’t announced rain for the following weeks. Maybe they’d been wrong?

Suddenly two more drops landed on the page. A few more followed soon after and, just as Kiyoomi managed to get his notes out of the way, a big gush of water poured right onto his balcony floor. At least he hoped it was water. Looking up, he realized that the outpour was not coming from the sky, but from the balcony above.

Of course it was. Where else would it come from? First, he ruined my sleep schedule, so naturally, he had to ruin my academic future too.

Kiyoomi hadn’t even seen the guy’s face yet and he already hated his guts. He honestly thought that if they ever crossed paths, his fists would be the ones to make an acquaintance with him first. For his sake, it was better to stay away. Besides, a face-to-face confrontation sounded like too much of a hassle and he was not about to add another headache-inducing problem to his already taxing life.

So, he decided to settle for the familiar distant approach.

Dear 5B ‘Swiftie,’
Thank you for keeping the noise down like I asked (although I did listen to the album and it sounds to me like it would be better if you turned it all the way off).
Nonetheless, I have another request. I am not sure whether you keep plants on your balcony or you really do not own a toilet, but I would prefer it if the top of my balcony didn’t double as a waterfall. Maybe it’s just a personal whim, but I would much rather my class notes stay dry when I have to study. Perhaps you can keep your liquids contained inside your property next time.
Thank you in advance.

By the time he finished writing the note he was already late for class - Seriously, props to this guy for being an overachiever in ruining every aspect of my life in less than 48 hours - so he got dressed in a hurry, grabbed his soggy papers, and headed out the door. He left his complaint where the previous one had been and hoped that this time around there would be a suitable response waiting when he returned.

You can probably already guess how that turned out.

When the doors to the elevator opened to take Kiyoomi back to his bed for some much-needed rest, he found the awaited answer. Needless to say, it was far from what he had expected. Although coming from that asshole, nothing seemed more fitting.

Dear wet neighbor,
I apologize for raining on your parade. I was just trying to keep my plants alive.
I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that, although I can be quite lewd, I do not have the indecency to pee out of my balcony, if that is what you were implying (although, after reading your stupid opinion on what I believe is the BEST album of the year, I’m seriously reconsidering whether I should).
Even so, I hope I didn’t ruin your notes. What do you study anyways? (clearly, it isn’t music). Sincerely, your curious 5B neighbor.

Nice. Very nice. He really did sound very sorry about what he did, what with the whole threat and everything. What a nice, mature conversation we’re having, Kiyoomi thought.

He pulled a post-it note from the front pocket of his bag and scribbled a quick note, angrily sticking it over that jerk’s reply.

Dear 5B,
Are you really trying to start a conversation with me after you threatened to pee on my balcony? I hope your plants die and that Taylor Swift doesn’t get nominated for any awards.
Let’s avoid small talk and just try not to flood my apartment next time, thank you very much.

Kiyoomi didn’t get paid enough to deal with this shit. He didn’t even get paid at all, but with this jackass, he deserved a fucking fortune. The polite act was no longer viable. If he didn’t get the hint after Kiyoomi’s blunt response, he was in real need of some brain cells.

Surprisingly, and in commendation to his common sense, the guy didn’t utter a single word - or wrote one, whatever. The next couple of days brought no new answers or disturbances and Kiyoomi could finally say that he had gotten the last laugh in their little neighborly dispute (although he didn’t miss the small sad face emoji doodled right under his last retort).

Of course, those couple of days were enough for the guy to call it quits on their truce - something that became evident when, halfway through his dinner, Kiyoomi’s kitchen turned into the set of a low budget horror movie.

Since the colder days had ended, he had left his balcony door open to enjoy the gentle breeze coming from outside. That turned out to be a huge fucking mistake. That ‘gentle breeze’ was now the reason his whole apartment smelt like burnt chicken - or was it fish? A cake? A really disgusting candle? It was so bad he really couldn’t tell. Not only that, but the smoke which carried the revolting smell was seeping through the doors and impregnating every surface, making sure that, hey, not only am I gonna eviscerate your sense of smell but I’m also going to make sure that as soon as you get it back the scent will still be lingering in every single object you touch.

So fucking considerate.

When Kiyoomi finally managed to reach the doors and close them - which was a whole odyssey in itself involving numerous trips and falls and him stumbling into every piece of furniture he owned, given that his vision was clouded by the mysterious chicken/fish/cake/candle mist - he ran to his bedside table and took the small notebook he kept in his drawer.

Dear 5B,
It's me again.
Just curious, were you making dinner just now or were you trying to start a bonfire and send some smoke signals to the other side of town? I had my balcony doors open and my living room looked like the stage of a magic show.
Please stick to take outs in the future. Attached below is the number to the nearest McDonalds.
You’re welcome.

After leaving the note on the elevator - because there was no way he was getting anywhere near the source of that stench - he stumbled back into his kitchen and put his dinner back in the fridge. “There goes my appetite, I guess,
he thought as he proceeded to get ready for bed and tried to figure out a way in which he could fall asleep and somehow not breathe at the same time.

Thanks to that guy, his life would only consist of restless nights from that point forward.

The following morning, after confirming that the foul smell was very much still present in the air, he got his reply.

Dear grumpy neighbor,
Glad to hear from you again!
It sounds to me like your balcony doors being open is a you problem. I can’t help it if the wind just happened to blow that way.
I think my cooking is fine and I’m not about to ruin my body with greasy fast food just because you can’t handle a little mist. I would say a little more flair for the dramatics would do you good, but you seem to be dramatic enough. What’s with all the mystery? I had to figure out you’re my downstairs neighbor through my great powers of deduction, but I have yet to see your face. Maybe you’re scared of facing me or maybe you’re just really ugly. Or both. Which is it? I would love to find out.
P.S. You may want to close your balcony doors tonight because I plan on making popcorn and I’m reaaaaally bad at it.
Yours sincerely, your friendly 5B neighbor.

That was the last fucking straw.

The asshole didn’t even apologize this time and yet he was still trying to become best fucking buddies. Kiyoomi wasn’t even gonna dignify that with a response.

He ripped the papers off, walked away, and decided he wasn’t going to let him ruin his life any further. He would go back to his old habits and if the guy just so happened to burn the building down, then at least his suffering would finally be over. “For now,” he told himself, “I’m just going to pretend like he doesn’t even exist.”

And by some sort of miracle, no colossal disaster interfered with that plan.

After such a hasty start to his week, Kiyoomi was glad to go back to his peaceful, unperturbed routine. He’d get up early in the morning and either go for a run or stay in to revise for his exams, he’d go to class, he’d have lunch with his cousin - when the other was not hungover from some rowdy team party, the details of which Kiyoomi preferred remained undisclosed - and he’d lay around his house revelling in his own company.

And yet something felt off.

Maybe it was the stress of the impending exams week that made him want to look for a distraction, or maybe it was the small tell-tale signs of life above him - like feet shuffling on the floor or the faint sound of a distant TV show - that reminded Kiyoomi of his newly proclaimed enemy. But for some reason - some bizarre and stupid reason - he felt a strange sense of nostalgia for his elevator quarrels.

It wasn’t as if he was dying for the guy to throw a fucking rave upstairs and crash through his ceiling, but maybe he was hoping for a small inconvenience that he could use as an excuse to leave another note. Why? Kiyoomi had no fucking clue. I mean, the guy was a no-good jerk who managed to spoil his every waking hour through the sheer act of existence without an ounce of remorse but, to be quite honest, Kiyoomi was not one to be the judge and jury of assholes. You can’t condemn someone for a crime you commit yourself.

Besides, he couldn’t deny that the back and forth bickering they had going on was probably the most entertaining thing that had happened to him in months - and that included listening to Komori drunk call his ex at 4 am and go on a 40-minute rant about how much he missed his dog and if he could please let him see him again. And yes, maybe it all came at the price of a smelly kitchen and some soggy papers, but at least it gave him an outlet to complain about his shitty life and blame it on someone else. See? Asshole. Takes one to know one.

Luckily - if you could call this kind of shit lucky - his prayers were answered only two days later, and the chaos ensued once again.

Although Kiyoomi prided himself on being devoted to his studies, volleyball was and would always be the main driving force in his life. He attended his classes, he passed his exams with top grades, and he fulfilled his parents’ expectations, but every free second he could spare was crammed with his love for the sport. Be it practice with his college team, shopping online for new gear, or tuning in to every game on TV, volleyball always brightened up his day. Still, he knew when to set limits for himself and never let it interfere too much with his more pressing responsibilities.

Wednesday afternoon meant the anticipated finals of the V. League Division 1 Men’s Tournament was taking place. Kiyoomi had been following every game, rooting for his favorite teams, and simply admiring each and every play showing on the screen. You could make fun of his volleyball-crazed mind all you wanted, but the high that came along with watching those professional athletes pour every single ounce of their years of hard work onto every rally and clinging to the edge of your seat every time the ball bounced against a set of hands was something Kiyoomi would never get tired of.

On that occasion, the MSBY Black Jackals were going against Kiyoomi’s personal favorites, the Schweiden Adlers, to determine a champion once and for all. He had been waiting for this face-off for weeks, secretly hoping that the Jackals made it all the way to the end just so that he could enjoy seeing them get crushed under the sheer raw power of their renowned enemies, the Adlers.

Unfortunately, the timing of the event could not have possibly been worse, because Kiyoomi had a very important exam the following morning. “No worries,” he assured himself. “I’ll just record the game, turn my phone off, and watch it as soon as I’m finished studying.” It was a fool-proof plan with no possible distractions.

But then again, no plan is ever perfect if you fail to consider every possible factor.

Kiyoomi should have expected it. He had asked for it himself after all. In true asshole fashion, the dooming factor to his apparently not so fool-proof plan was none other than, you guessed it, his oh, so considerate upstairs neighbor.

Kiyoomi had been about to finish off for the night. He was flicking through the last pages of his textbook, brushing up on some final details and making sure he hadn’t missed any important information. Only ten more minutes and he would’ve been able to relax, knowing he was well prepared for the next day, and finally enjoy the game he had been looking forward to for so long. Just as he was about to close the book a piercing scream resonated through the air. For a hot second, it sounded like someone had just gotten brutally murdered. In reality, no one had, but Kiyoomi felt the urge to make sure someone would be.

“FUUUUUUUUCKKK!!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE ADLERS WIN?!! THAT SPIKE WAS TOTALLY OUT OF BOUNDS, THE REF IS FUCKING BIASED!!”

Oh, no he fucking didn’t. Kiyoomi had never been one to resort to violence to settle a conflict, but at that moment he had to physically hold himself back so as to not rush upstairs and take it upon himself to make sure that the guy’s vocal cords would be permanently incapable of producing another sound ever again. How come that every single thing that came out of that prick’s mouth had the power to fuck everything up? First the awful singing, now this. Props to his range, really.

He shoved all his books aside with a huff and angrily turned on his TV. Fuck him. Kiyoomi was going to watch the game anyway. He was going to be really grumpy while doing so, but he would not give the idiot the satisfaction of depriving him of the one thing he actually enjoyed doing. At least the Adlers were going to win. They always did after all.

Halfway through the third set, Kiyoomi noticed that the scoreboard was 21-19 in favor of the Jackals. The last time he had checked the Adlers were winning 7-3 after an insane amount of consecutive service aces from their setter. When had he stopped paying attention? This never happened to him. He never lost focus during a game, especially one as important as this one. Where had his mind gone to?

Ah, right. His gaze drifted upwards and his hand reached for the notebook lying next to him on the couch. Withdrawing his attention from the screen - Whatever. I already know the results. He took the fun out of it - he scribbled some words onto the paper and made his way out the door.

As he put some tape on the ripped page, he read the message over.

Hey 5B,
When I asked you to keep the noise down it didn’t just apply to your shitty Taylor Swift albums. I was recording the Adlers’ match to watch once I was done studying for my anatomy exam but thanks to you I don’t have to, since you were kind enough to shout the results loud enough for the whole team to hear you back in Tokyo.
Besides, who the fuck roots for the Jackals? They haven’t won a single match against the Adlers in years. Maybe you should focus more on actual results and not on whether the ref is doing his job right. You deserved the Jackals’ loss.
Regards, your not-so-friendly neighbor.

Satisfied with the note now plastered onto the elevator mirror, he walked back to his apartment. He had brought this onto himself. Now all he had to do was wait for the aftermath.

Weird. For some reason, he felt excited.

His exam went by in a flash. He was the first person to hand it in and, after only 1 hour of intense writing, he was out the door and headed home. As soon as he saw the questions, his hands had started moving at the speed of light and before he knew it he had answered every single one. It was all thanks to his amazing intelligence and incredible memory. That was definitely the reason why he got through it so quickly, it had been due to his brain’s insane agility. Definitely, that was it. Totally not the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about a certain elevator mirror and a certain note that may or may not be stuck to it once he got back. I mean, the thought was running through his mind, but it was nowhere near as important or interesting as the topic of connective tissue and bone structures.

He stumbled into his building and smashed the elevator’s down button repeatedly, cursing at the damn metal thing when the doors didn’t instantly open. When they finally did open - took you long enough, you piece of trash - three seconds later, a yelp of surprise left his mouth, which he tried to disguise as a cough in case anyone had been around to hear him get all giddy over an empty elevator. Although empty was not an accurate description, since right in front of him was the sheet of paper that had haunted his mind all morning. Or not haunted. Just like, casually chilled inside his mind once or twice - or for the most part of his day. Fine, he hadn’t stopped thinking about it. Excuse his life for being that uneventful.

He scoffed as soon as he read the first few words.

Hey my lovely neighbor! I missed ya!
So rude of you to not greet me properly.
I would just like to start by saying… GOTCHA. Anatomy exam, eh? Let me guess: Pre-med? (you sound prickly enough), Biology? Physical Therapy? Come on, stop playing hard to get, you can say. I’m a Business major, just F.Y.I.
And as for the rest, I’m going to completely ignore your ranting because YOU LIKE VOLLEYBALL TOO?! Maybe we have more in common than I thought. I will refrain from spoiling the next match for you but in return maybe you wanna watch it together? I’m kinda new here and it gets boring. Perhaps I can convince you that the Jackals are actually good since you seem to be insane and have really questionable taste.
Think about it! XOXO, 5B

Already reaching into his bag to pull out his notepad, Kiyoomi laughed at the shamelessness of his neighbor. Who the fuck is bold enough to ask some stranger to hang out after they practically insulted you right to your face? Talk about a couple of assholes, but this guy was in a league of his own.

Kiyoomi was far past the point of pretending he wasn’t at least the tiniest bit intrigued about him. What was the harm in playing along for once? At least it was something to do other than stare at his ceiling for hours on end.

Dear 5B,
Greetings. I hope you are having a wonderful day and that the weather inside your apartment is quite pleasant.
Is that greeting good enough for you?
I’m going to have to pass up on your invite simply because I don’t want to be associated with someone as ignorant as you. I’ll bite the bullet, ok? I study Sports Sciences, so I think I’m more qualified than you to weigh in on which team is better. It’s the Adlers. End of discussion. I don’t need to be convinced by a Business major.
Sincerely, your much more knowledgeable neighbor.

If he wanted to bicker like a couple of 5 year-olds then all Kiyoomi had to do was stoop down to his level. Two could play at this game.

Kiyoomi was restless, to put it mildly. He had planted the note mere minutes ago and he was already tempted to go check whether or not the other had replied. Maybe he had called for the elevator as soon as Kiyoomi stepped out. Who knew what his schedule was like? Maybe he had class or he had to go to the grocery store for some lunch. Thinking about it, Kiyoomi realized that it was odd that they had never crossed paths since the day of the move-in. Maybe the guy wasn’t even home. Maybe he woke up extremely late or had afternoon classes. Maybe he worked night-shifts and got back whenever Kiyoomi was sleeping.

Something inside him was itching to find out. His exasperation was replaced by curiosity - or at least overpowered by it - and he became overwhelmed with an ambition to figure out the solution to this human conundrum now living above him. There was so much Kiyoomi didn’t know about him and he was willing to find all the puzzle pieces and unveil once and for all the mysterious picture they all belonged to. After all, it was unlike him to leave a puzzle unfinished.

Whatever academic life Kiyoomi had going on completely vanished from his mind. Instead, he found a much more productive use of his afternoon in sitting completely still on his couch in absolute silence listening and waiting for the familiar stirring sound of the elevator moving.

About 30 minutes into this wildly amusing activity - Did I seriously just spend 30 minutes staring daggers at my door? - Kiyoomi’s ears caught the faint ding of the elevator doors opening - which no normal human could have heard from 4 stories above but Kiyoomi was just built different. The distinct grind of the machine became clearer by the second - It’s coming up - and halted to a stop right above him. And yet the sound of the doors opening never came. It’s him. It has to be him, he’s leaving me a note.

Kiyoomi still had a fraction of dignity left stopping him from bolting out the door and calling for the elevator like a maniac. So he waited.

Cue the SpongeBob time card saying “2 minutes later…
and Kiyoomi flew out of his apartment and headed for the hallway. What? It’s not like he had anything better to do - cue the camera zooming in on his unfinished assignments.

True to his assumptions and superhuman hearing skills, he found what he was looking for.

Well, greetings to you too, my friend!
Thanks for finally dropping the mystery act. Isn’t it more fun this way? I don’t know about you, but I prefer to get to know a guy before becoming his mortal enemy. I’m sure that’s what you think of me, given the chummy vibe of your notes.
But anyway, onto the good stuff. Sports Sciences, huh? Only you superficial know-it-alls care that much about raw physical strength. The Adlers may be strong, buddy, but they are nothing compared to the strategic abilities and impeccable teamwork the Jackals have. Don’t be so quick to underestimate me, ya know? I’ve been playing volleyball since I could hold a ball in my hands, so I think I have some grounds to fight you on this. Maybe spend more time on an actual court and not in front of an anatomy chart?
I think I know which of us is more qualified…
Can’t wait to hear back from you!!

Charming as ever.

Kiyoomi started assembling the puzzle. He plays volleyball. He’s a Jackals fan. A carrot-and-stick situation, if you will. What else did he know? He likes Taylor Swift. He’s a terrible singer - apparently the stick outweighed the carrot - He takes care of his plants. He can’t cook for shit. He’s a Business major.

It was… something. But it wasn’t enough. The picture was starting to take shape - the shape of a mess of a man with a terrible personality - but he couldn’t yet tell what it was trying to show. He needed to find out more.

And oh, look, what a coincidence, he just so happened to have a pen and paper in his hands. How convenient.

5B,
You mean me, right? Clearly, I’m still more qualified. You think I don’t play too? I put my time on the court and I’m on my way to become the MVP of the collegiate league. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m right, you’re wrong, and your opinion sucks. Let’s agree to disagree. Besides, I don’t recall ever seeing you up early in the morning for practice. In fact, I’ve never seen you at all, so how do I know you're not actually a lying hermit? Looks kinda sus to me…
Let’s see what you have to say for yourself.

Was that too obvious? Whatever. Kiyoomi’s last shred of dignity had already dropped down the elevator chute and there was no bringing it back. And it wasn’t like he was planning to face the guy anytime soon. They had both seemed to settle on the rhythm of this secret correspondence they had going on and there was no reason to ruin it by lifting the curtain on each other. Perhaps it had been a coincidence or an incompatibility of schedules that kept them from crossing paths, but Kiyoomi sensed that it was more than that. Like actually seeing the face behind the words would break the spell of their weird magic show. For now, it felt safer to stay in the shadows.

Kiyoomi exited the elevator filled with determination. The official hunt for the missing puzzle pieces had begun and he was thrilled to see the end result.

Little by little, he started to piece the pieces together. Sometimes they were small, almost imperceptible, and it was hard to fit them in the final structure. But other times they were bigger, clearer, and Kiyoomi could almost see the big picture.

It had become their daily routine. As soon as Kiyoomi woke up he would check for notes, - there was always one waiting for him - leave a response, and while he was away the other would follow suit. When they began to pile up Kiyoomi would remove them and stuff them in his bedside drawer along with all the others, but on most days the elevator mirror looked like a conspiracy theorist's wall. He was almost tempted to begin connecting the evidence with a red marker to try and find a connection between the guy’s sleeping schedules and his inability to communicate like a normal adult.

The conversations may have seemed pointless, but Kiyoomi was starting to feel like they finally knew each other.

Hey! I play, ok? I’m the starting setter in my team and got an award in high school and everything! It’s just hard to juggle practice and work at the same time. I help my twin brother with night shifts at his restaurant, I’m a nice guy like that. But I get where you’re coming from, I guess we can’t ALL be talented volleyball players, hard-working employees, dedicated family members, top students, and devastatingly handsome individuals at the same time…It’s not MY fault if you’re incompetent, lazy, lonely, dumb, and ugly. Well, actually, you might be handsome for all I know… But you went real quiet last time I called you ugly… So who’s sus now?

I think the fact that I don’t actually call myself handsome makes me more attractive than you. “Devastatingly handsome individual”?? Sounds exactly like something an ugly person would say. I bet your twin brother looks better than you. The fact that he can actually cook makes him ten times hotter already… unlike some. What was that last night? Do you ever not set your food on fire? At least I managed to close the balcony doors in time. Please stick to volleyball and not to cooking, for my sake and for the sake of everyone else in this building who doesn’t wish to die in a fire. Thanks.

I WAS TRYING TO MAKE POPCORN AGAIN AND IT BURNED!! OK?!! Can’t a guy watch “The Notebook” and enjoy a good snack?? (Also, if you heard someone sobbing that wasn’t me, that was Rachel McAdams).
And my cooking is not always bad, I promise. My brother got the cooking skills, yeah, but I happen to be an AMAZING baker. I bet you wouldn’t make fun of me this much if you ever tried my special brownie recipe… just saying.
P.S. I AM THE MORE HANDSOME TWIN AND I WILL DEFEND MY TITLE

What part of “The Notebook” was that? I don’t remember a scene in which Rachel McAdams cried “Allie, you idiot, you should have picked James Marsden! He’s way sexier and he would treat you right!” Also don’t remember her having the voice of a 30-year-old man.
Once again I think I’ll pass on your offer because ‘special brownie recipe’ sounds way too sketchy… although brownies do sound better than whatever you were making before.
P.S. Ryan Gosling is a hundred times sexier. Proving once again that you have deplorable taste.

Ohhh, so you’re into blondes? ;) I can respect that since I’m a blonde myself (yet another reason why you should admit that I’m the hotter twin. My brother has *gags* brown hair). Personally, I like a man like James… wavy black hair… looks good in a suit… probably fucking ripped.... you got any of that?
And stop trying to sound so mean, you basically just revealed to me that you have a sweet tooth and you watch rom-coms. Don’t think I’m not onto you, you big softie.
And by the way, I am not 30!! I’m a young, radiant, 23-year-old man. But oh my god what if you’re like 60?! OR AN OLD WOMAN?!! HAVE I’VE BEEN TALKING TO AN OLD WOMAN?!!!

I literally told you I’m in college and I play volleyball, how could I be an old woman?...I’m 22. And what if I watch rom-coms and have a sweet tooth? I can be an asshole and enjoy nice things at the same time, I’m talented like that...
And fine, I’ll admit you might look better than your brother, but that means I’m the more handsome one between the two of us, at least according to your standards.
I win once again.

Omg…are you telling me you’re a James Mardsen look-alike who plays volleyball, goes to college, is into blondes, likes rom-coms, and has a sweet tooth?!! Do you also happen to be single?? Wanna get married?? If I have you as my neighbor then I think I’m the one winning.

Oh.

Kiyoomi froze as soon as he saw the last note. This is not where I meant for things to go. He had been so focused on trying to find out facts about the guy that he didn’t realize how much of himself had actually slipped through. He had only wanted to have some questions answered, not provide answers himself. Especially not about his personal life. It was supposed to be a research project, not a fucking dating show.

“Contestant A. What would be your perfect date?”

“Well, Mr. Dating Show Host, I would say that my perfect date would involve going to the movies, preferably to watch something romantic because I’m a fucking sap, apparently. Then play a friendly volleyball game - because that is totally what people do on dates - and to close it off, I would like to go to a nice coffee shop to enjoy some sweet treats while we talk about some profound shit like our shitty college lives or whether Allie from “The Notebook” should have ended up with the boring military guy or the sexy blonde dude.”

“Well, ladies and gentleman, I think we have a winner!”

Why had he said all those things? So absorbed in their little communion, Kiyoomi had lost track of his original plan. What had started as a simple complaint became a hunt for clues and ended up as heart-to-heart with the devil. Although looking back on their last exchanges, Kiyoomi realized that somewhere along the line the guy had stopped being his enemy. Sure, he was still as irritating as the day he had moved in and rained hell on Kiyoomi’s life, but it had become the kind of irritation that you have towards your dog when he bites on all your furniture and then stares at you with puppy eyes. You kind of have to scold him, but you also kind of want to squeeze his cheeks and call him a good boy.

He actually enjoyed talking to the guy. They had the same interests, they were basically the same age, and he was allegedly Kiyoomi’s type. Not that that mattered, obviously. And unlike practically every single person Kiyoomi had ever interacted with in all his 22 years of age, the other seemed to actually enjoy talking to him too.

Kiyoomi had never considered himself a particularly interesting person - not solely because of his self-deprecation, but also because he had been told one too many times that he was “the human equivalent of a graham cracker.” He wasn’t trying to be captivating or charismatic anyways. If being dry and bland kept people away, he was more than happy to embrace the title.

And yet here was this person who was willingly reaching out to him, trying to get his approval, and seemingly having a ball getting him riled up. No one had held onto a conversation with him for that long - aside from his cousin, of course, but that was usually more one-sided - and he wasn’t just casually chatting with him either. No. He was flirting. And the most disturbing thing of all was that Kiyoomi was flirting back.

Rivalrous bickering my ass. Kiyoomi was not stupid enough to pretend he quarrelled like that with every person he despised - which would be pretty much the whole human race. If the disgusting feeling settling in his stomach was anything to go by, he was more inclined to admit that their back-and-forth banter was anything but disdain. And if he was going to be honest with himself, he didn’t want it to stop. If anything, he felt like it hadn’t even started.

Fuck it. What did he have to lose? Not his pride, that’s for sure. You can’t lose something you no longer possess.

He ripped the bundle of notes that had by then covered every last inch of the elevator mirror and shoved them inside his bag, from where he grabbed the yellow notepad he carried with him at all times.

Yes, he had in fact bought a notepad just to write those notes. Yes, he always had it on him so he could reply as soon as possible. Yes, maybe that should have been a sign that he was already in too deep, but can you blame him? The thing had drawings of freaking weasels on them, how was he supposed to walk right past it and not buy it? Besides, the day after he started using it, he began getting replies on white sheets of papers with tiny foxes smiling back at him from the corner. It was stupid, but out of all the things Kiyoomi had learnt about the guy, the fact that he had probably bought that cute notepad just to talk to him was his favourite. He was so fucking whipped.

He quickly scribbled a response and walked out of the elevator with a renewed purpose. Screw strangers. Screw fighting and pretend animosity. Kiyoomi had finally found someone worth talking to and he was not about to give up on it.

The next few days were spent in a state of mind that was bordering on dangerous for Kiyoomi’s academic success. He found himself sitting in class, watching the professor scribble some nonsense on the whiteboard about whatever class Kiyoomi was taking and could not for the life of him remember the name of, thinking about the note waiting for him back home. He would walk down the halls, stopping in his tracks every time a blonde head of hair caught his eyes, wondering if by any chance they belonged to a certain idiot who had taken a hold of his life. He spent his nights dreaming of messily scribbled words onto ripped pieces of paper, of sticky notes and foxes blocking his reflection from an elevator mirror.

There was no longer any rhyme or reason to their exchanges, only seemingly meaningless words working to maintain the connection that apparently neither of them were willing to let die. And given the stupid shit they were pasting on the walls, they were nothing short of desperate. Sometimes it could be called a conversation, sometimes it was just random words to let the other know that ‘hey, I’m still here, don’t you dare forget about me’, and sometimes it was just an obscene doodle that reminded Kiyoomi that he was starting to become infatuated with someone who had the mentality of a teenage boy in the peak of his puberty arc.

Kiyoomi tried to check in every once in a while to make sure he hadn’t bored the other to death and lost the only source of entertainment in his bleak, humdrum life. Besides, he had grown so accustomed to hearing from him that any period of radio silence, however brief, unsettled him in a way that could only be explained by the weird jumps his heart made inside his chest whenever that silence was broken.

Thankfully, the answers never took long to arrive.

Did you watch the game last night? I’ve never seen you play, but I totally imagine you’re as good as that setter. Care to confirm?

THAT SETTER FELL ON HIS FACE THREE SECONDS INTO THE GAME, WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING? I’ll have you know that I would NEVER butcher a set like that. I only provide the best for my spikers, you can count on that. Would love to set for you one day so I can prove it to ya. Think about it, XOXO.

Every single time he wrote back, and every single time Kiyoomi asked himself why, out of every single person inhabiting this earth, he had to fall for the most insufferable of them all.

Not once did the guy lose his edge, not once did he step out of his obnoxious, overconfident character. The idiot kept flirting without any regards to the fact that his words could be seen by anyone who walked into that elevator, not just Kiyoomi.

Hey neighbor! Got any anatomy exams coming up by any chance? I was thinking maybe we could finally meet up and I can help you study? *wink face*

Did you just actually write *wink face*?

That fact became more evident when, among their compromising notes, Kiyoomi found infiltrated ones that only served to remind him that there was no getting his dignity back and that he had made a complete fool of himself in front of every single one of his neighbors.

not oomn (‘one of my neighbors’) flirting through passive-aggressive elevator notes…

Or better yet

Dear 5B and Grumpy,
Kindly get a room.
Sincerely, me and possibly every other person who uses this elevator.

And perhaps the most embarrassing of them all

Dear 5B and Anon neighbor,
Crazy suggestion here, but hear me out. How about the two of you actually knock on each other’s doors and make out once and for all so we don’t all have to read your horny messages first thing in the morning?
Hope this helps! Hate both of you!
Sincerely, a tired neighbor.

Kiyoomi was glad to at least have kept his identity a secret. No need to give the clown a name when he has already put on a show for the whole circus. But as they always say, the show must go on, and Kiyoomi was gonna make sure he would get a grand finale. Let the neighbors watch. He was determined to get his way.

He didn’t stop posting notes, and the other didn’t stop writing back. Why should he put an end to it just because there were unwanted spectators? The puzzle was still unfinished. There was no backing out now.

Every night he would open his drawer, pull out the stack of notes he had collected, and spread them on his bed to try and make sense of the enigma that was 5B. Not a single detail escaped his eyes. He looked for clues in every single word, in the shape of every letter and the crease of every page. In every greeting, question, insult or joke, Kiyoomi searched for hints that would set him on the right path. He didn’t know where that path would lead him, but he was eager to find out. And something inside him told him that it wouldn’t be long before he did.

When Kiyoomi arrived at his building one morning, notepad already in hand, he was surprised to find someone waiting for the elevator. The people who lived in his building were few, and it was rare for him to cross paths with them given his early starts to the day. That’s why he had never seen his upstairs neighbor - that, and the fact that the fear of meeting him made him avoid the man like the plague - and why he was usually alone whenever he had to write his daily notes. If by any chance someone happened to be there, he would wait until they left and then proceed to leave a response - god forbid they ever saw a grown-ass man pull out a yellow weasel notepad to leave a flirty note to his secret neighbor who, for all he knew, could be an old man catfishing him.

Kiyoomi didn’t recognize the guy standing in front of the elevator so he figured it was some stranger visiting one of his neighbors. Maybe he was the boyfriend the girl from 2C was always babbling about whenever Kiyoomi had the misfortune to get stuck on that goddamn contraption with her. He just wanted to get to his floor in peace and not listen to her gush about the guy’s looks for the whole duration of the elevator ride, which felt like an eternity when all you could hear was “Oh my god, but you should see his hair, he looks like Leonardo Di Caprio when he was in Titanic, but before he dies.”

This guy certainly looked attractive enough to fit that description. His dyed blonde hair looked almost platinum and it fell across his forehead in soft waves that reflected the sunlight coming in through the door, casting the light in different shades as he bobbed his head to the music playing through his AirPods. He had a soft smile planted on his face and when he turned his head to the side to look at Kiyoomi, he noticed his eyes were the color of both gold and sunshine. He was carrying a duffel bag which Kiyoomi couldn’t get a good look at because he was too distracted admiring the god-like build of the man it hanged from. His upper body looked like it could do a better job at sinking the Titanic than that iceberg did, and the size of both his arms and legs indicated that they could be easily used to crush watermelons. Honestly, Kiyoomi thought, if my boyfriend looked like that I would also not shut up about him to random people on elevators. Sorry for ever judging you, 2C Girl.

He hurriedly shoved the notepad in his pocket and nodded at the stranger just as the elevator doors dinged open, and went in before him to stop himself from gawking any further. He was pretty sure his mouth had been hanging open the whole time and could only hope that no drool had come out.

They both stood in awkward silence as the machine started moving and Kiyoomi could practically feel the tension in the air. He didn’t know what it was, but there was something about the guy that made Kiyoomi want to keep looking. It was probably the fact that his looks could earn him a spot in the January page of one of those sexy shirtless calendars and Kiyoomi would keep it up even if they were well into November, but he was not about to dwell on that while he was standing right there.

He could see that there was a new note plastered on the mirror and he was practically shaking in place with the urge to turn around and read it, his hands itching to write back. But because he was not about to make a fool of himself in front of this very hot stranger, he pushed that urge back and decided to wait until he was alone. He did, however, allow himself to drift his eyes to his right and peek at the person beside him, who seemed to be very interested in staring straight into the elevator doors.

Having already basked in the man’s supernatural beauty, he paid attention to the details. He was a little shorter than Kiyoomi and was wearing sports shorts and a yellow hoodie that should not look that cute on someone built like a truck, but which made Kiyoomi want to bury his face in his chest and never let go. He noticed the smell of coconut-scented shampoo and the dampness of his hair which told him he had recently showered - thank god - and given by the sports bag he carried, he had probably just come from the gym - which explained, well, everything. Although what caught Kiyoomi’s attention the most was the duffel bag itself. It was all black, except for a small patch that he recognized as the Black Jackals’ mascot, and it had a small fox keychain hanging from the zipper of the side pocket, which was half open to reveal what looked like really expensive volleyball shoes.

All the details started to piece together in his brain. The blonde hair, the Jackals’ patch, the volleyball shoes, the small fox, the fact that they were in the same building… In the deafening silence that had taken hold of the claustrophobic metal box they were in, Kiyoomi realized that he could hear the faint melody of the music playing in the guy’s ears. His eyes opened wide when he recognized it as that hellish Taylor Swift tune that had played in his head on loop for what felt like centuries, and his heart skipped a beat.

At that very second, Kiyoomi’s world halted to a stop. Figuratively, because he had suddenly come to the realization that his secret correspondent and the object of his month-long infatuation was standing right next to him, and literally, because as soon as that thought crossed his mind the elevator jerked and stopped moving.

A loud gasp broke the silence and Kiyoomi wasn’t sure whether it had been the blond beside him or if it had come from his own mouth at his sudden epiphany. He turned his head to the side and was met with wide eyes already looking back at him, like a deer caught in headlights - except in this case it was two huge men stuck in a very small elevator, one of them probably unaware of the true nature of the connection between them. Kiyoomi was about to open his mouth to say something when the other beat him to it.

“The elevator stopped.”

Holy shit. Kiyoomi couldn’t even dwell on the stupidity of the obvious remark - Yes, I can tell that the elevator stopped. I’m standing right here - because he was blown away by the man’s voice.

He wanted to beg for forgiveness and take back every bad thing he had ever said about his singing and his screaming, and how they should be considered a crime, because this was the real crime. There was no way someone could be allowed to have a voice that fucking sexy. If you searched for the definition of “husky” in the dictionary it would probably refer you back to this guy. It was a low, rough sound that reverberated in Kiyoomi’s ears and sent a shiver all the way down to the tips of his fingers and back up to his heart, where it settled at a steady rhythm that was in no way healthy for a young, athletic man like him. It had only been three words - three really stupid words - but they had been more than enough to leave Kiyoomi speechless and, if possible, even more infatuated than before.

He realized then that the guy was still looking at him and Kiyoomi was staring back like an idiot, trying to make sense of the heavy flow of information coursing through his brain, which mainly consisted of highly intellectual terms such as ‘Voice.’ ‘Sexy.’ ‘Man.’ ‘Wow.’ ‘Crush.’ ‘Thighs.’ He somehow managed to put himself together enough to prove to the other that he could in fact speak too.

“I know, I could tell. We should call someone so they can get us out of here.” Nice. Playing it cool. He would never know that Kiyoomi’s heart was about to beat right out of his chest.

“Umm, I don’t really know who we can call. I’m kinda new here. Are ya visiting someone? Maybe we can ask them.”

Bless his stupid soul. He really did have no idea who Kiyoomi was. Relief washed over him and he smiled to himself because it opened up a whole new opportunity.

“There’s no need. We just have to press that red button there on the pad and it will contact the elevator company so they can send a technician. Have you never been on an elevator before?” He had been in an elevator many times, Kiyoomi knew that.

“Yes, I have!” the blond looked away, embarrassed. “I just didn’t know that, okay? I’m sorry for missing Elevator Etiquette 101.”

“Well, are you gonna call or not?”

“I was about to!” He pushed the button and after a few seconds of listening to the steady tone of the outgoing call, a voice came through the speakers. They both looked at each other and Kiyoomi rolled his eyes when he realized the other was expecting him to take the lead. He explained their situation to the operator and could barely contain a groan when she cheerfully told them that “A technician will arrive in about an hour, so please stay there until they fix the problem.” Of course they would stay there, where the fuck else would they go?

The call ended and both of them sighed in unison, earning a laugh from the shorter man which, in contrast with the deep drawl of his voice, had a soft, melodic ring to it that was much more fitting to his puppy-like personality.

“Well,” the blond turned to him. “If we’re gonna be stuck here a while we might as well get to know each other, right?”

Kiyoomi wanted to laugh at the irony of the statement. If they were really going to be stuck there together, he might as well have some fun while they waited.

“What’s there to know? I bet I could guess exactly who you are just by looking at you.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just that you seem easy to read, that’s all.” He used that as an opportunity to look him up and down, once again taking in the beautiful sight. “You look like an idiot.”

“Ok, rude. And ya look like an asshole.” He wasn’t wrong there. “If yer so smug then let's see how much ya can actually guess about me.”

Well, he had just learned something else, apparently. What was that accent? Kansai? Could this guy get any cuter? Could Kiyoomi be more whipped? Tune in next time to find out more.

“Okay. You play volleyball.”

“Well, duh. That one’s pretty obvious. I meant something more observant.”

“I was observing.” Too much, maybe. “You are a Jackals fan,” Kiyoomi pointed to the small patch on the side of the bag, “you like foxes, and probably the color yellow.”

“Well, see, now anyone could have guessed that just from looking at me. Although, I am surprised ya know the Jackals, are ya a fan?” Kiyoomi snorted. “Not quite.”

“But you were right about all of that, so let’s see what else you got.”

Kiyoomi thought about every word they had exchanged in the past month. However trivial most of the things they had said seemed, they gave him insight into the type of person the guy standing in front of him was. Not being one to engage with people often, Kiyoomi had gotten good at reading them, and read him he did - literally. Screw “actions speak louder than words.” If by looking at someone you could build a scene of their life, by reading his words Kiyoomi had developed the whole movie. He took a deep breath, looked him straight in the eye, and the whole plot spilt from his lips.

“You are a terrible singer. You think Taylor Swift is the best artist of this generation and you have listened to her last album an unhealthy amount of times. You are very proud about what you like and are not afraid to defend it, even when you’re wrong. You are very confident, or at least act like it, and you wear your heart on your sleeve, which probably makes people find you annoying at first, but then it becomes kind of endearing,” Kiyoomi saw a look of shock wash over the guy’s features. “You have plants and you take care of them, but you can’t cook for shit so it evens out. You’re a sap who cries over romantic movies and screams at the TV when the girl chooses the wrong guy. You’re a flirt, and an asshole, and probably way too cocky for your own good. It’s probably due to the fact that you’re a Business major. You have a twin brother who you claim is uglier than you, which is the stupidest thing ever because he is your twin brother
so my last guess is that you are a complete idiot.”

Kiyoomi wanted to pull out his phone and take a picture of the dumbstruck look on his face so he could cherish the moment for eternity. He was frozen in place, mouth hanging wide open and eyes glued to Kiyoomi as if trying to figure out if he was reading his mind. He could practically see the gears churning in his head, slowly, very slowly, until they finally intersected and the system started running smoothly, the product clear in his mind. His eyes shot wide open and he made a strangled sound, pointing a finger at Kiyoomi’s face when words failed to come out. Kiyoomi smirked, “Took you long enough.”

“YOU? WAIT, ARE YA- NO, YA ARE?!” Ah, there was that horrid shriek again.

“I gotta say, you were much more eloquent through text. And that’s not saying much.”

“SCREW YA!” Kiyoomi couldn’t stop smiling. “Ya knew it was me all this time? Why didn’t you say nothin’?”

“Because I figured it would be more fun watching you try to put two and two together with that stupid look on your face. And it was.” Not like Kiyoomi hadn’t been slow to figure it out either, but he didn’t need to know that. “Besides, how was I supposed to bring it up? ‘Oh, hey, remember that neighbor that kept sending you notes because you were ruining his life and then became your mortal enemy? Well, that's me. Nice to meet you’ It was easier this way.”

“Well, yeah, when ya put it like that it sounds stupid. But I don’t think yer my mortal enemy… In fact, I kind of considered ya a friend.” Kiyoomi’s heart swelled at the word. Maybe he hadn’t been the only one who had gotten attached through written words. “I mean, I don’t even know yer name but - OH MY GOD, I DON’T EVEN KNOW YER NAME!”

He had been called a variety of things in Kiyoomi’s head, ranging from “my neighbor” to “that fucking asshole who lives upstairs and haunts my every dream,” but giving him an actual name felt like the definitive sentence to forever hold him prisoner in Kiyoomi’s heart. Always the fucking criminal.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he said, feeling like he had just laid himself bare before him.

“Miya Atsumu. Nice to meet ya, Omi-Omi.”

The last puzzle piece locked itself in with the others and he was faced with the final picture standing right before him. The man - Atsumu, that was his name - was smiling back at him, with a look as soft as the puddle that had formed inside Kiyoomi’s chest. The search had been worth it.

“So, am I everything you were hoping for?” Atsumu said.

“I’m not too sure what I was hoping for, but I guess I can settle for this,” he vaguely gestured to Atsumu’s figure. “And what’s with that Omi-Omi thing. It’s been two seconds since I’ve told you my name and you already got it wrong.”

“Nah, I just think it suits ya better. Sakusa sounds way too serious, and yer all hard on the outside but soft on the inside, so Omi fits the real you.” His tone had lost every hint of pretension, replaced instead by something much more genuine. “Which, by the way, is much more than I had expected. If Allie had to choose between James Mardsen and you, I would tell James Mardsen to go fuck himself.”

A blush rose through Kiyoomi’s cheeks and he prayed to every god out there that the dim light of the elevator was enough to hide it. “Well, if she had to choose between Ryan Gosling and you, I would still root for Ryan Gosling.” The offended look on Atsumu’s face was almost too funny. “But, since I’m not Allie and Ryan Gosling is not stuck in this elevator with us, I guess that only leaves me one choice.”

“Oh, wow, ya flatter me, but I’ll take it. I know this whole asshole act is just a front.” He had been caught red-handed. “Ya know what? I’m glad I blasted Taylor Swift that night. It got us here after all, right? I’m not even gonna apologize.”

“You never really apologized for anything. Not properly at least. And there was a lot to apologize for.”

“Well, I wasn’t actually sorry…” he sounded flustered. “Not for the last incidents at least.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t blast that music to annoy you on purpose, and the water on your balcony really was an accident…”

“But?” Kiyoomi urged him.

“But everything else after that I did only to get ya to talk to me. Wait! No, let me finish,” he blurted before Kiyoomi could interrupt his incriminating confession. “I had just moved and there was no one to talk to except for my dumb brother. Believe me, it is much more entertaining to read yer angry notes than it is to listen to my brother clown me over the phone for hours,” he let out a nervous chuckle. “And it was just that at first, a source of entertainment. But then I started learning more about ya and I became curious because ya sounded like someone worth talking to and I didn’t want it to stop. So I did everything in my power to keep it going.”

Kiyoomi didn’t know what to say. He was surprised to hear the same words that he had told himself all those weeks ago and felt comfort in knowing that the connection he had felt was not in fact a product of his imagination, but a feeling shared between the both of them screaming not to let go. The puzzle pieces hadn’t come together thanks to Kiyoomi’s sole efforts. All along, there had been another set of hands helping him build the set. And it had all finally come together.

“So you decided to burn your dinner just to get to me?”

“Oh, god, no. I really am a shit cook, I just used that as an opportunity and opened the balcony doors hoping ya would smell it. I’m glad it worked.”

“I’m not. My apartment still smells like a three-month-old decomposing corpse.” There was that laugh again. Kiyoomi would never get tired of hearing it, even if it was at his expense.

“Oh, shit, my bad. At least let me make it up to ya,” he hesitated for an instant before adding, “Are ya free tonight?”

Kiyoomi’s heart rate went from a fast, unsteady rhythm to complete stillness in a matter of seconds. This guy really did have no shame whatsoever in getting what he wanted, and Kiyoomi couldn’t deny that he loved the way it always kept him on his toes. The course that his heart’s rhythm had just taken was the polar opposite of his life’s ever since Miya Atsumu had barged in. A slow steady pace suddenly turned hectic and unpredictable, much like the man himself. Kiyoomi couldn’t help but smile at the thought. If this was the devil he had been assigned to, he was more than willing to go to hell for it.

“Yes, I am, as long as you don’t plan to make it up to me by making dinner.” Atsumu let out a sigh of relief.

“Of course not. Did I ever mention my brother is an amazing chef? I’ll give ya actual proof that I’m the hotter twin if ya let me take ya to his restaurant.” Kiyoomi didn’t think he needed any proof at this point. He stared into those shining golden eyes and matched the smile on Atsumu’s face with his own.

“Can’t wait to see you be proven wrong.”

Their very intense and not at all platonic stare down was interrupted all of a sudden by the sound of the elevator moving once again. God bless the mighty technician. The tension in the air dissipated as the doors that had been keeping them hostage finally opened to reveal the hallway leading to Kiyoomi’s apartment. Like all the other times Kiyoomi had come in and out of that godforsaken machine, he was filled with a sense of anticipation and excitement. But something was different this time around. When he stepped out and looked back, he wasn’t just met with scribbled scraps of paper. This time the owner of those words was staring back at him, eyes glowing with that same thrill.

“See you tonight then?” Kiyoomi asked, not ready to turn around just yet.

“It’s a date! But hey, before ya leave, don’t forget this,” he reached behind him and ripped a note from the mirror, handing it to Kiyoomi. “Did ya think I was gonna let you go without giving me an answer? You can bring it to me tonight.” He winked. He fucking winked at him. Kiyoomi's heart could now be found at the bottom of the elevator chute, right next to his long lost dignity.

He took the note from the outstretched hand, which waved at him goodbye, and the elevator doors closed between them. He looked down at the note he was holding and, as he read the words imprinted on it, his mouth stretched into a familiar smile. One he had only acquired a few weeks ago thanks to a special someone.

Hey, neighbor? It’s real nice talking to you and all, but don’t you think it’s about time we move past sticky notes and elevators mirrors? I know we started on the wrong foot (and I know it was my fault, so, oops?) but I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know what it is, but I have a feeling we’re gonna see each other soon. If there is any way you can move past my little accidents I would love to come knock on your door.
Can’t wait to meet you. Will you forgive me?

How could he not? Looking back on it, what Kiyoomi had once considered a curse turned out to be his biggest blessing. Old sins may cast a long shadow - or whatever people say - but Kiyoomi could only see the light. Forgiveness had already been granted.

Atsumu may have been the carrier of hell, but Kiyoomi was the one responsible for opening the gates. They always say it’s better a devil you know. Well then, Kiyoomi had no choice but to make a deal with the one above him.

Miya Atsumu had just gotten a new advocate.