Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sakusa Kiyoomi wasn’t even supposed to be on the goddamn moon.

“Might as well keep track of a bunch of convicts since you seem to like ‘em so much,” his hateful little claymation doll of a manager had said, through the cigarette smoke of his shiny office. Then he’d cackled like he’d told the world’s premier joke, while Kiyoomi quietly plotted where to bury his body. 

“I will never make a mistake like that again,” Kiyoomi had assured him, keeping every muscle in his face in check. “I promise.”

“Hell no you won’t,” the little ball of mud had said with a toothy grin. “The only thing you can let in the door up on Luna 5 is criminals anyway.”

Kiyoomi had counted to ten in his head, but it hadn’t helped. He’d named colors. He’d visualized a relaxing beachscape. “Please,” he’d finally said, and the sound had only escaped him through sheer force of will.

“Oh, please me all you want, you’re done down here,” his manager had said smugly. “You’re damn lucky anyone’s even willing to take you after that fiasco. You better be counting your lucky stars, Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

A few appeals later, Kiyoomi had finally reached the end of his rope and he’d gotten in some choice words to the Head of Itachiyama Security Solutions. It had been cathartic, and it had also required the unbelievable benevolence of his target to not fire him on the spot. 

“You’re good,” she’d said. “We don’t want to lose you. This isn’t a punishment.”

Like hell it wasn’t a punishment. Kiyoomi knew he was good. He was one of Itachiyama’s best, and they were shipping him off to deal with a lunar penal colony like he was some trash rookie. Kiyoomi had served as bodyguard to heads of state. He’d fended off more than one assassination attempt with no injuries. He’d put on his gloves and beat the ever-loving shit out of a joke militia trying to storm the UN. He was one of the best security professionals in the world, and they were sending him to play prison guard to a bunch of work-study convicts.

Luna 5 was a joke. It was a maximum security prison with the world’s best built-in security system: being on the fucking moon. No one escaped Luna 5 because escaping meant suffocation. They didn’t need security, except to stop inmates from shanking each other in the mess hall. With a placement like this, Kiyoomi was as much of a prisoner as they were. Kiyoomi didn’t belong on the moon.

But the moon was, somehow, where he was now. 

He’d only been there for one month, and it was already worse than he could have possibly imagined. Unfiltered, recycled air that had been in the lungs of nearly every living person in the entire prison was the only thing available to breathe. He had to touch prisoners’ food trays after they were done eating. No number of gloves could keep him from having to touch someone’s arm to prevent a fight on his first day.

Kiyoomi had mingled with some of the most important people in the world, and now he was standing at the end of a hallway, watching while sleepy convicts shuffled out of their dorms, making sure none of them pushed each other on the way. They never did. The population was surprisingly sedate, which only made Kiyoomi’s life more boring. 

He had to watch them anyway, as they checked in for morning attendance and ate breakfast in the mess hall. 

The prison was set up as a series of bio-domes, propped up about a meter off the surface of the moon. From the outside they looked flimsy, like a strong wind could blow away the white plastic covers. Good thing there wasn’t any wind on the moon. There wasn’t much of anything on the moon, Kiyoomi was learning.

One dome was the dorms, where the inmates slept by twos in rooms that looked nicer than Kiyoomi’s freshman university dorm. Another was the rec area and mess hall. Another was the guard station and intake area. Another was the prep station before the prisoners set out for the day. 

Most of the prisoners were perfectly fine. Kiyoomi had no idea what they had done to get sent into space, for the most part, and he was okay not knowing. He had decided, on the flight up, that he was going to stay as removed as possible from everyone until he finally finished his tour and got sent back down. Once he’d served his sentence they would hopefully place him in actual jobs again and he could forget that this entire situation ever happened.

Space was terrible, but perhaps the most terrible thing about it was a certain prisoner named Miya Atsumu.

Somehow, on Kiyoomi’s first day on Luna 5, this Miya had learned his first name. The first words they ever spoke to each other were: “Rec time’s almost over.”--“Sure thing, Omi.”

Kiyoomi had very few times in his life been truly speechless. He covered for himself quickly, shooting Miya his most deadly glare and saying: “You will refer to me as Sakusa-san or sir.”

“Sure thing, Omi.” And Miya had flashed him an absolutely dazzling smile, one that made Kiyoomi’s blood instantly boil.

It wasn’t technically disruption, for anyone but Kiyoomi, so there was nothing to write Miya up about. Some of the other guards were friendly with the inmates--the prison itself had a fairly relaxed atmosphere. The general idea was that being sent to the moon and made to work in the first place were the punishments, so the conditions of the prison were meant to be as normal as possible. 

As normal as possible for the fucking moon, of course.

Miya Atsumu was a tall, fit, cheery man in his late 20s, with a Kansai accent strong enough to smash concrete. His hair had been bleached blonde at some point and was growing out, but his face was well-proportioned enough that you didn’t even notice the hair most of the time. He spent most of his time in the prison’s vocational skills center, learning to code, but he wasn’t very good at it. 

He was attractive, and he was well aware of it, and Kiyoomi absolutely hated him.

But Kiyoomi was a professional, one of the best, and so when Miya came up to him during rec time with a deflated beach ball and a smile and said, “Hey, Omi-omi, ya mind seeing if they got another of these?” Kiyoomi didn’t chop the blade of his hand directly into his carotid artery. 

“Sakusa-san or sir,” he said firmly, without moving. 

Miya gave him a look, with one of his terrible little knowing smiles, and said, “Omi-omi-san, sir, could ya please go get little ol’ me a new ball? I’m beggin’ ya.”

God, Kiyoomi hated him. He’d never felt this level of vitriol for someone before, and it was almost invigorating. He stayed still, gave Miya one of his sharpest looks, and waited.

Miya smiled even more. “Please, sir.”

And while Kiyoomi would have been perfectly content continuing to refuse, there were protocols he had to follow. He turned on his heel, went back into the commissary area, and pulled out another goddamn inflatable beach ball from a package on a shelf. When he came back the rec area hadn’t burned down, and Miya was still standing there with his awful smile. He traded beach balls with Miya and put the popped one on the shelf of his guard podium. 

“You should probably get a kink like that checked out,” Miya said as he took the deflated ball. “Sir.”

Kiyoomi briefly contemplated how much worse it could possibly be to go to prison for murder than to be where he was right now. He kept his face unflinchingly neutral as he watched Miya wave and leave to join the others, who were waiting for him. 

Kiyoomi kept an eye on them, ostensibly to make sure they didn’t break anything. Miya had obviously played volleyball at some point, given the way he passed the ball around. If the domes didn’t have their own artificial gravity, Kiyoomi could imagine the ball going up and up until it left the moon entirely. He had the sudden vision of his high school volleyball team playing Miya, of pinpoint spiking a ball directly into his perfect little nose. The thought was pleasant enough for him to relax a little.

Kiyoomi knew that inmates at any prison felt out new correctional officers to figure out how easy they’d be to manipulate. That was, to a lesser extent, the case here, although the prisoners of Luna 5 got what they asked for most of the time, anyway. When Japan had switched to a more humane prison system, Kiyoomi had toured a new one, just in case he was ever placed temporarily as a guard. There were open dorms, a kitchen, a park, a computer lab, various vocational training centers, and unsupervised family visits, all contained within tall, barbed wire-clad walls. Luna 5 was more similar to that than to some of the American prisons Kiyoomi had seen, with cell blocks and jumpsuits. 

But he knew that despite the inmates wanting for very little, he was still being tested, and it seemed as though the one elected to test him was Miya Atsumu. Miya pushed his luck at every opportunity. He asked Kiyoomi for ridiculous things, insisted on cutesy nicknames, called him away from his post at lights out to wish him a good night. 

Kiyoomi thought he was doing a good job of standing his ground. When Miya called him “Omi” or “Omi-kun” or “Omi-omi-sama,” Kiyoomi did not reply. He waited until he heard a proper reference to respond, and when he did respond he remained neutral in affect. He could not let Miya see that the nicknames bothered him, or the casual familiarity, or the winks. 

“Omi-omi!” Miya called from across the vocational center, while Kiyoomi was on duty. Kiyoomi did not flinch. “Sakusa-dono!”

Nothing. Kiyoomi waited. Miya sighed and continued dramatically: “Sir, please, a moment of your time.”

Kiyoomi got up from his desk and crossed to Miya and his computer. There was some kind of error that had popped up, and Miya was looking at it helplessly. 

“I don’t wanna touch anything in case it’s a virus or somethin’,” Miya said. 

The computer network here was a closed system. It was not attached to the internet. The only way a virus could appear would be if someone on Luna 5 made it themselves. Kiyoomi closed his eyes, counted to five, and said, “Just click the X.”

Miya looked dubiously at him but did as he was told. The pop-up disappeared, revealing the coding lesson he’d been working on. If/else statements. Kiyoomi could see that every single video in the lesson had been fully viewed, but Miya was still struggling with the first exercise. He was hopeless. 

“Thanks, Omi!” Miya said brightly. “Sir.”

“You’re welcome,” Kiyoomi said drily. He went back to his desk and sat. Miya was not the only inmate in the computer lab, but he was by far the neediest. It was like he’d never seen a computer in his life on Earth. Kiyoomi wondered if he’d somehow grown up Amish, or maybe in the woods. It would explain much.

Kiyoomi was entirely professional with the inmates, but there was only so much he could take. When he made it back to the guard station dome after his shifts, he washed his hands and face thoroughly and flopped down in a chair in the break room with his mask on. 

“How’s Miya treating you?” Bokuto Koutarou, one of the other correctional officers, asked during one of Kiyoomi’s breaks. He seemed to think that the entire situation was hilarious.

“If I say what I want to do to him, I could be prosecuted for premeditated homicide.”

Bokuto laughed as though Kiyoomi had just told a joke, running his hand through his two-toned dyed gray hair. Kiyoomi regarded him dully. 

“C’mon, I think he’s fun,” Bokuto said. “He’s got personality.”

“I wish he’d keep that personality as far away from me as possible.”

“You guys are going to have to figure this out at some point,” Bokuto said. Kiyoomi closed his eyes. “You’re gonna be here a while, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Kiyoomi said. “And no, I think I can manage to avoid him for the next year, if that’s what it takes.”

“You haven’t even managed to avoid him the past month,” Bokuto pointed out.

“Then I will simply have to try harder,” Kiyoomi said testily. “I will train him out of those ridiculous nicknames.”

“I think they’re kind of cute. He calls me Bokkun.”

“The prisoners are not our friends.”

“Hey, I mean, we’re all stuck up here, right? They might as well be.”

There were a few prisoners Kiyoomi could see himself carrying on a conversation with, a few of the calmer ones. They seemed intelligent, and they minded their own business.

“Where’s Hinata?” he asked, instead of voicing any of that. 

“Mine duty,” Bokuto said. “He should be taking them out right about now.”

If there was one thing Kiyoomi hated more than Miya Atsumu, it was the shifts where he had to keep an eye on the prisoners while they mined ore. He hated the cramped space suit, the way he knew that other people had been inside it, the way it touched over his entire body and he couldn’t escape it. He didn’t have enough time between shifts to give the suit a deep cleaning, so he just had to hold his breath and panic quietly while he watched prisoners bounce around in their own space suits and operate mining equipment. Afterward he had to take a long shower under scalding water, scrubbing until he was sure there was nothing left of the inside of that suit touching his skin, and lie down until his heart rate slowed. 

“No accommodations for his mysophobia” was another entry to add to the list of things that were terrible about Luna 5. 

The prospect of being forced to wear that suit every single day to go out and mine iron and lithium was really the main thing stopping him from committing a crime of passion and getting sent up as a prisoner himself. 

“I suppose I should get to the control center, then,” Kiyoomi said with a sigh. The prisoners coordinated their own work, including dispatch back to the prison, but someone had to be there to keep an eye on the prisoners who stayed inside on the radios. That duty fell onto Kiyoomi more often than not, because he had the most relevant knowledge if something went wrong out in the field and someone needed to be walked through CPR. Bokuto was bigger than he was, in muscle mass, but Kiyoomi had a few centimeters on him and wasn’t exactly willowy himself. He also had a better glare. 

Dispatch was in the main control room of the entire prison, in a separate room off to the side, away from the knobs and dials that monitored oxygen levels and power. Kiyoomi had to wash his hands again before he left, so he was a minute or so late to meet the prisoners at the control center. They were already inside--no one ever touched the main panel, because anything they did to sabotage it would invariably result in them being subject to the same misfortune. There was a surprisingly collectivist attitude among the prisoners, and it certainly worked in Kiyoomi’s favor.

He had glanced over the schedule, indicating which prisoners were supposed to be where, but he realized, as he entered the dispatch room, that he must have forgotten how to read. There were three prisoners on the radios, two of them marginably tolerable. The last was Miya Atsumu. Of course. Nearly a hundred prisoners and Kiyoomi always got stuck with him.

“Roll call,” Kiyoomi announced as he entered, even though he could see exactly who was in the room. “Fukunaga-san.” A raised hand. “Daishou-san.” Another raised hand. Kiyoomi took a breath. “Miya-san.”

“Present and accounted for, Omi-kun,” Miya said with a smile. 

Kiyoomi made sure his eye didn’t twitch as he took his place at the back wall, watching the prisoners while they worked. 

He had to admit that they were all efficient. Daishou was slick, fast, and succinct, but he was third string for taking calls, so he mostly sat and waited. Fukunaga was second string, and he always seemed to have a sort of feline interest in what was going on, with many curious “ohhh”s and “I see”s. And somehow, inexplicably, Miya Atsumu had been selected as the first point of contact for anyone out in the mines calling in with updates or problems. 

“Friendly neighborhood dispatch speakin’, over,” he said into his radio, rocking side to side in his chair. “Mmhmm. Roger that, cap’n. Over.” He wrote something down. “Two liters. Perfecto. Scoop that one up and bring ‘er in at the end of the shift. Dispatch out.”

The radio protocol was entirely unnecessary, and it only clogged up the lines by adding extra words. Fukunaga took another call while Miya was on the line, not half as loudly, and he was done before Miya was.

“Found a rogue oxygen tank,” Miya said, by way of explanation that no one in the room had asked for. “Probably from last week.”

“I remember that,” Daishou said. He paused. “Didn’t you lose that one?”

“Hm?” Miya hummed, spinning around in his chair. “Didn’t hear ya, what was that?”

There was a beep and Miya stopped his spinning, taking another call. “Fffffriendly neighborhood dispatch speakin’, over,” he said. Kiyoomi was not going to survive this shift. 

“Hey, Omi,” Miya said, once the call was done. “Omi.”

Kiyoomi didn’t even look at him. “Omi-omi. Omi. Hey, Omi. Omi-kun.”

Murder is wrong and illegal, Kiyoomi told himself.

Miya sighed dramatically. “Sakusa-san.”

“Can I help you?” Kiyoomi asked. Fukunaga snorted.

“Think y’could get me some water? I’m dyin’ out here from all this talkin’.”

Kiyoomi ground his teeth. “Yes,” he said. Miya gave him a knowing smile.

“You’re the best, Omi.”

Kiyoomi was not-so-secretly relieved to be out of that room. Daishou and Fukunaga weren’t troublemakers, so they had no reason to need Kiyoomi’s supervision, and they could handle Miya if he got the glint of crimes in his eye. Kiyoomi only had to be there because of protocol. 

He went to the mess hall and grabbed three bottles of water, giving himself a second away from Miya to cool down. Then he returned to the control room, professional and ready to see out the end of this shift.

“...yank that stick out of his ass,” Kiyoomi heard Miya say as he opened the door to the dispatch room. Miya’s jaw audibly clicked shut. “Shit, dad’s home.”

“Water,” Kiyoomi said stiffly, placing the three bottles on the desk. 

“I didn’t mean anything by that,” Miya said. “If ya heard what I said. If ya didn’t, please disregard this message.”

Kiyoomi was happy to disregard Miya Atsumu entirely. “There are few things in the world that I care about less than what you think about me,” Kiyoomi said. A light blinked on at the desk. “Do your job.”

“How about things on the moon?”

“Take the fucking call, Miya,” Kiyoomi said, light and measured.

“Ooh,” Fukunaga said. Miya nodded slowly and turned back around in his chair. 

“Roger that, Omi. And thanks for the water, yer savin’ my life.” Miya tipped his head back and wiggled his eyebrows.

It would be so much easier, Kiyoomi thought, if his hatred were reciprocated. If Miya looked at him with cold eyes, barely spoke to him, avoided him at all costs. If, when they were forced to work together, they traded stinging barbs and frigid taunts. Instead, Kiyoomi was forced to endure smiles and Omi-omi and smug, indulgent thanks whenever Kiyoomi did something Miya asked of him.

He was being tested, and Kiyoomi couldn’t help the thought that he was losing.

On the moon, the lengths of day and night changed throughout the month, and mining could only be done with some amount of sunlight, so every few days there was too little to get any work done. Kiyoomi disliked those days more than the others, except for the ones when he had to go out. At least on mining days, the prisoners were out of the domes for a few hours and Kiyoomi only had to deal with dispatch. 

On dark days, as they were called, the prisoners relaxed or worked on their vocational skills. Some cooked. The good ones cooked. Miya Atsumu was glued to his computer, carefully typing out commands, forgetting closing brackets and asking Kiyoomi to remind him what a “string” was. Kiyoomi had taken exactly one computer science course in college, and he still knew more than Miya did, after weeks, maybe months of study. 

Kiyoomi was having a bad day already, and had donned both his mask and gloves for his shifts. He was relieving Bokuto of his shift in the vocational center, which included the computer lab. 

“Miya’s been in there for hours,” Bokuto said. “Not a peep from him, though. By the time he’s out of here he’ll be working for NASA.”

“The journey of a thousand miles requires a first step,” Kiyoomi said. “One I’m not sure he’s taken.”

“Hey, can’t knock the guy for trying, huh?”

“If you say so.”

Bokuto laughed and clapped Kiyoomi on the shoulder. Kiyoomi stiffened and ducked away from Bokuto’s hand. Bokuto jerked his arm back. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s fine,” Kiyoomi gritted out. “Go take your break.”

There were a couple of people learning how to weld, under the supervision of a gruff older correctional officer named Ukai. Some people were repairing space suits. There were a few people at other computers, some writing, some working on the same coding program Miya was. 

Well, if nothing else, Miya was persistent, even at things he was obviously innately bad at. Not that Kiyoomi had expected an analytical mind behind that smug smile. 

Miya was surprisingly quiet the entire free period, not a single “Omi” leaving his lips for the next hour and a half. When Kiyoomi made his rounds, Miya glanced up at him and waved brightly, but he said nothing. A text editor full of code he’d probably copy-pasted stared up at Kiyoomi, and he continued. 

After free time was dinner, followed by quiet time in the prisoners’ dorms. Kiyoomi stayed on the opposite side of the room from Miya, their lack of interaction earlier in the day having lightened his steps. Maybe it was going to work. Maybe he’d be able to avoid Miya. Maybe Miya had finally gotten the message.

It was unlikely, but Kiyoomi had nothing if he didn’t have hope.

The break room was bustling when Kiyoomi returned to it after locking up the dorms. Hinata was telling some story that Bokuto was laughing at, the usually responsible Meian was wiping down the counters, and some of the other guards were drinking coffee and chatting. Kiyoomi had many skills, and among them was walking through a crowd without touching a single person, which he used as he made his way to the sink to wash his hands.

“Omi-san!” Hinata called. Kiyoomi found that he had a gut reaction to the sound of “Omi,” a bitter and annoyed one. He took a breath, reminded himself that the person talking was Hinata, a little ball of sunshine, and not Miya, a giant ball of slime. 

“Hinata,” he greeted as he dried his hands. “Bokuto-san.”

“Everything good down in sleepytown?” Bokuto asked. Kiyoomi nodded.

“No problems.”

“I was just telling Bokuto-san about the time that my best friend Kenma--oh, he’s on Earth, obviously, and he’s a pro gamer, isn’t that cool?--went with me and his other best friend to an amusement park and Kuroo-san was so much bigger than me that the lap bar on the pirate ship didn’t go all the way down and I felt like I was gonna fall out until Kuroo-san used his arms like a seatbelt to keep me and Kenma inside,” Hinata said, all in one breath. 

“Sounds interesting,” Kiyoomi said neutrally. 

“It was the scariest moment of my entire life,” Hinata said. “Except for the ride up here, I guess.”

“Oh, dude,” Bokuto said. “I was one hundred percent sure that mine was gonna be the shuttle that blew up.”

“Same!”

“It was certainly an experience,” Kiyoomi said. He hadn’t been particularly scared, but he’d also had the ability to be scared carefully beaten out of him over the years. He’d located a sniper rifle that was trained on his forehead seconds before the shot came. He’d been held over the edge of a building by a hand around his throat. He’d been stabbed in the arm and made a tourniquet out of his own shirt. 

All the more reason why his placement in this stupid prison was ridiculous. 

“What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done, Omi-san?” Hinata asked. Kiyoomi blinked.

“I don’t scare easily.”

“But there has to be something.” It was unreasonably hard to resist Hinata. 

Kiyoomi thought. He’d been in plenty of scary situations, but none were standing out to him. He opened his mouth to speak anyway.

“When I was nine years old,” he began, absently, “I thought my cat had gotten hit by a car.”

Hinata’s eyes widened. “Oh no! Was it okay?”

“She was fine,” Kiyoomi said. “I was in my room, doing math homework. I remember that. I heard the screech of tires through the window.” He didn’t know why he’d picked this particular memory. It had come to him all at once, unbidden. “I thought for sure that she was dead. I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my life.”

He recognized that he’d just brought down the mood. Bokuto and Hinata were both rapt. He tried a smile behind his mask. “Like I said, she was fine. She’d gotten spooked, and the driver missed her. I kept her on a leash when she went outside for the rest of her life.”

“Wow,” Bokuto said. “I think you win.”

“I’m glad she was okay,” Hinata said. Kiyoomi thought that if the story had ended any differently, Hinata might have started crying. 

“Anyway,” Kiyoomi said. “Your turn, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto seized the chance to lighten the conversation while he audibly thought through his memories. Kiyoomi half-listened. He realized that he was actually quite tired, for no particular reason. It hadn’t been a stressful day. He found that he got tired much more often on the moon. Maybe it was the oxygen.

Some of the other guards trickled out of the break room, going to their own dorms. The rooms were only marginally nicer than the ones given to the prisoners, which only added fuel to Kiyoomi’s “the guards are inmates too” fire.

Kiyoomi stayed in the break room for a while longer, talking with Hinata and Bokuto, mostly just listening. He knew he needed to sleep before his early shift the next day, but he found that he was struck with a certain inertia. 

Then, the lights went out.

It was immediately pitch black. Kiyoomi blinked into the dark as he processed the sudden change. He heard Hinata gasp and a chair move. 

“That’s not great,” Bokuto said. Kiyoomi’s hand flew to his waist and he unclipped his flashlight, flicking it on. Hinata beat him to it by a second.

“Not great,” he repeated back. 

“Well,” Hinata said.

There were the sounds of murmuring and shuffling around in the guards’ dorm. Kiyoomi listened for an endless moment to the room, to Hinata and Bokuto’s breathing. He closed his eyes, switched gears, and when he opened them again he was ready.

“The air is off,” he said. “The vents are quiet. We need to get to the control room.”

“Did one of the prisoners do this?” Hinata asked.

“They were locked in, right?” Bokuto said. “It can’t be.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kiyoomi said. “Air first, blame later.”

He started out of the break room and down the hall, his tiny flashlight illuminating the way. Hinata and Bokuto joined him, adding to the light in front of Kiyoomi. 

“I’m going to check on the pop,” Bokuto said, his tone suddenly sharp and business-like. “Keep them calm.”

“I’ll go with you,” Hinata said, gesturing to Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi nodded.

Other guards were starting to come out of the dorms with their own flashlights, Meian joining Kiyoomi and Hinata in the hallway ahead of them.

“We’re going to the control room, sir,” Kiyoomi said briskly. “Air’s off.”

“I can hear,” Meian said. “Radio if anything goes wrong. If you can’t fix it in five minutes, we might evacuate. Power out means lots of bad things.”

Kiyoomi thought that evacuation was kind of hair-trigger. Well, they had a responsibility to keep more than a hundred people safe, and air was the most vital resource they had to manage, so it made some sense to get out of there at the first sign of major trouble.

There had to be at least one engineer on the scene already, Kiyoomi reasoned. They could fix it or determine that it was unfixable in a few moments. Bokuto was already heading toward the inmates, so he could get evacuation orders to them quickly. They had practiced emergency evacuation procedures. Everyone knew what to do.

Kiyoomi broke into a jog as he and Hinata made their way down the tunnels between domes. They burst through the door of the control room. Everything was still dark. There was, to Kiyoomi’s relief, an engineer already there, with a small floodlight, on her back under the expansive control panel. 

“What’s the situation?” Kiyoomi asked.

The engineer ducked her head to see them. “That’s what I’m working on,” she said. 

“Okay,” Kiyoomi said. He took a deep breath, and felt a sudden fear of suffocation. That was silly. There was more than enough air to keep everyone alive for days after an oxygen malfunction. 

He’d never felt so acutely that he was on the moon as he did in this moment. 

“Hardware’s fine, far as I can see.” The engineer slid out from under the panel and got to her feet. Her name tag read Michimiya. “Give me a second.”

“If you think it’ll take more than a couple of minutes, we’re evacuating,” Kiyoomi said. “Orders from the top.”

Michimiya nodded, turning her light to the top of the control panel. She worked efficiently, while Kiyoomi kept an eye out for anyone coming. 

There was a click that echoed down the hall, and then the emergency lights all flicked on, bathing the tunnel and control room in stark red. 

“Woohoo!” Hinata said.

“I didn’t do that,” Michimiya replied. 

“Systems compromised. Begin evacuation procedure. Systems compromised. Begin evacuation procedure.”

The robotized voice was infernally loud. Kiyoomi glanced back into the room to see the security screens flicking on. At least they had some power. He hoped that the cameras were working too. 

“Something got really fucked up in this computer,” Michimiya said. “You said a few minutes? I can’t do software that fast.”

“Then we evacuate,” Kiyoomi said simply. 

“I take back what I said earlier,” Hinata said. “This is the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Focus,” Kiyoomi said. The cameras were on, it seemed, and he could get a pretty good view of most of the major rooms and tunnels. There was a stream of inmates moving in a rather disorderly fashion down one of the tunnels, others still coming out of their rooms. No one seemed to be panicking so much that they were making a break for it, which Kiyoomi supposed was thanks to Meian and Bokuto. If everything went well, they could get the prisoners into the shuttle in the next few minutes and be off of the moon within half an hour. It was an emergency escape shuttle for a reason--the turnaround was lightning quick.

“Please close bay doors. Please close bay doors.”

Oh, shit.

That did not mean the launch bay. What that meant was that somewhere, in one of the domes, a door to the outside was open. 

The prospect of suffocation clawed at Kiyoomi’s throat again.

“I’ll keep an eye on the cameras,” Kiyoomi snapped. Then, to Michimiya, “Get out of here.”

Michimiya gave one last glance at the control panel and nodded. “Okay. You guys better be right behind me.”

“We will be.”

“I’ll stay here with you,” Hinata said. His professionalism was starting to take over, after the initial shock. “We should be alone as little as possible.”

“Right.” Kiyoomi went to the wall of TV screens, watching the evacuation. He saw some of the guards heading into the launch bay, along with most of the other engineers. He followed Michimiya as she ran down the corridor, meeting up with the party of inmates. 

A couple of cameras were pointed at the major exit points to the prison, but none of the doors looked open. So it was just a crack, then. Kiyoomi was going to have to go investigate, but he’d need oxygen to do that, as the rest was being pulled out into the nonexistent atmosphere of the moon.

“Please close bay doors. Systems compromised. Begin evacuation procedure.”

It had only been a few minutes, but Kiyoomi’s concentration made it feel like much longer. Hinata was right beside him, watching the cameras just as diligently. They had to make sure that everyone got out. Meian would wait for them, once everyone else was safe. 

“Systems compromised. Begin evacuation procedure. Systems compromised. Please close bay doors.”

Kiyoomi saw a flash of movement from the prisoners’ dorms. His eyes flicked over and he watched as a figure came stumbling out of a room, a blanket trailing behind them. The camera was set up at the end of the hall, so Kiyoomi could only see this person’s back as they kicked the blanket away and started running. 

“Straggler,” Hinata said. “They’ll do roll call, make sure they’re there.”

Kiyoomi nodded, eyes glued to the screen. 

Hinata’s radio crackled, and Meian’s voice came out. “Michimiya gave us a report. Get your asses over here ASAP.”

“Roger,” Hinata said. “There’s one more prisoner.”

“On the way?”

“Just left their room. Should be there soon.”

“Intercept them at the junction and bring them in.”

“Roger.”

The person was running in socks, and Kiyoomi saw with perfect clarity their misstep. The sock slid, the person slid with it. Kiyoomi’s chest clenched. The person went down backwards, wheeling their arms. 

He couldn’t hear anything through the monitors, but he knew the sound of a head hitting the floor. Kiyoomi’s heart rate spiked and he took a breath.

Hinata hadn’t been looking. “We’ll go see who it is,” he said. “Come on.”

“They fell,” Kiyoomi said, brushing past Hinata. “I’ll get them, you go to the shuttle.”

“I’m not leaving you here!” Hinata said.

“They could be dead, or have a seizure,” Kiyoomi said bluntly, his sudden, inexplicable panic outweighing his tact. “Do you know how to deal with brain trauma?”

Hinata shook his head. Kiyoomi pointed. “Then get to the fucking shuttle. I’ll figure out the door.”

Hinata furrowed his brow, thinking for a split second, and then he nodded. “I’ll hold them until you get there.”

“I’ll get the inmate in. Just go!”

Then Kiyoomi took off down the tunnel, sprinting, the sound of his boots overcoming the “Systems compromised. Begin evacuation procedure” as they tapped on the linoleum floor. 

Hinata was behind him, but Kiyoomi’s legs were much longer. He rounded the corner, ran through the mess hall, and snatched the first aid kit off of the wall by the guard’s podium. “Go!” he yelled back at Hinata, who stopped briefly to watch him.

Kiyoomi let his legs do the work, his mind whirring as he ran. The hit had been significant but some of the weight of the fall had landed on the inmate’s elbows. That left the possibility of both a concussion and a broken arm. He didn’t have the materials to set a bone, but he could make do. Given the way the fall happened, it was unlikely that there was cervical trauma, but he had to be careful just in case. Best case scenario, the prisoner had never lost consciousness. 

He rounded a corner and saw the body on the floor. As he ran up, the intense concentration his adrenaline afforded him was briefly cut, like the floor dropping out from under him.

It was Miya fucking Atsumu.

Kiyoomi didn’t have time to follow that thought. He knelt down. Miya’s eyes were open, thank god, and after a moment they moved over to Kiyoomi. 

“Omi-omi,” Miya said softly. He seemed dazed. That made sense. Given how long he was on the floor, Kiyoomi had to assume the worst, that Miya had been unconscious until he’d arrived. That put him at a Grade 2 concussion, since he was awake now. “What’s…”

There was no way to stabilize Miya’s neck, in case it was injured, so Kiyoomi was hesitant to try and move him. He grabbed Miya’s hand, squeezing his pinky finger. “Can you feel that? Say yes or no, don’t nod.”

“Yeah,” Miya said. He was blinking rapidly, his eyes searching the ceiling. 

“Please close bay doors.”

Kiyoomi moved down to his foot and squeezed his toe through his sock. “Can you feel that?”

“Yeah.”

The warning kept blaring. Miya tried raising his arms and winced. “Too fuckin’ loud, fuckin’ hurts,” he murmured. “What’s going on?”

“You fell,” Kiyoomi said. “You probably have a concussion. Don’t move too much.”

“Shit,” Miya sighed. “That’s why my head hurts.”

“That would be why, yes.”

“Well, this is embarrassin’,” Miya said. 

Kiyoomi’s radio hissed. “You got them?” Meian asked. 

“He’s got a concussion and an injured arm,” Kiyoomi said. “I can’t move him far.”

“There’s a door open, Sakusa. Get out of there.”

“I’m not going to leave him on the ground,” Kiyoomi spat back with more vitriol than he intended.

“Then get him here with you.”

Kiyoomi pursed his lips. “Yes, sir.”

“The auto-launch on this thing gets us out of here in ten minutes. I can’t override. Figure it out.”

“Yes, sir,” Kiyoomi said. He clicked off his radio.

“Sounds like you should get goin’,” Miya said. He tried to adjust his shoulders and winced. “Ow. Fuck. What’s the big rush?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Kiyoomi said. He stood. “I’ll be back in one minute.”

“I’ll be countin’.”

Even concussed, Miya was doing his best to be insufferable. Kiyoomi was too high on adrenaline to care. He ran down a tunnel to the med bay. It was hard to navigate in the harsh red light, but he managed to locate a neck brace and a splint.

At least Miya hadn’t moved, when he got back. He was staring up at the ceiling. “I really fucked this one up,” he said. 

“It’s not your fault,” Kiyoomi said briskly. He carefully slid the back of the cervical collar under Miya’s neck and snapped it into place. “Does your arm hurt?”

“Oh yeah,” Miya said. “Not as much as my head, though.”

Kiyoomi felt down the length of Miya’s arm, stopping at his elbow when Miya winced. Could be a bruise or a fracture of the end of his ulna. He couldn’t set it well with a long bone splint, but he could try. He put it on Miya’s elbow anyway, keeping it straight. Not the best solution, but they could work out a sling later. Don’t move someone with a concussion, Kiyoomi’s training said. Especially don’t make them fucking RUN.

“Can you sit up?” he asked anyway. 

“Please close bay doors.”

“I know about the fucking doors!” he yelled at the ceiling, anxiety starting to boil over. 

“Whoa, Omi, calm down. I can sit, I think.”

Miya carefully hoisted himself up, with Kiyoomi’s help, until he was sitting. Immediately he groaned and his good arm came up to his forehead. 

“This sucks real bad,” he said. 

“We have to see if you can walk,” Kiyoomi said. He found his hands jittery. They were never jittery. “I can’t carry you that far.”

“Where are we going?” Miya asked. He blinked up at Kiyoomi, and then his eyes widened almost comically. “Oh, shit. The air’s out, isn’t it?” he asked, voice ghostly.

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said. “That is why we need to go.”

Kiyoomi’s radio crackled again and he was seconds from throwing it against the wall. “Yes?” he hissed.

“Hey, Sakusa-kun,” Bokuto’s voice said. “You said he has a concussion?”

“Yes.”

“Can he fly? With the altitude and everything.”

“It won’t kill him,” Kiyoomi said. “It will just make life very unpleasant. Do you need something?”

He didn’t like being short with Bokuto. He was just trying to help. But with every second Kiyoomi saw in his mind’s eye the oxygen shooting out of an open door and into space, taking away future breaths. 

“I can help you bring him in,” Bokuto offered.

“And risk three people getting stuck here? Stay on that shuttle.”

“We gotta get on there,” Miya said, voice rising with panic. “I have to be on that shuttle. That’s the whole point.”

“I want to be there too, idiot,” Kiyoomi said. He braced Miya’s back and chest and started helping him stand. “Up.”

“Lowered oxygen levels detected in...Dormitory B. Please evacuate...Dormitory B. Initiating conservation protocol in twenty seconds.”

Kiyoomi barely had Miya, who was now breathing rapidly, on his feet. Dormitory B was the inmates’ dorm. The one they were right next to. That had to be where the open door was. What was the conservation protocol? Kiyoomi knew that he knew what it was, but he couldn’t find it in his scrambled brain. Was he already breathing air with lower oxygen levels? How far did the warning spread?

Miya was leaning heavily against him, hand pressed hard into his temple. “Jesus christ,” he murmured. “This is bullshit.”

“Can you walk?”

“I’d fuckin’ better.”

There was a mechanical noise ahead of them. In a bend in the hallway, Kiyoomi saw an accordion-folded metal panel slide out of the wall.

“Initiating conservation protocol in ten seconds. Please evacuate...Dormitory B.”

Then, to Kiyoomi’s horror, the accordion panels started to close. 

They were about twenty-five feet away. Less than ten seconds to cross twenty-five feet. Miya could barely stand. How quickly could Kiyoomi drag him? With adrenaline, probably pretty fast. He had to try. Each thought zipped in and out of his brain in a split second, and then he grabbed Miya under his arms and started to pull him along.

“Hey, what’s...what the hell? I can walk!”

“I need you to run,” Kiyoomi snarled. Miya got his feet under him and stumbled after Kiyoomi. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. The doors were almost closed. Kiyoomi realized, as he reached out, that they weren’t going to make it. Miya leaned heavily on his shoulder, trying to move as fast as he could, but it wasn’t fast enough. It was too soon after his concussion.

Kiyoomi took a breath of oxygen-poor air and pulled out his radio. “We’re stuck,” he said.

“No we aren’t!” Miya shouted suddenly. “How the hell do you open this thing?”

The doors clicked shut. There was a control panel to the side, but it required a code. Maybe Meian would know it, maybe not. 

He held his radio up to his mouth again. “Door closed on us, Meian-san. Do you know the access code?”

“Shit. Hold on.”

Kiyoomi looked around the tunnel while he waited for Meian, eyes dancing off of every surface without seeing any of it. There was an open door. He visualized the compound. Past the dorms there was a small staff area, closed to the general population. In this staff area there were mostly bedding supplies. Beyond the supplies there were a set of metal shelves and--

“The door,” Kiyoomi said. He shoved his radio back onto his belt and propped Miya up on the wall. “If you fall over again you will die,” he said. It wasn’t necessarily true, but hopefully it would put the fear of god into him.

Kiyoomi took off running down the tunnel, entering the dormitory dome and sprinting past the doors lining the hall. The door at the end required his security key, on his lanyard. He scanned it and shoved the slow-moving automatic door open. 

He shouldered his way inside, navigating clumsily in the red light. A sharp hissing sound with a bass undertone pierced the air. Past the bedding, past the shelves, and there it was. A small set of double doors meant for loading cargo. A crack between them, hardly larger than the width of Kiyoomi’s palm. 

The air was absolutely thin here. He could feel it in his head. He had to soldier through it, grabbing the handle of the right-hand door and shoving it closed with all of his strength. It took a second, but then something in the friction of the door gave and it slid shut. The rubber seals met. The hissing sound stopped. 

“--kusa? Sakusa! Do you read, Sakusa Kiyoomi?”

His radio. He hadn’t been able to hear it over the sound. He scrambled for it, the air around him only barely satisfying his urge to breathe. He started back out of the staff room, light-headed as though he’d been hyperventilating. His chest felt like it was quietly vibrating.

“I read,” he said breathily. 

“6-8-4-4,” Meian said. “6-8-4-4. You have a minute and a half, Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi swallowed back some visceral emotion and forced himself to concentrate. “Copy.”

He came barreling past the door, where Miya was jabbing at the control panel ineffectively. “Move,” Kiyoomi snapped, jostling Miya to the side. 

6-8-4-4. The light blinked green and the accordion doors started opening. 

“Get on my back,” he said to Miya. “Now.”

Miya didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped up onto Kiyoomi’s back with what seemed to be the full extent of his available motion. Kiyoomi caught his thighs and hoisted him up. Then, being careful not to trip and hurt them both, Kiyoomi began to run.

It was all he could do to get past a jog, but he had to move. Miya held on with one arm, breaths fast and panicky by Kiyoomi’s ear. Down the tunnel, through the mess hall. Another tunnel. The launch bay was up ahead. 

“Sakusa,” he heard Meian say from his hip. He’d never heard Meian’s voice sound so urgent. “Sakusa, you have thirty seconds.”

Kiyoomi didn’t need calculations to know. He heard the rumble, felt it in his feet as he ran, continued running even though he knew, as they entered the broad launch bay, that there was no use. The shuttle was upright, pointed to the sky, to Earth. The dome opened and the airlock had already sucked the oxygen out of the room. The doors in front of Kiyoomi and Miya were closed to keep the frigid temperatures and lack of oxygen from depleting the entire prison. 

“No!” Miya shouted. “Fuckin’ hell!” He slid off of Kiyoomi’s back and went to the door, leaning against it and banging on it. 

Kiyoomi watched through the window as the ground below the shuttle ignited. The rumble intensified. The shuttle shuddered, and then, slowly, started to lift. Smoke and fire filled the room, pushing up against the door, and the shuttle left the launch bay. 

“Goddamn it!” Miya shouted. “I can’t believe, those pieces of shit fuckin’ left us!”

There was no way this was happening. No way that there was a shuttle carrying the entire population of this prison except for Kiyoomi. No way that he was still here.

“Get the fuck back down here! I’m going to kill them--”

“Miya,” Kiyoomi said. Miya whirled around to glare at him, but his expression changed in an instant. Kiyoomi wondered how empty his face must look like for that to happen. He slid down the wall, sitting down hard. 

Miya watched him for a second, breaths still fast, hand pressed to his head. Then he too sat, across the tunnel. Kiyoomi was out of breath, chest heaving, hands sweaty from exertion and stress. He stared at the wall just past Miya, just breathing. 

“I can’t believe I fuckin’ slept in,” Miya said quietly. “My own goddamn fault.”

“I chose to stay,” Kiyoomi said. “I could have left you.”

Miya watched him for a moment. “But ya didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

Kiyoomi found his features pulling into a glare. “You are entrusted to my care. I’m not going to let you die on the floor. I’m a fucking professional.”

“Omi’s touchy.”

Kiyoomi had almost forgotten who he was talking to, but it all came rushing upon him in an instant. He was stranded here, on the moon, with the most irritating person he’d ever met. They had to get off of this godforsaken rock as quickly as possible, so he could get busy never seeing Miya Atsumu again.

Instead of saying any of that, he counted to five. “There should be another escape vessel.”

“Do ya know how to work it?”

“No, but I can try.”

“Right.”

Another long stretch of quiet. The rumbling had stopped completely. Kiyoomi wondered if they’d even be able to see the rocket anymore. 

“So,” Miya said. “Sure hope the air turns on again, huh?”

Kiyoomi had forgotten. He nodded numbly. It didn’t matter if there was another escape vessel if he suffocated before they had a chance to use it. 

“If necessary, we have suits and oxygen tanks,” he said. 

“What’s even…” Miya started. “Um. What’s even wrong with the computers?”

“Why do you think it’s the computers?”

“Well, they control everything, right?”

“It could be the control panel itself,” Kiyoomi said. Michimiya had said otherwise, but that had been after maybe two minutes of examination. 

“Ah, right.”

“Well,” Kiyoomi said. “We’ve already made your concussion as bad as it can be. You should lie down.”

“I’d argue but I feel like cold shit right now,” Miya said.

“Of course you’d argue,” Kiyoomi muttered.

“I guess it was mortal peril that got me to crack your shell, huh?” Miya said with a characteristic smug smile. “I like this spicy new Omi.”

“I will not respond to that name.”

“Sure ya will, Omi,” Miya said as he struggled to his feet. “It’s the only thing I’m gonna call ya, and I’m the only one here.”

Kiyoomi did not respond, as promised. He got up off the floor, taking a deep breath of air that had enough oxygen in it, and started down the hall to the med bay. He glanced back at Miya, who was making his way slowly. Kiyoomi had had a concussion before, and he remembered the immediate headache, how it was made worse by altitude changes. Sitting to standing had been the worst. 

Kiyoomi felt a little bad about it, but his first thought was, maybe it’ll shut him up.

“So Bokkun and shorty can call ya Omi, but I can’t?”

So much for that.

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said simply.

“That’s no fair.”

“Hinata and Bokuto-san are my colleagues. You are a convict in a maximum security prison.”

“Eh, technicalities.”

“Important technicalities.”

“I bet money I’m older than ya, though.”

“If we were colleagues, that might matter,” Kiyoomi said, eye twitching. “As we are not, it doesn’t.”

“I miss when you were fussin’ over me like a mother hen,” Miya grumbled. “How do I get that nice Omi back?”

“Maybe try dying again and we’ll see.”

“Oof,” Miya said, laughing. He cut himself off and rubbed at his head. “Jesus, this headache. I feel like I’m bouta fall over.”

“I’ve already had you running when you should be bed-bound,” Kiyoomi said. “Stop talking or you’ll make it worse.”

“Can’t tell if ya care or if you’re just tryna shut me up.”

“What a conundrum.”

They made their way into the med bay. Everything was still bathed in red, but Kiyoomi’s eyes had adjusted. He took one of the rolling beds and brought it around, making sure there was a pillow on it. “Lie down.”

“Yes, ma,” Miya said. He clambered onto the bed, lying back. He winced when the back of his head touched the pillow, but he relaxed. “You gonna check my eyes or anythin’? I hear ya have to do that.”

“If you want me to shine a flashlight directly into your eyes, I can certainly oblige,” Kiyoomi said. He took out the flashlight on his belt again and flicked it on. Miya immediately squinted. “Keep your eyes open or this is useless.”

Miya’s pupils were the same size. That was good, at least. “Did you lose any time?” Kiyoomi asked. “Do you remember falling?”

“Nope,” Miya said, popping the “p.” “I was runnin’ and then I was on the floor with you comin’ round the corner like I was about to die.”

Kiyoomi clenched his jaw. “For all I knew, you could have been.”

“Are my ears supposed to be ringin’?”

“That is a common symptom of a concussion, yes,” Kiyoomi said. 

“You a doctor?”

“No,” Kiyoomi said. “I happen to have a wide range of…” he paused, “...skills.”

“Well that has to be the most fuckin’ ominous thing I’ve ever heard,” Miya said with a growing smile. “Yer really a mystery, huh, Omi?”

“If that is what you choose to believe,” Kiyoomi said. “I’ve said before that I could not care less what you think of me.”

Miya pouted. “Not even a little?”

Kiyoomi let out a long breath and turned. “I’m going to get us water.”

“You’re gonna leave me alone in the dark like this?”

“Yes. Now shut up. Don’t fall asleep.”

The screeching warning signals had stopped with the launch of the shuttle, and now the halls were hauntingly quiet. There was still no air running through the vents, and without the subtle hum Kiyoomi’s footsteps echoed against the walls. His heart was still pounding, and as the adrenaline left him he was left feeling utterly exhausted. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling--he’d been on jobs where he’d had to be awake for forty-eight hours straight, constantly vigilant, making sure a gaggle of foreign dignitaries weren’t blown up in their sleep. After the first thirty-six, it became almost intolerable. Compared to that, this mild sleepiness was nothing. 

He made it to the mess hall. It seemed that only essential functions were operational, so the refrigeration was off. They’d have to figure out what to do about that, if they were going to be without most of their power for any length of time. Hopefully they could figure out the other escape vessel and get the hell out of dodge before it became an issue.

He grabbed a large jug, half-full of water, and some cups. It made sense to hole up in the infirmary for a while--they could also go back to the officers’ dorm, but with Miya’s injuries it was smart to stay close to medical help. And, as much as Kiyoomi hated it, he was the only person around who could keep an eye on Miya until he was sure that he wasn’t going to have a seizure and choke on his own vomit.

As he was making his way back down the tunnels, jug under his arm, he heard a popping noise and then a low whoosh. He held his breath and stopped in the middle of the hall. The whoosh continued. Then, all at once, the lights came on.

The air. Kiyoomi paused, processed. His eyes widened. He put down the jug and crouched in front of it, head ducked. Count to ten. Imagine that beachscape. Red, green, blue, orange, yellow, purple, cyan, brown. 

If they’d waited another fucking fifteen minutes to evacuate.

Kiyoomi’s first response to bad news had always been anger. It was a cool, simmering anger, but anger nonetheless. It was no different here, as he listened to the air flow through the ducts, replacing the lost oxygen. He was stuck in this compound, a place he wasn’t even supposed to be, alone except for the most annoying person he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. If Meian had waited, if he’d let the engineers look, if he’d sent someone to find and close the bay door instead of panicking and shoving everyone into a shuttle with an automatic launch, this wouldn’t have happened. 

Kiyoomi was angry at Meian, at Miya, at Michimiya, at the con artist who got himself through a door Kiyoomi was guarding some months ago, at himself. He took deep, long breaths, no longer parried by the thought of suffocation, and let the anger bubble. What god had Kiyoomi upset? What injustice had he committed in a past life? 

By the time Meian and the others got to Earth, by the time Kiyoomi could finally contact them, he’d have cooled down. He’d be able to talk to them like an adult, explain the situation, and they’d have some kind of rescue sent up. That was a better idea than the dumb escape vessel in the launch bay. 

There, that was a plan. Go to the radio, send a transmission down to Earth. He could even warn mission control that the shuttle was on its way. Then he could request extraction as soon as possible. The thought calmed him. Kiyoomi stood, picking up the water jug again, and he continued down the hall to the med bay, his anger temporarily sated but still simmering in the background. 

“Omi! Hey, Omi! Power’s back on!”

The anger erupted again, and Kiyoomi swallowed it back. He didn’t respond to the nickname as he approached, lifting the water jug onto the available cooler and pouring two cups. He handed one to Miya.

“Yer a lifesaver, Omi,” Miya said. It was like he was determined to use that name as much as physically possible. “Literally and figuratively.”

Still, Kiyoomi said nothing. He went to one of the cabinets and started rooting around for some kind of elbow brace. Just something to keep Miya from moving his arm that wouldn’t keep it as straight as the splint was now.

“You’re still doin’ this, Omi?” Miya asked. Kiyoomi didn’t respond. He found a good enough brace and closed the cabinet. Miya sighed dramatically. “Sakusa-san.”

“Hm?” Kiyoomi said, glancing up. Miya rolled his eyes. 

“I can’t believe yer actually a child.”

“Bold words from a man who can’t run without cracking his head open.”

“I slipped,” Miya shot back. “Coulda happened to anyone.”

“And somehow it only happened to you. Show me your arm.”

Miya held out the arm with the splint. Kiyoomi carefully undid it and put the straight splint aside. Then he carefully flexed Miya’s arm, sliding the brace up and ignoring Miya’s wince. He set it to about ninety degrees and tightened it, and then he laid Miya’s arm back down onto his stomach. 

“Don’t move that.”

“Still hurts,” Miya said.

“Good.”

“You don’t have very good bedside manner, ya know.”

“Miya Atsumu,” Kiyoomi said, voice level. Miya shut up immediately, watching Kiyoomi carefully. “I am going to say this exactly once. I do not want to talk to you any more than is strictly necessary. I do not want to see you, other than to make sure you don’t die in your sleep. I will keep you safe until we are able to leave, but nothing more than that. I am not your friend. I do not care about my ‘bedside manner.’”

“Jeez,” Miya said. “Ya find a second stick to put up there while you were gone?”

Kiyoomi wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. He’d already shown too many cards with his own little outburst. He turned and started for the door.

“I’m going to check the radio. Do not move.”

“What if I need to take a piss?”

“What, do you need potty training, too?” Kiyoomi snapped. “There’s a bathroom in the back. You have permission to get up to go there.”

“Aye, aye, Omi.”

Kiyoomi walked down the tunnels toward the control room. The last time he’d been there, it was bathed in red and drowning in deafening warning signals. Now it looked utterly normal. The cameras showed their respective rooms and halls. There were lights on, the radar was working, and nothing seemed out of place. What had happened?

Kiyoomi wasn’t good enough with electronics or computers to be able to diagnose that. When they sent a rescue mission up to get him they could send an engineer who might be able to suss it out. Certainly Miya wouldn’t be any help. 

It was best for Kiyoomi not to mess with it. He went to the radio. He’d been trained in how to use it, to send messages to and from Earth. He picked up the receiver and pressed a few buttons, waiting for the telltale wiry whining noise. 

Nothing happened. He frowned at the control panel. He turned it away from the correct frequencies and then back. Nothing. Maybe he’d remembered wrong. He was losing some of his ability to concentrate, as the adrenaline left his body weak. He pressed a few buttons and tried again. Still nothing.

Kiyoomi had already panicked enough in the day that he could barely muster up more. He took a breath, counted to five, and put the receiver down. Maybe it needed some time, after being shut down so suddenly, to come back online. Perhaps there would be an incoming message that he could intercept. They’d check on him, to see if he and Miya were still alive. He just had to wait for the shuttle to land.

It had taken three days for them to get up to Luna 5, so he probably had three or four days stuck with Miya before they could send up a rescue. It might take some time to coordinate it, but if all went perfectly Kiyoomi could be off of the moon in less than two weeks. 

Two weeks seemed like an eternity. Two weeks of dealing with a concussed, snarky Miya Atsumu, whom Kiyoomi was contractually obligated to protect. 

There, that could do it. He could think of this as a job, like any other he’d had on Earth. He’d guarded some insufferable people, but he’d managed to stay professional and do his job. He did not have to pretend to befriend Miya Atsumu. He could think of him as a client. If Kiyoomi worked it around in his head enough, he could even say that he was getting paid to do this. He got a salary for his work as a correctional officer, and now he only had one person to guard. 

It was better than nothing. Kiyoomi left the malfunctioning radio and went to the mess hall to see if he could put together some food for the two of them. Miya would have to be in bed for at least the next day or two, though after that he’d be able to look after himself, for the most part. Kiyoomi had no idea how long Miya had been on Luna 5, but hopefully he’d retained some skills of independence and could keep himself alive far away from Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi washed his hands for a full minute and then found some bread and sandwich fixings. They weren’t going to be resupplied for a while, so they might have to do some rationing. The perishables had to go first. Kiyoomi would have to do a full catalogue of what was in the kitchen soon, so he could plan out meals. 

Kiyoomi knew himself well enough--he thrived off of control, off of being able to meticulously manipulate his environment until it suited him. He needed to know what was wrong with the control panel, how much food they had, how many oxygen tanks they had left, whether the water recycling system was operational or not. Once he knew how everything in the compound worked, he’d be able to relax. Known quantities were good. 

He returned to the med bay with two sandwiches, carefully packaged in paper so he wouldn’t have to touch them with his hands. Miya was humming to himself, tapping his leg with his good hand.

“Oh, hey, Omi,” he said. “I came up with this killer hook for a song. Still workin’ on the lyrics, though.”

“If you sing I am going to put your sandwich in the incinerator.”

“Ya made me a sandwich?”

Kiyoomi held out the paper-wrapped food and went to sit in one of the chairs nearby. Miya, with some effort, sat up, unwrapping the sandwich as best he could with one hand and taking a bite. 

“You even cut it in half,” Miya gushed. “I knew ya liked me.”

“It’s less messy to eat that way,” Kiyoomi said. He watched as Miya adjusted his bad arm to rest on his leg. Kiyoomi put his sandwich down on the paper on what he hoped was a sterile table, and went to one of the cabinets again. He went down the labeled shelves and pulled out a blue and white sling. 

“Put this on,” he said, crossing back to Miya. Miya blinked at him and then down at his sandwich. Kiyoomi sighed. “Lift your arm as well as you can.”

He put the straps over Miya’s head. Miya dutifully raised his braced arm, letting Kiyoomi slide the sling over it. He adjusted the straps until Miya’s arm was at a proper angle, and then he went back to his food. 

“Omi’s so sweet to me, no matter what he says,” Miya said, ostensibly to his sandwich. “I think he has a soft spot for me.”

Kiyoomi was not going to engage, no matter how much he wanted to. Engagement with their antics was exactly what people like Miya Atsumu wanted. Instead, Kiyoomi focused on his own sandwich. It wasn’t his best work, if he was being honest, but he had limited materials. Miya didn’t seem to be complaining. Kiyoomi couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen him cook in the kitchen the inmates had access to. 

They ate in silence, which was fine with Kiyoomi, but of course once his sandwich was gone Miya had nothing to do with his mouth and he started talking again. “Hey, Omi?”

Kiyoomi didn’t respond, folding up the paper that held his sandwich and going to the sink to wash his hands. 

“Sir?” Miya asked, sounding like he’d rather be saying any other word.

“Yes, Miya?” Kiyoomi replied.

“That’s gonna get real old for ya, I’m tellin’ ya now,” Miya said. 

“Is that all?”

“No, no. I just wanted to say thank you.”

Kiyoomi sniffed. “For what?”

“For savin’ me. I know ya don’t like me all that much, which is fine and all, but anyway. I’m glad you were around to help me out.”

Kiyoomi examined Miya’s face, trying to figure out where the joke was. Miya looked at him with an open smile, hooded eyes calm and content. “I hardly saved us,” Kiyoomi said. “We’re still here.”

“Hey, I wasn’t gonna bring that up,” Miya said. “Would it kill ya to say ‘you’re welcome’?”

And there it was. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes as he kicked open a lower cabinet, looking for a clean towel. “You are very welcome,” he said. “For stranding me on this rock.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Miya said, and he was smiling that dumb, smug smile that Kiyoomi hated. 

“I’m going to sleep in my own room,” Kiyoomi said. “If you start dying, hit that button.” He gestured to a small red button on the side of Miya’s cot. Miya’s finger hovered over the button. “Don’t.”

“I can’t believe I have my own personal Omi call button,” Miya said, sounding dazzled. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

“If you press that for anything less than a life-or-death emergency, you will be the luckiest man dead.”

“Alright, I gotcha. Just warnin’ ya, though, I’m a wild sleeper. Might accidentally hit it.”

Kiyoomi gritted his teeth. “Then you’ll do your best not to.”

“‘Course, Omi. I can’t interrupt yer beauty sleep.” Miya laid back down, made awkward by his neck brace and sling. “Oh, do ya think the computers’ll be workin’ tomorrow?”

“I have no idea. Everything else seems largely operational, except for the radio, so I imagine so,” Kiyoomi said. He gave the infirmary another once-over, in case there was anything he’d missed that Miya might need. He spied the water jug and poured Miya another glass. It was in self-defence--he had a vision of Miya calling him in the dead of night for a drink. 

“The radio’s not workin’?”

“Not at the moment, no,” Kiyoomi said. “I’m sure it will be operational tomorrow.”

“Jeez,” Miya said, and for once he actually sounded thoughtful. “I don’t think that was supposed to happen.”

“Obviously not,” Kiyoomi said. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah, Omi. Leave me to it. I won’t press your special button unless ya ask me to.”

Kiyoomi hated this man. He didn’t respond, stepping out of the med bay and starting down the tunnel to the guards’ dorm. Miya could keep his crude jokes to himself, and once he was feeling better Kiyoomi could make sure to never be in the same room. It could work, he told himself. He had a chance to see this through sane.

Kiyoomi got himself ready for bed, the dorm eerily silent. It was peaceful, in a way, but also terribly lonely. He found that, as he brushed his teeth, he missed the sound of Hinata’s voice carrying through the door. He shook his head. They’d been gone for a few hours. If he was getting sentimental already, he’d never survive.

Of course he couldn’t be left with any of the guards, stuck here. Of course it had to be one of the inmates. He didn’t even know what Miya Atsumu had done to get sent up here. 

Kiyoomi froze in bed, blinking up at the ceiling. He took a deep breath. He had absolutely no clue what most of the inmates had done, Miya included. There was a non-zero chance that Miya was in for some kind of violent crime. He could be a sex offender and Kiyoomi had no idea. He could be a murderer. 

Kiyoomi, against his better judgment, kicked his way out of bed and put on his boots. It was unpleasantly cool outside of his blankets as he tapped down the tunnel. The lights were all still on, and without any way to see the outside, it could just as easily have been morning, Kiyoomi’s exhaustion the only indication that it wasn’t.

He made sure to skirt around the med bay, zeroing in on the computer at the guard podium in the mess hall, which was most central. He took measured breaths as he turned it on and waited for it to boot up. The entire compound was on a single computer network, so he should be able to access records from anywhere. 

Kiyoomi clicked rapidly through the authentication screen and opened up the portal to the most classified files. He had marginal access to them--some were still unavailable, but inmate records and some court documents were his to view. 

He scrolled through the names, pausing at Miya’s. Hopefully not a murderer. Kiyoomi had the sudden image of Miya hobbling into the mess hall behind him with a knife. It was ridiculous, of course. Even in his best shape, Kiyoomi could easily disarm him and get him down. The image still persisted, somehow.

He clicked on Miya’s name. It took a second for the documents to show. Kiyoomi waited. Then, Miya’s profile popped up.

Miya Atsumu. 29 years old. Birthday--well, if Kiyoomi had taken the bet about Miya being older he would have lost. Dorm room 6. 

Convicted on five counts of felony extortion, each carrying a maximum sentence of 10 years, to be served consecutively.

Kiyoomi blinked at the screen. Extortion was a nebulous term. Was Miya yakuza? Had he extorted money out of a company? Extortion required some kind of threat, so what had the threat been? Violence? Blackmail?

How the hell was Miya going to be in prison for the next 50 years for financial crimes?

Kiyoomi’s worry evaporated in an instant. Not a murderer, not a sex offender. A blackmailer, maybe, a fraudster, but nothing that Kiyoomi had to be concerned about in direct relation to his safety. He took a deep breath and closed down the computer. He didn’t need to know all of the gritty details of the charges. He didn’t really care. 

He went back to bed feeling a little lighter. Now he had some information on Miya. It wouldn’t necessarily be leverage, but he could perhaps surprise Miya with the knowledge, get him to second-guess himself a little about how much Kiyoomi knew about him. It was petty, but Kiyoomi had never claimed to be anything else.

Kiyoomi went to sleep satisfied. The situation was under his control. 

Kiyoomi dreamed of an abyss.

Black void, cold, surrounding him. The emptiness was suffocating. His little paws scrambled on nothing, on air, on the absence of air. He couldn’t take a breath. 

Stars, one by one, blinked into view. Dots in the distance, the unimaginable distance. Kiyoomi watched them appear, until the entire void was peppered with them, small and blinding. He saw constellations, stars forming the shapes of trees and flowers and animals. 

In front of him, a splash of white, a galaxy forming out of billions, trillions of stars. It coalesced and expanded and warped, and from it he saw a ring of bright stars shift in the sky.

They formed an outline, a cosmic silhouette, with pointy ears and a long tail, and the galaxy filled it in. Two brilliant stars for eyes, dainty paws, a sharp snout. 

The fox sprang forth from the sky, distant stars suddenly becoming close, massive in their scope but small enough to fit on the body of the animal as it leaped forward, landing on nothing, springing back and forth and leaving footprints of stardust. 

Kiyoomi’s whiskers prickled with cold and the ground below him materialized, the twinkling of stars becoming the sparkle of old, icy snow, untouched on a bed of frozen earth. His long body shivered and at once he was standing on the snow, his paws sinking into it and slowing him. 

The fox was filled with color, a ruddy gray, color changed for the winter. It bounded toward him, and Kiyoomi at once felt the blind panic of being something else’s prey.

He scrambled forward, flying over the snow in great leaps, weaving back and forth. The fox followed him, face impassive and long. Its thick, sleek tail followed it, carving lines in the snow behind it. 

Kiyoomi ran, and he could hear the sound of feet in the snow behind him, drawing closer and closer. His heart was pounding, fluttering, and at once he leaped into the air and dove headfirst into the snow. He buried himself as deeply as possible, until he hit the ground. He heard the crunch of the fox following him and saw, when he turned, the tip of its black nose behind him.

He burrowed through the snowdrifts, digging at the solid ground, tiny claws not enough to make anything but a small divot. He heard the fox’s footsteps above him, around him, and then they were gone. Kiyoomi sat in his cocoon of ice and snow and waited, ears open, until his breaths slowed. He waited the rest of the night, but no steps returned.

Chapter Text

Miya did his best to test Kiyoomi’s patience at every step. 

“Oh, nurse!” he called as Kiyoomi brought him breakfast in the morning. Kiyoomi counted to five and continued down the hall. He found a smiling Miya sitting in his cot. “Morning, Omi,” he said. “Sleep well?”

“Fine,” Kiyoomi said tersely. He placed a plastic tray in front of Miya. It was rehydrated eggs, some leftover soup, and a few slices of buttered bread. 

“Thanks, Omi-Omi,” Miya said. “Hey, when do you reckon I can take this thing off?” he asked, tapping on the neck brace.

Kiyoomi had, admittedly, forgotten about it. “When we’re sure you don’t have some kind of neck injury.”

“And how can we tell that?”

“We do an x-ray.”

“Ooh,” Miya said, taking a slice of bread and chewing thoughtfully. “Never had one of those. Ya know how to do it?”

“I can certainly figure it out,” Kiyoomi said.

“That one of your many special skills?”

Kiyoomi ignored him. He’d never been briefed on how to run the x-ray machine, because he wasn’t expected to do any medical care besides first aid, but it couldn’t be too difficult. He’d gotten x-rays himself, most recently to see if there was any more shrapnel in his left thigh (there wasn’t), so he knew some of the process. 

“You shoulda gone into nursing,” Miya said. “You’d be a hit with the old ladies. So polite and everything.”

“I’ll consider the career change,” Kiyoomi said. He went to the back, next to the bathroom, where there was a small, cramped x-ray room. Inside, there were some lead vests hanging on the wall and a small adjustable exam chair. He fired up the dedicated computer and found a convenient checklist. If he ignored all of the adjustable settings about exposure and “kVp,” whatever that was, it was simple. He was able to select whether it was a limb, body, or head being x-rayed, and then there was a short list of steps following. He supposed that in an emergency it might be necessary for a non-medical professional to use the machine. 

Like he was, right now. Convenient.

“Come here when you’re done,” he said, beckoning Miya over.

“Sure thing, Omi,” Miya said around a mouthful of something.

Disgusting. Kiyoomi went into the small room and grabbed the largest lead apron they had with only the tips of his fingers. He moved the adjustable arm of the x-ray machine over to the top of the seat, approximately where Miya’s head would go, resisting the urge to wipe down the entire machine. It had probably never been used. It was fine.

After a few minutes, Kiyoomi heard the squeak of Miya sliding off of the thin cot. He wandered over quizzically. “Boo.”

Kiyoomi looked down at him, unimpressed. Miya gave him a million-watt grin. 

“Lie down in there,” he said, gesturing to the room. Miya gave it an uncertain look but did as he was told. At least he was amenable to direct orders. That would prove useful, no doubt. 

“So ya definitely know how to run this thing, right?” Miya asked. “I’m not gonna get zapped to death or somethin’?”

“Or something,” Kiyoomi said absently. He draped the apron over Miya’s chest and tilted the back of the chair until Miya was lying flat, the arm of the x-ray machine hovering ominously above him. 

“This isn’t the part where ya murder me, is it?” Miya asked. 

“Have you done something worth being murdered?”

“Oh, every day,” Miya said. He paused while Kiyoomi adjusted the arm. “Hey, Omi, you ever killed anyone?”

Kiyoomi looked down at Miya. He considered. “Yes.”

Miya’s eyes widened. “Shit. I mean, self-defense?”

“...defense,” Kiyoomi allowed.

“Of the people you were bodyguardin’?” Miya asked. Kiyoomi froze. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, word gets around,” Miya said dismissively. “We get all the dirt on the new hires round here.”

Kiyoomi had not told anyone about his career, and as far as he knew none of them except for Meian knew from where he’d been hired. It was possible for them to look him up through the system, but they’d had no reason to and neither Hinata nor Bokuto had ever mentioned anything about Kiyoomi’s former job. 

“Is that so,” he said, forcefully neutral. A cross of light shone on Miya’s neck. Kiyoomi carefully removed the neck brace and slid it out. “Don’t move.”

He left the small room and went back to the computer. A few taps on the touchscreen and it was ready to go. Miya, for his part, didn’t move a muscle, staring up at the ceiling dutifully as he waited.

There was a series of sharp, rapid clicks, and then it was done. The machine exposed the film automatically, in a way that Kiyoomi was not privy to, and after a minute or so the exposures came up on the screen. 

Kiyoomi had seen x-rays before, mostly in passing or on TV, but he was still pretty confident that he’d be able to recognize if something was terribly wrong with Miya’s neck. He opened the door and gestured for Miya to sit up.

“You’re fine,” he said. 

“A lot of hooplah for nothin’,” Miya said as he sat and hopped off the chair. “But I always wanted to get one of those. Not as fun as I’d hoped, though.”

“Medicine rarely is,” Kiyoomi said. 

“So, ya think I can hop on those computers soon?” Miya asked. Kiyoomi pursed his lips. 

“Focusing on screens is bad for your brain,” he said. “Not for another few days.”

“Ah, man,” Miya said. “I’m gonna forget everythin’ I learned about codin’.”

“Then maybe it was destined to be forgotten.”

“Y’know, Omi, it’s gotta be exhaustin’ goin’ around yer whole life so cold like that,” Miya said. Kiyoomi leveled an unimpressed look on him.

“Don’t assume you know how I act with other people,” he said coolly. 

“Oh, so I’m the special one who gets Mean Omi?”

“You aren’t special.”

“What did I ever do to deserve it?” Miya asked. 

Let me count the ways, Kiyoomi thought. “Goodbye, Miya. Don’t hit your head again.”

Kiyoomi shut down the x-ray computer and crossed the room. He hadn’t eaten yet, himself, and the sight of Miya’s empty tray both repulsed him and made his stomach growl. He took it between careful fingers, glad that he’d worn his gloves. 

It was good that there was only one other person in the prison, because it meant that the vast majority of the compound was silent and available for Kiyoomi to spend time alone. Once he’d eaten, he went back to the control room to test the radio again.

Once again, there was no indication that it even had any power, let alone connective capabilities. Everything else on the panel was functional. Of course it had to be the radio, of all things. Two more days until the shuttle landed on Earth, and the message that Kiyoomi and Miya were stuck would be transmitted. 

Kiyoomi considered himself an exceptionally patient person, but at the same time he hated waiting. His patience was not so much a result of ability to wait for things as it was the result of his ability to endure discomfort. Kiyoomi could stand a lot of discomfort, be it physical, mental, or emotional. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

The dispatch radios seemed to be working fine. Kiyoomi wondered if there was something he could look up and learn to fix in the control panel. Best case scenario, he got the radio working. Worst case scenario, he electrocuted himself and Miya found his body. Cost-benefit was not in his favor.

Kiyoomi decided he could worry about that later. If no one came in two weeks, he could start trying to fix the radio himself. Just two weeks. He’d had jobs that had taken much longer. He’d spent months constantly vigilant. He could deal with two weeks with Miya Atsumu.

Miya had been good for an entire day, twiddling his thumbs in the med bay, but once he wasn’t bed-bound he inflicted himself upon Kiyoomi at every possible opportunity. 

“I have an exoskeleton,” Miya said, sitting in the library across from Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi turned a page in his book. “Okay, still stumped? I’m found in the ocean.”

Kiyoomi was starting to rethink his forbiddance of television and computers, if this was how Miya was going to deal with it. His eyes kept running over the same words, shocked out of his focus every time Miya spoke.

“C’mon, Omi, this one’s easy. Okay. I don’t have claws.”

“Miya,” Kiyoomi said warningly. Miya smiled.

“No, but close. Okay, if ya eat me too much ya might turn pink.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, that one might be true for me too, though.”

“That’s your worst one yet,” Kiyoomi muttered. He hadn’t absorbed the page he was reading, but he couldn’t stay there forever. He turned it, hoping the next one would be easier for him to parse.

“I’m workin’ with the material I’ve got,” Miya said. “Okay, last clue: I kinda look like little--”

“Shrimp,” Kiyoomi snapped. “You’re a fucking shrimp. There. Game over.”

Miya grinned. “Took you a lot of clues there, Omi-kun.”

Would nothing deter him? Kiyoomi kept coming up with blanks. He’d explicitly said that he wanted nothing to do with Miya, and yet here he was, still bothering him like nothing had been said at all. How much more plainly could Kiyoomi say it than I am not your friend?

“Your turn,” Miya said. Kiyoomi remained silent. Miya waited. “Oh, come on, Omi-omi, I’m so bored. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die from boredom and you’ll be the reason.”

Kiyoomi closed his book with a snap. “If you take regular breaks, you can use the computers. Or don’t. I don’t care whether or not you get a headache.”

Miya beamed. “I could kiss ya, Omi,” he said. He got up, probably too quickly for his head. “I’ll be waiting on that animal, though. You’ve got extra time to think.”

Kiyoomi closed his eyes until he was sure Miya was gone. He was only one room over, but the distance was a balm on Kiyoomi’s soul. He looked back at his closed book. 

Panda. He knew some panda facts.

Kiyoomi froze. No. He was not going to be pulled into Miya’s juvenile games. There would be no panda facts. 

He found another book that he could actually focus on, some pulpy procedural mystery. He’d been involved in several court cases, so he always liked seeing how well the authors knew what they were talking about. This one didn’t at all, but the heroine was interesting enough. 

Miya was a literal child. Animal guessing games because he was bored? He was a convicted felon. There was no way it wasn’t a cover for something. Even if he hadn’t committed a violent crime, he’d been in prison for some time. You didn’t come out of that, no matter how cushy the prison, with the mentality that Miya was presenting. 

And there had to be some reason that he was doing this. Some reason he was pretending to be so dumb with Kiyoomi. He may be bad with computers, but extortion was a white collar crime. It required planning, and five counts? All with maximum sentences? Miya Atsumu had done something very bad and gotten a lot of money for it. 

And he was trying to rope Kiyoomi into guessing that he was a shrimp.

Kiyoomi’s suspicion found him standing, setting the book on the table in front of him, and crossing quietly to the door to the computer lab. There were reinforced windows all the way along the wall, so that the entire lab was visible. Miya was at one of the computers, focused on the screen. His face was different when he wasn’t trying to get a reaction out of Kiyoomi. It was sharper, and he looked older. He kept scanning back and forth across the screen. 

Kiyoomi looked down at his hands. They were typing quickly, occasionally stopping, and then starting back up just as rapidly. Well, he obviously hadn’t forgotten as much as he was worried he would. He bit at his lip, the light from the computer lighting his face from slightly below.

Then he glanced up, caught sight of Kiyoomi, and broke into a grin. He twinkled his fingers and winked, and Kiyoomi peeled off from the wall and turned back to his book. 

Despite his choice in reading material, Kiyoomi didn’t like mysteries. Mysteries were out of his control, with information he didn’t know, information that somebody else did know. Information had the potential to be dangerous, and if he didn’t know it he had no way of determining if it was or not. Miya Atsumu was a potential mystery, and Kiyoomi didn’t like that one bit. At least in a book you knew the answer was inevitable.

He hoped he was overthinking it. That Miya was just an airhead who liked taking the piss out of Kiyoomi. He was easily excitable and could be redirected easily. That was understandable, controllable. Miya followed orders. He made tasteless, dumb jokes. 

He committed extortion that landed him in jail for most of the rest of his life. 

The two were irreconcilable in Kiyoomi’s mind. And that meant that there was information he didn’t have. And the only person who could give him that information was currently sticking his tongue out a little while he focused on learning how to create basic programs in Javascript. Kiyoomi realized that he wanted to ask Miya about his crimes. He wanted to know the exact way that the extortion had taken place, to fit it into the growing profile in his mind labeled “Miya Atsumu.”

He had no doubt that Miya would offer up the information, and if he didn’t Kiyoomi was sure he’d be able to get it out of him. But Kiyoomi couldn’t just ask. That opened him up to questions about his own life, it showed interest in Miya’s, and if he thought Miya was insufferable when they were tense acquaintances, he couldn’t imagine what Miya would be like if he thought they were friends.

Kiyoomi was going to have to go about this in a more roundabout way. If he were smarter, he’d mind his own business and keep on staying as far away from Miya as he could. Kiyoomi had never claimed to be particularly smart, but what he was was curious. There was a pandora’s box labeled “this one particular blonde douchebag” and Kiyoomi was tempted to open it.

But Kiyoomi could withstand a lot of discomfort, so he put that aside. It wasn’t his job to know anything about Miya Atsumu. As long as Miya was alive and largely uninjured by the time they were rescued, Kiyoomi would have done all he had to do. This was a job, not an interpersonal relationship. Maybe if he did a good enough job keeping Miya safe, he’d get a chance to go back to Itachiyama.

About half an hour later, Miya emerged from the computer lab, massaging his temple. He waved at Kiyoomi as he reentered the library. “Takin’ a break,” he said. “I think I’m gonna go take a nap. Wanna come with?”

“No. And you don’t have to tell me what you’re doing,” Kiyoomi said. “Unless you’re planning on sabotaging the compound and killing us both.”

“I don’t have a death wish. I just figured ya might like to know,” Miya said. “I just get the feelin’ ya like knowin’ things.”

He wasn’t wrong, necessarily, but Kiyoomi didn’t say that. “If I need to find you, I’ll check the cameras,” he said. “Do whatever you want; I don’t care.”

“And here I thought we were on the verge of a breakthrough,” Miya said, feigning hurt. 

“I can’t control what you think.”

“Bet ya’d like to,” Miya said. “I get the sense yer one of those control freak types.”

“Weren’t you going to take a nap?”

“You could give a masterclass in deflectin’, Omi,” Miya said. “You could keep it a little more subtle, though. Seven outta ten.”

“And you could give a masterclass on being annoying,” Kiyoomi said, with more of an edge than he’d expected. Miya looked positively delighted. 

“Touchy. I’ll start draftin’ it right now.”

Kiyoomi kept his gaze trained on his book. Miya eventually gave up and left the library, whistling to himself. He was more perceptive than Kiyoomi gave him credit for. Or maybe Kiyoomi was just paranoid and looking for any sign that Miya was hiding some kind of other personality. Kiyoomi had made a career out of being paranoid, and it had saved him more than once. 

He was thinking too much about this.

Four days. Four days and no word from Earth.

Kiyoomi paced the control room. He knew that the transmitting part of the radio was down, but he’d had hope that the receiving end was still functional. He didn’t know how the inner workings of the control panel were laid out, but there had to be some kind of failsafe for one of its most important functions.

It was possible that the problem was software-based, in which case Kiyoomi could try his hand at troubleshooting at one of the computers. He didn’t know much, but he was a quick study, and if there was some kind of interface labeled RADIO he could definitely figure it out. It was unlikely, but equally unlikely was something suddenly happening to the physical parts of the radio just because the power had gone out. If there had been a short, he’d have been able to replace a fuse or flip a breaker. 

Either way, it seemed as though they were going to have to wait until rescue was sent to talk to anyone. Kiyoomi quietly recalibrated his expectations. Like he’d figured before, even if they needed time to put together a shuttle to send up, the urgency of the mission would probably put the turnaround at two weeks. It had already been four days, so the shuttle was on Earth and they could start preparations. If no one arrived in the next ten days, Kiyoomi could start to worry.

Not that he would need to, he told himself. They were fine. They had enough food to last them months. That wouldn’t be necessary, but they had it. The water recycling was working fine, and the air was working fine, and they had more than enough oxygen in the silos a few hundred meters away. 

Miya didn’t seem fazed at all, when Kiyoomi told him that the radio still wasn’t functional.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Easy peasy. Want me to take a look at it? Knowin’ you, there’s probably a big red button called Turn On The Radio ya missed.”

“Hilarious,” Kiyoomi said. “Do not set foot in that control room. We don’t need you breaking something else.”

“Hey, for all you know I’m a master electrician,” Miya said. “For all you know I made that control panel.”

Kiyoomi gave him a look. Miya put his hands up. “I mean, I didn’t, but ya never ask me about myself so ya wouldn’t know.”

“What, do you want me to ask about you? Anything you’re dying to tell me?” Kiyoomi drawled. “You can tell it to your next cellmate on Earth.”

“Alright, I’d say you’re at an eight today,” Miya said. “Maybe eight and a half.”

Kiyoomi was not impressed. Miya gave him his terrible, lazy smile, like he could smell Kiyoomi’s curiosity. “It’s the Omi Spiciness Scale. Developed it myself. Zero to ten. Today’s a spicy day, looks like.”

“I don’t care.”

“I kept a tally on my wall, you know, how high ya were each day, seein’ if I could figure out some sorta pattern,” Miya continued blithely. 

Kiyoomi paused at the entrance to Miya’s room. His eyes widened a little. “You,” he said, incredulously, “are absolutely obsessed with me.”

Miya blinked at him and then, miraculously, shut up. He looked like he’d been suddenly dropped into the room, and Kiyoomi couldn’t for the life of him figure out why it was this particular thing that had done it. They just watched each other for a second.

He recovered quickly. “Wouldn’t be if ya weren’t so damn cute,” Miya said, wrinkling his nose. “I just wanna pinch yer little cheeks. You take yer pick which ones.”

“And we’re back to the sexual harassment,” Kiyoomi sighed. Miya gaped. 

“Jeez, okay,” he said, putting his hands up. He still seemed a little off-kilter. “Go fix yer radio.”

Maybe Kiyoomi was feeling a little “spicy.” He certainly wasn’t in the mood to take any shit. He was still swept up in an undercurrent of stress about the radio, about the situation in general, about what was happening on Earth and how long they still had to stay on the moon. Miya’s flippant comments and smug little smiles only succeeded in worsening that stress.

If anyone else were there, Kiyoomi would think that Miya was putting on a show to make himself more popular. But they were the only two there, which meant that Miya was doing this for his own self satisfaction. He really was obsessed with Kiyoomi. 

And he was making it so that Kiyoomi couldn’t stop thinking about him. Maybe they were both obsessed.

Kiyoomi dreamed he was in a burrow.

The earth was cold around him but the air was warm, insulated by his body and the dead grass he’d plucked and brought down with him. He’d been there for two days, waiting. The snow would muffle his movements but something in him sensed the fox, the celestial fox that had chased him into this hole, somewhere nearby.

Kiyoomi was getting hungry, and he couldn’t stay in his burrow forever. He heard footsteps overhead, and immediately his body tensed. Small crunches on the snow, pausing for a second directly over his burrow, and then moving on.

When he was sure that the creature was gone, whatever it was, he poked his head out of the burrow. Maybe if the fox had come by, it would be a while before it came back again. He crawled up through the snow to the surface, letting only his eyes and the very top of his head out to see.

The snow of the field was empty, littered by tracks from various animals but none of the animals themselves. It was a dry, crisp morning. Kiyoomi wiggled his way out of the snow and turned to look all around him.

There, curled up on the snow and ice, were two dead mice. There was no blood, and it looked as though they had been killed recently. Kiyoomi immediately froze. Whatever had killed them would likely be back soon. He dove back into his hole, ignoring the grumble in his stomach, and curled up on his bed of dirt and grass. He would have to come out another time.

On day six, Kiyoomi woke up in a tense, jittery mood. He made coffee, even though he knew it would make it worse, and sipped it slowly at the table in the break room. He washed the cup after he used it, then his hands, and before he knew it he’d cleaned the entire sink. He disinfected the counters, anything that he could potentially touch, and the light switches.  

He changed his clothes slowly, washed his hands again, disinfected the inside of his gloves, and put them on. He flitted about his room, moving around the small bits that were his, like his deodorant, his hairbrush. Bokuto’s things were still strewn around his bed--Kiyoomi would need a lot more than coffee to get himself to touch any of Bokuto’s used clothes--but his side of the room was spotless. 

He grabbed a pack of alcohol wipes when he left the dorms, wishing that there were some button he could hit to fumigate the entire base at once. When Kiyoomi’s mood was low, his anxiety heightened, and he coped with cleaning. As coping mechanisms went, it was effective and helpful, so he’d never felt the need to train himself out of it. 

So what if his idea of “clean” was a bit different from other people’s? That was their problem. 

He started with the control room, wiping down all of the major surfaces and every button or dial he was likely to touch. Even through his gloves he didn’t want to touch the dust that had accumulated at the back of the panel, so he got a wet rag and dusted carefully, making sure not to get any moisture in any important components. The last thing he could afford was to mess something else up.

He picked up the radio again, listened, heard no sign that it was on. He changed the frequency all the way up and down the spectrum, pressed the button that allowed him to talk, said “Hello?”, and then put the receiver back down. That was okay. He hadn’t expected anything else.

Kiyoomi was as sparing as he could be with the alcohol wipes. The one resource that was in short supply for them was disinfectant, and Kiyoomi knew that he would steadily work his way through it. He went to prepare himself some food. Miya didn’t seem to be awake yet, which was good. A few hours of quiet in the mornings were the least that he could give Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi tried to imagine what it would be like if he were alone here, if he’d been the only one left behind in the prison. He’d be lonely, sure, but he’d spent a lot of time alone. He was used to it. It was comfortable. When he was alone he was the only independent variable in the equation, the only thing in his environment that needed controlling, and he could control it perfectly. If he cleaned something, he knew it would stay clean. If he put something somewhere, he knew it would stay there.

Miya Atsumu seemed like the kind of person who would move things around just for fun, just to see what happened. He’d get his grip on something and mess with it until it came apart. There was something voraciously curious behind his eyes, Kiyoomi was starting to realize. He wanted to know exactly how far he could push things, how much he could get away with. In this case, how much Kiyoomi was willing to tolerate before he snapped.

Kiyoomi had been under more pressure and he hadn’t bent at all. This was nothing. He needed to stop thinking so much about Miya Atsumu.

Think of the devil, and he shall come padding into the mess hall in bare feet and an oversized t-shirt. He blinked sleepily and waved at Kiyoomi. 

“Mornin’,” he said. Then, inexplicably, he came to sit at the table Kiyoomi was at. Kiyoomi stiffened and continued eating. He kept his eye on every part of the table that Miya was touching. 

“Good morning,” Kiyoomi said primly.

“Sleep well?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“I slept like a rock,” Miya offered, though Kiyoomi hadn’t asked. “Out cold. Best sleep I’ve had since the big bonk.”

“Congratulations.”

Kiyoomi patted his mouth with a tissue and looked down at his empty tray. “What didja have?” Miya asked.

“Toast and some broth,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Jesus,” Miya breathed. “One of these days I’m gonna have to cook us a real meal.”

Kiyoomi was skeptical. “We have to use the perishables first,” he reminded him. 

“I do my best work under pressure,” Miya said. 

“Is that so,” Kiyoomi said. “Not today, though.”

“Why not?”

Kiyoomi didn’t know how to explain that today was not the right day for Miya to be touching anything that Kiyoomi was going to ingest. “Today is not a good day,” he said shortly.

“It’s never gonna be ‘today,’ is it? You’re gonna have me put this off forever,” Miya accused. Kiyoomi gave him a sharp look. “Fine, fine, another day. Gotta warn ya, though, I make the best onigiri this side of the moon.”

“The competition is certainly stiff,” Kiyoomi said. He stood, picking up his tray and bringing it to the sinks. He turned on the water and waited until it was scalding before starting to rinse it off. Miya, of course, followed him over. He was hovering a little too close. He’d only been around for a few minutes and already it was wearing on Kiyoomi’s nerves. “If you are going to follow me like a puppy I will put you on a leash,” he snapped.

Miya snorted. “Who says I wouldn’t like that?”

He was impossible. Kiyoomi put the wet tray on the drying rack and shook off his own hands to let them air dry. “I have many things to do today, so I’d appreciate it if you made yourself scarce.”

“What could you possibly have to do?”

“None of your business,” Kiyoomi said, with more force than he intended. He let out a breath. Counted to five. “I am going to be cleaning.”

Miya nodded quietly. He glanced over at the alcohol wipes on the table. “You have a germ thing, right?”

“A germ thing,” Kiyoomi echoed derisively. “If I say yes, will you leave?”

“What is it about the germs?” Miya asked. “Them just bein’ there or them bein’ on ya or what?”

“That is irrelevant, Miya.”

“Call me Atsumu,” Miya said. Kiyoomi would do no such thing. “Anyway, I’m just curious.”

“Then be curious somewhere else.”

“I can help, ya know,” Miya said. “Clean.”

“I doubt that,” Kiyoomi said, eyes raking down Miya’s disheveled form. He put his mask back on.

“I’ll get all cleaned up,” Miya said. “Take a shower and everythin’. I’ll be clean as a whistle before I touch anythin’.”

“I can’t stop you,” Kiyoomi said with a sigh. “I’m not your mother.”

Miya smiled at him, warm and pleased but knowing and smug all the same. “I’ll go get freshened up,” he said. “It’ll be fun. We can play music like in the movies.”

Kiyoomi didn’t respond, snatching up his alcohol wipes and wiping down the spots where he and Miya had been sitting. Miya left, apparently to go take a shower, and Kiyoomi was alone in the mess hall. He looked it over, cataloguing all the places he’d target first, and went to go get a mop.

By the time Miya returned, hair wet and face a little flushed from the heat, Kiyoomi had the floor of the mess hall covered in water and soap. Miya stopped at the edge of the room.

“Can I walk on this?” he asked.

“No,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Shit, where should I clean, then?” 

Kiyoomi stopped mopping and looked up. Miya seemed as serious as he ever got. Which was, though not very much, enough. “Wipe down everything in the computer lab,” he said. “Wet a rag with alcohol or hydrogen peroxide. Don’t short out any of the electronics.”

Miya saluted. “Aye aye, cap’n,” he said. “It’ll be like no one’s ever been in there before.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes as Miya left down the tunnel. There was only so much that Miya could possibly mess up, and if Kiyoomi managed to need to mop every room he was in, he could keep Miya and his socked feet at bay for perhaps the entire day. 

Once Kiyoomi was done with the mess hall, he moved on to the med bay. It was kept cleaner than the rest of the prison, but at the same time it had been home to Miya for a few days, so Kiyoomi figured that the two canceled each other out. 

Down the hall, in the direction of the vocational training dome, he heard some faint music. It was some peppy pop song. Then, over top of that, he heard the faint, muffled sound of what had to be Miya, singing along. He was singing down the octave, but occasionally he tried for a high note and his voice cracked. Kiyoomi smirked before he could catch himself. He supposed he was glad Miya was having fun. Maybe it would keep him quiet and cleaning for longer.

Kiyoomi liked music, but when he was stressed he preferred silence. The tinkling echo of whatever pop crap Miya liked was fine, but he was going to steer clear of the rooms Miya was in until the music stopped. He hoped desperately that Miya wasn’t just dancing around the rooms and was actually tidying and cleaning surfaces.

Kiyoomi took tally of their available alcohol wipes as he went through the med bay, wiping down tables and the x-ray chair and stripping the crisp, rough sheets from the cot Miya had been sleeping on. His mind was slowly cooling down as he went through each process, each action with a beginning and an end, each place cleaner than it was before. It settled him and gave him a sense of accomplishment. It also opened more of the room to him--new places he could put his hands, could step, could touch without worrying. 

Miya was remarkably absent for the next hour. The music migrated from the vocational center to the inmates’ dorms, and after a little while Kiyoomi decided to check up on him. Down the dorm hallway, the doors to each room were open. The floors were clear, with clothing items folded on the made beds. Kiyoomi found him crouching in one of the rooms, about halfway down the hall, picking up clothing items, examining them, and throwing them onto their respective beds. 

He turned to get something behind him and caught sight of Kiyoomi. He jumped and sat down hard in surprise, closing his eyes. “Christ, Omi,” he said over the music. “Warn a guy.”

He paused and then smiled. Then he reached over, turned up the pop song, and pointed at Kiyoomi, starting to lip-sync. Kiyoomi stared at him impassively as he performed a dramatic recreation of whatever silly lyrics were happening. You’re my only one, think of what we could be, we’re better together, I can’t live without you, etc. Miya sang into the shirt he was holding like a microphone. 

After a moment, where he seemed to realize that Kiyoomi was not going to engage, he turned down the music and grinned at Kiyoomi.

“Need somethin’?” he asked.

“No,” Kiyoomi said. “Just checking on you.”

“I’m not gonna deep clean the carpets or anythin’,” Miya said. “I figured I could just pick up in here. Not like we’re gonna be in most of these anyway, y’know.”

“That makes sense,” Kiyoomi said. He saw the shirt in Miya’s hand--likely dirty--and swallowed uncomfortably. Miya watched him, waiting for something more. “Do you think you can do the same in Dormitory A?” he asked after a long moment. He thought of Bokuto’s sweaty boxers on the floor, the ones Kiyoomi had kicked aside but hadn’t worked up the mettle to touch yet, even with gloves.

“Sure thing, Omi,” Miya said with a big smile. “Now? Or should I finish up here?”

“You’re right, we won’t be in any of these rooms,” Kiyoomi said, feeling the weird, unsettled twist of having requested someone’s help. He didn’t like owing anything to anyone. “You just can go there.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Miya said. He set down the shirt on a bed and picked up his speaker. Kiyoomi stepped back as Miya approached the door. “Don’t worry, I won’t touch ya,” Miya said.

“Even if you’d boiled your hands,” Kiyoomi said. Miya laughed.

“I’ll have ya know I’m very good with my hands,” he said. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Ya don’t know what yer missin’.”

“Is there nothing you can’t turn into a sex joke?”

“Hey, I didn’t say anythin’ ‘bout sex,” Miya said. “That was all you, Omi.”

Kiyoomi sighed sharply, the twist in his stomach gone in an instant, replaced with irritation. “Just go pick up the rooms. Don’t touch any of my things. You’ll know which ones they are.”

“If there’s a bunk that looks like no one’s ever been in it, I’ll steer clear,” Miya said. 

Kiyoomi followed him down the hall. In truth, he was a bit impressed that Miya was still taking the initiative to clean by himself. He was sure he’d find Miya in a half-clean computer lab, typing away, saying “I got bored.” 

Even if he was just trying to get on Kiyoomi’s good side, the effect was a net positive. Miya was quiet, rooms got cleaned, and Kiyoomi’s stress abated. 

Kiyoomi lingered in the door, just to make sure Miya didn’t touch any of his things. Miya raised his eyebrows at Kiyoomi but set to work, picking up Bokuto’s things and putting them on the bunk opposite Kiyoomi’s.

“It’s really not so bad in here,” Miya said as he folded a white undershirt. “Compared to some of the rooms in Dorm B, I mean. Ya wouldn’t’a wanted to see any of those. You’d probably keel over on the spot and then I’d have to give ya CPR with my dirty hands.”

Kiyoomi glared. “I was planning on closing down the wing and never looking at it again.”

“Hey, my bed’s still in there,” Miya said with a laugh. “Unless ya want me to move up here. I certainly wouldn’t complain.”

Kiyoomi actually considered it. He wanted nothing to do with the inmates’ dorms, if he could help it, but if they were there and dirty he’d probably eventually bully himself into attempting to clean some of them. If he pulled shut the metal divider and pretended that the dome didn’t exist at all, then he wouldn’t have to see or think about it, and he could hope that the nonexistent lunar wind blew it all away.

“Fine,” he said. Miya blinked at him.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really,” Kiyoomi said. “You can take the room at the end of the hall.”

“Prisoners runnin’ the prison,” Miya marveled. “Have I told ya you’re the best yet today, Omi? Because you’re the best.”

“Indeed,” Kiyoomi said noncommittally. “These rooms aren’t any nicer than yours was,” he added. 

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Miya said. “Anyway, y’all got bedside tables. None of that down in Dorm B.”

“An oversight, I’m sure.”

When he was satisfied that Miya wasn’t about to start rubbing his hands over all of his possessions, Kiyoomi left him in the room and went to inspect the vocational center. The computer lab still smelled a little like alcohol. The scent was calming. Everything looked clean, and Miya had even straightened up some of the keyboards. The library was already fairly tidy, since Kiyoomi spent a good deal of his time there, but the floor had been swept, the telltale broom and dustpan leaning against a wall.

At least Miya was actually helpful, when he offered to help. Kiyoomi felt comfortable moving his assessment of Miya as a person one degree toward the positive. He only hoped he wouldn’t regret letting Miya move a few rooms down. 

It was probably better for them to be closer together, in case something happened in the night. Kiyoomi didn’t know what he expected to happen in the night, but if there was another power outage and they needed to figure out how to use the other escape vessel as quickly as possible, Kiyoomi didn’t want to have to run down and get Miya from somewhere else.

That was the idea, and if it comforted Kiyoomi to have someone else nearby, no it didn’t.

Kiyoomi found Miya in the kitchen on day nine, humming to himself and swaying a little as he worked on something at the kitchen counter. Kiyoomi hoped that if he was quiet enough, he could get by without Miya noticing him, but at the exact moment he appeared in the doorway, Miya turned. He had gloves on his hands, slightly damp, and he’d pulled his hair back with a headband. 

“Omi!” he greeted enthusiastically. “Hold on, come here, I need ya to taste test somethin’.”

“Absolutely not,” Kiyoomi said. 

“C’mon,” Miya said. “It isn’t poisonous, I swear.”

“No.”

“You wanna go into lunch blind? I didn’t think you trusted me that much, Omi.”

“I’m not going to eat anything you’ve made,” Kiyoomi said. Miya was messy and anything he cooked had a high likelihood of being unsanitary. Kiyoomi looked down at his gloves. Okay, maybe less so. Still.

“I’ll have you know I’m an incredible cook,” Miya said. “Anyway, it’s just rice balls, how much could I fuck it up?”

Kiyoomi looked reticently at the counter behind Miya. There were, in fact, some newly-formed triangles of rice sitting on a cutting board. “I see.”

“I hope ya like tuna,” Miya said. “Because that’s the only thing in these suckers. No furikake anywhere, obviously, so I made do with some other stuff I found. These are kinda knockoff, since of course a prison isn’t gonna have all the shit you need. They’re still good, though!”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Kiyoomi said. He paused, squinted at the cutting board. “Where the hell did you get nori?”

Miya laughed. “Turns out in the commissary there were a couple packs of seaweed snacks,” he said. “Get those a little damp and voilà!”

“You really worked on this.”

“You know it,” Miya said. “Only the best for my favorite cranky prison guard.”

Kiyoomi sighed. “Then I will leave you to it.”

“Wait! You can’t leave until you’ve had at least a little.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“I didn’t even know you knew how to cook,” Kiyoomi said apprehensively.

“My sweet little baby brother cooks,” Miya said. “Couldn’t let him beat me, obviously, so I got pretty good at it too.”

“How much younger is your brother?” Kiyoomi asked. If Miya’s brother was eight years old the claims about beating him would hold much less water.

“Six minutes,” Miya said proudly. 

“You’re a twin,” Kiyoomi said in disbelief. “There are two of you.”

“Ya say that like it’s a bad thing,” Miya said. “The world is blessed with my presence. Anyway, ‘Samu isn’t half as cool as me. He’s a complete square.”

“Then I’d prefer if the two of you were swapped.”

“Of course ya would,” Miya said. “You’re not even a square. You’re a whole-ass cube, measured with a laser.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course you’d take that as a compliment. A square and predictable.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “If that’s all, I’m going to go.”

“You don’t want lunch? Look, I wore gloves and everything so I wouldn’t touch any of the rice. I made sure all of the dishes were squeaky clean. Ya gotta try at least one.”

“Will it make you shut up?” Kiyoomi asked. Miya blinked and then nodded enthusiastically. 

“If you don’t like it I’ll shut right up, I promise. Not a peep.”

“That’s not what I said.” But Kiyoomi was already heading over to the kitchen counter, scrutinizing the rice balls sitting in a neat little row to the side of the cutting board. He cautiously took one, turning it around in his hand while Miya watched with bright eyes.

He looked up to the ceiling, sighed, and took a bite. It was just rice and a little seaweed. He chewed, uncomfortable under Miya’s full attention. He took another bite, got some of the tuna filling. 

“It’s fine,” he said.

“I knew you’d like it,” Miya said, a painfully large grin splitting his face. “I knew it.”

“You said you’d shut up.”

“Only if you didn’t like it,” Miya said. 

“It’s terrible.”

“Nah, no take-backs!” 

Kiyoomi finished off the rice ball and washed his hands. “How many of those are you making?” he asked.

“Ooh, do ya want another one?”

“No,” Kiyoomi said, though he thought that perhaps he might. “I’m wondering how much of our rice you’ve used.”

“Omi, have you gone in there and seen how much rice there is? This place is supposed to feed a hundred people and there’s literally two of us. I think we’re good on food for at least a little while.”

“Fine.”

“I can do our cookin’ from now on,” Miya said. “If you want.” He smiled.

“If it will keep you out of my hair.”

“Like I’m ever in yer hair to begin with,” Miya said, but he acquiesced. “I like cookin’ anyway. I’ll make us some five-star stuff, don’t you worry.”

“Out of ten?”

“Ouch,” Miya said, but he was still smiling. “Gonna need some lotion on that one.”

Kiyoomi paused. “How is your head?” he asked.

Miya blinked. “Oh, fine. Little headache now and then but I think I’m doin’ great. It was just a little love tap.”

“Good,” Kiyoomi said.

“Aw, does Omi care about me?”

“I just need to make sure that you’ll be ready in case something bad happens and we need to move,” Kiyoomi said. “Since last time was so bad.”

“Uh-huh,” Miya said. “That’s definitely why you asked.”

“Goodbye, Miya.”

“Call me Atsumu.”

“No.”

Kiyoomi left the kitchen and Miya started humming again. The onigiri had been good, for what it was. Miya had found some way to season the rice, and there were little sesame seeds in it. Kiyoomi had been a little hungry--the reason he’d gone into the kitchen in the first place--and it had been more of a welcome surprise than he’d admit. Maybe he could readjust his opinion of Miya, to move him from the “Useless and Annoying” category into the “Occasionally Useful and Annoying” category. 

That was all he was willing to acquiesce, though. 

“Hey, Omi,” Miya said, “Fight me.”

Kiyoomi turned away from the control panel and blinked. “No,” he said.

“Ya know how to fight, right? Ya gotta, for your job,” Miya continued, as though Kiyoomi hadn’t spoken. “C’mon, spar with me.”

“Do you even know how?” Kiyoomi asked, still caught a little off-guard.

“I gotta keep some cards hidden,” Miya said. “Why doncha come find out?”

“Your elbow still hurts and you have a concussion.”

Miya waved his hand dismissively. “I’m practically healed already. That was ages ago.”

“No.”

“Please? I’ll even go easy on ya.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Kiyoomi’s reflex was to say no again, but he paused. If this was a real offer, how could he possibly turn down the opportunity to both beat up and embarrass Miya? Wasn’t that the dream? Top of the list would be Miya leaving Kiyoomi alone, but next in line had to be making him shut up with a well-timed kick to the stomach. 

Kiyoomi was in a generous mood. He checked the oxygen levels one more time and then turned to face Miya. “Fine.”

Miya paused. His mouth formed a little ‘o.’ “Really?”

“Yes, really. Where are we going to do this?”

“Holy shit,” Miya murmured. “Okay, there’s some space in my room.”

“I’m not going to touch your floor.”

“Okay, then, um…” Miya looked up in thought.

“You didn’t even plan this?” Kiyoomi asked.

“Well, I was pretty sure you were gonna say no,” Miya admitted. “But don’t! The gym has mats, we can do it there.”

“Don’t cry to me when you hit your bad elbow,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Oh, I won’t,” Miya said. “And if I do you’ll be too busy crying ‘cuz ya lost to tell.”

“I’m shaking.”

“Well, don’t give up just yet,” Miya said. He was practically bouncing. “Wanna do it now? I took a shower.”

“Fine,” Kiyoomi said. He looked Miya up and down, noting not for the first time that he was quite muscular. He’d been in the prison gym nearly every day that he wasn’t mining before the accident, Kiyoomi knew, but now Miya was wearing a tight t-shirt that showed off the muscle mass in his arms. He was more muscular than Kiyoomi, but Kiyoomi had a few centimeters on him and was probably faster. 

Anyway, no matter how good Miya thought he was, he’d never had to wrestle a knife from someone twice his size, or hold off a gang raid by himself. What Kiyoomi lacked in muscle, comparatively, he more than made up for in experience.

Not that he cared if he won or lost in a petty sparring match against an injured Miya Atsumu.

“Wash your hands, first,” Kiyoomi said belatedly.

In the gym, Miya started pushing benches and smaller machines over, clearing an area in the center of the room. There were indents in the gray mats on the floor. Kiyoomi wondered when they’d last been uncovered, and why. He decided to think very hard about things that were not the cleanliness of the floor.

“I was just thinkin’, you know, if it was possible to turn off the gravity, how fun a fight would be if we were jumpin’ around on the walls,” Miya said as he picked up a bench and set it effortlessly aside. He was still wearing an elbow brace, but it was no longer the hard splint. 

Kiyoomi wasn’t in the best clothing for this, but he’d fought in much worse than a pair of black work pants and a t-shirt. Miya was wearing sweatpants, which gave him much more freedom of movement. 

“Okay, arena set,” Miya said proudly. “You ready to go?”

“No warmup?”

“Do ya need it?”

Kiyoomi rolled his shoulders out. “Just want to make sure you don’t pull something.”

“I didn’t take you for a shit-talker,” Miya said with a smug smile. “That’s pretty hot.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Are we stalling?”

“Nope, no stalling here,” Miya said. “First one to tap out loses.”

“Fine by me,” Kiyoomi said. He cleared his throat and settled his weight evenly. He remembered to take off his mask and went to set it aside, before returning to Miya’s homemade arena.

Miya gave him a look and then bowed. Kiyoomi snorted and bowed back. The dramatics.

“Ready, set, go,” Miya said, and neither of them moved.

Miya wasn’t getting low, or bracing himself very well. They circled around each other for a second, and Kiyoomi had time to consider how ridiculous this was before Miya came at him. Of course he’d make the first move. Compared to him, Kiyoomi’s patience was infinite. Kiyoomi prepared to deflect some kind of blow.

Miya grabbed at Kiyoomi’s shirt sleeve and waist, and Kiyoomi realized with a bit of surprise that he was aiming for judo. 

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow as he slapped Miya’s hands away, taking a step back. Miya’s shirt would be hard to get ahold of, but once Kiyoomi got it he’d be able to maneuver Miya around with the material pretty easily. The waist of his sweatpants would also make a good handhold, but he’d have to be careful if they were loose. He didn’t have the energy to deal with the fallout of accidentally pantsing Miya.

Kiyoomi decided to take his chances and reach for Miya’s shoulder. Miya pushed his hand back, but Kiyoomi’s arms were longer and he grabbed again, managing to get a grip on Miya’s upper arm. Miya grasped at Kiyoomi’s elbow and with his other hand reached for Kiyoomi’s belt. He probably should have taken that off before they started, but it was too late now. Miya could consider it his handicap.

Miya’s arms were tight with effort, neither of them able to get a good grip but neither letting go. Kiyoomi readjusted his hand, getting his fingers in the material of the sleeve of Miya’s shirt. There. One grip established. 

Miya kicked out, trying to hook an ankle behind Kiyoomi’s leg, but Kiyoomi wasn’t off-balance and he was able to deflect. He got Miya’s leg instead, pushing back on his shoulder and waist and trying to knock him over. Miya was strong, though, and he resisted, though with a bit of stumbling backwards. 

“So you aren’t a complete pushover,” Kiyoomi taunted. Miya smirked.

“I’ll push you over.”

“Good one.”

“This has to be a ten,” Miya said, still trying to maneuver Kiyoomi. He tried to hook Kiyoomi’s other ankle but aborted the motion halfway and skittered back when Kiyoomi got ready to trip him instead. “On the spiciness scale.”

“I can’t believe you’re still going on about that thing.”

“It’s my pride and joy,” Miya said.

They went around for a little bit, not moving very quickly but both tensed and ready to strike. Miya’s arm kept flexing under Kiyoomi’s hand, and Kiyoomi was working very hard to ignore it.

Suddenly, Kiyoomi readjusted his grip to Miya’s upper arm and spun around, bending his knees and pulling on the arm, lifting him into the air. Miya squeaked out a tight “shit” as Kiyoomi ducked his shoulder and flipped Miya straight over it.

Kiyoomi had a split second to remember the fucking concussion, and his other hand shot to Miya’s shoulder to ease him onto the ground instead of slamming him down. Miya’s feet landed on the mat with a loud thump , but Kiyoomi managed to slow the rest of his fall. 

Miya stared up at him with wide eyes as Kiyoomi set his head gently onto the mat. Kiyoomi looked back down at him. Neither of them was breathing particularly heavily yet, but the flip had been a bit of effort on Kiyoomi’s part. 

Miya’s face was open and a bit strange, looking upside down at Kiyoomi like he was in the process of discovering the best thing he’d seen all week. A small smile broke out on his face, morphing into a grin. He laughed once. “Shit.”

“You didn’t tap out, yet,” Kiyoomi said. Miya laughed again and started to sit up. 

“I thought for sure ya’d be a punchin’ kind of guy,” Miya said. “I thought I was gonna getcha.”

“You picked wrong,” Kiyoomi said, smiling lightly as well, a bit surprised at himself.

“What, you a secret judoka?”

“I thought you knew everything about me already,” Kiyoomi teased. “Second dan.”

“Fuck me,” Miya said. “Okay, let’s punch instead.”

“Running away?”

Miya narrowed his eyes at Kiyoomi. “Playin’ dirty, I see.”

“I haven’t trained for a couple of years,” Kiyoomi said. “You have a shot.”

“Well, it’s not my ego on the line,” Miya said. 

“No one will ever believe you.”

Miya’s face looked like it was going to break from the smile. “You keep surprising me, Omi.”

“If you tap out you never call me that again,” Kiyoomi said. 

“So we’re doing stakes, now?” Miya asked. He bit his lip in thought. “If you tap out, ya gotta watch a movie with me.”

“What kind of stakes are those?” Kiyoomi asked. Miya shrugged.

“Take it or leave it.”

Seemed like a safe bet to Kiyoomi, and maybe Miya was just dumb enough to think it was a fair trade. Even if he had some dastardly plan, there was only so much he could do with a movie. “Fine.”

Miya stood back up and brushed nonexistent dust off of his pants. Kiyoomi watched the movement, eyes lingering around Miya’s waist for a second. He really was very fit, and the shirt was doing him a lot of favors. When Kiyoomi looked back up Miya was watching him with a raised eyebrow.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Miya asked, voice indulgent and knowing. Kiyoomi silently cursed himself. Miya was one of those people who knew that they were attractive, and he didn’t need to think that Kiyoomi agreed with him, however objectively true it may be.

“Thinking about the forty-five minute shower I’ll be taking after this,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Mmhmm,” Miya said. “Okay. Round two.”

They circled around each other again. This time, Kiyoomi went to get the drop on Miya, coming at him to hook a leg around his. Miya danced out of the way, reaching for Kiyoomi’s belt again. 

They continued for a few minutes, Miya getting Kiyoomi onto the ground about half as many times as Kiyoomi dropped him. Kiyoomi wouldn’t say it, but he was having fun. As long as he was careful around Miya’s arm and head, he could let loose a little bit without worry of repercussions. Miya didn’t want him to go easy. It had been a while since Kiyoomi had fought for fun instead of work.

Miya also seemed to be a big fan of getting flipped. Every time Kiyoomi got him over his shoulder or hip, being careful of his injuries, of course, Miya laughed and looked a little winded, staring up at Kiyoomi like he was more and more impressed each time. At least he was getting something out of it.

Maybe Kiyoomi was thinking too hard about it, because in an instant Miya got him down and, to Kiyoomi’s amazement, managed to maneuver himself around until he had Kiyoomi’s arm pulled up between his legs. Kiyoomi tried to roll over, but Miya’s calves were over chest and neck, holding him in place. Miya had him in an entirely competent arm bar. 

Kiyoomi, with a sigh at the loss of his freedom from “Omi,” tapped on Miya’s leg.

Miya released him and scooted back, grinning triumphantly. Kiyoomi laid on the mat for a second, staring up at the ceiling. 

“I win,” Miya said smugly. 

“I suppose you do,” Kiyoomi replied. His chest rose and fell heavily. There was a long stretch of silence, the both of them just breathing.

“You’d better honor our agreement. If you’d’a won I woulda stopped callin’ ya Omi.”

“I’m sure you would have.”

“C’mon, don’t be a sore loser about it,” Miya said.

“Believe it or not,” Kiyoomi said, shooting Miya an unimpressed glare, “I’m tired.”

“Okay, okay,” Miya said. He plopped down next to Kiyoomi on the mat, lacing his hands together on his chest and watching the ceiling with him. 

“What are you doing?”

“Hangin’ out.”

“Right.”

They were quiet for a minute, and then Miya said, “I wanna try to flip ya.”

Kiyoomi snorted. “Is that so?”

“Teach me?”

“Maybe some other time,” Kiyoomi said. Miya grinned. “What now?”

“Ya didn’t say no.”

“You are exhausting.”

“Thank you.”

Kiyoomi propped himself up on his elbows. He spied his mask and sat up to grab it, putting it back on. He was going to have to shower and change his clothes after this. Whatever was on the floor was sticking to the sweat on his arms and it was making his skin crawl.

“Well, this was certainly something,” he said. Miya sat up with a cheeky smile.

“Admit it, ya had a good time,” he said. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen ya smile, Omi.”

“My mistake.”

“Aw, come on.”

“What movie do you want to watch?” Kiyoomi asked as he stood. Miya blinked up at him.

“Ooh, you excited? I’ll figure somethin’ out,” he said. “Don’t worry, it’ll be a good one.”

“That doesn’t encourage me.”

Kiyoomi needed a shower right now. He started toward the door to the gym. Miya scrambled up after him. 

“I’ll let ya know when,” Miya said. Kiyoomi could hear the smile in his voice. “It’ll be a hit, Omi, I know it.”

Kiyoomi wasn’t even sure what films were even available to them, without contact with Earth, though he was sure that if anyone had a full catalogue of them in their head, it would be Miya.

Kiyoomi stretched his shoulders as he showered, rolling his head around and flexing his fingers. Maybe Miya would ask him to do that again, the sparring. It was a good way to expend some energy, a good way for him to practice. He had to be on top of his game when they were finally brought back to Earth, if he was going to petition the company to reinstate him as a personal security professional. 

But, of course, Kiyoomi would never ask himself.

Chapter Text

Two weeks. 

Two weeks and there was nothing. 

Kiyoomi recalibrated his expectations.

Two weeks had maybe been optimistic. It took a little while to get any spacefaring vessel ready, if it wasn’t always primed to go, like the evacuation shuttle had been. There was fuel to source, pilots to debrief, crews to assemble. Even for a quick up-and-down, preparation for flying a shuttle to the moon was not as easy as getting a plane ready on Earth. 

The radio still wasn’t working, and Kiyoomi was not panicking about it. He was cool, collected, and could think clearly about the situation. In all likelihood, the radio was broken permanently, at least to the extent of their ability to fix it. Miya had popped in to ask Kiyoomi what he was doing one day as Kiyoomi was troubleshooting. He’d asked if he could help, and Kiyoomi had forbidden him from going anywhere near it. Not that it could be broken further, but Kiyoomi didn’t want to risk any of the other electronics. 

“For all ya know I’m a tech genius,” Miya said. Kiyoomi thought if he rolled his eyes any harder he might pull something. “For all ya know I could fix it in two seconds.”

“For all I do know,” Kiyoomi said, “That seems highly unlikely.”

“I could surprise ya,” Miya said, smiling in the way he did when he thought he was making fun of Kiyoomi.

“Or you could shut down the entire electrical system and kill us both,” Kiyoomi said. 

“I have a pretty big interest in that not happenin’,” Miya said. “On account of it’d kill me too.”

“Then you’ll stay away from the control panel.”

Miya sighed dramatically. “Sure, Omi. Hey, you think everything’s plugged in?”

“Please leave.”

If Miya was perturbed by their lack of rescue, he didn’t show it. He whistled as he walked around, as he worked out in the mornings, as he tapped away at a keyboard in the computer lab. He cooked them meals and played music when he was in the shower. It seemed that, for all intents and purposes, he was perfectly fine being stranded on the moon.

It grated at Kiyoomi, his lack of urgency. This was still an emergency, however normal it may feel, and the longer they stayed on the moon, the higher the likelihood that something would go wrong that they wouldn’t know how to fix. The margin of error for the functionality of the prison was razor-thin, with so many complex life support systems working in tandem. Without engineers to maintain them, it was only a matter of time until they started failing.

Not that they’d be there long enough for that to matter. Their rescue would be coming soon. It wasn’t just a hope. Kiyoomi knew. Even if it was just to avoid a lawsuit, someone would come to get them.

“Movie night,” Miya had said, earlier in the day, and Kiyoomi had largely forgotten until he was coerced into going into the library after him at about 8 in the evening.

“I got it all set up,” Miya said as they entered, revealing his handiwork with a flourish. 

Kiyoomi first noticed the bookshelves, which had been moved away from one of the walls. None of the books seemed out of place, which was a relief. There were two of the softer chairs set up facing the stretch of bare wall, and between them a small projector sat on the floor. It was projecting a blank white rectangle, only partly visible in the overhead lights. 

“What do ya think?” Miya asked. 

“Interesting,” Kiyoomi allowed.

“Ya don’t even wanna know the wire mess I have goin’ on from the computers to here,” Miya said. “Took me ages.”

“I won’t look, then,” Kiyoomi said. As long as he wasn’t the one who would have to pick up and reorganize the wires, he was fine with it. 

“D’ya want some kinda snack? I bet money there’s some popcorn in the kitchen.”

“Sure,” Kiyoomi said, amused. “You’re really going all out for this, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I literally twisted yer arm to get ya to do this,” Miya said. “Least I can do.”

“Oh, there is certainly less you could do.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Miya said. “Or I did. I did more, is what I mean. All just for you, Omi.”

He flashed Kiyoomi a grin and left the room with a spring in his step. Kiyoomi realized that Miya was legitimately excited about this. He couldn’t fathom why--Kiyoomi was not exactly the best company, especially for these sorts of things, and he didn’t plan on changing to become better company. They were just going to sit in a dark room for a couple of hours, and when it was done Kiyoomi would make Miya clean it all up again. It was hardly something to get worked up about.

Kiyoomi inspected the chairs--there were no bits of dust or crumbs--and sat in the one to the left. He waited for Miya to return. His eyes wandered the room. He wondered where Miya had found the projector. It was taking him quite a while--certainly longer than it should take to put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. After about eight minutes, Kiyoomi got up out of the chair and wandered over to the vocational center’s kitchen.

He heard a series of sharp pops, but he couldn’t hear the microwave humming. Only half of the lights in the dome were on, giving it an especially empty feel. Kiyoomi peeked into the kitchen, to find Miya standing at the stove, humming to himself.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Miya jerked, almost dropping the spoon he was holding.

“You have got to stop doin’ that,” he breathed.

“I’m the only other person here,” Kiyoomi said. “Who did you think it would be?”

“I haven’t ruled out moon ghosts yet,” Miya said. “No, it’s because yer so damn sneaky. Wouldn’t expect it from how tall ya are.”

“It’s a gift,” Kiyoomi said. “What are you doing?” he repeated, stepping into the room.

“Makin’ popcorn,” Miya said. The pops were getting more frequent. Kiyoomi could see a pot on the stovetop. “Sorry, I didn’t think it’d take so long. And I forgot to do it earlier.”

“You could just microwave a bag,” Kiyoomi said. Miya turned to him then with a look of absolute affront.

“For our special movie night? Abso-fuckin’-lutely not.”

The pot tapped. “Where did you even get the kernels?” Kiyoomi asked. 

Miya glanced a little abashedly at a couple of microwave bags, sitting ripped-open and empty on the counter. “Y’know, it’s just not the same in those little bags,” he said. “You’ll see what I mean.”

“I’ve had popcorn before.”

“But you haven’t had special Miya brothers brand popcorn, with extra butter.”

“Should you be using the butter for this?”

“You seen how much we’ve got in the freezer? We could eat just butter all day every day until my sentence is up and not run out.”

Kiyoomi realized suddenly that it was the first time he’d heard Miya reference his own prisoner status. It didn’t seem to be a big deal to Miya, who was watching the pot and waiting. Kiyoomi could see the beginnings of a pile of popcorn, bouncing a little with each new pop.

“I’ll make sure they get it in your parole agreement,” Kiyoomi said. Miya snorted.

“If I get parole.”

“It’s white-collar crime,” Kiyoomi said. “They have no reason to keep you on the government’s dime any longer than they have to.”

“Aw,” Miya cooed. “Omi looked me up. I’m blushin’.”

 “I had to make sure you weren’t someone I had to keep locked up.”

“How much didja see?” Miya asked. “What’s the last four digits of my individual number?”

“Just enough to know that you weren’t going to try an ill-advised murder attempts.”

“Hey, even if I was a murderer, I think I’d be smart enough not to try and get the drop on ya, Omi,” Miya said. The popping slowed and he turned off the heat, transferring the pan with a potholder to a cool burner. “Who’s gonna win in a fight, me or the guy who fends off bullets and jumps off of buildings and whatever?”

Kiyoomi was quiet for a second. “And why do you think I’ve done any of that?”

“I mean,” Miya laughed. “‘S what bodyguards do, right?”

Kiyoomi still didn’t know how Miya had figured that out about him, but he wasn’t sure what kind of can of worms he’d open by asking. “Maybe.”

“What’s the most you’d ever do for someone who hired ya, Omi?”

The question came with a bit of whiplash. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Miya took the lid off the pot and winced as the last straggler of unpopped popcorn darted toward his face. The piece fell to the ground and bounced once. “What I mean is, if someone hired ya to bodyguard them, where would you draw the line in protecting them? Wouldja take a bullet? Die?”

There was something peculiar in Miya’s voice, and Kiyoomi found himself treading carefully. He supposed that if Miya already knew his former career, there was no point in being coy about it. “I’ve been shot,” he said. “More than once.”

“But ya kept coming back, huh?”

“It was my job.”

“Marketing is a job,” Miya said. “Customer service is a job. But I think ya gotta be a little special to get shot and say ‘well, when this heals up I’m headin’ back to the office.’”

“Do you have a point?”

“I’m just sayin’ I think ya like a little danger, Omi.” Miya grabbed a large bowl and dumped the popcorn into it. He already had a little bowl of melted butter, which he drizzled over the bowl and stirred with his wooden spoon. “Ya like livin’ on the edge.”

Kiyoomi had no idea what to say to that. He’d always dreamed about joining the police academy, but he’d backed out at the last second, though he hadn’t ever put his finger on why. He’d learned self-defence, how to be vigilant. He wasn’t sure what he’d wanted to do. He wanted to protect people. He wanted to help people. The line between that and joining Itachiyama seemed straight in his head. Now Miya was coming in and kicking at the line, trying to make it bend.

“I don’t like being in danger,” he decided to say. “I don’t think anyone does.”

“People jump outta planes all the time for the thrills,” Miya said. He took a piece of popcorn and chewed thoughtfully, reaching for some salt. “People love bein’ in danger, are you kiddin’? But you wanted to keep people safe.”

“I suppose I did.”

“You don’t have to take a bullet for someone, even if they hired you. No money can make you do that.”

“I have to do remarkably few things.” Kiyoomi was shifting his weight from side to side, unsettled. He was glad he had his mask on. “It’s about what I choose to do.”

“Ya didn’t have to stay with me,” Miya said, a little quieter. “But ya chose to.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“If you could save someone, but it’d kill ya, wouldja do it?”

Another sudden question, with the unbalancing that came with it. Kiyoomi watched as Miya salted the popcorn and stirred it again. He tested another piece and, apparently deeming it satisfactory, started rooting around in the cupboards for a couple of bowls. 

“I suppose it depends,” Kiyoomi said. “On the person, on the situation.”

“Does it?”

Kiyoomi thought about the more dangerous jobs he’d had. A sniper on a roof. A gang of at least seven trying to get into a room he was guarding. He’d had a knife held to his throat. He’d been shot twice. But Kiyoomi wasn’t sure that he’d ever thought that he was going to die, not really. Even if he had, it didn’t feel like dying for any of his principals. They were the means that had created the situation, but they weren’t at the forefront of his mind. 

Would he die for a smarmy old man who paid him the average yearly salary to keep him safe for a week? What was the price on Kiyoomi’s life?

“Would you?” he asked instead. Miya turned to face him, hands braced on the counter. 

“I’m not half as altruistic as you are, Omi,” Miya said. “The only person I’d die for is my brother.”

He said it with complete certainty, like it was something he’d thought about before. Kiyoomi thought about his family; his grandparents, his young cousins. If saving one of them meant death, would he do it? Could he conjure up the same conviction that Miya had right now?

“I don’t know if it’s altruism,” Kiyoomi said. The air was still and a bit tense. Miya seemed more somber, more focused than Kiyoomi had ever seen him. Kiyoomi thought about his eldest cousin, Motoya, being held at gunpoint. His mind immediately went into problem-solving mode, to figure out a way to keep him safe and get him out. None of the calculations involved him stepping in front of the gun. None of the calculations involved Motoya dying, either. He wasn’t sure he could even imagine a situation in which giving his life would be the only option to save someone.

“I know ya don’t like me all that much,” Miya said. “But ya came runnin’ down that hall to make sure I was okay anyway. Ya forfeited a free trip back home so I wouldn’t be alone. And ya haven’t killed me yet, so ya really must be a saint.”

He was trying for a smile, to lift the atmosphere a little, Kiyoomi could tell. “I don’t think I’d die for you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said.

“That’s more than ‘I wouldn’t,’” Miya said. “That’s what makes ya a good person.”

“If I’m dead,” Kiyoomi said, “I can’t keep people safe. I can’t help them.”

“But ya wanna keep them safe. Anyone. And they don’t have to do anything, do they? It’s just for bein’ a person.”

Kiyoomi found that he wanted this conversation to be over very quickly. The feeling came over him suddenly, the feeling of being exposed and cold, of his chest being opened and cool wind filling him. “I’ve killed people.”

“Well, not everythin’ works on principle,” Miya said. 

“Why are you asking this?” Kiyoomi asked, unable to avoid the edge entering his voice.

Miya shrugged. “Just curious. How about that movie?”

Kiyoomi was conflicted, as he took some popcorn into his own bowl--thank god Miya hadn’t wanted to share--and followed Miya back to the library. The projector was still shining a rectangle on the wall. He was happy for the conversation to be over, but it felt unfinished. Miya was asking things that Kiyoomi had thought about, but only abstractly. 

The only person I’d die for is my brother.

As though the willingness to die for someone wasn’t already inherently altruistic. Kiyoomi watched Miya warily as he turned down the lights and readjusted the projector. More and more, he was proving himself an enigma. He made crude jokes and sang along badly to shitty pop songs and made popcorn in a pot, and then he asked Kiyoomi if he’d be willing to die for someone. For anyone. 

As though he hadn’t just woven a web of conflict in Kiyoomi’s head, Miya smiled at him and asked him if he was ready. Kiyoomi nodded, and Miya started the movie. The sound was coming from his little portable speaker, on top of the projector. 

The intro came up, black and white and Kiyoomi realized that it was a samurai movie. Harakiri, 1962. The life of a disgraced samurai, leading up to his decision to commit seppuku in front of the people who had destroyed his family . Kiyoomi had never seen it, but they’d analyzed the cinematography for half of a lesson in a film course he took in college. 

Miya was rapt, occasionally reaching for his popcorn. Kiyoomi kept waiting for him to say something else, to bring up their conversation, but he didn’t. He watched the movie, and Kiyoomi did too, for a while.

Kiyoomi glanced over to Miya’s face, lit by the reflection of the projector, bright during the bright scenes and invisible during the dark ones. The light played off of his eyelashes when he blinked, reflected in his eyes, down the length of his sharp nose. There was a brain in there that Kiyoomi had thought he understood, but he was realizing slowly that he didn’t know much of anything about Miya Atsumu.

“Somethin’ on my face?” Miya asked, with a characteristic knowing smile, and Kiyoomi’s eyes darted back to the movie. He didn’t respond.

Kiyoomi dreamed he was hungry.

His paws were cold, and his body was shivering even though it wasn’t very cold. He’d heard the fox come by every single day, pausing above him, and then leaving. When he ventured out, he saw more mice to replace the ones from the day before. He looked around frantically each time, waiting to see the fox laying in wait, hoping he would take the bait so he could be caught and killed.

He was sure that the fox was baiting him, but he was also sure that if he waited much longer he would starve in his burrow and it wouldn’t matter what the fox did. When it became too much to bear, Kiyoomi finally steeled himself to run and crawled up out of his burrow.

The sun was high and blinding. Surely the fox would be asleep. Kiyoomi observed the two new mice sitting on top of the snow, neat and tidy and just barely still warm. He grabbed at one with his mouth and, giving one last look around, pulled it down into the snow. 

He ate ravenously, and when he was done he went up and pulled down the other mouse. The fox didn’t come bursting out of hiding to kill him. The snow was smooth around him. More had fallen since he’d last been outside, and it obscured all of the prints that had formerly dotted the surface. The snowscape was perfect and untouched, the trees at the perimeter of the field holding the snow on their branches in the still air like tinsel.

Kiyoomi ate, and the next day there were two more mice to replace them. He ate those too. He was too full, but the next day there was a bird, and he pulled that down into his burrow as well. 

He saw the fox, on that day, out on the edge of the forest. It watched him, but it didn’t approach. Kiyoomi took its offerings and disappeared back into the hole.

Seventeen days, and still nothing. Kiyoomi adjusted his expectations to three weeks. That seemed reasonable. After that he could start to worry.

He wondered if maybe the shuttle hadn’t made it back. If there had been some kind of accident. Then word of the power outage wouldn’t have reached Earth, and it could be even longer before someone came up to see what was going on. There were regular resupply vessels that came by, and they were probably due for one soon. In the absolute worst case scenario, where Earth didn’t know that Luna 5 was in trouble, they still only had to wait a week or two. 

It was okay. They’d be home soon.

“If anyone’s comin’ for us, we gotta repressurize the launch bay,” Miya said at about noon. “Can’t open that door if we don’t.”

Kiyoomi had forgotten entirely about the launch bay. He crossed his arms. “How do we do that?”

“I did it once,” Miya said. “Right out back there’s a valve you just gotta open. When you clear the airlock out, it all goes into these canisters. Just gotta go pop and it normalizes itself, easy peasy.”

“But we have to go outside,” Kiyoomi said dubiously. 

“It’ll take literally five minutes,” Miya said. “I can just go do it by myself.”

“That isn’t safe,” Kiyoomi said. Miya laughed.

“Ya know how much time I’ve spent out there? I’ve been here a year, Omi. That’s, like, two-hundred minin’ trips, at least.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s safe,” Kiyoomi reiterated, frowning. 

“Ya didn’t seem so concerned when we all had to go marchin’ out there every day, though,” Miya said. Kiyoomi’s jaw clicked shut. 

“I don’t necessarily approve of prison labor,” he said, a little belatedly. Miya gave him a knowing smile.

“Hey, I get it, it’s the system, not the individual,” he said. “Anyway, I’m gonna hop into one of those suits and get us a launch bay we can breathe in, okay? You can be on radio for me.”

Kiyoomi didn’t particularly like being ordered around by Miya, but if he had the experience he said he did, and if the trip outside would be as short as he implied, then perhaps that made the most sense. Kiyoomi could be ready in case something went wrong. 

The prisoners had spent a lot of time outside, he reasoned. They’d operated heavy machinery, had done maintenance work, had chipped away at rock, and none of them had gotten seriously hurt in the process. If they had, Luna 5 could have been the target of a pretty vicious lawsuit over prisoners’ rights, and the corporate structure that desperately wanted lithium from the moon had a vested interest in that not happening. It was as safe as it could be, under the circumstances.

Kiyoomi didn’t know why he was still nervous about it. 

Miya suited up, clicking on his helmet last. Kiyoomi stood with him in the outbound prep room, radio in hand. Miya smiled his dazzling smile at him and pressed a button on the bottom of the helmet. Kiyoomi’s radio crackled to life and he heard Miya’s tinny voice.

“Atsumu to Earth, Earth, do ya copy?”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. He lifted the radio and said, “Just go, Miya.”

Miya saluted him and Kiyoomi left the airlock. Miya flipped a little switch on the wall. There was the sound of a loud motor running, sucking the air out of the airlock, and then he turned back once more to smile and wink at Kiyoomi through the window in the door.

Then he was gone, opening the outer hatch and bounding out onto the surface of the moon.

Kiyoomi watched him through the window as long as he could, but Miya was quickly out of view. He was, presumably, walking around to the back of the launch bay dome. 

“Omi, man, ya wouldn’t believe how nice the weather is out here. Over.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m serious. The sun is shinin’, the birds are probably singin’ on Earth somewhere, and the landscape is barren. Over.”

“I know what it looks like out there,” Kiyoomi said. “And stop saying ‘over.’”

“Copy, over.”

Kiyoomi closed his eyes. “Are you there yet?”

“I’m not Speed Racer,” Miya said. “Gimme a sec, coach. Over.”

“Just tell me when you get there.”

“My favorite part of bein’ out here is the shadows,” Miya said. “Y’know how on Earth they get a little fuzzy sometimes? Out here it’s razor-sharp. I swear I can see my eyelashes.”

He was quiet for a second. Then, “Omi? You there?”

“You didn’t say ‘over,’” Kiyoomi said drily. 

Miya laughed, too loud and clipping on the radio. “Copy. I’m almost there. Over.”

Kiyoomi leaned against the wall, relaxing a little. Miya wasn’t worried about this, and he was the one going outside, so Kiyoomi probably shouldn’t worry either. Then again, could he trust Miya’s judgment about what was dangerous and what wasn’t? He wasn’t sure if that part of Miya’s brain worked properly.

“I have arrived,” Miya announced. “Commencin’ Operation Put the Air Back In.”

Kiyoomi couldn’t hear anything except for Miya’s voice, since the microphone was on the inside of the suit, and there wasn’t an atmosphere to hear with anyway, so he waited. There were a few seconds of silence.

Then, “Shit.”

Kiyoomi immediately perked up. “What?”

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to--” Miya said, and then there was a crackling noise. Kiyoomi’s heart rate spiked. 

“Miya.”

“Hold on--” Miya said, cut off. He sounded at once panicked. “Shit, Omi!”

“What’s wrong?” Kiyoomi demanded. There was no response. He looked up at the prep room. There was another suit hanging on the wall. He could probably get it on pretty quickly, but he didn’t know exactly where the valve Miya was supposed to open was. His mind immediately went into calculation mode, problem solving as rapidly as his brain would allow him.

“It’s...here,” Miya gasped out. Kiyoomi was already starting to refill the airlock, the kshhhhh of air audible through the door. 

“Stay put,” he ordered. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t...Omi…” Miya said. Kiyoomi controlled his breathing.

“Miya!”

“Can’t move--”

Kiyoomi opened the airlock door and went to reach for one of the suits. “Hold on,” he said into the radio.

“Help...it’s the...moon...ghosts…” Miya croaked out. 

Kiyoomi froze. 

Miya’s head appeared in the window of the prep area, grinning. Kiyoomi stared at him for a second. The plug was pulled and his adrenaline went swirling down the drain. 

“You are fucking kidding me,” he said, low and quiet, into the radio. He backed out of the airlock and closed the door.

Miya opened the hatch. He climbed back in, the artificial gravity taking over, and closed the hatch behind him again. Kiyoomi watched as he started to refill the airlock himself, pulling off his helmet. 

“Hey, Omi, you good? Look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he called through the door, still smiling. 

The radio clattered to the ground. Kiyoomi turned on his heel and stalked down the hallway. 

“Omi!” Miya called after him, muffled. 

Kiyoomi could feel his skin flushing with some terrible combination of anger and embarrassment. His legs carried him quickly and without much of his own input, fueled by the bits of adrenaline that hadn’t washed away. He heard the airlock door open, but he was already at the end of the tunnel and in the central dome, passing the mess hall. He didn’t know where he was headed. Probably his room. He kept walking.

“Omi, hey!” he heard Miya yell from behind him.

He had nothing to say back. Of course this would be Miya’s idea of a fucking prank. To act out the worst fears that Kiyoomi had expressed to him, the one worry he’d had about Miya going outside. Then to come back smiling like that. Kiyoomi remembered with sudden clarity why he had hated Miya Atsumu.

Kiyoomi didn’t want to be embarrassed, on top of everything else, but he couldn’t help it. Miya had been playing some stupid joke, and Kiyoomi had gotten so worried. He’d been seconds from heading outside himself. He could imagine how much Miya would have laughed if that had actually happened. The thought sent cool flashes of self-consciousness through him. 

He closed the door to his room, not slamming it because he was not a child, and stood there for a second. He needed to calm down. He heard footsteps through the door, heavy and unsubtle, like Miya always was. Kiyoomi whirled around to watch the door.

The footsteps stopped outside of it, and the handle didn’t move. There was a blessed moment of silence, where Kiyoomi got to stew in all of the terrible feelings he was having at once.

Then, “Omi, are you okay?”

Kiyoomi felt another flare of anger. He didn’t respond. Of course, now that his little prank didn’t go over, Miya would be in damage control mode. Make sure that Kiyoomi wasn’t actually mad at him, because it was just a joke, right? No need to be so sensitive. Kiyoomi was always so sensitive to things like that. 

Kiyoomi didn’t need to start thinking about that, not right now. Of all the things to have in his ear, his father’s voice was perhaps the least helpful. He sat down on his bed, crossing his legs, waiting for Miya to go away.

The footsteps didn’t move. “Shit. Omi, I’m sorry.”

Kiyoomi did not want to hear it. He considered scaring Miya a little, yelling at him to go away, to take his games elsewhere. He didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t think…” Miya started again. “Well, that’s it, huh? I didn’t think. I guess I figured it’d be funny or somethin’ but thinkin’ about it now it really wasn’t.”

Kiyoomi waited for the excuses to begin. But it was just a joke, no hard feelings, right? 

“Shit. I’m imaginin’ now, y’know, what if you did the same thing and I thought ya were in trouble?” Miya continued. A breath. “I’m sorry. I guess since I knew I was fine I just sorta forgot that you didn’t.

“And on top of that, ya didn’t even want me to go out there ‘cause ya said it was dangerous, and...shit, wow, I’m a fuckin’ asshole.”

Kiyoomi mustered his voice. He hated pity, more than anything else. “Go away, Miya,” he said, surprisingly level. 

“Yeah, okay,” Miya said, voice somber. “Y’know, ‘Samu always said I don’t think before I do things and he’s right. Anyway. I’m fine. I know you know that. Now. The valve’s open. Should repressurize soon.” A sigh. “I should stop talkin’.”

There was a moment of nothing, and then Kiyoomi heard footsteps leaving, going down the hall. Presumably to Miya’s own room. 

Kiyoomi was starting to cool down, and his embarrassment about his reaction to the prank was slowly being subsumed by his new embarrassment about how he’d just acted. He’d had a little tantrum, running away, making Miya come after him and grovel at his door, staying silent. Maybe he’d have to change his assessment of how much of a child he was. 

It was as though being on this base had turned back his mental age. He was a mature adult, someone who was professional and someone who could deal with all sorts of stress. He’d thought that people were in danger before, and he tried to imagine if any of those had been a prank. He wouldn’t have engaged. He would have rolled his eyes, let himself skate above the problem, land on the other side as though it had never happened. The prank reflected badly on the person who did it, not on him.

It was so hard to make that connection now, for some reason.

Well, no. Not for some reason. Kiyoomi knew the reason. He knew it and he was trying very hard to ignore it, because the self-consciousness that came with the thought was worse than any prank Miya could try to pull.

Kiyoomi had laid his cards on the table, only to find that Miya’s had been fake. Kiyoomi had shown that he cared about Miya, enough to panic at what he thought the situation was, and Miya had taken that vulnerability and laughed at it. Not intentionally, of course. Kiyoomi didn’t think that Miya was cruel. But Kiyoomi had revealed something and he couldn’t take it back, now. Miya knew that him being in danger would upset Kiyoomi. 

It was probably a stupid thing to be embarrassed about, but Kiyoomi couldn’t help it. 

Miya didn’t come back for the rest of the afternoon. Kiyoomi eventually left his room to go to the control panel, to make sure that everything was the same as it had been. There was a new light on, by the other launch bay signals, which Kiyoomi assumed was to show that it was now oxygenated. 

That was what he needed to focus on. The job had been done. Now, when someone came to get them, they’d be able to enter through the launch bay normally, instead of having to go around to another of the airlocks. That would be good, especially since they could probably expect someone to come by within the week. Kiyoomi supposed it was good that Miya had thought of it.

He could keep his thoughts utilitarian. He didn’t need to think about the degree to which he now apparently cared about Miya’s wellbeing. It was just because he was another person, and Kiyoomi cared about keeping people safe. That was it. If anyone had been out there, Kiyoomi would have reacted exactly the same way. 

Miya was only special in his own head, Kiyoomi decided. Other than that, he could be anyone.

The next morning, once he was done with his morning routine, Kiyoomi stepped out into the vocational center to the sound of something frying in a pan and quiet, tinkly music coming from the kitchen.

Kiyoomi sighed. He couldn’t avoid Miya forever. Then he really would be acting like a child. He swallowed his own lingering embarrassment and straightened his back, walking toward the kitchen with an impassive look. He caught sight of Miya’s back and the little portable speaker on the counter next to him. Miya was wearing an apron and Kiyoomi could smell, as he approached, eggs frying. 

“Good morning,” Kiyoomi said.

“Fuck!” Miya said, jolting and whirling around, spatula pointed at Kiyoomi like a sword. Immediately upon seeing Kiyoomi he slumped against the stove. “How the hell do you keep doin’ that?”

“Practice,” Kiyoomi said. He crossed his arms. “What are you doing?”

“Makin’ breakfast,” Miya said, turning back to the stovetop. “I know we aren’t there yet so I don’t know how ya like your eggs in the--” He cut himself off and knocked himself on the forehead. “Shut the fuck up, ‘Tsumu, yer not helpin’,”  he muttered, almost inaudibly. 

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. Miya didn’t say anything else, tilting the pan and rolling up an omelette. 

“I don’t like eggs,” Kiyoomi said. Miya grimaced down at the pan.

“Ah. Okay, well, I guess I’ll eat these. Um. I also made toast, and some miso soup, ‘cause I remember you havin’ that last time.”

Last time must have been at least a week ago, maybe two. They’d had meals together several times since then, but apparently that one time had stuck in Miya’s brain.

“Why?”

Miya turned over his shoulder and blinked at him. “Why what?”

“Why are you making breakfast?”

“Um,” Miya started, like he was honestly confused. “I dunno. It’s just nice to do, I guess?”

“Right,” Kiyoomi said with a sigh. 

“I mean, I do also...y’know...I guess I feel sorta bad,” Miya continued. There it was. “Not that I wouldn’t make ya breakfast if I didn’t! Shit. I’m pretty bad at this.”

“I don’t require an apology,” Kiyoomi said. “In the form of food or otherwise.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try and give one,” Miya said. “I’m sorry, again, just so ya know.”

“Okay.”

Miya gave him a sort of helpless look and turned off the burner. As he moved to the side to deposit the omelette on a plate, Kiyoomi saw that there was already a second plate made up with a little bowl next to it. 

“I could try and scramble some tofu or something if ya like that better,” Miya said. “Protein is good.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kiyoomi said. 

He ended up eating the breakfast that Miya had made, silently. Miya fidgeted in his chair the entire time, glancing up at Kiyoomi and then back to his food, then back again. He wasn’t being very subtle about his anxiety. 

To Kiyoomi’s growing horror, it seemed as though the rest of the day was going in the same direction. Miya asked if Kiyoomi needed help at every opportunity, followed him around like a puppy, acting like a concerned child instead of a grown adult criminal. It was grating on Kiyoomi’s nerves. If nothing else, he supposed it was working, because he was now thinking much more about wanting Miya to leave him alone than about the incident from the day before.

The one thing that Miya seemed to be unwilling to give him, despite all of the things he was trying to make up for, was space. Kiyoomi valued space. Even from people he liked, he could only take so much interaction before he needed time to recharge. He was fine with social situations as long as they ended eventually, but Miya kept wandering by, asking if he needed anything and giving him things unprompted.

If this was how he was going to react every time Kiyoomi was angry at him, Kiyoomi was going to have to resolve never to be angry at him again. 

“Miya,” he finally said. Miya was disinfecting the kitchen counter with an alcohol wipe as Kiyoomi ate an orange at the table. His voice was even, measured. “If I tell you I forgive you, will you leave me alone?”

Miya blinked, startled. “Um.”

“I understand what you are trying to do,” Kiyoomi continued, picking the little white bits of pith off of an orange slice and putting them on a small plate, “but at this point you are only making things worse.”

“Oh,” Miya said. “I just...I mean, I really do feel bad and I’m never gonna do somethin’ like that again and everything but you didn’t want me to apologize, so…”

“You have more than apologized. It was an error of judgment,” Kiyoomi said. He closed his eyes. “But if you don’t give me five minutes to myself today I will throw you out an airlock.”

Miya seemed to sense, with whatever animal instincts he possessed, that Kiyoomi was dangerous right now. 

“I just thought, y’know, that I could help out a little,” Miya said. He pressed his lips together. “Sorry.”

“The kicked puppy look doesn’t suit you,” Kiyoomi said. 

“I swear I wasn’t tryna wear you down.”

“Well, either way, it seems that it worked. I’m going to go to the library. Please don’t follow me.”

“I guess I’ll just go to the computer lab,” Miya said. Kiyoomi sighed.

“I don’t care where you go.”

“Right.”

Why was this so awkward? Kiyoomi wasn’t going to let himself feel bad. Sure, Miya had just been trying to help. What did that matter? Kiyoomi still had the hangover of embarrassment and anger from the day before, and while it had largely dissipated he still felt little pangs of something bad when he thought about it. 

It was just a poorly executed joke, he told himself, over and over. Miya meant it to be funny for both of them. When it hadn’t been, Miya had been absolutely bewildered, before he came to his senses. He meant very little harm. 

“Stop thinking about it, Miya,” Kiyoomi said as Miya started to leave. 

“Can’t promise ya that one, Omi,” Miya said. Then he saluted lazily and disappeared through the doorway, and Kiyoomi was left alone with his orange.

Kiyoomi hadn’t thought that much about it, for reasons he felt were obvious, but he realized at some point that Miya knew a suspicious amount about him and Kiyoomi knew almost nothing about Miya. 

He didn’t know exactly how Miya had come by the information, but he had it, and Kiyoomi wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with that. He needed to even the score somehow, if only to have some leverage if he needed to probe just how much Miya knew about him.

He’d only looked through Miya’s profile briefly, to confirm that he was not in fact a murderer, but after that he’d let it go. He was sure that the prisoners hadn’t been debriefed on where Kiyoomi came from or his career, or anything past him being new and called Sakusa. None of the other prisoners had seemed to know anything about him. What was special about Miya?

He didn’t think that they’d ever met before. He was sure he’d remember something like that. Would they even have run in the same circles? How long ago had Miya been convicted, been sent up to the moon?

Kiyoomi clicked through the computer in the mess hall and put in his access code. The inmates’ profiles popped up, and he scrolled down. Miya Atsumu. 

The same info he’d seen before, but this time Kiyoomi tabbed through the other various materials that had been collected on him. There was a portfolio of, as far as he could tell, relevant court materials, which contained within it a couple of scans of photocopies of news clippings from Earth. They were a bit difficult to read, but Kiyoomi decided to flip through them idly. He didn’t know what he was looking for, or what he expected to find.

There was one article that caught his eye—one in English, titled: “Flying Too Close: When Blue Goes Red,” the summary of a panel at a conference called “Defcon,” which Kiyoomi had never heard of. It was held in Las Vegas, which seemed like a strange place to be relevant to Miya. 

He skimmed, with his passable English, through stuff about “pen testing” and “red teaming,” and then he saw it. His eyes widened and he whispered a small “you’re joking.”

In a high profile example, we’ve seen how much governments are willing to make an example of malware developers in the recent prosecution of Japanese native Miya Atsumu, former—

“—Head of Cybersecurity at Inarizaki Technical Security,” Kiyoomi hissed.

He ripped himself away from the screen, a sudden anger coursing through him. Miya fucking Atsumu. Kiyoomi didn’t count to five. He stormed away from the terminal, down the tunnels, to the vocational center. The door to the computer lab was open, and he slammed his hand into it to push his way inside.

Miya was at one of the computers, and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the intrusion.

“Jeez! Really steppin’ up yer game, Omi—“

“What the fuck have you been doing on that computer?” Kiyoomi snapped.

Miya blinked, playing his little innocent act. “You said I could be on here, right? I don’t remember you saying I couldn’t—“

“No,” Kiyoomi said, “What have you been doing on there?”

“The same thing I’m always doin’,” Miya said, a perfect picture of confusion.

“I’m done with the jokes,” Kiyoomi said. “Tell me.”

Miya stared at Kiyoomi for a moment, and then a wry smile curled his lips. “Oops,” he said. “Guess I got found out, huh?”

Kiyoomi glared at him, and Miya had the balls to laugh a little. 

“I thought this’d happen months ago,” he said. “I’m so flattered Omi decided to finally look me up.”

“I am going to ask one more time,” Kiyoomi said, voice cooling into ice.

“Fine, fine, don’t getcher panties in a knot,” Miya said. His face turned a little more serious. “Where to even start? Hi, my name’s Atsumu, and I do computers.” He waved a little. Kiyoomi gave him a withering glare. “Did you know—and I’m guessin’ not, ‘cause I don’t think anyone realized till I came along—that this entire base is connected on one single network on a single server? As in you can get into anythin’ from any computer, includin’ these ones right here.”

“And what have you been getting into?” Kiyoomi asked.

“Oh please, I’ve been at this shit the whole time I’ve been up here,” Miya said. “What haven’t I gotten into.”

“Answer the question.”

“Jeez, you’d think I tried to kill ya,” Miya said. “Well, I mean you can look, but right now I’m checkin’ alerts on the oxygen tanks. Since ya won’t let me within a hundred meters of the control room, and I also happen to be invested in not dyin’.”

“You can get into the control panel?” Kiyoomi asked, his fury starting to cool down, though the embarrassment stayed. How had he not known about this for so long? Why had he waited to find out more about Miya? They were stuck here together, Miya knew more about him than Kiyoomi thought he should, and now it made sense why. He’d probably looked Kiyoomi up in the system the moment he showed up, or maybe even before.  

He was having a hard time recalibrating his assessment of Miya, with all of this new info, so his brain was simply refusing to. Miya Atsumu the snarky, smiling luddite did not coexist with Miya Atsumu the criminal hacker.

“Yeah, and believe you me,” Miya said, finally turning a little in his chair to face Kiyoomi, “Whatever’s up with the radio is wrong up in its guts somewhere, ‘cause that software’s working better than it did when I got here.”

“You’ve been messing around with the software that controls the entire prison?” Kiyoomi asked, still processing. “Is that what I’m hearing?”

“I think you’re underestimatin’ just how good I am,” Miya said. “I’m not gonna peek into shit without leavin’ it better than I started. The prison shoulda been payin’ me for fixin’ all their damn bugs.”

Kiyoomi couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling of knowing that Miya Atsumu had been digging around in the digital belly of the entire prison, including its life support systems, and he’d had absolutely no idea. He supposed that it might be some confirmation that Miya wasn’t lying about not breaking anything, if Kiyoomi hadn’t noticed. But this was something that was entirely outside of his control, outside of his ability to ever control, and that sent little jolts of anxiety through his brain. He’d thought that Miya was good at following orders. Now nothing seemed to be in Kiyoomi’s control.

All things considered, he thought he was being quite reasonable about this.

“What did you do?” he asked, surprising himself.

“Hm?”

“What did you do, to get sent up here?”

Miya’s mouth formed an “o” and his eyes widened a little. “Didn’t get that far in yer research, huh?”

Kiyoomi was tired. “Just tell me.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, fine,” Miya said. He gestured to another of the chairs. “Pull up a chair and I’ll tell ya a bedtime story.”

Kiyoomi glared at him but took a seat, crossing his arms and waiting with a sharp look. Miya just smiled his normal, lazy-eyed smile, the one that seemed, in retrospect, much more calculating than Kiyoomi had ever realized.

“So, if you came stormin’ in here like that you probably saw somethin’ about hackin’ or at least along those lines,” Miya said, leaning back. Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes.

“I saw ‘Head of Cybersecurity’ and put two and two together,” he said.

“Okay, okay,” Miya said. “Just as good. Don’t get too impressed on me. Anyway, ya don’t need to know my life story, but I got into pen testin’ when I was eighteen, and eventually worked my way up.”

“Pen testing,” Kiyoomi said.

“Penetration testing,” Miya replied with a smile. “Best name in the universe, isn’t it? Basically ya just try to crack the security systems of businesses so they can figure out where their weak points are. No better deal for a kid that likes breakin’ into shit than gettin’ to break into shit and gettin’ paid for it.”

“And?” Kiyoomi asked.

“So, ya ever heard of Black Jackal?” Miya asked. Kiyoomi shook his head. “Okay, that’s fair. Ya know what ransomware is?”

Kiyoomi did, vaguely. He gave a half shrug. 

“Okay, well, it’s a program that gets onto your computer and encrypts all your files, and holds ‘em ransom for money or whatever the developer wants,” Miya explained. “The way encryption works, there’s no way to get anythin’ back unless ya pay. Black Jackal’s one of the most successful pieces of ransomware basically ever.”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi prompted.

“It got into a bunch of government offices and some big businesses, like some real big businesses, not gonna name any names, and in the end it made its creator a good three billion yen, give or take.”

Kiyoomi watched Miya carefully, waiting for the point. Miya smiled, maybe a little sheepishly.

“That’s me. I’m the creator. Of that.”

Kiyoomi blinked. He stared at Miya. “Three billion yen,” he finally said. Miya burst into laughter.

“I know, right? I outdid myself, honestly. Pity I didn’t get to keep a penny. Thing is, Jackal started out as a test program to teach businesses how to deal with ransomware attacks,” Miya said. “But then I got to thinkin’, and so did ‘Samu, which ya know with us is always a big problem, and we thought: ya know, we could really make a shit ton of money, couldn’t we?”

“You,” Kiyoomi started. “You are in jail for the next fifty years because you made a mean computer game.”

Miya snorted and then, as though he couldn’t hold it in, dissolved into an ugly cackle. “Can I getcha as my lawyer?” he managed to gasp out. “Jesus. I mean yeah, I guess you can put it like that. Well, I didn’t make all of it. ‘Samu helped a lot.”

“That’s your brother,” Kiyoomi said. “He’s on Earth.”

“Well, he ain’t on the moon,” Miya said wryly. 

Kiyoomi knew he had to ask more questions about Miya’s job and past life, but instead he asked: “When was the last time you saw him?”

Miya seemed surprised. “Well, I’ve been up here a year, and he didn’t see me at all for the whole trial, so I’d say it’s probably been three years, give or take.” He sighed. “Kinda a big change when ya grew up seeing someone every single day, whether ya wanted to or not.”

Kiyoomi didn’t know what to say. He was still processing all of the information he’d just been given. “Why didn’t he see you during your trial?” He didn’t even know why he wanted to know, but the question was out there.

“Ah, well, y’know,” Miya said, much more quietly. “We both worked on Jackal, but as you can see, only one of us happens to be in prison for it. I don’t think he’s forgiven me yet for that.”

Miya’s eyes widened suddenly and he looked up at Kiyoomi with an uncharacteristic fear. “You don’t say shit about this, okay? I never said that.”

“You took the fall,” Kiyoomi said. Miya swallowed.

“He had nothin’ to do with it,” he backtracked. “It was all mine.”

“I’m not going to say anything,” Kiyoomi said. Why? He had no loyalty to Miya. At the same time he knew he meant it. “I promise.”

Miya still looked a little tense, but he seemed to accept the answer. He trusted that Kiyoomi was telling the truth. He had no reason to. Kiyoomi had only ever shown outward derision or begrudging tolerance toward him. He had no reason to trust him at all. And yet it seemed like he did. 

Kiyoomi elected to ignore the little flip-floppy thing his stomach did when he thought about that.

“He runs a restaurant,” Miya said. “In Tokyo. Best food I’ve had there.” He paused. “Never tell him I said that.”

“I don’t think I’ll get the chance.”

“Hey, ya never know,” Miya said. “If yer ever in the neighborhood, hit up Onigiri Miya. Look for the guy who looks exactly like me, except dumber. If we ever get back down there.”

“We will,” Kiyoomi said immediately, surprising himself with the speed of his own response. 

“Well then, you’ll have to go. Probably don’t mention me if ya don’t wanna get kicked out, though.”

“Sounds like delightful dinner conversation,” Kiyoomi said. “‘Did you know that I was trapped on the moon with your convict brother?’”

Miya snorted. “He’d probably say he doesn’t have a brother.” There was something not-so-subtly bitter in his tone. 

“I’m sure he doesn’t think like that,” Kiyoomi said, wondering when in the world he’d started comforting Miya Atsumu.

“Here’s hopin’,” Miya said. He looked away for a second and then raised his eyebrows and sighed. “Anyway. We were talkin’ about me bein’ a tech genius…? Why’d we stop that?”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and made to stand up. “Well, then.”

“Hey, hey, wait a minute,” Miya said. “I just poured my heart out. Ya gotta give me somethin’.”

“Do I?”

“Third law of motion,” Miya said. “Every action gets an equal and opposite reaction. Tell me about yer childhood.”

Kiyoomi actually laughed, surprising himself. “I thought you knew everything about me already.”

“Not everything,” Miya said. “Just the important bits.”

“What bits are those?”

“Ya want a list? Sakusa Kiyoomi, 28 years old…” Miya started. He paused. “Shit, what’s the date? No, yeah, you’re still 28, I think. Personal security with Itachiyama Security Solutions. Or maybe former? I don’t know what ya did since then. You’re a city boy, from Tokyo. Ya did sports in high school. Almost went to the police, but ya didn’t. Your personal philosophy about guardin’ people is that eliminatin’ a threat comes first. Not exactly the industry standard.”

Kiyoomi kept his face purposefully neutral as Miya listed facts about him. There was no way that all of these things were in the internal computer system at the prison. 

“Am I freakin’ ya out yet?” Miya asked with his cheeky smile. Kiyoomi gave him a calculating look.

“I assume we met.”

“I mean yeah, eventually.”

“No, I mean we met before, at some point.”

“Well,” Miya said, scratching the back of his head. “Kinda? I guess I can stop with the smoke n’ mirrors. You were on a panel at a security convention. I was in the audience. You really did a tell-all up there, Omi. I practically learned yer mother’s maiden name and the street ya grew up on.”

Many, many things suddenly made sense. Kiyoomi wondered why Miya hadn’t led with that. Maybe he’d just wanted to keep up the mystique around how he knew so much about Kiyoomi, in some kind of power game. Given the conversation they’d had this afternoon and Kiyoomi’s interest in finding out more about Miya in return, it had worked. 

If he thought about it, he supposed he could remember a couple of panels he’d been on and presentations he’d given, answering questions about personal security and telling a few stories about his time as a bodyguard. He remembered that at one panel he showed the nasty knife scar on his arm as he was explaining defensive wound patterns, to an unexpected round of applause. He wondered which one Miya had been at, trying to place him in crowds he barely remembered.

“Why was a tech security big shot at a bodyguarding panel?”

“Curiosity,” Miya said. “I always thought you guys were cool. Anyway, I was in the building. I did a session too, the same day, but I’m assumin’ ya didn’t see that one,” Miya continued wryly. “Not really up yer alley, I guess. It was about network security monitoring for small businesses. I almost fell asleep halfway through.”

“I did not see that,” Kiyoomi said. “Unfortunately.”

“Yeah, it’s a big loss. Then again, maybe we coulda been friends and you coulda been shocked and surprised to find me in jail.”

“Knowing you now, it isn’t surprising at all.”

“Ya know how to cut deep, Omi,” Miya said, rubbing at his chest. “Anyway, ya talked about jumpin’ out of movin’ cars like it was nothin’ and I thought you were the coolest guy alive.”

“Sounds like I’ve disabused you of that notion.” 

“Yeah, I know now that yer a big softie on the inside,” Miya said. “Ya just gotta crack the candy coating.”

“Candy coating?” Kiyoomi asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Your hard shell. In addition to bein’ eye candy,” Miya said with a wink.

“And here we are again.” Kiyoomi stood. There was a lot he had to think about, now.

“I’m serious, Omi, you’re hot stuff. It’s the glare, I think.”

“If you expect me to return the compliment, you’ll be disappointed,” Kiyoomi said. Miya grinned.

“Oh, I know I’m hot,” he said. “That’s just objective. Though I wouldn’t mind if ya wanted to tell me so.”

“Goodbye, Miya.”

“Wait, Omi,” Miya said, standing. Kiyoomi paused. “You’re not gonna say anything, right?”

“About what?” Kiyoomi asked. Miya stared at him for a second and then smiled.

“Thanks, Omi.”

Kiyoomi hated it when Miya was right, but some things couldn’t be helped. Or maybe they could, if Kiyoomi could wrestle back some semblance of control over his brain. He was able to calm himself, to sit on top of a building for hours, just waiting, to be at attention for an entire evening, eyes scanning a crowd. He could switch between talking professionally to clients and spitting barbs at an idiot with a gun. Kiyoomi had control over himself, most of the time.

That didn’t stop him from noticing that Miya Atsumu was, unfortunately, exactly as hot as he thought he was.

Some part of Kiyoomi had always known this. He had eyes and he’d been living with Miya for two months at this point. He remembered the feeling of Miya’s muscles under his hands when they’d sparred, the way Miya’s lazy smile poked little dimples into his cheeks, the shape of Miya’s body in a tight t-shirt. The irritating way he sat when he read, with one leg thrown up over the arm of the chair. His hands, large and masculine but with very nice nails. He could tell all of these things, and he could also tell that many of them landed squarely in the category labeled Kiyoomi’s Type.  

The more he thought about it--not that he wanted to--the more he realized that the Venn diagram of Miya Atsumu’s physical characteristics and the things Kiyoomi liked was approaching a circle. 

It was the cabin fever, he told himself. He was gay. He hadn’t seen anyone except Miya for weeks. He hadn’t had sex in more than half a year. It was the perfect combination and his brain was looking for things that weren’t there. So what if Miya was attractive? Kiyoomi could deal with it. Not that there was anything to deal with. Plenty of attractive people existed in the world, and Kiyoomi had thus far managed to do absolutely nothing about it.

It was just a fact. The sky was blue, water was wet, Kiyoomi thought that Miya Atsumu was hot.

It didn’t help that once Kiyoomi acknowledged it, however, he started noticing little things about Miya he hadn’t ever wanted to know. It was the way he brushed his hair back with his hand when he was working at the computer, the way sweat shined on his shoulders when he left the gym in the afternoons, the way the sweatpants he always wore left very little to the imagination--

That was a train of thought that could lead to Kiyoomi making some very unfortunate personal decisions, so he decided to cut it off there.

The upshot was that now every time Kiyoomi saw Miya, he also saw all of the little things that came together to make him so attractive. Kiyoomi was very good at schooling his face, so he was sure that Miya hadn’t noticed any of his lingering looks (if he did, it would be an emergency and Kiyoomi did not need to be dealing with that for however long they were going to be stuck here). And anyway, if Kiyoomi spent an extra few seconds while they were eating looking at Miya’s arms, who was anyone to judge him? He didn’t have to like someone to know that they were good to look at.

“Somethin’ wrong, Omi?”

Fuck.

“Hm?” Kiyoomi met Miya’s eyes, hopefully a picture of innocence. He’d been staring at his chest and had gotten a little distracted. Granted, Miya was currently on a lat machine, so Kiyoomi thought he was at least a little justified. 

“I asked if somethin’ was wrong,” Miya said. He smiled a little, his terrible knowing smile.

“Why would something be wrong?” Kiyoomi asked primly. Miya shrugged and pulled the bar down again, squinting a little with the effort.

“Seems like my shirt is pretty interesting,” he said.

“I was just thinking,” Kiyoomi said, twisting around to stretch his back. He was on the mats on the floor, in a spot he’d disinfected beforehand, cooling down after a light cardio workout.

“‘Bout what?”

Well, now Kiyoomi had to think of something. He shrugged. “What to eat for dinner.”

“Now, Omi, I know I’m an absolute snack,” Miya started. Kiyoomi groaned.

“Isn’t it tiring, being this conceited all the time?”

“Not as tirin’ as bein’ this sexy,” Miya said forlornly. “It’s a burden, believe you me, Omi.”

Kiyoomi stood and brushed himself off. “Enjoy the rest of your workout,” he said.

“You not gonna enjoy it with me?”

Maybe Kiyoomi hadn’t been as subtle as he’d hoped. He kept his face straight. “Concerned you’ll hurt yourself? I can show you how the machines work.”

“Would ya, please?” Miya asked. “Starting with this one. Ten reps at least.”

Miya tried him at every turn. “You’d enjoy that too much.”

“I’d enjoy it exactly the right amount.”

“I’m leaving.”

“That works, too,” Miya said. Then he winked.

Kiyoomi honestly couldn’t tell if Miya had noticed something about the way he’d been acting, or if he was just flirting with him because that’s just what Miya did to other people. It wasn’t as though he could ask, and he didn’t want to entertain the games long enough to figure it out himself. 

Maybe he was going a little stir-crazy, to be thinking so much about this. He always ended up thinking too much about Miya, for whatever reason. He was the only distraction around, Kiyoomi supposed, so of course he’d end up being the focus of many of Kiyoomi’s thoughts. There was only so much time he could spend thinking about the control room, or the systems in the prison, or the books he was reading. It all ended up coming back around to Miya.

He’d made Miya show him how he was monitoring the control systems through the computer, and though he couldn’t understand a lot of the data being shown to him, he knew that it was much more comprehensive than what he could get looking at the gauges and meters on the control panel itself. He begrudgingly made Miya the point person on the more complex systems, a task which Miya took upon himself very seriously.

After he’d said: “What do ya think I’ve been doin’ this whole time?”, of course.

The scary thing was that, over time, Kiyoomi was finding Miya less and less insufferable. As they crawled past day 23, past Kiyoomi’s three-week estimate, he realized that he was choosing to spend more time with Miya. They worked out together, ate meals together, and occasionally Kiyoomi would find that he had brought a book into the computer lab to read. 

He wouldn’t say that he liked Miya, necessarily, but he found him less difficult to be around. Most of the time, Miya was fairly quiet and focused, saving up his energy for his more bombastic moments later. The Miya who focused on his computer like it was the only thing that existed, who looked up from it when Kiyoomi said his name like he’d forgotten where he was, blinking around like he’d just woken up--that was a Miya that Kiyoomi could say that he tolerated. He was sometimes, and this was important: only sometimes --kind of cute. 

It was a dangerous combination, his looks plus his flirtiness plus his occasional endearing naiveté. Kiyoomi wasn’t one to ignore his problems, but this was one he couldn’t really do anything about. He watched Miya when he wasn’t looking, rolled his eyes at him when he was, and kept his thoughts to himself. It was the only way he could keep some semblance of peace.

Chapter Text

“Okay,” Miya said, “I get that. But that’s the entire point.”

“Why would that be a compelling point?” Kiyoomi asked. 

“Because it’s a fantasy,” Miya explained. “It’s fiction.”

“It’s a dangerous parasocial relationship.”

“It’s only dangerous if yer a psycho who thinks you’re married to them because they looked at ya.”

“If they didn’t market that image in the first place, that wouldn’t even be a problem.”

It had been a long evening of debate in the library, started by an innocuous question on Miya’s part: had Kiyoomi ever been a bodyguard to a celebrity? Kiyoomi had--he’d spent three months as security for an idol group, and in the process he’d become entirely disgusted by the industry.

“It’s the same as a TV show,” Miya argued. “They’re playin’ a character.”

“If they led with that, it might be fine,” Kiyoomi said. “They don’t, and it made my life incredibly difficult.”

“I mean, I think it’d be hard to guard any celebrity, idol or not,” Miya said. “With the paparazzi and everythin’.”

Kiyoomi shook his head. “You don’t understand. This isn’t stopping paparazzi. That would be a dream. This is making sure they don’t get dragged offstage by a superfan who ‘knows’ them. This is not being able to drive a car out of their complex without running over at least one fan because they’re mobbing the car like Africanized bees. This is stopping a middle-aged man from sneaking in the door to their apartment building to steal their underwear. Then arguing with the man when he says that he’s their boyfriend. Which one is he dating? Yes. The answer is apparently ‘yes, all of them.’”

Miya burst into laughter as Kiyoomi’s voice became more and more ghostly. “Christ. Did that happen?”

“No, I made it up,” Kiyoomi said, deadpan.

“Yer a saint, Omi,” Miya said. “A real good egg, for puttin’ up with shit like that. But still, those are the outliers. The concept of an idol isn’t that bad by itself.”

“It doesn’t exist in a vacuum,” Kiyoomi said. “It exists in a world of people who try to sneak onto sets to put drain cleaner in idols’ coffee because they don’t like their music. Can you recognize the smell of drain cleaner in coffee? Because I can.”

“Okay, okay,” Miya said. “I’ll give you that. But I’m just sayin’ that the entire thing about people creatin’ a fictional version of themselves isn’t inherently--”

There was a falling guuuuu noise, and the lights went out.

It was impossibly dark in just an instant. Miya fell silent. Kiyoomi’s heart rate jumped and after the moment he took to process the situation his hand immediately went to his belt. He didn’t have his flashlight on him. He didn’t see a need to carry it around day-to-day, not like he had when he was actually guarding the inmates. 

There was a moment of complete and total quiet, just the sound of their breathing in the still air, as they waited.

Then, “Omi.”

“I know.”

“Omi.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t do this, I swear.”

“I didn’t think you did.”

There was no air in the vents. It seemed as though all of the power had gone out at once, similarly to the accident. Without his flashlight, Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make it anywhere. He had a pretty good idea of the layout of the prison, but in total darkness there was no way to know if he’d accidentally go off in the wrong direction and get himself hopelessly lost in the inky void. 

“Omi, I’m not afraid of the dark,” Miya said, his voice tight. “But this is really dark.”

“We’ll be fine,” Kiyoomi said, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it. “It’ll come back on, like it did last time.”

He’d never gotten to the bottom of what had gone wrong with the prison’s electrical systems the first time. Somehow a door had been opened, probably not by a prisoner, although that was always a possibility, and the electricity had shut off before going into some kind of emergency mode. They just had to wait for the backup power to kick in. Then the red lights would come on, and Miya could figure out if there was some internal computer issue they could solve. 

The lights didn’t come on, red or not, and they kept waiting. Kiyoomi found himself strangely calm. Maybe it was Miya’s intentionally measured breaths next to him. He could tell that Miya was trying very hard not to panic. The darkness made the air seem thicker than it was. Kiyoomi held up his hand, but of course he couldn’t see it. 

“Twice,” he said. “Something is very wrong.”

“The first time it didn’t seem like that big of a deal, y’know,” Miya said. “It came right back. Maybe half an hour start to finish.”

“Then let’s wait half an hour before we start to worry.” 

Kiyoomi was very good at giving himself deadlines. He could start worrying about their rescue after two weeks, then after three, and now he’d adjusted his estimate to a month. They could start worrying about this after half an hour. He didn’t know if he’d have to adjust those expectations. But it was always better to be waiting for some kind of goal than to be running blind through time. 

“Don’t go anywhere, okay?” Miya said. 

“I won’t. Where would I go?”

“I don’t know,” Miya said. “You’re always off playin’ the hero.”

“My abilities end at night vision, unfortunately.”

Miya huffed out a laugh. “Great. This is great. We’re great.”

“It will be fine, Miya.”

“Call me Atsumu?” 

“No.”

Miya shifted around in his chair, and for a split second Kiyoomi was worried that he was going to get up. But then he settled again, and a moment later Kiyoomi felt something brush his arm. 

He jolted and grabbed at the air, his hand landing on Miya’s wrist. Miya made a little noise of surprise. “Sorry, shit, sorry,” he said. “I just. I wanted to make sure I knew where you were.”

“I haven’t moved.” Kiyoomi let go of Miya’s wrist and it disappeared from his senses again. 

“I know,” Miya said. 

“There’s no point in panicking,” Kiyoomi said. “We’re going to have to stay put until something changes either way.”

“What if it doesn’t come back on?”

“That won’t happen,” Kiyoomi said. “But if it does, we’ll go find the problem together.”

He heard Miya let out a long breath. “Yeah, okay.”

“We shouldn’t be alone if it’s this dark. We’re more likely to get injured trying to move around.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Miya said. “I’m stuck to you like fuckin’ glue right now.”

“I believe that.”

There was another long stretch of silence, where the power did not turn back on and the air did not start again. Kiyoomi knew that it would take weeks for them to suffocate, given the sheer quantity of air in the prison. He could still feel it closing in on him. There were many things he could deal with easily, many fears he didn’t have, but lack of air was not among them. 

“So,” Miya said. “Ya got any ghost stories?”

“Not about moon ghosts.”

“I still feel bad about that.”

“You should.”

Miya snorted. “Yeah. I know. Believe me, I’ve done all the self-flagellation I need.”

“Big words.”

“I have two graduate degrees, Omi.”

“Congratulations. That doesn’t mean they teach you big words.”

“I mean, ya aren’t wrong,” Miya acquiesced. “That just means that the big words I know all come straight from the source. From my own noggin.”

“You’re a supergenius.”

“I’m so glad ya finally caught up, Omi,” Miya said, and Kiyoomi could hear the smile in his voice. “Hey, um. How long do you think it’s been?”

Kiyoomi instinctively looked down at his wrist, but there was only darkness. “I’d guess about five minutes.”

“No fuckin’ way. It’s been at least ten.”

“That’s just because you’re bored, Miya.” 

“Atsumu. And I’m the opposite of bored right now, Omi. It’s takin’ literally all of my concentration not to shit my pants.”

“Well, the less time we spend like this, the better,” Kiyoomi said. “We don’t want the time to pass quickly.”

“I’d just like to go to sleep and skip to the part where we’re okay again,” Miya said. 

“If the emergency power comes back on--” Kiyoomi started.

“When the emergency power comes back on,” Miya corrected.

“--then I’m going to need you to help figure out if it’s something to do with the computer system,” Kiyoomi said. “You can’t be asleep for that.”

“Or all of the power can come back on all at once and it’ll be like it never happened and I can troubleshoot in the safety of a place with power and air.” Miya paused. “In a nice, soft chair.”

“You’re in a soft chair right now.”

“And I’ll drag it into the lab if I have to.”

Kiyoomi smiled. Miya’s voice was tense but he was clearly doing his best to stay calm, and Kiyoomi could appreciate that. He wouldn’t like to deal with his own anxiety and Miya’s at the same time. It had only been a few minutes, anyway. There was nothing to worry about so far.

Or, well, there was something to worry about, but it wasn’t at a crisis point yet.

“Y’know, when I was a kid,” Miya said, “Me and ‘Samu used to stay up after our bedtime playin’ all kinds of games. Like we’d play word games or turn on a little flashlight and read to each other, and one time we played never-have-I-ever even though we’d literally only done the same things in our entire lives. But then the next day we’d be so hard to wake up for school, and eventually our dad found out that we were stayin’ up.” Miya moved a little in his chair. “So he told us one night that if we stayed up past our bedtime, we were actually callin’ a bunch of demons from the underworld or somethin’ to come up and get rid of the sun, so it’d be pitch black forever.”

“Interesting parenting strategy,” Kiyoomi murmured.

“But ‘Samu and I were always about pushin’ things until they broke, y’know, so we kept on stayin’ up and callin’ the demons’ bluff. Then one night dad musta known we were still up because in the middle of the night I guess he went around to the front of the house and put a curtain up over our window, so in the mornin’ we woke up and it was completely dark, except for the alarm clock.” 

Just take a joke, Kiyoomi. It’s not that serious. What are you crying for? 

Kiyoomi pressed his lips into a line as he listened. Miya, of course, couldn’t see him, and barreled on with the story. “Me n’ Samu just about lost it, like it was gonna be dark forever, and we got outta bed and went runnin’ down the hall. When we got out into the kitchen all the mornin’ sunlight was comin’ in and dad was sittin’ there with the smuggest little smile on his face.

“‘Course, we figured out the ruse and kept on stayin’ up late, but I still think about that sometimes. I remember thinkin’ that at least ‘Samu stayed up with me so we were both responsible for gettin’ rid of the sun forever, and they couldn’t just blame me.”

“Ah,” Kiyoomi said. “That’s a fun story.”

“When ma found out about it, she chewed dad out and he apologized and got us ice cream,” Miya said. Kiyoomi bit his lip. Miya laughed a little. “We always went back and forth with dumb pranks like that, though. Me n’ Samu versus dad. One time we looked up how to do some crazy fisherman’s knots and tied all his shoes together.”

Kiyoomi surprised himself by coughing out a laugh. “He apologized.”

“Yeah, well, we were cryin’ and everything so I guess he felt bad, once he was done laughin’.”

Kiyoomi thought of the time when he was ten and his father told him they were moving by throwing everything out of Kiyoomi’s room and saying that he was disowning him and shipping him off to an orphanage. He’d thought that was the funniest thing in the world, and when Kiyoomi started crying he’d gotten mad. Trying to make me feel bad? It’s just a joke. Pack up your shit, it’s all over the place. 

Kiyoomi thought of the time when he was thirteen and his father’s friend was over with his dog, a big collie with sharp eyes and puffy fur. Kiyoomi hadn’t wanted to touch her. It was raining, and after they took the dog on a walk outside they “accidentally” let her into Kiyoomi’s room, where she jumped up onto his bed with muddy paws and knocked some things off of his desk. Yeah, he’s an absolute clean freak, got OCD or something. It was too late to do laundry, so Kiyoomi didn’t sleep that night, curled up on a towel on the one corner of the bed that wasn’t covered in streaks of mud. A little dirt’s not gonna kill you, man up.

He tried to imagine his father apologizing for anything, and the image was almost comical. 

He must have been quiet for a long time, because Miya cleared his throat. “You good, Omi?”

“I’m fine.”

“Y’know, it’d be more convincin’ if you didn’t use yer ‘I’m not fine’ voice,” Miya said. 

“I don’t have one of those.”

“See? There it is again.”

“It’s really nothing.”

Miya couldn’t let anything go, apparently, because he kept pressing. “Was it somethin’ in the story? You actually afraid of the dark? Or is it the demons?” There was the hint of a smile in his voice. Kiyoomi sighed.

“No and no,” he said. “I’m glad you had a good relationship with your father. Now leave it.”

There was a moment and then Kiyoomi heard a small “ohhh.” He closed his eyes, not that it mattered in the dark, and waited for the inevitable. 

But Miya didn’t say anything. He was quiet, miraculously. Then, softly, “Gotcha.” Another silence. “Does it bother ya if I talk about my dad?” he asked. “‘Cause I can just...not do that.”

“It’s fine. Life would be very difficult for me if I couldn’t bear to hear about the existence of fathers.”

“I mean, not like you’re gonna have a breakdown or anything, but if it makes you more comfortable I can literally just not.” Miya sighed. “I just want you to feel good, Omi. Not just okay.”

Maybe it was something in Miya’s voice, or the tone of it, but Kiyoomi felt that creeping, crawling feeling of owing someone something come over him. Maybe it was just vulnerability, but he hated it all the same. He didn’t like the idea of Miya indulging him in anything, of being thought of as sensitive. 

“Tell whatever stories you want to tell,” he said. 

“Do you have any fun stories about the dark?”

Kiyoomi huffed out a laugh. “I have many stories about the dark. Fun? I’m not sure.”

“What’s the worst one?”

“You sure you want to hear that in this situation?”

Miya laughed. “I’m not eight anymore.”

“Fine,” Kiyoomi said. He hummed as he thought. “Once I was running executive security detail--big, high-profile CEO who was having some kind of clandestine meeting with some associates. I don’t judge what the principal does, nor do I care, but it wasn’t above-the-board, I don’t think. Itachiyama is known for confidentiality. I guess the meeting went well, but I wasn’t in the room.”

“Helpin’ out some criminals, huh?”

Kiyoomi’s smile dropped in an instant. “Not my place to say.” Of course Miya wouldn’t know, but it still didn’t help the sudden downturn of Kiyoomi’s mood.

Miya must have noticed the change in his voice because he backtracked. “Sorry, keep goin’.”

“Anyway, about an hour into the job the lights go out. It was me and one other guard, and we’d done the advance work to know how to get the principal out safely, but in the dark it was completely different. We hear the client start calling for us from inside the room, so we enter with our flashlights, and see the three guys sitting at a table. This was in an office building, about four floors up. We couldn’t see the windows, so we didn’t know if it was a street-wide power outage or just us, but we had to assume that it was intentional and malicious.

“The only ways up were an emergency staircase and an elevator, but that put us at a bottleneck. If someone was coming up, they’d meet us on the way and we’d have to get into a fight. If they were coming down, they could surprise us. There was also the possibility they were already on this floor, which was the worst of the options, because they could come from any direction.”

“Jeez, Omi,” Miya murmured in wonder. “Were all yer jobs like this?”

“You asked for the worst one about the dark.”

“Guess I did.”

Kiyoomi cleared his throat. “Then we realized that there were some keycard-activated doors between us and the exits. We’d accounted for a lot, but not for a power outage. There were manual overrides, especially in the case of power failure, but they would still slow us down.”

“This is soundin’ kinda familiar.”

“Then we heard a sound from down the hall, like something falling over. It sounded close. My partner went to investigate, but he didn’t see anything there. We had to assume some kind of bad actor out in the main office, though, so we prepped our client to leave.”

“What do ya tell someone when it’s like that?” Miya asked, voice soft and intent. He was hooked.

“To move where and when we tell them to, and to keep their head down,” Kiyoomi said. “We were going to have to go quickly, but it was dark and our flashlights made us a beacon for anyone trying to keep an eye on us. Another crash from the office. No way someone trying to be sneaky would knock so many things over.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have any ghost stories,” Miya said. Kiyoomi smiled. 

“I didn’t say anything about Earth ghosts.”

“Yer the worst.”

“Oh, are you afraid of ghosts, Miya?”

“Pssh,” Miya said, “Absolutely not.”

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow, though he knew Miya couldn’t see it. “So we decided to go. I had a pretty good mental map of the path from the meeting room to the emergency stairs, and my partner was going to keep lookout while we went. He took point to scope out the office. We discussed whether to stay covert or announce ourselves, and decided to go for the latter. He went out and yelled something about security, and for anyone out there to reveal themselves. Then I took the principal and held his head down while we followed.”

“What about the other two guys?”

“Didn’t care,” Kiyoomi said. “They weren’t paying me.”

“A bleeding heart like you, not caring about someone?” Miya asked. 

“I made sure they’d get out too,” Kiyoomi allowed. “So my partner--he was small, named Motoya. He’s actually my cousin. Anyway, that’s unrelated. He said he didn’t see anyone, so we went. No one in the office, no one down the hall, and we were just at the keycard door, pulling it open, when I heard a click.”

“Shit.”

“I suppose it’s good gun etiquette not to keep a pistol cocked the entire time you’re stalking someone, but in this case it gave them away. Motoya heard them too. He’s never been shot, and that wasn’t a record I wanted to break, so I handed the client off to him and covered them.”

“There it is,” Miya said. “SuperOmi.”

“Never call me that again,” Kiyoomi said dully.

“Just callin’ it like I see it! Yer so noble.”

“It’s my job.”

“It was yer cousin’s job too, right?”

Kiyoomi bit his lip. “He’s my cousin. It’s different.”

“Okay, okay. So didja get shot?”

“I pulled out my own gun and made sure whoever it was could see it. It was still dark, so I turned off my flashlight so neither of us could get a solid hit. Motoya got the principal through the door and to the stairs. We didn’t know if there were more of them, but my goal is to eliminate threats as we find them. So I had to keep this gun and whoever was holding it away. Gunfights aren’t like you see in movies. Most of it is waiting.”

“Like the duel in Harakiri,” Miya said. “Three-quarters of it is just walkin’ around each other.”

“Exactly. So I waited until I heard the door to the stairs, and then I took my flashlight and held it at arm’s length to the side before I turned it on. No one there, as far as I can see. Then a shot. No silencer, the idiot, so it cut both our hearing. They were a good shot. Second one didn’t miss, but I caught a glimpse and I didn’t either.”

“You’re so fuckin’ cool, Omi.”

Kiyoomi smiled a little, against his own will. “I got them in the shoulder. They got me in the leg. I got their gun arm, so they were out of the race. It’s much easier to find someone when they’re crying out in pain. I couldn’t walk very far either, and I couldn’t see how much I was bleeding in the dark. Motoya must have called the police, because in a few minutes there were sirens. I wrapped up my leg and found the other guy. I really smashed up his shoulder; it probably never worked right again. I turned his shirt into a sling and we waited for paramedics.”

“You helped the guy who shot you?”

“It was mutual.” Kiyoomi worked his jaw around. “He was a kid. Twenty, maybe. He was crying.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Also a baby.”

“I wasn’t going to leave him. I had nothing against him. It was a business transaction.”

“Except that he shot ya.”

“Except for that, yes.”

“You’re really somethin’ Omi,” Miya said, admiration clear in his voice. Kiyoomi wondered how he could be so open with all of his emotions, let them pour out like a broken faucet. Wouldn’t he run out? “Y’don’t think someone turned off the power here to come in and shoot us, do ya?”

“They’d be out of luck, because I know what to do.”

“I’m not lettin’ ya take a bullet for me,” Miya said. “Just so ya know.”

“You want to get shot?” Kiyoomi asked skeptically. “Does that sound exciting to you?”

“It’d make a good story, at least,” Miya said. “Like the one ya just told. Probably sucked ass at the time but it makes ya sound so cool afterward. And I’m not gonna let you get shot for me.”

“It’s not as bad as they make it sound.”

“No, I think it probably is.”

Kiyoomi sighed. They were quiet for a second. Then, softer, from Miya: “How long d’you think it’s been?”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Shit.”

“It’ll be okay,” Kiyoomi said, with a confidence he wasn’t sure he possessed.

“If ya couldn’t tell, I’m pretty scared, Omi.”

Kiyoomi looked at the place he remembered Miya being. “You’ve been hiding it.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“No. You aren’t used to being in high-stress situations and you’ve been handling it remarkably well.”

Miya snorted. “I’ve been getting more and more used to ‘high-stress situations,’ y’know.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I have a lot of catching up to do if I’m gonna beat ya,” Miya said. “In the high-stress category.”

“All it does is make it harder to sleep some nights. You don’t want it.”

Miya paused. “D’you have a hard time sleepin’, Omi?”

“Sometimes,” Kiyoomi said. “When you spend a lot of your time on guard, it’s hard to get back off.”

“Look, Omi, I’m growin’ as a person. I didn’t make the ‘get off’ joke I coulda.”

“You just did.”

“Shit.”

“Anyway, it’s none of your concern, whether or not I sleep well,” Kiyoomi said. “I’ll function just the same either way.”

“I don’t care how ya function, Omi,” Miya said. “I care how ya feel.”

“Why?” Kiyoomi asked, genuinely curious.

“Because we’re friends, right? That’s what friends care about.”

Were they friends? Kiyoomi’s gut instinct was to say no. Miya wasn’t his friend, he was his...his charge, someone Kiyoomi was tasked with protecting in a difficult situation. Miya was annoying, Miya was loud, the opposite of everything Kiyoomi thought he’d want in a friend.

Miya was surprisingly delicate, at times, surprisingly thoughtful. He’d asked if Kiyoomi was okay talking about his dad, and he hadn’t brought it back up since. He worried about Kiyoomi’s sleep. He cooked them breakfast almost every day. Kiyoomi willingly chose to spend time with him, sometimes, when he’d be perfectly capable of being alone. 

Kiyoomi thought of the friends he’d had in the past, and came up short. There was Motoya, but they were family, and they had to put up with each other. There were his other work colleagues, or his high school teammates, or the other kids in his judo classes when he was young. Were any of them his friends? Would they ask about his sleep, without trying to figure out if he’d be okay to work? Would they make a show of wiping down all of the counters before they made food for him, or pick up other people’s dirty laundry for him because he couldn’t touch it? He couldn’t say.

Miya did that. Miya did more. Miya made sure to keep Kiyoomi updated on oxygen levels because he knew he was anxious about it. Miya figured out Kiyoomi’s favorite foods and made them for him. Miya extended his warm-ups to let Kiyoomi use the workout equipment first. They worked out together.

“Right,” Kiyoomi said, a bit winded. He and Miya were friends.

“Hey, Omi?” Miya asked, as though he hadn’t just sent Kiyoomi straight into a strange epiphany, “Can I ask you somethin’? And you can say no.”

“What is it?”

“I really feel like I’m floatin’ through space right now, it’s so dark,” Miya said. “Could ya...I mean, could I hold yer hand or somethin’?”

Kiyoomi took a deep breath. He flexed his hand. Then he held it out in the direction he knew Miya was sitting. “Okay.”

“Wait, really?” Miya asked incredulously. 

“Yes, really.” Kiyoomi was still reeling a little from the friends discovery. He realized that he had no real idea what friends did.

There was a moment of nothing and then Miya’s hand slapped into his. Miya laughed a little. “Sorry, I didn’t know where ya were,” he said. “Found ya.”

Miya’s hand was warm and soft, and as it curled around Kiyoomi’s he found a strange, intangible tingling moving from his hand down his arm. He took a deep breath and squeezed back. The touch was a paradox of feelings, simultaneously settling him and putting him on edge. 

They were quiet for a long time, connected by their hands in the dark. It gave Kiyoomi a landmark in the darkness, something real that cut through the thick air. 

“Hey, Omi?”

“Hm?”

“What’s yer favorite color?”

Kiyoomi blinked. “Neon green.”

Miya burst into unexpected laughter. “Wait, seriously?”

Kiyoomi furrowed his brow. “Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

“No, nothing, ya just wouldn’t expect it, is all,” Miya said. “My favorite color is yellow.”

“My school colors were bright green and yellow,” Kiyoomi said. “I wore a green and yellow jacket to practice.”

“Yer tellin’ me we coulda had couples jackets?” Miya asked. Kiyoomi sighed. “In our favorite colors? That’s disgustin’. That’s my entire way of life, Omi. Obnoxious and adorable.”

“You are at least one of those.”

“Ooh, Omi thinks I’m cute.”

Friends. Friends knew each other’s favorite colors. Friends knew stories from high school. Friends asked each other questions because they wanted to know the answers. 

So, despite himself, Kiyoomi asked. He asked about Miya’s family, about school, about his hobbies, about his childhood pets (a bearded dragon named Pickle). Miya found out about all the times Kiyoomi had been asked out (once in middle school and once in high school, and he’d said no both times). Miya asked whether he’d always had the same haircut (yes, give or take). Kiyoomi found out that the Miya twins had worn the same outfits every day until they were nine. 

Kiyoomi found that conversation with Miya was easy. He supposed that he’d already known that--they’d talked quite a bit, and their banter drove the conversation--but he hadn’t really internalized it. He wasn’t left wondering what to say, or how to react. Even in the dark, where he couldn’t see a single feature on Miya’s face, it was easy. Kiyoomi felt something strange in his chest when he thought of that. 

They were friends and he hadn’t even noticed.

Then, about thirty minutes after the power went out, the lights flicked back on. 

It was unceremonious, a whirring noise prefacing the power returning by only a second. The vents started to hum again, noticeably loud after the stillness of the dark. Kiyoomi squinted in the light, and Miya shielded his eyes with his other hand.

Kiyoomi could now see where their hands were linked. They were about the same size, but Kiyoomi’s fingers were longer and more slender. They looped around each other in a way that Kiyoomi momentarily found fascinating. When was the last time he’d held hands with someone he wasn’t actively having sex with? He couldn’t remember. He’d pulled on clients’ hands, yanked them through dangerous situations, but that wasn’t the same. 

Miya didn’t pull back, and when Kiyoomi looked up he found Miya watching him, an unreadable look on his face.

After a moment he spoke. “Power’s back on.”

Kiyoomi snorted and ducked his head down into his hand. “Oh, really?”

“Guess we gotta figure out what the fuck just happened,” Miya said.

“We should.” The thought sobered Kiyoomi.

Neither of them moved. Miya was still staring at Kiyoomi, hooded eyes hiding something more calculated. Calculating. Kiyoomi didn’t know how to feel about it. He swallowed down whatever warmth he could still feel from Miya’s hand, gave it one more squeeze, and let go. Miya’s gaze left him and his expression changed. The light of day broke the spell they’d been under, and Kiyoomi’s walls closed back in.

“I’m gonna go see if the computers are up,” Miya said, gesturing toward the computer lab with his head.

“I’ll see about the control room and I’ll check the breakers too,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Great.”

“Great.”

They parted ways, Kiyoomi first going to his room to grab his flashlight, just in case. The power didn’t go out again as he went to the control panel, checking it for any sign of breakage or any strange readings. He knew it well enough at this point, from the hours he’d spent staring at it, to be able to tell at a glance if something major was wrong. 

In the electrical room, none of the breakers had been flipped, none of the fuses blown. The various machinery hummed and whirred and grumbled, and in the cacophony Kiyoomi couldn’t see anything particularly wrong. That only made him more nervous. If it wasn’t mechanical, then surely it had to be digital. 

But what if Miya didn’t find anything out of the ordinary? If he couldn’t find it, given the way he talked about his own tech abilities, then it probably wasn’t there. There was a nonzero possibility that there was something fundamentally wrong with the prison, beyond either of their ability to fix. Kiyoomi resolved to look at the escape vessel the next chance he got.

It was still likely that they’d be rescued soon. He had to remember that. They’d go back to Earth, to a place where Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu could not be friends, because one was in prison for the next fifty years and one was a guard meant to keep him there. Kiyoomi wanted to go home, to be away from this place, so badly. He just wasn’t entirely sure he wanted everything that came with that.

Friends.

Maybe it was just that they were both tired, but after the power outage things went back to relative normalcy. 

Miya was, of course, spending most of his time on the computer searching for something that could have caused the disruption, but he could only work on it for so many hours a day before, in his words, “My eyes cross so hard they meet in the middle.”

So they carried on, much as they had before. There was only so much worry one could muster all the time, so the possibility of another power issue melted into the background radiation of anxiety that followed Kiyoomi everywhere. Miya seemed to be about the same way--every time a light flickered their eyes met, but neither of them said anything. 

Normalcy, of course, meant little things, like eating together in the vocational kitchen after what Miya dubbed “work.”

“Y’know what I realized the other day?” Miya asked around a mouthful of rice. He chewed, swallowed, and continued when Kiyoomi didn’t respond. “We’ve been up here for almost a month and we haven’t done half of the things yer supposed to do when yer alone in space.”

Kiyoomi set down his spoon and gave Miya a look. “And what are those things?”

“I dunno,” Miya said. “We haven’t invented any wacky games. We haven’t had any hilarious slow motion whipped cream or bubble fights.”

Kiyoomi’s face screwed up into a look of pure disgust. “Is that what you’re supposed to do alone in space?”

“Maybe. Oh!” Miya snapped his fingers. “A dance party! We haven’t had a dance party! Every space movie has a dance montage.”

“You know that movie montages don’t happen in real life,” Kiyoomi said.

“I am aware,” Miya said. “I’m just sayin’, every time people are stuck in space they have at least one dance party.”

“I don’t dance,” Kiyoomi said. Miya gaped at him, and then his look transformed into a much more sinister smile.

“Maybe ya don’t yet,” he said. “I can be very convincin’.”

“Your charms might work on other people,” Kiyoomi said, taking another bite of his own food, “but I’ve become immune.”

“You think I’m charming?” Miya asked brightly. 

“In the way babies are charming--in bursts of about five minutes. Then they get annoying.”

“Well, according to my calculations,” Miya said, drawing numbers in the air, “we’ve been here for about thirty days, and ya haven’t killed me yet. So I think that means ya don’t think I’m that annoyin’.”

“Or I just think that murder is wrong.”

“Weeeell,” Miya said. Kiyoomi cut him off with a glare.

“Don’t.”

Miya smiled. “We don’t even have to set anythin’ up,” he said. “I just queue up some music and we’re ready to go.”

“It’s a pity there’s no alcohol on this base,” Kiyoomi said. “Because that’s the only way you could get me to dance alone.”

“First of all, I need to see drunk Omi immediately,” Miya said with a grin. “Second, ya won’t be alone. I’m here too.”

“Oh, much better.”

“Omi,” Miya whined. “C’mon. We can at least try. If it’s weird and awkward we can just stop and never talk about it again. But it could be fun, and we need some of that, I think.”

Kiyoomi knew before he opened his mouth to disagree that he would eventually concede. That’s how conversations with Miya usually went--Kiyoomi would put up some kind of initial resistance to whatever it was Miya wanted, and eventually he’d give in and begrudgingly agree. Kiyoomi could recognize the pattern, even if he didn’t like it very much.

He decided to cut out the middleman this time. “Fine.”

Miya’s hands shot into the air. “Woo!”

That was how Kiyoomi ended up in Miya’s room, the floor cleared and the beds made. It smelled faintly of lemon cleaning liquid, which Kiyoomi hoped meant that Miya had wiped down all of the surfaces that Kiyoomi could possibly touch. Miya had just stepped out of the shower, and his hair was still damp and threatening to drip down his nose. He was crouched in front of his bedside table, fiddling with the little portable speaker and an mp3 player he’d apparently been allowed to bring from Earth.

“It’s not a weapon and it’s not a phone so I guess they figured a little music wouldn’t hurt,” Miya said. “Like a phone would even work up here.”

“If you had a phone you’d have broken into the security system from your bed the first day,” Kiyoomi pointed out.

“I appreciate the faith in me, Omi, but it would have taken me at least eighteen hours.”

He seemed to finish whatever he was doing, because he stood and tapped a button on the speaker. Immediately, the opening notes of a song Kiyoomi had never heard began to play. Miya grinned.

“Showtime, baby.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes as Miya went to turn off the light. There was a small lamp on the table that suddenly became the focal point of the room, a warm glow softening the shadows.

“Ya can’t let loose in a bright room,” Miya said. “Ya need the plausible deniability.”

He started bopping around a little to the beat of the song, keeping an eye on Kiyoomi. After a moment he stopped. “Yer absolutely killin’ the vibe just standin’ there.”

“I don’t know this song,” Kiyoomi said. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Miya said. “Ya just gotta move to the beat.”

When it was clear that Kiyoomi was not going to engage, Miya stepped forward and grabbed his hands. Kiyoomi didn’t pull back, but he did give Miya a sharp look. Miya’s hands were especially warm from the shower and very soft. 

He started waving his arms around, taking Kiyoomi’s with him. He went back and forth, did a little shimmy, and then spun himself around on Kiyoomi’s hand. The song was a big band number, in English, and it had a fun swing. Kiyoomi let himself be manhandled. It shook his body a little. Miya smiled at him.

“Ya gotta loosen up a little,” he said. “C’mon. Do a step touch with me.”

He started going side to side, looking down at Kiyoomi’s feet. Kiyoomi sighed deeply and started copying his movements to a lesser degree, stepping side to side in time with the music. Miya beamed.

“There ya go,” he said. He kept moving Kiyoomi’s arms around, swinging them back and forth like they were kids on a playground. “Yer a natural.” The song had a bombastic trumpet solo, which Miya took a hand away to mimic. 

The few times Kiyoomi had ever been to clubs, he’d been there as part of a security detail and he hadn’t done any dancing. He’d watched people dance, rubbing themselves all over each other and laughing. Those places smelled like alcohol and sweat, and Kiyoomi had stood there with something non-alcoholic as his various clients drank and danced, making sure the person they were looking to go home with wasn’t going to strangle them in the back of the venue.

He remembered what the dancing had looked like. It wasn’t like this. It was close bodies and sensual movement. Miya was jerking him around like they were children, and he looked delighted to be doing it. Maybe the bar was simply that low.

The song ended and Miya gave Kiyoomi a sly look. “So, y’know how you said you didn’t know the words to that one?”

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes. “Miya.”

“Atsumu. And, um…”

The next song started, and from the first three chords Kiyoomi knew exactly what it was. He rolled his eyes so hard it hurt and Miya burst into giggles. 

“I’m leaving,” he said, as the idol group song began to play.

“C’mon Omi, I know you know the words to this one.”

“Unfortunately, I have heard this song at least one hundred times,” Kiyoomi said scathingly. “I don’t need to hear it again.”

“You don’t need to...” Miya said. 

“This was one of the worst security gigs I ever worked,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Can you hear my heart beat...my heart beat,” Miya sang in a terrible falsetto. 

“I can’t entertain this anymore.”

“When you call my name...my name,” Miya continued. “C’mon Omi, I know you know it.”

Miya grabbed Kiyoomi’s hands again and started mimicking the dance that accompanied the song, to the best of his ability. It involved giving yourself little cat ears and forcibly cute hand movements. Kiyoomi almost laughed at the look on his face as Miya shimmied them closer together and then further away.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Please don’t pass me by~!” Miya sang, too happily and too loudly. 

The chorus of the song kicked in and Kiyoomi found himself mouthing the inane words, almost imperceptibly. Miya was staring at his face and nothing else, though, so he noticed and his face split into his biggest grin yet. 

“I wanna hear ya sing, Omi,” he said. “I bet yer secretly a great singer. A secret judoka and a secret opera singer.”

“I don’t sing,” Kiyoomi said, but his mouth betrayed him and he could feel the tiniest bits of a smile threatening to break loose. 

“I bet yer a super deep bass,” Miya continued. “What’s the lowest you can go?”

“I have no idea.”

“You are the only one...the only one who knows,” Miya sang, pointing a finger into Kiyoomi’s chest. Great, now he was singing the lyrics to Kiyoomi.

“Miya.”

“Atsumu. You are the only one...the only one who caaares!”

“Atsumu.”

Miya froze, blinking up at Kiyoomi. An incredulous smile pulled at his lips and he grabbed Kiyoomi’s hand again, doing another twirl. “The only one who I love!”

“It didn’t get you to stop so I’m not going to do it again.”

“Ya can’t stop the music,” Miya said. “It’s in yer soul. We could be the best together--”

“It’s ‘perfect together,’” Kiyoomi corrected before he could stop himself. 

Miya’s mouth formed an “o.” “Are you sure?”

Well, Kiyoomi had already dug the grave, so why let it go to waste? “I am more sure than any other living human.”

Miya laughed and squeezed Kiyoomi’s hand. Then he backed up for the dramatic bridge, letting Kiyoomi’s hands fall to his sides.

“At night I look up at the sky,” he started, no longer in his ridiculous falsetto. He looked up and did a motion with his hands. “And wonder if you see it too.”

Then he pointed at Kiyoomi and waited. Kiyoomi glared at him.

Miya shrugged and continued the next stanza. “We could be more if we tried…” Then he pointed at Kiyoomi again, and Kiyoomi closed his eyes.

“If only you could see the truth,” he murmured, half-singing an octave down. 

“Fuck yeah!” Miya cried, looking happier than Kiyoomi had ever seen him. Kiyoomi reflexively smiled back, just a little. It was infectious, and Kiyoomi’s immune system was not that strong.

After an extra-peppy last chorus the song eventually petered out, and Miya struck a pose. Kiyoomi sighed, but it was around the ghost of a smile. 

“Look, Omi-Omi,” Miya said, as the third song started up. Another pop song that Kiyoomi had heard before but couldn’t name. “We’re on the moon.”

“I know.”

“No, Omi, we’re on the moon. We’re trapped here and it’s the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever heard of. We’re living a movie. We’re allowed to have some fun. You’re allowed to have some fun.” Miya bopped back and forth as the song went on. “I’m not gonna judge ya! And even if I told anybody on Earth they wouldn’t believe me.”

Kiyoomi bit his lip. Why did he feel like having fun like this was giving something away, revealing something he didn’t want revealed? To admit that he was having fun was just asking for it to be taken away. He took a deep breath. This was something probably better worked out in therapy than in a prison on the moon. 

You take things away from yourself before other people can, a therapist had said once. She had been school-appointed after a difficult semester. 

Knowing that and putting it into practice were two very different things, but Kiyoomi could at least try. Where better to do it than a place where no one except a much more embarrassing person could see him? Why could Miya do all of these things without a shred of shame but the thought of moving more than an inch at a time to a song made Kiyoomi flush with embarrassment?

This song reached its chorus and Miya patted Kiyoomi on the arm to jolt him out of his thoughts. Normally Kiyoomi hated being touched, but ever since they’d held hands he found that he didn’t mind so much when Miya did it. 

“You in there?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said. “Just thinking.”

“Less thinkin’, more dancin’,” Miya said. “Don’t make me grab yer hands again.”

Kiyoomi took a deep breath and then held up his hands, palms toward the ceiling. Miya stared at them for a long second and then took them, squeezing them tight. The look he gave Kiyoomi was fierce, bright, and lingering, and then he started dancing around with his arms again. 

Kiyoomi moved a little as well, bopping to the beat. Miya was singing along to this song, too. It seemed as though carrying a plausible tune was the extent of his abilities, but he was having too much fun for it to matter. It was hard not to have fun with him.

Miya was right. It was ridiculous. They were trapped on the moon. They could dance a little.

Miya kept hold of Kiyoomi’s hands, pulling him around the room and dancing with him. He lifted Kiyoomi’s hand and twirled under it. The pop song ended and another song started. Kiyoomi could feel his joints loosening, his muscles relaxing. 

“I know this one,” he said.

“Ya don’t look like a classic rock guy,” Miya said, as a bluesy guitar started to play. 

“What kind of music do I look like I listen to?” Kiyoomi asked skeptically.

“Math rap?” Miya guessed. “Film scores? ASMR?”

Kiyoomi actually laughed, and Miya looked absolutely dazzled by it. “I listen to a lot of things.”

“Everyone says that,” Miya said. “What’s yer favorite song?”

Kiyoomi wasn’t sure he had one, at least not one he could think of off the top of his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t listened to any music in a while.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Miya said. “I’ll play so much music ya get sick of it.”

“Please don’t.”

They danced a little more, Kiyoomi’s movements still relatively sedate, at least compared to Miya’s. He found himself singing along under his breath to the song. He couldn’t look straight at Miya’s face. Miya’s eyes were trained on him, like he was learning something complex, or like he was searching for something. He was smiling but his gaze was bright and sharp. 

The song came to a close and Miya held up a finger. “Hold on a sec,” he said, crossing to the speaker and fiddling with the mp3 player. After a moment he turned, and a jazzy swing number started to play.

“D’you know how to swing dance, Omi?” he asked. He got up close, right into Kiyoomi’s space, and Kiyoomi almost took a step back reflexively.

“No,” Kiyoomi said. Miya grabbed one of his hands and put it on his waist. His body was warm and hard through his t-shirt.

“Me neither,” Miya said, taking Kiyoomi’s other hand and holding it as though they were about to start ballroom dancing. His free hand came to rest on Kiyoomi’s upper arm. “You can lead, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t know what I’m leading,” Kiyoomi said.

“Just make it up,” Miya replied with a shrug. “S’ my life’s motto.” He started rocking side to side, pulling Kiyoomi with him. 

Kiyoomi caught on to what Miya was intending, and they entered some kind of mockery of swing dancing, taking little steps around the room as Miya tugged Kiyoomi this way and that. The song was bombastic and fast. 

Miya tried some other moves, holding himself out at arm’s length and then spinning into Kiyoomi’s chest. Kiyoomi sucked in a breath at the motion, getting the briefest whiff of Miya’s shampoo, and then Miya spun out again. He was laughing, and Kiyoomi felt a little dizzy, even though he wasn’t the one who had been spinning. 

“Ya sure ya aren’t secretly a ballroom dancer?” Miya asked. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. 

“I’m just that good, huh?”

“Best I’ve ever danced in space with.”

“I’m so honored.”

“The honor is all mine,” Miya said. He held up his hand and gestured with his head. “Spin. C’mon.”

Kiyoomi sighed and ducked down, spinning himself under Miya’s arm. Miya bit his lip around a smile. “There,” Kiyoomi said. “Happy?”

“You have no idea,” Miya said. 

They kept swinging back and forth, around the room, until the song eventually came to a close and they were left there, still in the same position, Miya’s waist firm and distracting under Kiyoomi’s palm, their hands clasped together. Miya was smiling and flushed, a little breathless from the movement. After a moment of silence, a soft string section started to play, and for a second they just stood there, swaying slightly. 

Then a woman’s voice came in, gently, “Fly me to the moon…”

Kiyoomi’s head dropped. “You’re joking.”

“Hey, shh, it’s a good song,” Miya defended, a little pink. “I didn’t pick it. It’s on shuffle.”

“What version even is this?”

Miya hemmed and hawed for a second. Then: “It’s from Evangelion, are ya happy?”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“Yer a nerd. Anyway, my whole job is computers,” Miya said. “We flew past nerd a decade ago.”

“I didn’t even know there was an Evangelion version of this song.”

“Happy I could educate ya.”

Kiyoomi realized a little belatedly that they were still swaying from side to side, and that they were very close. Miya wasn’t staring a hole through him anymore, his lazy eyes drifting elsewhere, around the room, to Kiyoomi’s shoulder, to where their hands met. The thumb of the hand he had sitting on Kiyoomi’s upper arm was rubbing tiny circles into the fabric of Kiyoomi’s shirt. 

“In other words…”  he sang softly, “...please be true.”

Kiyoomi took a slow and measured breath, suddenly acutely aware of everywhere they were touching. Miya’s chest brushed against his, their knees bumped as they rocked side to side, and the song played softly in the background. 

“This is so romantic,” Miya sighed. Kiyoomi snorted.

“Is that what it is?”

“I’m swooning,” Miya said. He made a show of resting his head on Kiyoomi’s chest as they slowly moved. “My prince.”

This was starting to feel a little dangerous. Kiyoomi didn’t know how far the joke went. He had something to say, and it was on the tip of his tongue, but he got distracted by the feeling of Miya’s head on his chest, temple meeting collarbone. Now he could really smell Miya’s shampoo, and his deodorant, and something else, something warm. 

The gag didn’t stop. Miya didn’t take his head away, as they slow-danced to the soft bossa nova. 

“You are all I long for...all I worship and adore…”

“Hey, Omi?” Miya said. Kiyoomi looked down. 

“Hm?”

He could only see the top of his head. “Can I ask ya something?”

“You just did.”

“C’mon,” Miya complained, taking his hand away from Kiyoomi’s arm briefly to slap him on the chest. “I’m bein’ serious.”

“Fine. What is it?”

Miya paused for a long moment, and then he said, “Can I give ya a hug? Like a real one.”

Kiyoomi took another slow breath, ignoring the strange mix of feelings threatening at the bottom of his chest. “Why?”

“It’s been a really long time,” Miya said softly. He still wasn’t looking at Kiyoomi. “Since I had a hug. Or touched anyone, really. I mean, that piggyback ride you gave me last month was the most human contact I had in more than a year. Maybe two.” He shrugged. “I’m a pretty touchy person most of the time. So it, ah…” He took a breath. “Kinda sucks. Bein’ here. Not that that’s the only thing that sucks about it, but I think I can live without a lot of other things.”

Kiyoomi’s chest was swelling and he wasn’t an idiot. He knew what it was. He pushed it down, forced it back, and swallowed. Dangerous and close. “Okay. You can give me a hug.” He paused. “You don’t have to ask.”

“It’s still polite,” Miya said. “Plus I don’t know how good ya are with touchin’.”

“I know you’re clean,” Kiyoomi said. “I know exactly where you’ve been.”

Miya laughed. “Okay, okay. Don’t sound so excited.” He hesitated, his grip on Kiyoomi’s hand tightening. Then he let go and wrapped his arms loosely around Kiyoomi’s chest.

It was unlike Miya to be so tentative. Kiyoomi returned the hug. As his hands pressed into Miya’s back he felt Miya’s chin rest on his shoulder, his flyaway hairs tickling Kiyoomi’s neck and ear. He was so warm, as their bodies touched. Something strange and unbidden rushed through Kiyoomi. It was a sudden wave of protectiveness, the source of which he wasn’t sure, and he pulled Miya into him, into a crushing embrace.

Miya took a shuddery breath and, after a moment of processing time, squeezed back, his hands clutching at the back of Kiyoomi’s shirt. One of Kiyoomi’s hands came up to cradle the back of Miya’s head, the other splayed out across Miya’s back, holding him close. 

When was the last time Kiyoomi had hugged someone, really hugged them, like this? He couldn’t remember. He’d given little side-hugs to acquaintances who seemed to expect it, he’d hugged his mother the last time he saw her and she’d patted him on the back while they did, he’d hugged Motoya before he was sent up, a quick thing on Motoya’s doorstep as he was leaving. Miya buried his face into Kiyoomi’s shoulder, and Kiyoomi could hear his uneven breaths, could feel them under his hands. 

Most social interactions Kiyoomi had felt stiff, formal. Kiyoomi knew that he himself made them that way. He didn’t engage emotionally with people the way they seemed to do with each other, though he sometimes went to the effort of appearing as though he did. His hugs were the same--he did them mostly out of societal obligation, but emotionally he remained distant. He didn’t think about how the hug felt, or unimportant things like that. It had to happen, so it happened, and then it was over.

This was worlds different. Kiyoomi could feel the warmth coming off of Miya, the strength in his arms, the way they fit together, and he noticed it all. He was in the moment, surrounded by it, feeling instead of getting lost in the labyrinth of his own head. He knew that it was possible to be “touch-starved,” that most people needed some kind of regular physical contact to be happy. He’d always assumed he wasn’t one of those people.

Miya was crying now, softly. Kiyoomi held him tight. Maybe he was one of those people. Maybe he’d just never realized it. There was something in him that the contact satisfied, some hunger he hadn’t recognized that was temporarily sated, and he held on as he marveled at the new feeling. 

“Sorry,” Miya said. 

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi said.

Miya laughed wetly, into the space between them. “I didn’t realize how long it had been.”

“Me neither,” Kiyoomi said honestly. He hadn’t even realized that he was missing something in the first place.

The song slowly faded out, and they were left in silence. The room seemed to ring with it. Kiyoomi’s fingers ran idly through the back of Miya’s hair. 

“If you keep doin’ that,” Miya said, still muffled by Kiyoomi’s shoulder, “I’m really gonna start cryin’, and moon or not, neither of us needs to see that.”

Kiyoomi chuckled and stilled his hand. Miya laughed in return, and then he pulled his head back to look at Kiyoomi. His eyes were a little red, but he didn’t look like he was about to break down. He gazed up and their eyes met. Kiyoomi found it hard to look away. 

“Miya,” he said, unsure of where he was going.

“You should call me Atsumu. We’re there,” Miya murmured. Kiyoomi took a breath. His instinct was to disagree.

“Atsumu,” he said instead.

Atsumu’s eyes were darting between Kiyoomi’s and the moment lingered in the air. It seemed to stretch on for an eternity, the two of them only inches apart, their bodies crushed together. Kiyoomi had the slow, dawning realization of what this was. What his chest was doing. What his body wanted him to do. How close they were. 

It would be easy, quick, one tiny bit of movement, but neither of them seemed willing to make it. The moment pressed on and then, all at once, overstayed its welcome. Atsumu looked away and coughed out a laugh, pulling his hands back. Kiyoomi hesitantly let him go. 

“Good talk,” Atsumu said, and the atmosphere was broken. Kiyoomi grimaced.

“Good dance party. Can we check it off the list?”

“Oh yeah,” Atsumu said. “I think we knocked that one outta the ballpark.”

“Good.”

Atsumu let out a long breath and then a violent shudder overtook him. “Whew! Nothin’ like a little cryin’ to really get ya revved up.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Atsumu said, waving a hand. “Better, actually, than I was, I think.”

Kiyoomi nodded. He wasn’t sure what exactly had done it, but he felt a little better, too. Was it the hug? The dancing? Laughing, for once? Something in him was settled, content. The room felt warm.

“Me too.”

“Really?” Atsumu asked, face brightening a little.

“Yes, really.”

“I’m glad.” His smile turned a little mischievous and Kiyoomi braced himself for whatever stupidity would come next. “I’ll put the stick removal procedure down as a success.”

“You’re hilarious,” Kiyoomi said.

“One down, one to go!” Atsumu announced. 

“I’m glad harassing me seems to be cheering you up.”

“Always does, Omi, always does.”

They got ready for bed separately, and it gave Kiyoomi an uncomfortable amount of time to think. As he did, some of the rosy memory of that evening started to curdle. What had he been about to do? No, of course he knew what, but the real question was why? They’d danced together, sure. It was intimate, Kiyoomi could admit that. 

But why, then, had he almost kissed Miya Atsumu?

The moment had been right for it. Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just getting caught up in the moment, in dancing together, in a hug that still made Kiyoomi’s fingers tingle. It was endorphins from physical contact. Kiyoomi knew he was chronically lonely. It hadn’t ever bothered him. But now Atsumu was changing that, was shifting it over little by little. It had only been a month. Shouldn’t he still hate him? How much had he really ever hated him?

Atsumu wore vulnerability like it was something to be proud of. He cried into Kiyoomi’s shoulder and then said it made him feel better. Kiyoomi tried to imagine himself crying in Atsumu’s arms. The image immediately made him sick to his stomach with embarrassment, even though it hadn’t even happened. Kiyoomi brushed his teeth and spit into the sink and looked at himself in the mirror, really looked at himself. Why did it embarrass him?

Would Atsumu think he was weak? Was that that issue? Kiyoomi didn’t think that Atsumu was particularly weak for having cried. A little sensitive, maybe, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Kiyoomi could see that so clearly for other people. 

Stop being so damn sensitive. It’s just a joke.

Kiyoomi had always felt like his own home life wasn’t great, but not nearly as bad as other people’s. His father wasn’t physically abusive, wasn’t verbally abusive, as far as Kiyoomi could tell. He was distant and he delighted in making fun of Kiyoomi, but Kiyoomi never felt unsafe in his own home. He’d been in school clubs. His father even came to a volleyball game, once.

And yet, Kiyoomi was still wearing some of his marks. If you cried, someone made fun of you. If you said you wanted something, someone made fun of you. Even if you got it in the end, the thing you wanted, it was at the cost of some of your dignity. Saying you liked something opened you up to ridicule. Soft ridicule, inconsequential ridicule, but ridicule nonetheless. And Kiyoomi had come out of it probably more sensitive than he went in. How much of that was his father and how much of that was Kiyoomi pre-empting what his father would say? How much of it was the anxiety Kiyoomi had been born with?

He had to remember that Atsumu probably hadn’t grown up that way. He had a twin, and from what he’d said they made fun of each other all the time, but it was gentle, with a basis of unconditional love. Someone could laugh at you for something but you knew that fundamentally it didn’t change their opinion of you. Kiyoomi didn’t know how to make himself believe that.

Atsumu came by his door before Kiyoomi turned the light out. Kiyoomi had gotten into a little thought spiral, and he was sure that it would continue into the night. But seeing Atsumu’s face broke him out of it, for just a moment, and his mind was blessedly silent.

“Good night,” Atsumu said. “Thanks for dancin’ with me.”

Thank you for trusting me, Kiyoomi wanted to say, but he couldn’t. “It was fun,” he said instead. “Maybe we should do it again.”

Atsumu gasped dramatically. “Omi-Omi himself, suggestin’ a fun activity?”

“Go away, Miya.”

“Atsumu,” Atsumu said, a little more softly.

Kiyoomi sighed. “Go away, Atsumu,” he said. Atsumu beamed. 

“Good night, Omi.”

Then he left, closing the door behind him, and Kiyoomi resolved to think about very little for the rest of the night.

Kiyoomi dreamed of sharp eyes.

They watched him from the trees as he ate. He grew bolder with each new offering of food, eating up on the surface of the snow to get them hot instead of pulling them down into his burrow. He was warmer now, his fur sleeker, and he felt plump and well-fed. 

The fox grew closer with each day, and each day it did not attack him. He was becoming used to it, to the presence of its golden-brown eyes, to the way it moved and sparkled along the surface of the snow. Kiyoomi was letting his guard down, slowly but surely.

Was this what the fox wanted? It couldn’t be trying to bait him out and eat him. It had been too long. The fox could find any number of other easier-to-catch animals--obviously it had no trouble catching mice and birds. Then why was it still here? Why was it still giving him food every day, making him complacent?

Kiyoomi had no other explanation than that the fox was interested in him. He didn’t know why, or what the result would be. 

He had to consider the idea that perhaps this was a very stupid fox who had gotten attached to killing and eating him in particular. He couldn’t relax too much, couldn’t stray too far from his burrow.

Finally, it happened. When he appeared from his burrow he found the fox only a few meters away, watching him. Was it hungrily? He couldn’t tell--its eyes were inscrutable. There were two mice sitting on the snow. Kiyoomi could smell them and it satisfied his stomach. He went to grab one of the mice.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fox lunge. Immediately his instincts kicked into gear and he abandoned the mouse. The fox bounded toward him, yipping, and Kiyoomi only barely managed to make it into his burrow before it reached him. His heart was pounding and his ears were ringing. 

He had no reason to feel betrayed by a predator that could eat him at any moment, but he did. He’d taken the mice, he’d accepted the fox’s presence, and look at where it had gotten him. Almost eaten.

Chapter Text

Kiyoomi watched the metal of the table shine after his hand, as he wiped up the last remnants of cleaning fluid from it. The room smelled like lemon and alcohol. The smell was doubly reminiscent of cleanliness and the ill-advised mixed drinks Kiyoomi had made for himself as a college sophomore. He preferred the cleaning memories.

Atsumu had been in the computer lab all of day 34. The few times Kiyoomi had come by, he’d been intensely focused, almost a little worried-looking, biting his lip and typing rapidly. 

He was still looking for the reason for the power outage, and apparently there were a million different systems that could have caused it, each one with immense amounts of data to be combed through to find any inconsistencies. It was only the fact that Atsumu had been mucking around in the internal systems for so long that allowed him to understand any of what was going on in the first place. Kiyoomi supposed they were lucky for that, even if it was still a bit disconcerting.

It was unexpected, then, when Atsumu showed up in the doorway to the med bay, where Kiyoomi was cleaning. Kiyoomi had spent most of the day tidying up, though there wasn’t much to clean. He didn’t like the idea of surfaces sitting still for a long time, his mind making up any number of different ways they could get dirty, even if no one had been around to disturb them. So he disinfected the exam tables and the cabinets, and wiped down the door handles, just in case.

“Hey, Omi,” Atsumu said. Kiyoomi glanced up and nodded at him.

“Hello.”

“Um,” Atsumu said. Kiyoomi scrutinized the screen he was clearing the dust from. “Can I talk to you?”

His tone startled Kiyoomi into looking up again. “What about?”

“That’s, y’know. I’ll cover that,” Atsumu said. “Can we go sit?”

“What’s wrong?” Kiyoomi set down his dust rag.

“Like I said, I’ll tell you,” Atsumu said. He was fidgeting with his hands. It was unlike him.

“Fine,” Kiyoomi said. He rolled his sleeves back down and followed Atsumu out.

Atsumu looked hesitant as he led Kiyoomi to the chairs in the library. He gestured to one of them as they approached, as though he were directing Kiyoomi. 

“I know how to sit in a chair,” Kiyoomi pointed out. Atsumu laughed unconvincingly.

“I know, I know,” Atsumu said. He sat across from Kiyoomi, who was becoming increasingly suspicious. 

It had to be about the prison, about what Atsumu had found in his work on the computer system. It was also probably bad news, given Atsumu’s darting eyes and hunched shoulders. Kiyoomi steeled himself. He pictured the escape vessel in the launch bay and wondered how quickly he could learn how to operate it.

“So,” Atsumu started. He gave a tight smile. “Um. So, it’s my fault we’re here.”

“No, it isn’t,” Kiyoomi said, a bit confused. “It was an accident. What are you talking about?” Why was he bringing this up again?

Atsumu switched gears. “Right. I know why the power went out.”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi prompted, confusion growing at the sudden subject change.

“It’s just, uh, y’know.” Atsumu let out a tense breath. “I have to tell ya something, and yer gonna get mad. So just prepare to get mad, I guess.”

Kiyoomi resented the idea that Atsumu was trying to preempt his reaction. He could force himself not to get angry, unless the situation demanded it. He hoped, at least. His suspicion skyrocketed.

“So, the reason the power went out was that it was on a timer,” Atsumu said. “It was set to turn off for exactly thirty minutes and then turn back on.”

Kiyoomi furrowed his brow. “Someone set it to do that? Is that automatic?”

“Yes and no,” Atsumu said. He swallowed. “It’s not automatic. I fixed it, don’t worry. It shouldn’t happen again. But, uh...so, it was on a timer, and it was actually kind of a mistake, I think? It was a mistake. It went off last month, turned back on after half an hour, and somehow got set to do the same thing at the same time on the same day this month.”

Kiyoomi paused. “The accident,” he said slowly. “Wasn’t an accident, is that what you’re saying?”

Atsumu bit his lip. “Yeah. Um. It was set up to turn off the power, then turn on emergency power, then turn everything else back on eventually. This time around, only the power outage part stuck, so the emergency power and warnings and everything didn’t get turned on too.”

“What about the door?” Kiyoomi asked. “The door was open last time.”

“That’s not related,” Atsumu said. “Or it is, I guess, but it wasn’t because the power went out.” 

“How long have you known this?” He would surely have found something that indicated that the initial shutdown a month ago was intentional, given all the time he was working in the prison’s internal systems. Kiyoomi was still unsure what exactly Atsumu thought he’d be mad about.

“That’s sort of the thing,” Atsumu said. “I...the whole...the whole time,” he continued. “I knew about it the whole time.”

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes.

“Because, I, y’know, I made it. I made the program that...did that.”

Kiyoomi squinted in simultaneous understanding and confusion. He leveled a sharp glare at Atsumu.

“You shut down the power.”

“Yeah.”

“You... why?”

“It was...an escape attempt,” Atsumu said, steeling himself. “I was tryin’ to get out.”

Kiyoomi was quiet for a long moment as he processed the information. “You trapped us here,” he said coolly. “Because you were trying to escape?”

“...I told ya it was my fault.”

Kiyoomi had always defaulted to anger when he was surprised, and it didn’t help him much now. His head started feeling a little tight. “Your idea of an escape attempt was to potentially kill everyone on Luna 5?”

Atsumu looked a little stunned. “No. The power was set to come back on.”

“What if it hadn’t?” Kiyoomi snapped, surprising himself. “I know you think you’re good, but are you that sure?”

“Yes,” Atsumu said firmly. “I am.”

“You knew. Why didn’t you tell me this a month ago? I’ve been worried out of my fucking mind about the whole prison shutting down around us but it was just you playing around on the computer?” Kiyoomi asked, glare intensifying. Atsumu had been right. Kiyoomi was mad. “I thought we were going to have to evacuate, that any minute everything could shut down and we could die, but you planned it?”

“I didn’t plan for it to happen again,” Atsumu said, growing defensive.

“So you already fucked up the program once,” Kiyoomi said. The tight feeling in his head grew more oppressive, like a string knotting around his temples. He could feel his cheeks flushing a little. “Are you sure that’s the only thing wrong with it? You’re so good at this that you can play god with the life support systems but you can’t turn off a fucking timer?”

“I know it was a dumb fuckin’ idea,” Atsumu said with sudden force. “I know.” 

“I knew you were egotistical, but I didn’t think it was this bad,” Kiyoomi said in wonder. “You were willing to potentially sacrifice the entire population of this colony so you could, what? Get back down to a prison on Earth? How could you even be sure they’d evacuate?”

“I wasn’t, okay?” Atsumu snapped. “I wasn’t sure! But I wasn’t just gonna sit around and spend the rest of my life up here.”

“You and every other single person in this prison!” Kiyoomi said. “And in every prison on the entire planet down there. You think you’re the only one who wanted to get out? Just you, Mister Special?”

“Then I helped them, too!” Atsumu said. “I had the means, more so than anyone else. I was just a dumb fuck who couldn’t wake up for my own evacuation.”

“There are a lot of reasons you’re a dumb fuck, and that’s only one of them,” Kiyoomi said. He stood. “Do you even understand why this was so stupid? You turned off the oxygen in a bubble on the moon .” He paused. Realized. “You opened the door.”

Atsumu’s eyes left his and wandered away. “I--”

“You turned off the oxygen and opened a fucking door,” Kiyoomi hissed. All of the panic and worry he’d experienced over the past month was congealing into anger in his chest and throat. “What, was that going to close on its own, too? After how long? After it had sucked out all of the breathable air? After everyone there suffocated, if they couldn’t get out? What if you’d gotten out and someone else had been left behind?”

“That’s why the power turned back on,” Atsumu defended. “The door was going to close. I knew that the emergency system was going to seal off whatever wing had the leak.”

“Do you not remember that we got trapped on the wrong side?” Kiyoomi asked. “If it were two prisoners, they wouldn’t have been able to get into the storage room to close the fucking door. They would have died, Miya.”

Miya swallowed. Opened his mouth, closed it again. “I’m aware of how much of an idiot I am,” he finally said.

“Doesn’t matter how ‘aware’ you are if someone is dead,” Kiyoomi said through his teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? A month sooner? You knew this entire time that we were safe, that we weren’t going to suddenly run out of air or power and you watched me panic about it and you didn’t say anything!”

“I’m sorry,” Miya said. 

“Are you?”

“I know you didn’t like me,” Miya said. “I didn’t--”

“You didn’t tell me because you wanted me to like you?” Kiyoomi yelled, his anger boiling over. 

Miya seemed to have nothing to say. His face was red and he was looking resolutely at a spot just past Kiyoomi’s knees. After a moment he just said, “Yes.”

“I can’t believe someone can be so stupid,” Kiyoomi said. “Even you.”

“It’s over now!” Miya said. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“If I hadn’t been there, you would actually be dead,” Kiyoomi said. “You would have set yourself up and it would have fucking killed you. Was that not in your perfect calculations?”

Kiyoomi knew he was getting too angry, was talking too much. He needed to remove himself from the situation and give himself a chance to cool down. Especially since Miya wasn’t fighting him as hard as he expected. Maybe Miya was trying to disengage, to cool Kiyoomi down himself. For some reason that just made him angrier.

“I can’t,” Kiyoomi said. He snorted mirthlessly. “I can’t believe. You knew this entire time.”

He turned and started for the door. He heard Miya stand behind him, but he ignored it.

“Omi,” Miya said. Kiyoomi ignored him. 

Kiyoomi was finding more and more that when he was angry he turned into a giant child, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to take a step back and stop himself. He didn’t storm out, but his steps were long and quick. He wasn’t going to go pout in his room again, so he went to the med bay instead. There was more to clean, and Miya had interrupted him. He needed something to focus his mind.

Above all else, Kiyoomi felt stupid. Stupid for not having realized sooner, for having believed for even a second that when there was something wrong in the computer system, that it wasn’t the fault of criminal hacker and felon Miya Atsumu. Of course he would have been behind it.

Of course Miya’s technical knowledge would surpass his common sense. Kiyoomi just couldn’t believe that it was to the point that he thought that an acceptable solution to not wanting to be in prison was to shut down the life support systems of that prison. Just for half an hour but a half hour was more than enough time for one hundred people to suffocate to death. Kiyoomi remembered how thin the air had been in the storage room when he’d closed the door. He could still feel it.

And, out of all the doors in the entire prison complex, the one Miya had opened had been the one by the dorms. Kiyoomi imagined himself as an inmate, stuck on the wrong side of that barrier, unable to close the door as the air slowly leaked away into the abyss of space, unable to leave the place that was killing them and knowing that it was killing them the whole time. He imagined breathing out and the last of that air leaving his lungs forever, wisps of oxygen in the cold void of space dissipating into nothing. 

Kiyoomi sat down hard in a chair. He knew he was afraid of suffocation but he hadn’t known it was this bad. Maybe that was why he’d hated it so much here, had been so anxious all the time, simmering just below the surface. 

Kiyoomi had been lucky to have had Meian on the line, for Meian to have found out the code to the door for him, to have been a guard instead of a prisoner. Miya was lucky too that all that was true. God. Kiyoomi imagined Miya on the floor, waking up with a dizzying headache on the floor as the doors closed. Not sure what was going on, confused and disoriented, as he slowly ran out of air because of his own mistake.

And Kiyoomi was so angry at Miya, but the image still sent jolts of fear through him. 

Miya didn’t come by, and Kiyoomi didn’t go near the computer lab. Every time he thought about it again, he felt a new wave of disbelief and anger. They were probably fine, and Miya knew that, and he’d said nothing. He hadn’t even tried to reassure Kiyoomi. He’d just let him stew in fear about the prison shutting down. And then he’d called them friends.

Kiyoomi wasn’t sure he’d ever actually felt betrayed by anyone before. He usually didn’t trust someone enough in the first place. He hadn’t even realized that this was a thing that he was choosing to trust Miya about. That he wasn’t lying when he said he had no idea what the accident had been. No, not the accident. The escape attempt. Most prisoners trying to break out of prison would only endanger themselves. Miya could have gone for the smaller escape vessel, the one currently sitting in the launch bay. 

Kiyoomi was sure that he’d have been able to figure it out, with his free rein over the computer system. He might have even been able to prime it for takeoff remotely. He didn’t have to trigger a full evacuation. Maybe he didn’t want to be implicated. Kiyoomi could understand that, if it hadn’t endangered more than a hundred other unaffiliated people. 

A million what-ifs circled Kiyoomi’s mind. If any single thing had gone wrong, they’d be dead, and there would have been no dance party, no breakfasts, none of the silly games Miya wanted to tick off of his trapped in space list. They were alive on a hundred different technicalities. What if Kiyoomi had looked away from the monitors in the control room for just a second, just long enough to miss Miya falling? What if it had been someone who didn’t immediately know what to do about a concussion?

And Kiyoomi was probably angriest of all that the reason he was so upset about all of this was not that Miya had put him in danger, but that Miya had put himself in danger. At the time he might not have cared, but now he did, and he couldn’t stop caring just because he was angry. He didn’t want to talk to Miya right now, didn’t even want to see him, but the idea of him lying there, dead, alone as a frozen mummy on the moon, made Kiyoomi’s chest clench painfully. 

He scrubbed at a spot that had been clean ten minutes ago, keeping his breath under control. 

Kiyoomi saw the warning early on day 35. It was a little light on the top of the control panel, a blinking light right next to the words “Oxygen Filtration.” Kiyoomi stared at it, a sudden, unbidden stroke of panic jolting through him. He had no idea what that meant. It didn’t seem to be a dire warning, since there were no alarms going off; the only indication was the little blinking light. Kiyoomi cooled himself down.

Maybe a filter needed to be changed. He could figure that out. There was probably something in the computer system that would tell him how to do that. He was tepid about doing any maintenance on the prison, but if it was necessary he would. 

He went back to his room, thinking about what to do. There was a chance he’d have to go outside, but he’d done that before. Hopefully it would be some internal thing, a quick interchange of HEPA filters in a maintenance panel nearby. 

He heard footsteps down the hall and sighed sharply, preparing himself. Miya appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. Kiyoomi glared up at him. For a moment it was silent.

Then a terse, “What do you need?”

Miya gestured back with his head. “Filter in Tank One needs to be replaced,” he said.

Of course he’d already know. He was plugged into the control system to a much greater degree than Kiyoomi. “I’m aware.”

“So,” Miya continued, “we have to replace it.”

“I will do so,” Kiyoomi said coolly.

“Yeah, well,” Miya said. “It’s outside. I’ve done it.”

Of course it would be outside. “Where?”

“On the tank, between it and the pipe leading in.”

“Then I will go do that.”

“Like hell I’m lettin’ you go outside alone.”

Kiyoomi felt a sudden flare of anger, surprising in its intensity. “I do not require your permission,” he said through his teeth.

Miya let out a long breath through his nose. “Somethin’ goes wrong out there, you’re dead,” he said plainly.

“And you care?”

“Yes.”

Kiyoomi scowled at him. “Noted. You will still stay here.”

“You gonna lock me up?”

“If you make me.”

“You think I haven’t put up safeguards?” Miya said. “Locked doors in here unlock in ten minutes.”

Kiyoomi was seething. “Stop manipulating everything.”

“If one of us gets trapped somewhere, like we did during the evacuation, we need to be able to get out without a code,” Miya said. “On account of neither of us has all the codes memorized. I’m tryin’ to keep us safe.”

“Safe,” Kiyoomi said. “We were safe when everyone else was here.”

“Is that still your problem? It’s over now. Nothin’ we can do about it,” Miya said, some anger starting to seep into his tone. “I fucked up, great. I can’t unfuck it, so we gotta deal with what we have.”

Sure, Miya was right, but it didn’t help Kiyoomi’s mood. His nostrils flared. “You are going to insist on going with me no matter what.”

“Yep.”

Kiyoomi closed his eyes. “Fine.”

“Great.”

“Then you should be ready to go. I’m not going to wait for you.”

Miya nodded. “When?”

“Whenever I feel like it.”

Miya rolled his eyes. “Perfect. I’ll be in the lab.”

Kiyoomi watched Miya leave, his anger swimming around in his head, looking for something to latch onto. Who was Miya to be impatient with him, when he was the reason they were in this mess to begin with? Acting like Kiyoomi was the unreasonable one for being upset about this. 

Regardless of what he’d said, though, Kiyoomi was hesitant about going outside. He didn’t like the process of it, and the idea of both of them being out with no one to keep track of what was happening inside the prison also scared him. Then again, being outside alone, hundreds of meters from the domes, was just as scary. He cursed the stupid filter for needing to be changed at all.

But he was a professional, of course, so he could put his fear aside and do what needed to be done. The sooner they fixed any complications that arose, the less time there was for the problems those complications created to manifest. The sooner they left, the sooner they could come back. Kiyoomi managed to rouse himself and he went to disinfect one of the suits. At least this was on his schedule, so he had time to do that. It would make the experience marginally less disgusting.

Wiping down the inside of the suit gave him some time to think, to reason through the situation in his head, and he came out the other side better for it. He could do this. It was simple maintenance. The prisoners had taken care of things like this all the time, and they’d been fine. And, despite Kiyoomi’s anger, Miya said that he’d done this before. It was best that he did come along.

Kiyoomi swung by the computer lab about an hour later, dressed and itching to go. 

“Get ready,” he said in the doorway. Miya jumped but didn’t say anything. He nodded and got up. 

Kiyoomi waited about fifteen minutes for him, and then Miya appeared in the doorway of the airlock, tight undershirt and leggings ready to go into a pressurized suit. He was also carrying a large disc with accordion-folded filter paper in the middle. He waved it in the air a little.

“The new filter,” he said, no glib smile accompanying it. Kiyoomi nodded.

“Good.”

“Yep.”

Kiyoomi stepped into the suit he had cleaned, taking a deep breath of the remnants of the smell of isopropyl alcohol. The smell calmed him. This was going to be easy. It had been a little while since he’d been out on the surface of the moon, so he would have to remember how to move in the lower gravity. It was a bit like trying to walk underwater, without the friction. It wasn’t hard. He’d been trained in it when he came up.

Miya was quiet as they suited up. Kiyoomi slipped his helmet on and fastened it to the neck of his suit. He waited until Miya had done the same and then pressed the communications button on the bottom to sync them up.

“Good to go?” Miya asked in Kiyoomi’s ear.

“Let’s just do it,” Kiyoomi said. “Quickly.”

“As slow as we need to stay safe,” Miya amended.

“Of course.”

Their oxygen tanks were the last things to go on. It was easy enough to latch them onto their backs--there were two guides that held it in place, so you just had to slide it down and it connected to the valves at their lower backs.

Kiyoomi had been surprised at how slim the suits were, when he’d come up. He’d imagined large, white marshmallow suits with wrinkles and a massive pack on the back, a UV-protected bubble helmet sitting on top. Instead, the suits were almost form-fitting and dark orange, visible clearly on the moon but not absurd. The pressure and temperature control systems had become smaller and smaller over time. It wasn’t too hard to maneuver in the suits, which was important for the inmates working in the mine. 

Kiyoomi flexed his hands and flipped the airlock. The air was sucked out of the room, and his air tank came to life with a khhhh noise. He took one Darth Vader breath in, and let it back out. When the airlock was done emptying, there was a click and a green light by the outside hatch turned on. They were good to go.

Miya unscrewed the hatch and opened it, revealing the pale, rocky surface of the moon. He grabbed the filter and hopped out, waiting for Kiyoomi to follow him. There was no time for hesitation now. Kiyoomi followed, the immediate gravity change disorienting him for a second. He landed softly on the ground, despite the full meter jump, and watched as Miya climbed a ladder to secure the hatch again. Kiyoomi had a sudden burst of panic--what if the door locked?--but then he remembered Miya’s 10-minute safeguard. Maybe that had been a good idea after all.

“Showtime,” Miya said. 

The massive oxygen tanks were, for good reason, far away from the base. One mistake and they had the potential to explode, and if they were any closer they could damage the prison. Because of that, they had to be handled carefully. There was little chance for a spark to make it into the tank, but if it did the consequences could be disastrous. Kiyoomi decided that he would not think about that as hard as he could.

They walked--large, bounding steps across the moon’s surface--getting farther away from the domes, from safety, every second. Kiyoomi kept an eye on Miya, who had taken point and was leading them toward the tanks. To his left, he could see the distant sun and the curve of Earth below. He didn’t look out the windows much. It only reminded him how far away he was, how much distance separated him and everything he actually cared about.

The pipes that connected the oxygen tanks to the domes were surprisingly thin, and they moved ever so slightly with the pressure of the air going through them. Kiyoomi wondered if they were easier to repair when they were flexible.

They eventually reached the tanks, small metal silos with a million terrible warnings and instructions plastered across them. The pipes fed into an intake valve, inside of which Kiyoomi imagined the filter went. 

“Crank the valve closed and I’ll switch out the filters,” Miya said. Kiyoomi bit the inside of his cheek but nodded.

“Right.”

Kiyoomi went to the side of the tank. There was a round valve that controlled how much air went through the pipes. He reached up and started to turn it, watching the pipe. It shuddered for a second, and then it went still. He couldn’t hear anything through the suit, obviously, but as far as he could tell the valve seemed closed. 

“Got it,” he said. Miya held out a thumbs up. He was unlatching something at the start of the pipe, and then he pulled out a filter identical to the one he’d brought along. He tossed it on the ground, where it fell softly, and slid the other filter into place. Then he snapped the latches back into place.

“Done,” he said. “While we’re out here I’m going to check the seal on the pipe. Don’t turn the air back on yet.”

“That’s not in the plan,” Kiyoomi said.

Miya turned and gave him a look. “It’ll take me two seconds and save us a second trip if we need to adjust it.”

Kiyoomi sighed sharply, though he knew Miya probably couldn’t hear it. He crossed his arms and waited by the valve as Miya peered around the front of the pipe connection and reached out to maneuver it around a little. Kiyoomi had no idea what he was doing, but he had been put in the position of having to trust Miya, however little he wanted to do it. 

“Looks a little loose,” Miya said, “but I don’t think we need to worry about it right now.”

“Then let’s go,” Kiyoomi said impatiently.

“Yeah, yeah,” Miya said, waving his hand. 

He pushed the mouth of the pipe over just a little, probably to realign it, and then there was a vibration that visibly rattled the entire pipe and the valve connecting it. Miya hopped back, brow furrowed, and then the pipe snapped away from the tank.

Kiyoomi nearly fell over in surprise, stumbling back as the pipe reared up like a snake as air flowed out of it. It was like a loose fire hose, whipping around. Miya turned to Kiyoomi and managed a single “shit” before the pipe swung down and slammed into his back, flinging him forward and sending his oxygen tank flying to the side.

It wasn’t a thick pipe, but it was made of metal, and in the low gravity it got Miya on the ground. He pitched forward and caught himself on his hands. He got up again quickly, just as Kiyoomi started toward him. 

“There wasn’t supposed to be air in there!”

“Are you okay?” Kiyoomi demanded.

“Fine,” Miya said. There was a hiss in his microphone. “Shit.”

His oxygen tank was gone, the pipe ripped in half. Unsalvageable, at least not in the next few seconds. Miya didn’t seem to have noticed yet. Kiyoomi’s mind immediately went into crisis response. With the oxygen left in his suit, it was possible to get Miya back to the domes--he probably had at least two or three more good breaths’ worth, after which point he’d have to hold his breath.

“Your tank,” Kiyoomi said sharply. “Breathe slowly.”

“What?” Miya asked, looking over his own shoulder. He caught sight of his tank skittering away on the ground and his eyes widened. “Goddamn it.”

“Don’t talk,” Kiyoomi said. He made it over to Miya and grabbed at his hand. “We have to go.”

“Omi,” Miya said, and he had a strange look on his face. “Omi, fuck me, I’m gettin’ cold.”

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows shot up and he spun Miya around, ignoring his complaints. The pipe was starting to slow down, the residual air left in it finally exiting into the void of space.

He saw Miya’s back, the guides where the oxygen tank used to be, and at the small of Miya’s back he saw the problem. The valve that stopped air from leaving his suit had been cracked in the blow, a small gap in the plastic spitting out oxygen. 

Kiyoomi looked back at where the pipe had been connected. He could see it then, a small warbling in the air, the presence of something where there should have been nothing, the movement of gas through the sharp light of the sun. There was still air coming out of the large tank. 

He took Miya’s hand and slapped it over his own back. Not good enough, but it would have to do.

“Don’t talk,” he said again, bounding over to the tank. He looked at it, at the valve, and his blood ran cold.

The valve. He grabbed it and twisted it back around, the opposite way. The warbling in the air slowed and stopped, the subtle vibration of air leaving the tank fading until it too stopped. Kiyoomi felt sick to his stomach. He’d turned it the wrong way. He’d opened it all the way, let air out as fast as it could go. He was such a fucking idiot.

“Air’s gettin’ thin, Omi,” Miya said. He was starting to stumble back toward the dome. Kiyoomi knew he’d already lost too much of the air in his suit to have a good number of breaths left, and rapid decompression would kill him just as fast. The valve on his back wasn’t working. The only thing they could do about it was to cover it with something, but the material of their gloves wasn’t airtight. 

Kiyoomi followed him, and made a split second decision. The valve on the back of Miya’s suit may have been broken, but the valve on the back of Kiyoomi’s should still be perfectly functional. Three breaths would hopefully be enough, if they ran. 

Kiyoomi took a deep breath, unlatched his own oxygen tank, slid it off his back in one fluid motion, and slammed it down through the guides on Miya’s back. It clicked into place, and Miya gasped, turning around.

Kiyoomi shook his head when his eyes met Miya’s. Miya’s hand searched around his back and found the tank, and the look of shock and horror he gave Kiyoomi was enough to kill. 

“The fuck!” he cried.

“Not now,” Kiyoomi managed tightly, trying to keep most of his breath. “Go!” Miya grabbed his hand and they started back toward the domes.

Maybe Kiyoomi had underestimated how much the pipe flying around had elevated his heart rate, because he felt his chest hurting from the lack of air much sooner than it should have. He bit the bullet, let out a quick burst of air, and took another breath. They were still a few hundred meters from the domes. 

He hadn’t run track in high school, but he knew how big around a standard track was, how long it took someone to run it. Four hundred meters took a minute and a half to two minutes for the average person, a minute for an in-shape sprinter. Running that fast was slower on the moon, and he didn’t know how many breaths he’d have to take but it was certainly more than three. His chest was already burning again. Miya was pulling him by his hand, squeezing almost painfully tight.

Maybe this hadn’t been his best idea.

They made their way over the craggy ground, Miya’s breaths loud in Kiyoomi’s ear, taunting him. He had to take another, wondering if his estimation had been correct. He had to assume that each breath he took from here was going to be oxygen deficient. He tried to remember what he knew about oxygen percentages. There was no way he could do that math in his head while running, but he knew some numbers. 21% of oxygen in normal air, 15% breathed out with each breath, which meant that in a few breaths he’d be down to much less than 20%. The health and safety standards for an oxygen-deficient environment were 19.5%. Below 15% it got dangerous, even with minimal exertion, let alone sprinting in a space suit. Below 10% it was likely he’d fall unconscious quickly. Below 5% he would die.

None of these were helpful thoughts, and his brain was eating up more oxygen trying to think through them. They were more than halfway there. He took another breath. He felt okay so far, except for the adrenaline. Three quarters of the way there. Another breath. This one didn’t fill his lungs as much as he wanted it to. Another breath. Almost there. He was starting to get a little light-headed, and it was hard to control his breaths. He had to do it, though. If he let himself hyperventilate he might get more of the oxygen left in his suit, but he’d also leave himself with less if something else went wrong.

Miya let go of his hand to open the hatch to the airlock, and then he helped pull Kiyoomi up the stairs. He was alarmingly strong, heaving Kiyoomi up and into the airlock, and he slammed the switch down to refill the room with air. Kiyoomi crawled up on his hands and knees in the artificial gravity, chest burning. The loud kshhhhh started to permeate the space, and then Kiyoomi felt Miya unlatching his helmet and shucking it off.

“Are you a fuckin’ idiot?” Miya snarled as he pulled off his own helmet. Kiyoomi gasped a breath in, and then another, and he felt his head returning to normal. Blood was pounding in his ears. “I didn’t realize you were so goddamn stupid-- I shoulda left ya inside because that was the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do in my entire fuckin’ life!”

Kiyoomi sat back on his knees and braced his hands on them. “We made it back.”

“You coulda died!”

“You would have,” Kiyoomi shot back, now that he had air in his lungs. 

Miya glared at him, unfazed. “If you’re drownin’ ya don’t throw yer life preserver to someone else just ‘cause they are, too.”

“I did the calculations,” Kiyoomi said, his own mood rising to meet Miya’s. “We made it back! I knew we would.”

“Ya didn’t calculate shit,” Miya snapped. “Ya just panicked! That was one question I didn’t need an answer to, y’know? Whether or not you’d die for me. Because apparently the answer is yes. And guess what: that’s the wrong fuckin’ answer!”

“I didn’t die!” Kiyoomi said. 

“Not for lack of tryin’,” Miya drawled. Kiyoomi got to his feet, still breathing heavily. He shot a withering look at Miya.

“It was my own mistake. I fixed it.”

“What, the valve? Ya never did it before, so-the-fuck-what if ya messed it up? I’m the one who toldja to just go do it without tellin’ ya how.”

“If I hadn’t messed it up, we wouldn’t have been in that situation,” Kiyoomi said. “It was my responsibility.”

“Yeah, everything’s always your responsibility, huh? So what, ya sacrifice yourself so you can feel better about it? Where does that leave me?”

“Safe,” Kiyoomi said firmly.

“Alone,” Miya breathed, and the tone of his voice brooked no argument about which he thought was worse. He raised a finger and jabbed it into Kiyoomi’s chest. “Never fuckin’ do something like that again.”

“I’m not going to just leave you if something bad happens,” Kiyoomi shot back.

“Never do something like that again.”

“I can’t promise you that,” Kiyoomi said. “You know I can’t.”

“You and yer fuckin’ hero complex,” Miya said. “It’s gonna kill ya one of these days.” He took a breath. “Just don’t let it be up here, with me.”

They were quiet for a second, just staring at each other. Miya looked seconds out of panic, a look that Kiyoomi had never seen on him before. His eyes were wide, face flushed, his breaths quick from the running. His hair was messed up from the helmet.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi said finally, the words coming out haltingly. 

“No, you aren’t,” Miya said.

“I am,” Kiyoomi retorted. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Miya stared up at him for a moment, worrying at his lip. Then he surged forward, wrapping his arms around Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi stilled, arms hovering in the air. He slowly returned the crushing hug. Miya rested his forehead on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, breaths slowing. 

“Neither of us is gonna die.”

Kiyoomi had occasional reminders of the precariousness of their situation, the fact that they were on a barren rock, three days travel through space to the nearest civilization. The distance and isolation, the fact that the place was only habitable because of hundreds, thousands of pieces of breakable technology worked in tandem to keep it that way. They were balancing on the head of a pin, and any move they made had the possibility of catastrophic failure. 

As he held Atsumu, he resolved to keep them on the head of that pin. If it unbalanced, he would balance it again. He would keep them both safe. That included himself. He remembered what he’d said to Atsumu in the kitchen, with popcorn popping in the background. If I’m dead, I can’t keep people safe.

“No,” he said. “We aren’t.”

Things were quiet as they slipped out of their space suits, as they hung them up, as Miya took a replacement valve and fixed the back of his. Kiyoomi was starting to have a delayed panic reaction, a realization of what he had just done, how close he’d been to suffocation, how he’d chosen to get rid of his own air. To save Miya. That scared him most of all.

If Miya noticed the uptick in his breathing, he didn’t say anything. They left the airlock and prep area together, side by side, back into the certain oxygen of the prison, the recycled air that Kiyoomi knew had probably passed through his lungs many times before. 

He didn’t know quite where they were heading, letting his legs carry him and Miya nudge him in a direction. They ended up heading back to Kiyoomi’s room. Miya went to his quickly to change, but Kiyoomi knew somehow that he’d be right back. Kiyoomi took off his sweat-soaked shirt and replaced it with a clean one, stripped off his leggings and put on a pair of prison-issue sweatpants. They were more comfortable than anything the guards were given to wear, than any of the clothes he’d brought up from Earth. 

Kiyoomi suddenly wished he had his green-and-yellow tracksuit from high school. He wasn’t sure why.

Miya came back after a few minutes, also changed, rubbing his hands together. Kiyoomi could smell hand sanitizer in the air as he entered the room. 

“We’re going to have to reconnect the tank,” Kiyoomi said, watching Miya as he walked across the floor.

“That’s why there’s two,” Miya replied. He sat down on what used to be Bokuto’s bunk. “We’ll be good for a while.”

“Right.” Half the air, half the time.

“Omi, um,” Miya started after a long moment. “This isn’t permission to do that again, but...thanks. I probably wouldn’t’ve...I’d have had a hard time makin’ it back.”

Kiyoomi waited for Miya to continue, his mouth slightly open as if to speak.

“It was still stupider than fuck,” Miya added. “Let the record show.”

Kiyoomi surprised himself by laughing a little. “I guess it’s contagious.”

“Hey,” Miya said. “They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“So’re you.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess this is what makes ya a good bodyguard, huh?” Miya said. “I shoulda known from that story ya told. When ya told yer cousin to go on ahead while you got shot.” He paused. “I think you would die for someone.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I don’t think you’d plan it, obviously. I think it’d just sorta happen and ya wouldn’t realize it until it was almost done.”

Kiyoomi considered. He didn’t want to think that Miya was right, but then he thought about the split-second decision-making he always seemed to do. Get the other person out, eliminate the threat. The calculations almost never included himself, unless he’d be needed later to keep the person safe. 

“How much of a choice would it be, then?” he asked.

“It wouldn’t have to be a choice,” Miya said. “You’d just do it. Automatically.”

Maybe that was true. Kiyoomi shrugged. “Everything has a choice somewhere.”

Miya was quiet for a long time. He brought his legs up to sit cross-legged on the bed. He played with the bottom of his pants idly.

“I was scared,” Miya said. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Miya continued. “Not...I was scared I’d never see my brother again.”

Oh. Kiyoomi swallowed, waited for Miya to keep going. He wasn’t looking at Kiyoomi. 

“Every time I went out to the mine I thought, y’know. Somethin’ could happen, I could get hurt or killed and that’d be it.” He seemed to shrink in on himself. “The last time I saw ‘Samu we had an argument. Screaming, the whole deal. He was so mad at me. He didn’t want to see me. So he just...didn’t.”

“He was probably scared, too,” Kiyoomi said quietly.

“Maybe,” Miya said. “Funny way of showin’ it.”

“You were mad at me,” Kiyoomi pointed out. “Just now. I protected you and you were mad at me.”

Miya nodded. “Yeah, I know. I know why he was mad. If he did the same thing I’d be...I’d be fuckin’ furious.” He paused. “I still think I’d’ve gone to see him, though. At least once.”

“He must have a reason.”

“I’d sure like to know what it is.” Miya shook his head. “Anyway. Up here he doesn’t even have the chance to change his mind. I couldn’t go the rest of my life thinkin’ he hated me. Even if he does, y’know.

“So I tried to get out. And I wasn’t thinkin’ through all the consequences. I just thought...how am I gonna get back down there? How am I gonna make sure I’m on the same goddamn planet as my brother? I wasn’t thinkin’ about anything else.”

He laughed. “And now look. I fucked it up so much I’m probably more likely to die up here than I ever was before.”

“We aren’t going to die,” Kiyoomi said firmly. Miya nodded.

“Yeah. We can say that.”

Kiyoomi tried to call up the anger he’d felt before, the betrayal, but in the face of Miya’s honesty now, the way he looked sitting on Bokuto’s old bed, eyes cast downward and shoulders hunched, he couldn’t. Fear made people do dumb things. Fear stopped people from thinking. Kiyoomi knew that better than anyone. 

“We’ll make sure,” Kiyoomi said. “I’ll make sure.”

“Omi,” Miya said. His eyes finally traveled back up to meet Kiyoomi’s. “You have to promise me somethin’.”

Kiyoomi already found himself primed to say yes. “What?”

“If we’re ever tryin’ to get out of here, and there's some point where there’s a chance I could make it down but you couldn’t,” Miya said. “You’ll stay with me. Even if it keeps us up here.”

“That only happens in movies,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Promise me.”

Was Kiyoomi even selfless enough to do that? Would he doom himself to stay alone in this prison if it meant that Miya could go back down to Earth, to his brother? Kiyoomi had reasons to be on Earth, too. He had a career to continue, he had family. He wanted to see Motoya again. 

Maybe he didn’t have the same fervent desire to go back down because he’d known, from the moment he set foot on Luna 5, that he would be back down in a year. Not anymore, obviously, but he hadn’t spent months here wondering if he’d ever get back down to Earth. He didn’t know that desperation. He’d never wondered if he’d see his family again, if he’d ever go back to Itachiyama, if he’d ever be able to go on with his life. Miya’s experience was wholly different, and Kiyoomi found himself understanding the gap between their lives acutely. When it was just the two of them, he could forget that Miya was a prisoner. 

But he’d been arrested. He’d gone through a trial. He’d been found guilty. He’d been booked into a jail and then sent to a high-security prison. He’d mostly interacted with other prisoners. Kiyoomi remembered the glib, blasé demeanor he’d projected when they’d first met. He was starting to be able to tease apart how much of that was Miya’s base personality and how much of it was a front. 

Miya was playful, flirty, sassy, all of those things, but he was also sensitive and earnest. Not good traits to survive in prison, even a cushy, modern one. 

“I promise,” Kiyoomi said. He could make that decision. He could stay with Miya, no matter where they were. At least until they got to Earth, until circumstance separated them. 

Miya smiled a little. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“But I want to.”

“I’m scared, too,” Kiyoomi said.

Miya took a long breath. “Of what?”

“Everything,” Kiyoomi said. “This place. The life support systems. The fact that it’s been more than a month and we’re still here. What’s going to happen when we get back to Earth.” He paused. “You.”

Miya managed a smirk. “Yer scared of me?”

The adrenaline had exhausted Kiyoomi, and he was past the point of caring about vulnerability. Not around Miya, at least, not at this moment. He’d already shown all his cards--he had the moment he’d taken off his own oxygen to give it to Miya. It wasn’t a secret anymore. “I’m scared about the fact that I apparently care more about you getting hurt than running out of air.”

Miya looked like he’d been slapped. “Omi,” he said softly.

“And I’m really scared of running out of air,” Kiyoomi finished.

Miya’s face was intense, focused and lost at the same time. “Oh,” he said.

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, Miya squeezed his eyes shut and slapped himself on the side of the head. “I have the worst brain in the entire world,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “I swear. The absolute fuckin’ worst.”

Kiyoomi huffed out a laugh at the change of tone. “What does that mean?”

“You’re out here sayin’ you care more about me than breathin’ and my dumbass brain’s like ‘ask him if ya take his breath away,’” Miya said, his head in his hands. “I’m so stupid.”

“That’s the most Miya thing you’ve ever said to me,” Kiyoomi said. He felt, strangely, a bit of relief. In any other case, he thought it might have been embarrassment instead.

“I think ‘Samu mighta thought of it but resisted sayin’ it,” Miya said. “So it’s mostly an Atsumu thing.”

You should call me Atsumu, Kiyoomi’s brain supplied. We’re there. 

“I know yer probably still mad at me about the whole...thing,” Atsumu said. “And, y’know, for a minute I was so worried that you’d be mad enough at me that when we got back down to Earth you’d tell people some of the...the stuff I told ya.”

Kiyoomi found himself a little offended. “I said I wouldn’t. You think me being mad at you would change that?”

Atsumu shrugged. “I don’t know. But I know, even if ya don’t really trust me anymore, that I do trust you.”

Did Kiyoomi trust Atsumu? Had he ever? He didn’t know. Maybe. He might have. Kiyoomi didn’t even know what that would mean. Kiyoomi characterized trust as belief that someone would follow through, that they would do what they said. That they were safe to give sensitive information. Kiyoomi didn’t trust very many people, then. 

Atsumu had kept secrets, big ones, and he’d kept them well. Kiyoomi couldn’t be sure that there weren’t other secrets that Atsumu was keeping. 

But if Kiyoomi gave him a secret of his own, would he trust Atsumu to keep it? The answer scared Kiyoomi, because it might have been yes.

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

Atsumu fidgeted with his hands for a minute. Then, “Hey, Omi? Why are you up here?”

Kiyoomi worked that around in his head. “Ah.”

“Just because...I remember you were workin’ at Itachiyama and it seemed like you were pretty happy there,” Atsumu said. “Doesn’t seem like a career choice.”

“There was an incident,” Kiyoomi said delicately. 

“You don’t have to talk about it. I was just wonderin’.”

“No, it’s not a secret,” Kiyoomi sighed. “I made a mistake, and it was a pretty costly one, so they put me on... leave.” 

Atsumu snorted. “Like leave Earth?” 

Kiyoomi surprised himself with a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Sounds like a pretty rough mistake.”

“Yes, well,” Kiyoomi said. “It was an executive security job. There was a party at a hotel, and my principal was having a meeting in her suite with several other...important people. I was guarding the door.” He realized that for all of the hours and hours he’d spent thinking about this, looking at it from every angle in his brain, he couldn’t remember ever telling anyone about it. “Someone came by, said that he was late for the meeting. I recognized him from earlier in the party. He gave me the name of another of my client’s acquaintances. I...I didn’t check his ID.”

Atsumu’s mouth formed a perfect “o.” “Shit.”

“Of course, the one time I decide to forego it is the time when I needed to most,” Kiyoomi said. “By the time I got inside he was coming at my principal with a knife.”

“Holy fuck.”

Kiyoomi sighed. “She wasn’t stabbed. I subdued him. He was arrested.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “She forgave me, said that mistakes happen. I have no idea how much money Itachiyama gave her for that.”

“So they sent you up to the moon?”

“My manager,” Kiyoomi said, unable to stop himself from spitting out the word, “said, ‘The only thing you can let in the door up there is criminals, anyway.’”

“Oh, what a jackass.”

“I think they were putting me in time out. A little busy work to help me get myself back in order.”

“It was one mistake.”

“Any mistake I make can kill someone,” Kiyoomi said. “It was by sheer luck that this one didn’t.”

“I don’t get why ya like that job so much,” Atsumu said. “I’d lose my mind, I think.”

“I know I can protect people. And if I can, I should.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works, Omi.”

“It is for me.”

“Ya sound like a superhero,” Atsumu said, his admiration clear. “Ya always do, a little bit, but that was a straight up comic book just now.”

Kiyoomi smiled a little. “If you say so.”

“I shoulda told ya,” Atsumu said. “About the escape.”

“You probably should have,” Kiyoomi agreed. 

“I felt like shit about it the whole time. I just kept thinkin’ that, y’know...I felt like I was just barely gettin’ past yer walls, and after a certain point no matter how I told ya it would turn out bad,” Atsumu said. “What do ya think would have happened if I’d told ya first thing?”

“I don’t know,” Kiyoomi said. He sighed. “You know I’m not mad about you keeping the secret. I’m angry that you put everyone in danger.”

“I know,” Atsumu said. He looked down at his hands. “I’m lucky everyone else got out alright.”

“As far as we know.”

“Oh, hell, if we start goin’ down that path we can say any number of things coulda happened,” Atsumu said. “And we don’t know so it doesn’t matter.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Always am.”

“Shut up.”

Atsumu smiled. “Even if it sucks to be stuck here, I’m glad you were the one stuck with me.”

Kiyoomi wondered about how easy it would have been to have been stranded here with Hinata, or maybe Bokuto. Another prisoner he barely knew, one who kept to themself. Kiyoomi could have kept things clean, orderly. Hinata would have been enthusiastically helpful. Bokuto would have kept the atmosphere light but professional. 

Would he have known how to let air back into the launch bay, how to change the air filter? Would he have access to the knowledge of exactly how much oxygen there was at any given moment? Would he have learned their favorite color? Would he have held hands with them in the dark? Would they have danced and hugged and--

“It hasn’t been terrible,” he conceded. Atsumu laughed. 

“You flatterer.”

Kiyoomi realized with relatively fanfare that he liked Atsumu a lot. Not just in the sense that he cared about his well-being--that was established at this point. He liked Atsumu as a person. It was incredible how much his opinion of someone could change in little more than a month. A month of being together every single day, all day, of being alone together. Maybe it was shared trauma. Maybe if they’d met on Earth, in other circumstances, they could have been friends there, too. There was no way of saying. 

“I think I’ll go make us some lunch,” Atsumu said, slapping his knees. “Because fuck if I know how, but it’s only lunchtime.”

“I could sleep right now.”

“You can take a nap,” Atsumu offered.

“No,” Kiyoomi said. “I shouldn’t. There are things to do.”

“Yer allowed to be tired after a near-death experience,” Atsumu said. “This isn’t yer job. Ya don’t have to push through.”

Kiyoomi took a deep breath and nodded. “Right.”

“I’ll just make some sandwiches,” Atsumu said. He waved a hand dismissively. “Sleep.”

“I’ll just lie down.”

Atsumu went to the kitchen and Kiyoomi was left alone in his room. He looked at his pillow and then settled himself back, on top of the blanket. He stared at the ceiling and, though he knew he had a million different thoughts rushing through his head, he couldn’t catch a single one.

Kiyoomi dreamed of a bark.

Above him. There were footsteps in the snow, crunching it down, something heavier than Kiyoomi and the fox. 

Kiyoomi hunkered down in his burrow and waited. Footsteps, crunching, a deafening bark. A dog. A snarl. A yip. The fox. 

Commotion above him, snow falling into his burrow. He pushed it back out. The entrance was closed off by packed snow and it was dark. Kiyoomi waited and breathed rapidly in the darkness as he heard the sounds of a fight. Any dog would be bigger than the fox. Any dog would probably be stronger than the fox. The fox should run away and leave them both alone. Kiyoomi could hide from the dog himself.

But a fight continued, and he heard cries of pain from the fox, with the occasional yelp by the dog, amidst the snarling. And then, after a while, it was silent. The footsteps bounded away, heavy in the snow. Kiyoomi could hear the distant sound of a human yelling and whistling. 

The fox hadn’t walked away. Kiyoomi knew he should be thinking better of it, but he dug through the snow at the entrance of his burrow and up through the chaos from the fight. His long body slid through it easily, and then he poked his head out onto the surface.

The fox was lying there, blood soaking into the upset snow. It was breathing--short, clipped breaths, some of them ending in a high whine. Kiyoomi stared at it. Why hadn’t it run away? Maybe the snarl hadn’t been for him. Maybe it had seen the dog before Kiyoomi had. Why wouldn’t it have left?

Kiyoomi, against all his better judgment, carefully stepped toward the injured fox.

Chapter Text

Another week without rescue.

Kiyoomi’s fears about the prison’s systems failing had been somewhat allayed, and though his urgency still remained he realized that he was becoming complacent. Life was relatively easy, from the meals Miya made them to Kiyoomi’s afternoons reading in the library to the silly little word games Atsumu would make him play in the gym while he jogged on a treadmill. 

“Starts with a Ka,” Atsumu would say, and Kiyoomi would roll his eyes. 

“Person, place, or thing?” he’d ask in return.

It was easy, and the ease scared Kiyoomi a little. He knew that there was an unused oxygen silo sitting out on the moon’s surface, and he knew that there was an unconnected pipe leading to it. He knew that that meant that there was only half of the available oxygen for them. He also knew that the amount of oxygen that was left was enough to sustain them for a very long time. The two thoughts were conflicting in his brain.

He’d never realized that the line between panic and normalcy was so thin. He supposed that he couldn’t sustain anxiety, so his body simply refused to. So he did dishes and swept floors and read books, like he was living in a normal apartment on Earth, like nothing was different, like the doors didn’t lead to a void and death.

Nights, however, were a bit different.

Kiyoomi had always had more anxiety when he was tired. It manifested in many different ways--he wanted to clean things, but it was too late and he was too tired; he went into spirals of thoughts that he couldn’t get out of until he fell asleep; he laid in bed and stared at the ceiling and heard every single sound in the entire place with startling clarity.

This was one of the latter nights. Kiyoomi was on his side in bed, watching the door, and he could hear every creak and grunt the prison made. He heard the hiss of the air in the vents, the hum of distant motors and pumps, the occasional snap of something shifting, just slightly. He didn’t even know what he was listening for. When he was a child, he swore some nights he heard the front door opening and someone entering his house, footsteps in the kitchen, tap tap tap s coming up the stairs. He had to strain his ears to hear them, until everything was a potential intruder, even his own heartbeat.

There was no worry of that now. If he heard footsteps, he knew exactly who it was. There were no doors to open, no one to come inside. Instead, he heard power failure, he became used to the noise of the vents and swore they were off, he heard distant sounds that could be one of the domes exploding outward, a hole poked into the side somehow, air escaping. 

It wasn’t logical, but anxiety never was. Kiyoomi sat up in bed, the sound of his movement deafening compared to the minute cracks and creaks he’d been listening for. If he wasn’t going to sleep, there was no use trying until he was more tired. He didn’t know what time it was--time of day was relative on the moon, anyway--but it was definitely late.

He slipped on some white socks and padded out toward the library. It had been 42 days, six weeks exactly, and still no working radio, no sign of rescue from Earth. He couldn’t help the nagging voice in his head that told him that no one was coming. That they’d been abandoned. He had no idea why that could be. Surely someone on that shuttle had told Earth about them. 

This was also not prime late-night thinking material, because Kiyoomi always found himself caught in a loop. “They aren’t coming” to “why wouldn’t they?” to “they think you’re dead” to “wouldn’t they check, just in case?” to “they have to come soon” to “why haven’t they yet?” and back to “they aren’t coming,” around and around the carousel.

Kiyoomi grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen on his way and found that the lights in the library were already on. He went to his chair and picked up his half-finished book, settling down and reopening it. He didn’t remember what was happening. This was book two of the day.

“Can’t sleep?” Atsumu asked from behind him. Kiyoomi jolted and almost spilled his water.

“Hello,” he said.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya,” Atsumu said. He had a toothbrush in his mouth that he was talking around. Kiyoomi grimaced.

“Returning the favor, I see.”

“I’m not half as sneaky as you are,” Atsumu said with a shrug. “I gotta practice.”

“Why are you up?”

“Haven’t gone to bed yet.”

Atsumu continued brushing his teeth. Kiyoomi couldn’t watch, so he turned back toward his book. “It’s late.”

“Sure is. Hold on a sec.”

Atsumu disappeared to the kitchen, and Kiyoomi heard the distant sound of him spitting into the sink and the water running. A moment later he returned, clean toothbrush in hand, smiling.

“All done,” he said. “So what’s up? Yer usually all about goin’ to bed early.”

“I couldn’t fall asleep,” Kiyoomi said, turning a page he wasn’t sure he’d actually read.

“Any reason or is it just one of those nights?” Atsumu asked. “Sometimes I get caught up in my own head and I can’t get it to shut up.”

Kiyoomi tilted his head. “I suppose it’s something similar.”

Atsumu hummed. “Ya wanna hang out in my room until ya get tired? That way it’s just down the hall when ya wanna go to sleep.”

Kiyoomi looked up at him and squinted. “Why?”

“I just said.”

“I could just read in my room.”

“Yeah, but if ya wanted to do that you’d be there already,” Atsumu said. “Plus I don’t know if I’m gonna get to sleep for a while and I’m bored.”

“I’m not going to entertain you.”

“I know. I just like havin’ ya around.”

Kiyoomi felt some traitorous flutter in his stomach at that. How could Atsumu be so free in saying things like that? He wasn’t quiet about his affection for Kiyoomi, and it didn’t seem like he was trying to be. It felt a little like being put under a spotlight, to be the focus of it. Atsumu smiled at him.

“Ya comin’?”

Kiyoomi sighed and closed his book again, standing. Atsumu seemed to get what he wanted, most of the time, and Kiyoomi couldn’t even find it within himself to get mad about that. Atsumu smiled at him and led the way back to his room. Kiyoomi turned out the lights after them. 

Atsumu’s room was identical to Kiyoomi’s, though a bit less organized. Atsumu wasn’t the messiest person in the world, but he was okay with throwing some of his clothes around. He gave Kiyoomi an apologetic look as he kicked a dirty shirt to the side. It flopped under the bed.

Atsumu put his toothbrush away and returned to sit on his bed, scooching back against the wall and crossing his legs.

“So, about you entertainin’ me,” he said. Kiyoomi snorted and took a seat on the opposite bed.

He imagined this sort of exchange happening six weeks ago, imagined how he would have reacted to the casual familiarity Atsumu threw his way. He hadn’t known at the time that Atsumu didn’t expect the same in return, and it had made him uncomfortable. Had Atsumu thought they were friends back then, or had he realized that his efforts were only making Kiyoomi more and more annoyed? It had seemed at the time to be the former.

But Atsumu had managed to wear Kiyoomi down, so maybe he’d been entirely aware of what he was doing. Kiyoomi knew for a fact that behind Atsumu’s lazy smile there was an intensely calculating brain. Tempered by emotion, sure, but sharp nonetheless. 

“You’d better have something to do,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Ya think I could write a novel before we get rescued?” Atsumu asked, ignoring him. “Or maybe an autobiography. People love that from convicted felons. Maybe then some hotshot lawyer’ll look at my case and figure out how to get me out on good behavior.”

“I don’t think shutting down the prison and forcing an evacuation counts as good behavior.”

“And that’s why no one will ever find out about that, right?” Atsumu asked, fluttering his eyelashes. 

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. Of course he wouldn’t tell. There was no reason for him to do so, except spite that he didn’t feel. He felt a lot of things toward Miya Atsumu, but none of them was animosity. 

“Not unless you tell them,” Kiyoomi said. “Can you avoid doing that or are you too proud of it having worked?”

“Honestly,” Atsumu said, frowning, “it wasn’t even that hard. I don’t know if it’s somethin’ to be proud of.”

Kiyoomi laughed. Atsumu held up a finger.

“Now Jackal, on the other hand.”

“The thing that landed you in prison.”

“Yes, that thing. It’s pretty standard stuff but the bitcoin payment portal I set up? Banks should be payin’ me for that shit. Airtight.”

“I’m so impressed.”

“Yer killin’ me, Omi. I’m an impressive guy. A real catch.”

Kiyoomi realized that he wasn’t actually going to end up reading his book. This was better for his intrusive thoughts, anyway. Atsumu was distracting enough that he pulled Kiyoomi out of his own head. 

“Someone to bring home to meet your mother,” Kiyoomi drawled. “Sure, he’s in prison for the next fifty years, but he made a really good bitcoin payment system.”

Atsumu laughed, his head falling back to hit the wall. “I’d love to meet yer mother, Omi.”

Kiyoomi didn’t exactly want to bring the mood down, but he said anyway, “You can’t, unfortunately.”

Atsumu seemed to work that around in his head for a second before his mouth went flat and he nodded. “Ah.”

“Sorry.”

“Why’re you apologizin’?”

“I’m not apologizing for my mother,” Kiyoomi said. “Just for mentioning it.”

“I like learnin’ things about ya, Omi. Even the bad things.”

“That’s just because you’re nosy.”

“And because I like ya.”

Kiyoomi closed his eyes and took a breath. Again, he didn’t understand how Atsumu could just say things like that. It set Kiyoomi off-course, knocked him to the side, and he had to take time to right himself again. It made him think about his own feelings, something he was notorious for not wanting to do. 

“Right,” he said.

Atsumu stretched up and then left his arms there against the wall. Kiyoomi found himself watching him instead of reading, as he scratched at his arm and yawned a little. He looked warm, sitting like that. Warm, cozy, a little bit sleepy. It was, Kiyoomi could admit, endearing, at least when Atsumu shut up for a little while. 

“Somethin’ on my face?” Atsumu asked, like he always did when he caught Kiyoomi staring. The fact that Kiyoomi was caught staring enough for there to be a standard response was something Kiyoomi was not going to unpack now. 

“A nose.”

“On the scale of dad jokes, that one’s pretty lame.”

“I’ll think of a better one next time.”

“But hey,” Atsumu said. “Don’t let me stop ya from lookin’.” He stretched again, intentionally this time, forcing the bottom of his shirt to ride up a little. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes.

“You’re shameless.”

“Who needs shame when ya look this good?”

Atsumu always skirted just past dangerous territory. Kiyoomi found himself watching that territory when they passed it, that tenuous land of maybe and what if I… and what would he do? 

Kiyoomi had already come to terms with the fact that Atsumu was attractive. He’d gotten on board that ship, however grudgingly, and he accepted it as a fact of his life now. He wondered if that was why he let Atsumu get away with so many things. 

“The blind overconfidence is really the sexiest part,” Kiyoomi drawled. 

“I knew you’d admit it some day,” Atsumu teased.

And fuck him, because he was right. Confidence was attractive. Not necessarily to the degree Atsumu pretended to take it, but underlying his jokes he was truly confident in himself, in his abilities, in the decisions he made. Kiyoomi wondered what that must be like. 

He must have been quiet for a little while, because Atsumu cut through his thoughts. “Ya wanna talk about what was keepin’ ya up?” he asked lightly. “Sometimes talkin’ through things helps. Me, at least.”

Kiyoomi looked away. He wasn’t good at opening up, at giving information about things that bothered him unprompted, so he largely didn’t. Atsumu’s face was open and accepting, like any answer Kiyoomi gave would be just fine. Kiyoomi frowned to himself.

“Just some intrusive thoughts,” he said. “I have them sometimes.”

“About the prison?” Atsumu asked.

“What else?”

“I get those too, sometimes. I think, y’know, what if I fucked something else up, and everything shuts down again? It’s already my fault but then it’d be my fault times a million.”

“I keep imagining some accident,” Kiyoomi said, surprising himself. “Something that breaks that we can’t fix.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu said. “Y’know, if ya think about it, it kinda sucks bein’ up here.”

Kiyoomi smiled. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“But nothing’s gonna happen,” Atsumu said, his voice thick with certainty. “We’ll be fine.”

“Maybe.”

“We will be,” Atsumu repeated. “If we die, I’m suin’ them from hell and back.”

Kiyoomi actually laughed. Atsumu smiled at him like a puppy receiving praise. 

“You have a good laugh, Omi,” he said. 

And Kiyoomi was knocked off-kilter again. He swallowed and kept his eyes on Atsumu. Kiyoomi hated how Atsumu tried to make him interrogate his own feelings at every opportunity. Or maybe it was just Kiyoomi making himself do it, whenever Atsumu said things like that.

Atsumu clearly liked him--he said as much. What sort of like, Kiyoomi didn’t know. Did it matter? They were friends. He’d accepted that. And he’d also accepted that he liked Atsumu too, probably more than he should. For his personality, somehow. He liked the way that Atsumu smiled at him, some of the jokes he made. And, though Kiyoomi would never admit it out loud, he kind of liked being called “Omi,” but only by Atsumu. It was familiar, now. 

So he liked Atsumu’s personality. He found him attractive. Atsumu liked him too. He made joking overtures toward finding Kiyoomi attractive. How much of that was jokes?

Kiyoomi froze. What the fuck was he doing?

He’d almost kissed Atsumu once. Why hadn’t he? What was holding him back? He had reason to believe that Atsumu would be receptive--enthusiastic even. Kiyoomi was interested, if he could finally admit that to himself. They were alone up here. Whatever power dynamic had existed between them as warden and charge had eroded over the past six weeks. Kiyoomi wasn’t even sure this was his job anymore, once he got back to Earth. He’d certainly be quitting, if by some technicality it still was.

Kiyoomi was so stupid. You take things away from yourself before other people can. Why the fuck couldn’t he just go for it? What’s the worst that could happen? A few jokes? It wasn’t a secret anymore that he cared about Atsumu, not after all he’d done for him, so it wouldn’t be like he was revealing something hidden. 

Kiyoomi was momentarily stunned by the sequence of realizations. He blinked at Atsumu, took in the way he was sitting, the sleepy look in his eyes, the warmth with which he looked at Kiyoomi. He realized that he’d been thinking too long, and he saw Atsumu’s mouth open. He had to beat him there.

“Will you let me fix something?” Kiyoomi asked softly. 

Atsumu gave him a strange look. “Did somethin’ break?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Kiyoomi said. “Do you have your speaker?”

Atsumu nodded and gestured to the bedside table. The mp3 player he used with it was already next to it, plugged into the wall and charging. Kiyoomi crossed the room to it and picked it up, tapping through the songs. It took him a second to find what he was looking for, as it was listed under “Evangelion” instead of the actual artist. 

He turned on the speaker and adjusted the volume, and as the first strings began to play he turned back to Atsumu.

Atsumu took a second to recognize the song, but when he did he huffed out a laugh. “Seriously? Again?”

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi said.

The bossa nova beat kicked in softly. “Fly me to the moon…”  

“Do you remember how we were?” Kiyoomi asked, holding out his hands. Atsumu blinked at him and then, miraculously, flushed a little.

“Yeah,” he said, more quietly. He got up off of the bed and stepped forward, bringing his left hand up to meet Kiyoomi’s right. Kiyoomi’s other hand rested on his waist. He held onto Kiyoomi’s arm. Kiyoomi started to sway slightly, and Atsumu followed him. “This is so dumb.”

“You’re still doing it,” Kiyoomi pointed out. Atsumu sighed. 

“You want me exactly like we were?” he asked. Then he leaned in, resting his head on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, pressing the two of them closer. “If I recall, this is exactly how we were.”

They swayed for a second, just a little. Kiyoomi wondered if Atsumu could hear his heart, which was starting to beat more and more quickly. He could smell the shampoo in Atsumu’s hair, could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt. He wondered if Atsumu expected to be pushed away.

“What are you fixin’?” Atsumu asked. Kiyoomi shushed him and just let them rock side to side for a moment. 

“You’ll see.”

The song played on, and Atsumu eventually pulled his head back from Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “I forgot how warm you are,” he said softly.

Atsumu was even warmer under Kiyoomi’s hand than Kiyoomi imagined he himself could ever be. He let his thumb rub experimentally over Atsumu’s ribs through his shirt, just a little. Atsumu took a little catch-breath. 

A little bit of tension started to pull at the air between them. Kiyoomi forced himself to look down at Atsumu in a way he hadn’t the first time. Atsumu’s eyes were hooded, and he had the faintest ghost of a smile on his face. 

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi said. “Can I give you a hug?”

Atsumu blinked and then smiled widely. “Ya don’t have to ask.”

“It’s polite.”

Atsumu let go of Kiyoomi’s hand and pulled him into a tight hug, reminiscent of their first one, though with less desperation. Kiyoomi wrapped his arms around Atsumu and held him close. He let out a long breath, and out with it came some of his tension. Everywhere they were touching, Kiyoomi felt the same strange electricity as he had the first time. The sense of something wrong being righted. 

The song started to come to a close, and they weren’t swaying anymore. “I think I have an idea,” Atsumu said, turning his head a little to speak right into the side of Kiyoomi’s neck. Kiyoomi shivered. “Of what ya might be fixin’.”

“We’ll see,” Kiyoomi said. He let his fingers run through the back of Atsumu’s hair, just a little, and Atsumu sighed. Kiyoomi could feel the warm air. 

The last chords of the song played out, and then there was silence. They both seemed hesitant to pull back. Finally, Atsumu’s grip loosened and he moved back just enough to look up at Kiyoomi, his face as close as it had been the first time. 

“Omi,” he said. Kiyoomi could feel his breaths. When had they gotten so close? “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Yer the worst. I’m tryna be cool, here.”

“What’s your question?”

“I meant to ask before, but I couldn’t get myself to do it,” Atsumu said, voice soft and perhaps hesitant. Then he smiled jauntily. “So here goes: Hey, Omi, do you like boys?”

Kiyoomi smiled despite himself, despite everything, and closed the distance between them. He could let himself have good things. Atsumu eagerly met him in the middle, and their noses brushed past each other. When their lips connected, Kiyoomi felt a full body shiver go down Atsumu’s back. He smiled into the kiss. 

Atsumu’s lips were soft, a little chapped, but Kiyoomi soon kissed that away. Atsumu pressed up against him more, if that was even possible, and his hands wandered a bit, across Kiyoomi’s back and to his sides and up his chest to cradle his jaw. 

“Is that a yes?” Atsumu asked against Kiyoomi’s mouth. 

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi murmured. Atsumu laughed but it was cut off by another kiss. 

Atsumu was responsive to everything, from Kiyoomi’s hands on his hips to the way their bodies were touching. He made a small noise into the kiss, apropos of nothing, muffled against Kiyoomi’s lips. Kiyoomi’s grip on his hips tightened, and then Kiyoomi carefully slipped his hands under the hem of Atsumu’s t-shirt. 

“Hey there,” Atsumu whispered. He surged back into the kiss, tangling his fingers in Kiyoomi’s hair. There was a bit more urgency now, and Kiyoomi slid his hands up to Atsumu’s waist, pulling the shirt up with them. He was so fit, his skin hot and smooth, and Kiyoomi gripped his sides firmly. Atsumu opened the kiss more, probing experimentally with his tongue. Kiyoomi met him halfway. 

Atsumu took a step backward, pulling Kiyoomi with him. Then another step, and Kiyoomi could see that Atsumu was pulling them toward his bed. He wasn’t going to argue with that, so he walked them the rest of the distance. Atsumu jolted a little when the backs of his calves met the bed, and then he sat down. Kiyoomi went with him, resting one knee on the mattress and leaning over Atsumu.

“You’re so tall,” Atsumu murmured.

“You like that?” Kiyoomi asked with a bit of a laugh.

“I don’t not like it,” Atsumu said. 

He broke their kiss for just long enough to right himself on the bed and scoot back a little, beckoning Kiyoomi to follow. Apart like this, Kiyoomi could properly take in Atsumu’s appearance. His lips were starting to get a bit red, and his hair was a little mussed up from Kiyoomi’s hand. But his eyes were the real draw, the look in them Atsumu’s own patented mix of intensity and relaxation. He was staring at Kiyoomi like he was the only thing that existed, a glint of desperation hiding under his hooded eyelids. 

Kiyoomi got onto the bed and crawled over him. Atsumu met him for a kiss before Kiyoomi was all the way there, and then he let himself be pushed back until his head hit the pillow. Kiyoomi hovered over him, a hand braced by his head, as they kissed. Atsumu kissed hungrily, like he’d been starved of this. Kiyoomi remembered what he’d said--he hadn’t even been hugged in two years, let alone this. Kiyoomi was suddenly determined to make this count.

Atsumu grabbed at Kiyoomi’s hips and pulled his body down until they were flush with each other. Kiyoomi didn’t want to put his full weight on Atsumu but Atsumu didn’t seem to care. He groaned a little when their bodies were fully touching, Kiyoomi’s knee between Atsumu’s thighs. 

“Shit, Omi,” he said. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Now?” Kiyoomi asked, his hand actively up Atsumu’s shirt.

“I don’t think either of us is busy,” Atsumu said breathlessly. “No, I just wanted to say that I’ve wanted to touch ya since I saw ya on that panel.”

“That was years ago.”

“Yep,” Atsumu said. “And I think about that suit you were wearing every day.”

Kiyoomi actually laughed. “I don’t remember what I was wearing.”

“I’ll remember it for the both of us,” Atsumu said. “Sharpest suit I’ve ever seen. Black leather gloves. The way ya crossed yer legs. I don’t remember half the shit ya said because I was busy lookin’.”

“I didn’t know it was possible to be that thirsty at a security conference.”

“Hey, I’ve got eyes,” Atsumu defended. “Speakin’ of which, do ya know how pretty yer eyes are?”

Kiyoomi kissed him again. He could feel Atsumu’s smile against his mouth. Their lips slid past each other with increasing urgency, Kiyoomi’s hand wandering up Atsumu’s side and across his chest. He felt the muscles in Atsumu’s stomach flutter as he grazed over them with his fingertips. 

He left Atsumu’s lips and trailed down to the side of his neck. Atsumu immediately stiffened, letting out something halfway between a sigh and a moan at the first touch to the space under his jaw. Kiyoomi kissed down the length of Atsumu’s neck, coaxing small sounds out of him. 

“Omi,” Atsumu murmured. “Ah. Have I ever told ya how hot you are? Because I feel like I should’ve.”

Kiyoomi chucked against Atsumu’s neck, sending a shiver down Atsumu’s body. “You have now.”

“Also, I’m gonna warn ya, I talk a lot.” Kiyoomi could feel the rumble of Atsumu’s voice.

“I can see that.”

“Just... shit, just so ya know.”

“Should I shut you up, then?”

Kiyoomi’s fingertips grazed over one of Atsumu’s nipples and he felt it harden under his touch. Atsumu hummed, pleased. “Maybe.”

Kiyoomi went back up to Atsumu’s mouth, covering it with his own and opening into a loose, soft kiss immediately. Atsumu wrapped his arms over Kiyoomi’s shoulders, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I could kiss ya forever,” Atsumu murmured. 

“Is that as far as you want to go?” Kiyoomi asked, sincerely curious.

“Oh, if I don’t touch ya at some point I’m gonna die,” Atsumu said conversationally. “If yer okay with that.”

“You dying? Sure.”

“Ugh. You’re a menace.”

“You bring out the worst in me, I think,” Kiyoomi said.

“Yeah yeah, yuk it up,” Atsumu said. “So was that a yes to touchin’ you or…?”

“As long as I can touch you too.”

“Please,” Atsumu breathed. “Why does it sound sexier when you say it?”

“I think you might be biased,” Kiyoomi said with a bit of a laugh.

“Oh, I’m definitely biased,” Atsumu said. He pulled Kiyoomi back down for a kiss, his hands wandering down Kiyoomi’s arms and then across his chest, sliding down until they reached his waistline. Atsumu’s hands ducked under his shirt, sliding a smooth line up Kiyoomi’s sides. His hands were cool, but Kiyoomi thought that might be because his own skin was so warm. 

Kiyoomi smiled. “I thought when you said touch that you meant more like this,” he said, his hand sliding down Atsumu’s chest and stomach to the front of his sweatpants. Atsumu sucked in a breath as Kiyoomi cupped his growing erection.

“I was gettin’ to it,” he squeaked. 

Kiyoomi worked his hand a little, sliding gently up and down, and Atsumu arched his back. “You’re so sensitive,” he murmured.

“That kinda happens,” Atsumu said, “when it’s been like three years. I was in a dry spell before I even got sent to prison.”

“You? A dry spell?”

“Yeah, I know, look at me,” Atsumu said with a cheeky smile. Kiyoomi moved his hand again and the smile faded. “You should take off yer shirt.”

Kiyoomi smirked a little and sat back, pulling his shirt off in one motion and tossing it to the side. When he looked back down, he saw Atsumu’s expression, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. 

“Jesus christ,” he said. “Put yer shirt back on and do that again.”

Kiyoomi laughed and Atsumu’s smile only grew. “Maybe later.”

Kiyoomi came back down to Atsumu and captured his lips again. Atsumu made a little whining noise and shook his head. “Me too,” he said, pulling at the hem of his own shirt. Kiyoomi helped him out of it and tossed it in the same direction he’d sent his. 

Kiyoomi had seen Atsumu without a shirt many times, walking back from a shower or during their workouts or just randomly, sometimes, because he felt “a little too hot,” but in this context it felt very different. Atsumu was strong--Kiyoomi saw the weights he was lifting--and it showed in his body. Soft skin covered firm muscle, peaks and valleys that the lamp highlighted. 

He sat back and ran his hands over Atsumu’s chest, down his stomach, feeling the skin beneath his fingertips. Atsumu was so warm, his nipples hardening in the air, and when Kiyoomi looked back up to Atsumu’s face he swallowed hard.

Atsumu was looking up at him in wonder, tinged with arousal, his eyes wide. “You’ve never looked at me like that before,” he murmured. 

“There’s a lot to look at,” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu smiled. 

“Well, when yer done lookin’,” he said.

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and went back down for another kiss. The thrill of skin-to-skin contact made the hug earlier seem like a handshake. Kiyoomi at once felt a rush of warmth and rightness and comfort he hadn’t expected to feel, all on top of the heat that was building between his legs. 

Atsumu’s hand ran down the planes of Kiyoomi’s chest and to the front of his pants, where he kneaded softly at the tent there. “I knew it,” he said.

“What now?”

“I knew you were big.”

Kiyoomi snorted. “You’ve spent time imagining how big my dick is?” he asked.

“I’ve imagined a hell of a lot more than that,” Atsumu said. He slipped his hand up and into the waistband of Kiyoomi’s pants, pausing momentarily before continuing downward. “Is this okay?”

“I’d tell you if it wasn’t.”

“That doesn’t help me,” Atsumu complained, but he continued down, past the waistband of Kiyoomi’s underwear. Kiyoomi took a sudden breath as Atsumu’s hand wrapped around him. Atsumu’s hand was warm and solid and of course it was a little dry but Kiyoomi didn’t care. Atsumu took a shuddering breath of his own, as though Kiyoomi were the one touching him , and pulled Kiyoomi back down for a kiss.

“Not the best angle,” he mumbled into Kiyoomi’s mouth. 

“I’m not doing a very good job of shutting you up,” Kiyoomi replied falteringly.

“Then try harder.” Atsumu made some experimental strokes up and down, and Kiyoomi’s body tensed. “These should probably come off,” Atsumu said, tugging with his other hand at Kiyoomi’s pants. Kiyoomi agreed.

Atsumu let go of him and he got off of the bed, shucking off his pants and underwear at once. Atsumu looked at him appreciatively and maybe a little too long. Kiyoomi helped him wiggle out of his own pants and then they were both naked. Suddenly it felt very real.

Atsumu didn’t give him any time to think, pulling him back down onto the bed and kissing him breathless again. His hand went back to Kiyoomi’s erection, and without anything in the way he was able to get a good grip. Kiyoomi gasped and Atsumu swallowed it down with a groan of his own. 

“Oh, hold on. Whoever had this place before me had some hand lotion,” he said. He let go of Kiyoomi again and reached over to the nightstand, fishing around in the drawer until he pulled out a little bottle. “Better than nothin’.”

Kiyoomi was fine with or without it, but he just nodded. As Atsumu unclicked the top of the bottle he got a good look at Atsumu’s body, unhampered by any clothing. It was really something to look at, from the muscles in his thighs, to the way his broad chest tapered down to his waist, to his cock, red and hard against his stomach. 

“You look so good,” Kiyoomi breathed. Atsumu blinked up at him and then, somehow, had it in him to turn a little red. 

“Shit, Omi,” he said weakly. “Warn a guy.”

“Before saying you look good?”

“Before givin’ me a compliment,” Atsumu said. “Not used to hearin’ those from you.”

Kiyoomi bit the side of his cheek. “Then I should fix that.”

“Worry about that later,” Atsumu said. He squeezed some lotion onto his hand. “I wanna make you feel good first.”

He was so earnest, all the time. Kiyoomi dropped back down to kiss him, hard and measured, pushing him down into the pillow. Atsumu responded in kind, but he didn’t push back, letting himself get pressed down. He seemed to like it a lot. Enough to get distracted for a moment by the kissing, but then he remembered what he was doing and started sliding his hand slowly up and down Kiyoomi’s cock. Kiyoomi hummed and Atsumu smiled against him.

“I didn’t think you’d make any sound,” he said.

“You imagined a lot.”

“Ya don’t know the half of it.”

Three years out of practice or not, Atsumu was doing a good job. Kiyoomi’s breaths were turning ragged as Atsumu’s hand slowly sped up, twisting a little. Atsumu seemed to be just as affected by touching Kiyoomi as Kiyoomi was by the touch itself. He was making more noise than Kiyoomi, and eventually their kiss broke. 

Kiyoomi looked down and watched Atsumu’s hand on him, breathing heavily. Then he leaned down and, not wanting to leave Atsumu alone, started kissing a sloppy line up his neck. Atsumu gasped and his hand faltered for a moment. 

“Omi,” he murmured.

He did something with his hand and Kiyoomi responded with a low groan into the spot just below Atsumu’s ear. Atsumu’s whole body jolted and he made a cut-off noise in the back of his throat. “Shit. Yer distractin’ me.”

“Then you’d better focus,” Kiyoomi said back. Atsumu made an unexpectedly high noise and bit his lip. His hand kept its tempo. Interesting, but Kiyoomi was getting close and he didn’t have time to consider Atsumu’s reaction to the demand. He dragged his tongue up the tendon in Atsumu’s neck and Atsumu seemed to swallow down some other noise. So responsive. Every sound he made pushed Kiyoomi closer.

“Yeah, Omi, c’mon,” Atsumu was saying softly. “I got you.”

Kiyoomi breathed hard into the crook of Atsumu’s neck as he neared the precipice. He could feel it building. The lotion was losing its slide but he didn’t care. The friction was welcome. Atsumu did something with his hand again, different this time, and Kiyoomi’s whole body tensed. 

He came with a low, choked noise, onto Atsumu’s stomach and chest. Atsumu stroked him slowly through the aftershocks, until it was right on the edge of painful. Kiyoomi slapped his hand away with a bit of a laugh and just stayed there for a second, breathing. Atsumu hummed.

“Hell of a first kiss,” he said. Kiyoomi pulled back, his whole body still warm and tingly.

“It’s not over yet,” he said. 

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” Atsumu breathed.

“What do you like?” Kiyoomi asked, as he came down from the high. 

“Shit, you let me just do whatever and then you gotta be the gentleman and ask first, huh?”

“I liked what you did.”

“I think I’d like anything ya wanted to do to me, Omi,” Atsumu said, and Kiyoomi believed him.

“Any specifics, though?”

Atsumu took a breath. “Um. I mean, depends on how deep ya wanna go right now.”

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow just as Atsumu seemed to realize what he’d said. He squeezed his eyes shut. “That one wasn’t even intentional.”

“I’ll go as deep as you want me to,” Kiyoomi said with a bit of mirth.

“Speakin’ of which, ya think someone around here had some condoms?”

Kiyoomi hadn’t even considered that. “If anyone did, it would be Meian. The head guard. He seems like he’d be prepared for anything.” He paused, a bit wary. “Do you want to go look? I think I’d need a little time.”

“No, fuck, that would be great but not today,” Atsumu said. He squirmed a little bit. He was still very hard. “What do I like? Well, for starters, I like it when someone actually touches me.”

Kiyoomi gave him a skeptical look. “Shocker.” Then he reached for the little bottle of lotion. He was not going to think about where it had been until he was under a scalding shower. He popped the top and squeezed a little onto his hand. Atsumu watched him intently.

“I like…” he started, as Kiyoomi ran slick fingers up the length of his cock. He took a deep breath. “Well, I don’t care who’s fuckin’ who, but I like bein’ told what to do.”

Kiyoomi had had a bit of a suspicion. “How much?” he asked. “Are we going to need a safeword?”

If Miya was even the slightest bit kinky, Kiyoomi would have to revise the Venn diagram he’d made of Atsumu’s Traits and Kiyoomi’s Type, because it would absolutely be a circle now. All-inclusive. He wondered if Atsumu liked being tied up, and then immediately aborted that thought when he felt a too-soon jolt of arousal rush down his spine. 

“We don’t have to do that right now if you aren’t into it,” Atsumu said. “Not necessarily first hookup material. But…” he bit his lip, took a quick catch-breath as Kiyoomi wrapped his hand around him. “Shit. I usually use a stoplight.”

“Green, yellow, red,” Kiyoomi confirmed. He started stroking Atsumu, very slowly. Atsumu made a small noise and arched his back.

“Yep. I’m not into bein’ insulted or anything like that, though. Fuck me, can we have this conversation later?”

Kiyoomi smiled and Atsumu looked up at him, face pink, like he was the only thing that existed. “Okay.”

“You can go faster,” Atsumu managed.

“I’ll go faster when I want to,” Kiyoomi said, toeing a line he wasn’t sure Atsumu wanted him to cross right now. 

“Shit,” Atsumu croaked. Okay, maybe he was okay with that line being crossed. “Ah, I shouldn’t’ve told ya anything.”

“Do you want to try something?”

“I’ll try anything you want.”

Kiyoomi wasn’t so sure about that. “Well, since you talk so much,” he said with a bit of a smile, taking a careful step over the line, “try not to until you come. Make all the noise you want but don’t say a word or I’ll stop, unless it’s red.”

Atsumu’s eyes went wide and he took some heavy breaths, staring up at Kiyoomi. “Yeah, okay,” he said. Something that Kiyoomi hadn’t realized was tense inside him relaxed. They hadn’t talked about this, so he wasn’t going to push very far. Simple commands, nothing that required a great amount of trust or knowledge of the other person. Even though he was pretty sure Atsumu trusted him, maybe even too much.

Kiyoomi took his sweet time getting Atsumu worked up. Atsumu was breathing heavily, and Kiyoomi slowly sped up his hand, twisting a little at the head. Atsumu was shivering.

“Shit,” he said, and immediately squeezed his lips shut. Kiyoomi, as promised, took his hand away, and Atsumu groaned, looking up at Kiyoomi balefully. He looked like he was going to say something else, but he caught himself and just whined instead. Kiyoomi brought his hand back.

“Good,” he said softly, on a hunch. Atsumu sucked in a quick breath that told Kiyoomi what he needed to know.

The sounds Atsumu made when he couldn’t speak were beautiful. His responses were big and sudden with each new thing that Kiyoomi did. Kiyoomi wondered how he would look if he were fingering him, too, wondered if Atsumu would like that. He stored that away for later. But for now his focus was on wringing as many of those sounds out of Atsumu as he could, getting him as close to breaking into words as possible. 

He could tell when Atsumu was getting close by the way his stomach tensed and his moans turned short and clipped. Kiyoomi leaned over Atsumu, hand still working on him, and came down to give him a quick kiss. Atsumu met him eagerly but clumsily, making a small sound into Kiyoomi’s mouth. 

“Omi,” Atsumu murmured. Kiyoomi, though he didn’t want to, took his hand away again. Atsumu realized what he’d done and grimaced, putting his hands over his eyes. “Fuck. Shit.”

Kiyoomi waited and Atsumu’s hips moved a little, searching for anything. Then he returned to Atsumu’s cock and Atsumu let out a sigh of relief. He was almost there, Kiyoomi could see, though he might have been set back a few seconds. Kiyoomi kissed Atsumu’s jaw gently, in opposition to the way Atsumu was breathing frantically and making little ah ah ah sounds. A little more would do it.

Atsumu’s cock was twitching in Kiyoomi’s hand as he brought it up, over the head, back down again. Atsumu’s lower stomach was tightening and Kiyoomi could tell they were right on the edge.

“You’ve been very good,” Kiyoomi said softly, right above Atsumu’s ear. Atsumu cried out and, with a jolt of his whole body, came across his own chest and stomach, cum mixing with Kiyoomi’s in a mess Kiyoomi didn’t particularly want to look at. 

Kiyoomi worked him through it and then let go. Atsumu’s chest was heaving and he immediately grabbed Kiyoomi’s head, pulling him in for another hard, sloppy kiss. They kissed for a while as he came down. His breaths eventually slowed and he removed his fingers from Kiyoomi’s curls. 

“Where the fuck did you come from?” he asked. “How are you perfect?”

“Hell of a first kiss,” Kiyoomi repeated. Atsumu grinned.

“Think that one was a home run. A grand slam? Shit, I don’t know baseball.”

Kiyoomi grabbed a handful of tissues that Atsumu blessedly had beside the bed, handing a few to Atsumu as they wiped up his stomach. 

“That was really hot,” Atsumu said. “One time I was hooking up with this girl and she told me not to move my hands below my shoulders, and that was really hot too, kinda in the same way.”

So maybe he would be amenable to being tied up. Kiyoomi could think on it.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Did you have a good time too? I mean, I don’t want it to be the me show all the time.”

“Don’t you?” Kiyoomi teased. “No, I had a very good time.” He planted another short kiss on Atsumu’s lips, momentarily thrilled again that he was able to do that. “Believe me.”

“I’m wiped,” Atsumu said as he threw away the tissues. “But yer gonna make me take a shower, huh?”

“If you want to come sleep in my bed, yes.”

Atsumu blinked and then his eyes lit up like he’d received an incredible gift. “Ya want me to sleep in yer bed?”

“Well, I’m not sleeping in yours.”

“Gimme a sec. I’m in shock. You sure I won’t dirty it all up with my dirty body?”

“I can rescind the offer.”

“But ya won’t.”

No, Kiyoomi wouldn’t. He grabbed his underwear from inside his sweatpants on the ground and slid it on, once again ignoring it and where it had been as much as possible. “The shower isn’t big enough for the both of us, so you go first.”

“Yeah, this is pretty gross, actually,” Atsumu said, poking his chest. “Sticky.”

“Please don’t remind me.”

Atsumu went to go take a shower and Kiyoomi sat on his bed, still catching his breath. He had a second to think, and where he thought there would be a surge of regret there was only a pleasant hum. That had gone much further than he’d expected when he kissed Atsumu, and as he sat there he realized that no matter how he turned it around, it was good. It was very good. 

The nagging thought clawed at the back of his head, the one that said that once they got back to Earth he’d be doing security and Atsumu would be in jail and there was nothing that could come of it. So what? his brain countered. So what if it was only meant to happen for a little while? He thought of the look on Atsumu’s face when he came. The smile Atsumu had given him afterward, when they were done kissing. 

They weren’t in love. It didn’t matter how long this lasted. Kiyoomi didn’t need to be thinking about it this hard. 

Atsumu returned, flushed from the heat of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and, fortunately, shower shoes on. Kiyoomi stood, went to him, and after a moment of deliberation, kissed him. He felt Atsumu’s smile.

“So, is this a thing now?” Atsumu asked. “Can I kiss ya whenever?”

“If you’ve brushed your teeth,” Kiyoomi said. 

Atsumu grinned. “I’ll carry a toothbrush around with me.”

He kissed Kiyoomi again, his hands coming up slowly to Kiyoomi’s waist. It was surprisingly delicate. The novelty of it was blinding, the rightness of it suffocating. Kiyoomi could almost laugh. He imagined going back six weeks and telling himself that he was going to kiss Miya Atsumu. He imagined the look on his face. These six weeks had felt like a year, for all that had changed.

Kiyoomi took his own shower and went to his room, where Atsumu was already waiting for him. He looked too excited. Kiyoomi also immediately recognized the issue that they were going to have, with two men over 180 cm and a single twin bed. Ah, well. That was an issue they could solve another day. 

“Didn’t take ya for a cuddler,” Atsumu said. “‘Cause that’s the only way we’re fittin’ on here.”

Kiyoomi was at least glad they were on the same page. “You’d better not kick.”

“I’m an angel,” Atsumu said. “Motionless. Like the dead.”

Kiyoomi didn’t believe that for a second, but he got into bed with Miya Atsumu anyway. He could think about how weird this was another time. He’d realized in the shower that he was exhausted. He remembered that this had all started with him being unable to sleep. To then expend more energy...well, Kiyoomi let Atsumu wrap himself around him, felt the warmth of skin on skin again, and he fell asleep more quickly than he thought possible.

Kiyoomi dreamed of blood-darkened fur.

The fox didn’t move as he approached. He could see where it was hurt--gashes and bite marks all over it, a broken leg. Kiyoomi knew he should leave it. He knew he shouldn’t engage.

He crawled up to the fox’s side. It was much bigger than him. He sniffed all around it, all the way up to its face. Its eyes opened and it looked at him, golden-brown and endlessly deep. He thought he could see stars somewhere deep inside, shimmering in the snow. 

It watched him and breathed, looking him over, like it was looking for something in particular. It seemed to find it, because it relaxed its head and closed its eyes again. 

Kiyoomi took catalogue of the wounds, going up and down the fox’s body. It probably didn’t have much longer, but he didn’t know what he could do. He was too small, not dextrous enough, not strong enough. He didn’t have anything to help it with, no bandages or poultices, no warmth besides his burrow.

He placed his paw on the fox’s side, gently. He watched as the fox grew smaller beside him, as his paw grew bigger, as he checked its body for anything he’d missed. If he had hands he could move it. So he had hands. If he was bigger, he could carry it. So he was bigger. If he could walk upright, he could bring it somewhere. So he had long legs, hidden under thick pants. He was wearing a jacket to fight the cold. He was wearing a mask.

Kiyoomi carefully lifted the fox from the ground. It didn’t seem to be awake anymore. He didn’t have much time. He carried it across the snow, cradled in his arms, to the small cabin he knew would be at the end of this clearing. He opened the door with his elbow and brought the fox into the warmth. A fire was crackling in the fireplace. 

Kiyoomi set down a towel and put the fox on it, right in front of the fire. Then he took strips of cloth and antiseptic and bandaged the fox’s wounds. Across its leg, which he set with a stick, up its sides, around its head, until it was more bandage than fox. Russet fur poked out of the gaps between cloth. It was still breathing. He set a small bowl of water beside it and went to sit at the small kitchen table, shoulders tight.

Four days passed, four days of stolen kisses and nights together, and Kiyoomi woke up warm and a little sweaty. He didn’t open his eyes, taking a second to come to. Atsumu’s hair tickled his neck and the side of his face, his breaths slow on Kiyoomi’s collarbone. His leg was thrown over Kiyoomi’s body and his hand was tucked between Kiyoomi’s opposite shoulder and his neck. Atsumu was a bona fide furnace, and everywhere they touched Kiyoomi felt a little too hot.

Kiyoomi smiled. The arm that was under Atsumu’s head was getting to be a little numb, but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with until Atsumu woke up. The more pressing issue was that he needed to pee, and Atsumu’s leg across his lower stomach was not doing him any favors. 

With no small amount of regret, Kiyoomi carefully extracted himself from Atsumu’s grasp. Atsumu’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up at Kiyoomi in confusion before he seemed to realize where he was. Then he smiled, warm and sleepy, and Kiyoomi’s chest clenched. 

“Where’re ya goin’?” Atsumu asked softly. 

“Bathroom,” Kiyoomi said. “Stay here.”

Atsumu hummed in acknowledgment. “Yer gonna be cold when ya get back.”

“What a hardship.”

Kiyoomi maneuvered himself out of bed as Atsumu curled back in on himself. They’d pushed Bokuto’s old bed up against Kiyoomi’s, making a makeshift double bed. They were each too large to fit together in a single twin bed, and after one night of trying they’d given up and rearranged the room. It was cold outside of the blankets, a bit pleasantly so after the heat of Atsumu’s body, and he went down the hall to the bathroom. 

In the mirror he saw that his hair was sticking up a little on one side, and his cheek was marked a little by the pillow. When he was done, instead of heading back, he stopped to brush his teeth. He knew that Atsumu would complain, but he never brushed his teeth for less than two minutes. Just before he was about to leave, he remembered something. He poured a bit of mouthwash into a small paper cup and headed back to his room.

Atsumu watched him with heavily lidded eyes as he crossed to the bed. He made grabby hands as Kiyoomi reached him, and Kiyoomi set down the cup before he let himself be pulled back down onto the bed, half on top of Atsumu. 

“Oof,” Atsumu grunted. “You’re heavy.”

“You did this.”

“I was tryna be cute.”

Kiyoomi rolled off of him and Atsumu immediately clung to him again. He kissed the corner of Kiyoomi’s jaw, and Kiyoomi gestured over to the side table.

“Mouthwash,” he said. Atsumu looked up at him and then rolled his eyes.

“Yer ridiculous.”

“I’m not kissing you until you taste like nothing but menthol.”

Atsumu half sat up and diligently knocked the shot of mouthwash back, swishing it around. He gave Kiyoomi a few looks as he did so, but Kiyoomi just raised an eyebrow. He spit back into the cup and put it back on the side table. “Minty fresh,” he said, grinning as though it would show, and he descended back onto Kiyoomi, kissing him softly and slowly. As promised, he tasted like mouthwash and nothing else. 

“Good morning,” Kiyoomi said. 

“That shit is spicy,” Atsumu said. “Ow.”

“Spicy?” Kiyoomi repeated, and he couldn’t stop a sleepy little laugh from escaping. 

“Hey, ya don’t get to be cute when I’m complaining,” Atsumu said. 

“You don’t get to be cute while you’re complaining,” Kiyoomi countered.

“Omi thinks I’m cute,” Atsumu said smugly.

“Not with that attitude.”

“You like my attitude.”

“I tolerate it.”

“Mmhmm.”

Atsumu leaned in for another slow kiss and Kiyoomi eagerly followed him. Atsumu’s hand wandered aimlessly across his chest and stomach, a light touch that almost tickled. It was hot on Kiyoomi’s skin, the trapped heat from the blanket and Atsumu’s natural warmth. 

Atsumu was very responsive to kissing, and he made a little noise into Kiyoomi’s mouth. The kiss became more adventurous, a little stronger, as they both woke up. Kiyoomi had a moment of regret for the amount of time they could have been doing this before he figured out his shit, the mornings they could have had like this that they spent down the hall instead. Well, they could make use of the time they had.

There was no telling how long that would be. Either they would be rescued, ideally sometime soon, or they wouldn’t and they’d have to figure out how to get back down to Earth themselves. This was not a good train of thought to follow while Atsumu was sucking on his lower lip, so Kiyoomi stored it away and brought himself back to the moment.

He coaxed Atsumu up, and Atsumu got the message, swinging a leg over Kiyoomi’s hips and straddling him without breaking the kiss. He hovered over Kiyoomi, bracing himself on a hand, his other still sweeping all over Kiyoomi’s body, like he was trying to map it with his touch. Kiyoomi ran light fingertips up and down Atsumu’s sides, where he was sensitive, and Atsumu shivered. 

“Speakin’ of spicy,” Atsumu said, breaking the kiss, and Kiyoomi groaned.

“I’ll be at a ten if you keep talking,” he said.

Atsumu smiled. “Aye aye.”

They kissed and touched and Kiyoomi eventually got them both off, Atsumu gasping and whining into Kiyoomi’s mouth and sending extra heat down his body with each pump of his hand. Atsumu grabbed a tissue from the side table at the last minute and made sure they both came into it instead of onto Kiyoomi’s body. 

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi said, winded. Atsumu’s head dropped down to rest on Kiyoomi’s chest and he huffed out a laugh.

“Don’t want to start off yer morning like that,” he said. 

“I’m going to take a shower anyway,” Kiyoomi said, but he was still grateful. Atsumu tossed the tissue in the small trash can, and Kiyoomi silently thanked his natural athleticism for the fact that he didn’t miss. 

“Still.” Atsumu, with great apparent effort, heaved his leg up and fell to the side next to Kiyoomi, bouncing a little on the bed. “Let’s do that every morning.”

They already had, the past few mornings, but Kiyoomi didn’t say that. “Agreed.”

They kissed a little more before they both begrudgingly got up, Kiyoomi going to take a shower and Atsumu going to the kitchen to make them some breakfast and coffee while he waited to do the same. 

There was something about this that unsettled Kiyoomi, but not necessarily in a bad way. Maybe it was because they’d already been living on top of each other for weeks, but the transition to whatever their relationship was now had been surprisingly smooth. It was easy to kiss Atsumu, to pat him on the ass as they walked past each other, to wake up to him. It almost scared Kiyoomi with how easy it was. It had only been a few days, and the novelty certainly hadn’t worn off yet, but it still felt natural in a way Kiyoomi wasn’t sure he understood.

Six weeks ago he thought he’d hated Atsumu, and now they were kissing in the dark. These were extraordinary circumstances, certainly, and he didn’t know if they’d be so comfortable around each other if they hadn’t been stuck like this. If they’d met on Earth, would he have noticed all of the things about Atsumu that he could now say he liked about him? If they had dated, would they have been so comfortable so fast?

No, he knew. The answer was no. 

But these circumstances were different. He’d taken off his oxygen in the void of space to give it to Atsumu. Having sex with him after that was nothing.

Kiyoomi got out of the shower feeling refreshed, his skin rubbed clean and his dark curls loose and shiny. He changed and wandered into the kitchen, where Atsumu was messing with a pan of fried rice. He turned and smiled at Kiyoomi as he entered, and Kiyoomi had all kinds of terrible domestic thoughts. He almost wanted to step up behind him and put his hands on Atsumu’s hips. He valiantly resisted the urge, mostly because he knew he wouldn’t live it down, and waited instead.

“There’s um,” Atsumu said, turning off the stove. “There’s bacon in here. Thought I’d experiment.”

Kiyoomi snorted. “Sounds fine to me.”

“No eggs, though,” Atsumu said. 

“I can physically eat them,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Yeah, but if ya don’t like them I’m not gonna go to the trouble of makin’ them.”

Kiyoomi smiled, just to himself. “Alright.”

Atsumu handed him a plate and he scooped some rice onto it. There were already two cups of coffee poured and on the table. This was all doing strange things to his insides. This is what they’d been doing every morning, anyway. It shouldn’t feel different now, more pointed, more intimate.

They sat in comfortable silence as they ate, Atsumu occasionally humming to himself a little. 

“I figured out the rest of that song,” he said. Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow.

“What song?”

“The one I made up when I was exhausted and concussed,” Atsumu replied.

“I’m sure it’s a masterpiece.”

“‘Samu’s the one who learned how to play guitar, so I don’t know how I’d get it down, but it’s in my head.”

“I can play a little bit of piano,” Kiyoomi said. “Not that I’m offering.”

“Of course ya can, because you’re perfect,” Atsumu said, rolling his eyes. “Nah, I’ll just hum it.”

They continued to eat. Atsumu’s knee started bobbing up and down, and as he finished off his plate he cleared his throat. 

“So.”

“Hm?” Kiyoomi looked up, still chewing. 

“I’d better bring this up sooner rather than later,” Atsumu said. He took a breath. Kiyoomi waited. “They’re not gonna come get us, are they?”

Kiyoomi put down his fork and bit his lip. “They might.”

“But they’re not gonna,” Atsumu said. “They would have already. Weeks ago.”

Kiyoomi had gotten into many a thought spiral about this, and the longer they remained on the moon the tighter and tighter the spiral had gotten. He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Here’s what I think’s goin’ on,” Atsumu said. He took a fluttering sip of too-hot coffee. “The last time they saw us, the power was out and the air was off. They spent three days in a shuttle, and when they landed they tried to radio us and it didn’t go through.”

Kiyoomi’s tongue ran over his teeth as he listened. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought before, but it was different to hear it out loud. “So they assumed the power was still off.”

“So they think we’re dead.”

“Why wouldn’t they check?”

“A whole moon launch for two corpses? They know a door was open.”

“I told Meian that I--” Kiyoomi started. He blinked, his mouth still open, as he was hit with a sudden wave of realization that flushed his skin hot. “I didn’t tell him. That I closed the door.”

“It’s okay,” Atsumu said. “It was a bad situation. Ya can’t remember everything.”

“It could have gotten us rescued,” Kiyoomi said, staring very hard at the table. Every time he’d gone over the events of that night, he’d skipped over exactly what he’d said and when. Now, thinking back on it, he couldn’t remember a time between getting Meian on the line and the shuttle taking off where anyone on the shuttle knew that the leak had been stopped.

“They have no reason to believe that the radio wouldn’t work, unless the power was still out or we were dead,” Atsumu said. He tapped on the table a little and Kiyoomi looked up. “Hey. If we’re playin’ the blame game, I fuckin’ win, so stop it.”

Kiyoomi supposed that was true. He took a breath and looked back up at Atsumu. “So we’re getting down ourselves,” he said.

“That’s what I’m thinkin’. The longer we stay here the longer this place has to actually kill us.”

“Something could go wrong on the way down. We don’t know what we’re doing.”

“We can’t stay up here until they decide it’s time to clean up our bodies.”

That also meant that no resupply missions would be coming, either. It was so easy to get these thoughts by himself and keep chasing his tail about what-ifs and maybes, but with Atsumu voicing it out loud the truth was clearer. They’d waited long enough. Any longer and they were courting disaster, even more so than they had so far. One accident had almost killed Atsumu, not that Kiyoomi liked remembering that.

“There’s another vehicle in the launch bay,” Kiyoomi said. “It’s meant for emergencies. I think it can hold up to four people.”

“They only had one lifeboat? Where have I heard that before?”

“One lifeboat and one life-ship,” Kiyoomi pointed out.

“We shoulda taken it first thing,” Atsumu said. 

“We wouldn’t have been able to enter the launch bay without suits.”

“Still.”

Kiyoomi took a breath. Yes, maybe they should have. They should have done many things. Kiyoomi had been so absolutely sure that they would be rescued, which would be infinitely safer than the two of them trying to work an unfamiliar spacefaring vessel. 

“I saw it as a last resort. It could kill us.”

Atsumu tilted his head to the side. “I mean, it’s meant for a quick escape, right? So it’s probably user-friendly, at least as much as a spaceship can be.”

“Reentry is dangerous no matter what kind of ship you’re in,” Kiyoomi said.

“There’s probably a parachute.”

“Even so.”

There was a long pause as they examined each other, each looking for something the other couldn’t name. Then, Atsumu said, “We’re gonna hafta go, right? Soon.”

“Yes, we are.”

“But hey,” Atsumu said, after another weighted silence, “Maybe Japan legalized conjugal visits while we were gone.”

Kiyoomi couldn’t help himself--he snorted, which turned into a full-bodied laugh. “For same-sex couples?”

“Coulda been a busy month.”

“Of course that would be on your mind.”

“It’s not on yours?” Atsumu asked honestly. Kiyoomi sighed.

“I thought about it.” He didn’t know what to say. “I mean... this is only a few days old. How far in the future are we thinking?”

“I liked ya for a hell of a lot longer than we’ve been kissin’,” Atsumu said. 

Kiyoomi wasn’t sure that it had been a “hell of a” lot longer for him, too, but if he thought back on it he wouldn’t have been opposed to this sort of arrangement at least a week earlier than it happened. He just hadn’t figured out his own emotions, because he never did.

“If we were on Earth,” Atsumu said, a little quieter, “and if I hadn’t fucked up, or if we’d met before that...I’d’ve dated the shit out of you, Omi.”

Kiyoomi smiled. “Is that so?”

“And I keep wonderin’, y’know, if I’d met ya before I made Black Jackal, or before I deployed it, at least...would I be here? I don’t know.”

“You think I would have stopped you from going to prison?”

“It’s possible. I mean, ‘Samu was the only voice of reason I had, and he was right there with me, codin’ it at night and keepin’ track of where it was goin’. If I’d had you, or if I had someone I was goin’ home to, I don’t think I’d’ve done it. I woulda thought twice, at least.” Atsumu shrugged. “But I was alone and dumb.”

“I can still see you,” Kiyoomi said. “They still allow regular visits, and after the story breaks about us I’m sure they’ll consider me close enough to come see you.”

“I…” Atsumu started. “I trust you, okay? So I trust that yer not gonna say anything.” He worked some words around in his mouth for a moment. “Ya know I’m gonna try to get out again.”

“Atsumu, that’s dangerous.”

“More dangerous than anything we’ve done up here?”

Kiyoomi couldn’t counter that. “If you get caught then we might not be able to see each other. You might be put in maximum security. You’d kill any chance for early parole.”

“And if I get out, I can change my name and go to another country and, uh, not be in prison.”

“Atsumu.”

“The earliest chance I have for parole anyway is fifteen years. I’m almost thirty. I’ve already spent too much time on this shit. I’m not gonna spend most of the best years of my life locked up.” He set his jaw. “I’m not.”

“They’re not going to let you within ten meters of a computer.”

“I don’t need one. I’ll figure it out. The way they got prisons set up now--‘specially the luxury one they’re gonna send me to after it all comes out, the shit we went through up here--it’s not as hard. They rely on the fact that it’s not actually so shitty inside to get ya to not bust yer way out. They give me a day trip, I’m gone.”

Kiyoomi looked down at the remains of rice and soy sauce on his plate. “You’d rather be on the run for the rest of your life than in prison for fifteen years?”

“Yes,” Atsumu answered instantly. His face softened a little into a grim smile. “Maybe I’ll let ‘em catch me when I’m seventy. Call it my retirement.”

“Maybe they’ll allow conjugal visits by then,” Kiyoomi said. 

He expected Atsumu to laugh, but instead Atsumu’s smile dropped. He stared at Kiyoomi. Blinked. “You plannin’ on bein’ with me until we’re seventy?”

Kiyoomi froze, read back over his statement, and cleared his throat. “I was trying to make a joke.”

Atsumu still looked a little stunned, joke or not. He nodded. “Right.”

“Neither of us can tell something like that,” Kiyoomi continued. “I’ve only known you existed for two and a half months.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Atsumu said. “I know. I just got...I dunno, prison brain. Makes ya think in years.”

“It’s okay.”

It was the honeymoon period talking, Kiyoomi knew. There was still all of the energy of a new relationship electrifying the air between them, the novelty of I can touch him, and it changed the way they thought. 

“We should be thinking in days,” Kiyoomi said. “When are we going to leave?”

“We need to check out the escape pod first,” Atsumu said. “See how it works, plan it out. We don’t know if there’s food in there. We need to pack.”

“So a couple of days.”

Atsumu took a deep breath, then said, with some hesitation, “Yeah. Couple of days.”

It was quiet. Kiyoomi could do the math just as well as Atsumu could. This little period of relative happiness had a steadily approaching end date, and they both knew it. They’d already been doing their best to wring everything they could out of it, but once they got into the escape vessel they would start a countdown timer, and three days later it would ring. Three days in zero gravity and then they’d enter Earth’s atmosphere and things, somehow, would normalize again.

After all of this, Kiyoomi couldn’t actually imagine being back on Earth. What would it be like, to walk around in the outdoors, to see other people, to not worry about whether or not he could breathe? To go back to Itachiyama, maybe, if they’d have him. To not be living on top of Atsumu, 24/7. To barely see him. 

It was incredible, how quickly his opinion of Atsumu had changed. You got to see a lot more of someone when they were your sole focus for weeks and weeks. Maybe on Earth he’d discover rose-colored glasses and take them off, and Atsumu would just be another guy. Maybe, in the face of the existence of the rest of humanity, Kiyoomi would decide that Atsumu wasn’t that special, after all. That he wasn’t worth it. 

That wasn’t something to think about now, because for the situation they were both in, in the time they were both in, Atsumu was worth it.

Maybe it did scare Kiyoomi to admit that.

Chapter Text

The emergency vessel was a white pod on the end of a large launching mechanism, a life-supporting cone-shaped blob on top of a stalk of white-and-black jets and thrusters. Kiyoomi and Atsumu managed to wheel it out from the corner it was hiding in two days after their conversation about it, and it rolled on its track into the overhead lights of the launch bay like an ancient relic being uncovered. 

“Takes a bit of muscle, huh?” Atsumu wheezed as they got it into position at the center of the bay. “Not so ‘emergency.’”

“Having a hard time?” Kiyoomi asked smugly, also out of breath. A mechanism clicked into place and they closed a brace around it before stepping back off onto the metal launch platform.

“Piece of cake,” Atsumu shot back. “Ya look pretty tired over there, though, Omi-Omi.”

“Never felt better,” Kiyoomi said. 

Atsumu rolled his eyes. “We still gotta get that ladder over here.”

“The more I look at this thing the less I want to be inside it,” Kiyoomi said, squinting and looking up. The jets were at least three times taller than he was, and the pod at the top looked flimsier than he’d imagined.

“Opposite of me, huh?” Atsumu quipped.

Kiyoomi gave a beleaguered sigh. “Of course.” He went to the black and yellow striped ladder structure against the wall of the dome and, with a bit of effort, yanked it away. The wheels rumbled on the diamond plate floor of the platform. Atsumu came to help him settle it into place against the launching mechanism, the top of the ladder reaching a hatch on the side of the emergency pod. 

“Perfect,” Atsumu said. He slapped his hands together, like he was dusting them off. “Good work, sugar.”

Kiyoomi leveled a withering glare at him, though he knew Atsumu couldn’t see the flat line of his mouth through his mask. Atsumu couldn’t hide his smile and a hiccup of a laugh escaped as he watched Kiyoomi’s face. 

“Not into pet names?” Atsumu asked. “Sweetie?”

“I will go to Earth and leave you here,” Kiyoomi said, dead serious.

“Okay, okay. Is babe fine, at least?”

“Thin ice.”

“I only have three more days to say it, anyway,” Atsumu said, more subdued. Kiyoomi looked away.

“I’m going to visit you.”

“Yeah.”

It was so strange to talk about it. It felt so far away, but Kiyoomi knew that once they landed on Earth that would be it. Atsumu’s seven weeks of relative freedom would be over. It was impossible to imagine, in Kiyoomi’s mind’s eye, what it would be like to get checked into a prison, to meet Atsumu in a monitored room, to not be allowed to touch him. Would people ask him what it had been like? How could he explain the way they’d become friends? How could he explain talking about their childhoods in the dark, holding hands? He couldn’t. Miya Atsumu would just be another inmate, another criminal.

“I wonder if I could get a security consultin’ gig,” Atsumu mused. “Sure, I’m in the big house, but that doesn’t mean I forgot everything. I could tighten up their security tenfold and leave myself a way out.”

“Right, because you’d escape through the internet.”

“Hey, I almost got myself out of here, didn’t I?”

“If you smash your head in on your way out of the next prison I won’t be there to make you run afterward.”

Atsumu laughed and shook his head. “Where would I be without ya?”

It felt like too few steps to get the escape vessel set up. Kiyoomi knew that it wasn’t supposed to be hard--it was supposed to be done quickly, after all--but it still felt unfinished. Like there would be something they forgot, something catastrophic. He imagined a million different ways they could explode during takeoff. 

“Let’s see the new digs,” Atsumu said jauntily, starting to climb the ladder. Kiyoomi followed him up, waiting just below him as he reached the top and climbed up onto the upper platform. “This feels so rickety. Not likin’ this.”

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“I’m afraid of hittin’ the floor really hard.”

“Then don’t fall.”

“Thanks, babe.”

Atsumu unlatched the door to the pod and pulled it aside. The vessel itself seemed larger when they were right next to it than Kiyoomi had estimated it being when he was looking up at it from the ground. It was white and sterile, and inside he could see, as Atsumu entered and he finished climbing the ladder, a tiny airlock, and beyond it four seats with buckles in front of a large window. 

“I’ve been in hotels smaller than this,” Atsumu said. Kiyoomi ducked into the small hatch. He could barely stand inside. Behind the seats was a small open space with zero-gravity sleeping areas on the walls and four identical space suits, the same as the ones in the prison. Atsumu was peeking his head through a small door at the back. “Got a bathroom. I don’t like that there’s a pipe with a funnel on the end.”

Kiyoomi snorted and went to look over Atsumu’s shoulder. It was the same as the small bathroom on the shuttle on the way up--everything was driven by suction in order to keep waste out of the air without gravity. 

There were a series of fold-up storage areas on the walls in the main part of the pod, and Kiyoomi found inside them some water--enough, he reasoned, for four people for three days--and some dried packaged foods. It would sustain them, sure. Kiyoomi didn’t want to bring things on board that could potentially mess with any of the electronics if they got into the air, but they could probably bring some better food from the prison.

“It all looks fine to me,” Kiyoomi said. He looked out the large front window at the domed, corrugated metal ceiling of the launch bay. He imagined it as the void of space instead.

“Let’s not stay here,” Atsumu said. “We’re gonna get sick of it in three days anyway.”

“Agreed.”

They made their way down the ladder and back into the prison. It was strange, how familiar the place had become. And Kiyoomi was, thank god, never going to see it again. If he could help it, at least. If he never set foot on the moon again it would be too soon.

But this little bubble of peace, the easy mornings and warm afternoons with Atsumu, that he might miss. There was no perfect world where, once they landed on Earth, they could stay together on the outside. There was no perfect world where Kiyoomi could take Atsumu out on a first date. There was no perfect world in which any relationship they had lasted longer than the week it had so far. 

Kiyoomi knew he needed to be monitoring and curbing his expectations. It was the anxiety of the situation, the shared trauma, that made him feel so attached to Atsumu so quickly. They moved fast because they had nothing else to do. When they got back to Earth and the bubble was popped, Kiyoomi would have to come to his senses, to stop getting swept up. 

They’d been having sex for a week. Kiyoomi needed to stop imagining a future.

“I’m almost packed,” Atsumu said as they entered the break room before the dorms. “Don’t have a lot. And anything I don’t have I can buy on Earth with the wicked settlement money we’re gonna get for all this.”

“Supplemented by our tell-all true story, New York Times bestseller.”

“Now yer thinkin’, Omi. It’s all about multiple sources of income.”

“The justice system’s only self-made man.”

They lingered by the door to Kiyoomi’s room. He didn’t have much to pack, either. There were a couple of little things he’d brought from home, but on the whole Kiyoomi didn’t get sentimental about objects. 

“So, a couple hours,” Atsumu said.

“No sense it putting it off,” Kiyoomi replied.

“I know what we could do with a couple hours,” Atsumu said, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “You’re insatiable.”

“Hey, it’s probably the last time,” Atsumu said, suddenly more serious.

“If we keep counting in ‘last’s, we’ll never make it off this rock.”

“I’ll be back over here when I’m done packin’,” Atsumu said. 

Kiyoomi watched him go. He was unsettled, his hands itching. Change was hard, especially when it was from relative stability to the unknown. He couldn’t help the anxiety building in his chest, clawing up his throat. He wondered when the last time anyone had been inside the escape vessel was. Had they been wearing gloves? Had they washed their hands? He pulled a few packets of alcohol wipes he’d stored under his bed and stuffed them in his duffel bag next to his space suit leggings and thermal shirts. 

Atsumu did come back with a strange look in his eye. It was a mix of things--determination, fear, something dark that Kiyoomi couldn’t place--and he didn’t say a word as he got into Kiyoomi’s space and kissed him. Kiyoomi’s hands fell to Atsumu’s hips and they stepped closer, kissing languidly in the doorway to his room. 

Atsumu eventually pushed him to the bed and climbed on top of him, though the kiss remained slow, steady, and firm. Kiyoomi expected it to heat up but it didn’t. Atsumu seemed determined to keep it the way it was, exploring, wanting, feeling, but not passing over the precipice into something more. This was communication, a conversation in the form of a kiss. 

I really like you and look at how well we fit and I’m going to miss this. I’m going to miss you.

Kiyoomi reminded himself that they still had three days. 

They didn’t end up having sex, Atsumu resolving, after a good forty-five minutes of just kissing and exploring and touching, to curl up into Kiyoomi’s chest. Kiyoomi petted his hair and Atsumu laced their fingers and they still said nothing. There wasn’t much to say that wasn’t idle conversation. 

After a while--Kiyoomi didn’t know how long--they both seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same time. Kiyoomi took a deep breath and Atsumu let go of his hand.

“We should go,” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu nodded against his chest.

“Yeah.”

They sat up and Kiyoomi grabbed his bag. Atsumu had memorized the list of instructions for takeoff, and he went to the computers in the launch bay to get all of the initial systems ready. T-30 minutes until launch.

Kiyoomi climbed the rickety ladder and put their bags in some of the compartments along the back wall of the pod. They had a small satchel of snacks as well, which he put away with the other food. He brought two flashlights and his pocket radio. They made him feel safer, even if they were going to be useless.

At T-20 minutes, Atsumu joined him up in the pod, closing and securing the hatch behind him. He fiddled with something and Kiyoomi felt the entire structure shift away from the ladder. He didn’t like it, the loss of control over where he was and how he was moving. He swallowed it down. He’d done space travel once. He could do it again.

“Hope you took a piss,” Atsumu said. “Next rest stop is in 400,000 kilometers.”

How was Atsumu so good at taking Kiyoomi out of his own head? Kiyoomi snorted and reached for a suit. Atsumu was beside him, slipping on his own. There were oxygen tanks as well, but they had to be handled carefully. They had special anti-static units around them, to prevent accidents. These ones latched onto their abdomens.

At T-15 minutes, Kiyoomi made sure the hatch was secure and that all of their belongings and the containers holding them were secure. Then he put his helmet on and fastened it into place, the sound of the room cutting out instantly. He turned on his oxygen and pressed the communications toggle.

“Can you hear me?” he asked.

“Loud and clear, over.” Atsumu’s voice was tinny and distant, even though they were right next to each other.

“If you keep doing that…”

“What? What’re ya gonna do, Omi? Over.”

Kiyoomi glanced over at Atsumu, unimpressed. “I can strangle you through the suit.”

“Who says I’m not into that?” A pause. “Over.”

Kiyoomi shook his head and went to sit in one of the seats. There was a complex strap that he managed to figure out, locking himself into place firmly. He took a breath and tried to quiet the swell of anxiety that threatened to flood up into his head. He imagined himself filling slowly with electrified water, sparks crackling along the surface.

Atsumu strapped himself in as well, right in front of a control panel above their heads. T-10 minutes. Kiyoomi had to trust that he knew what he was doing. Apparently Atsumu was very good at memorizing data, at remembering instructions. Kiyoomi had no idea if that was true, but if it wasn’t he had no chance to back out now.

“Locked n’ loaded, captain,” Atsumu said. “We’re gonna get about 3 Gs of force during takeoff. Yer gonna feel a little wonky.”

“I’ve done this before, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi said. 

“I’m just tryin’ to be a good pilot,” Atsumu said. 

“So you’re the pilot?”

“What, you wanna take over? You remember the post-launch checklist?”

“Do you?” 

“I could recite it to ya backwards.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Then launch us, pilot.”

T-5 minutes. The vessel slowly tilted back, turning what had once been the front into the top, facing the two of them upwards into the sky. Kiyoomi’s heart was in his throat and he was trying very, very hard not to show it. He must have failed, because he saw out of the corner of his eye Atsumu’s hand stretching out. He met him halfway, and they locked eyes. Atsumu looked like he was having the same issue. That was simultaneously comforting and terrifying.

T-2 minutes. Kiyoomi felt bad for not turning off all of the lights in the prison.

T-1 minute. 

He saw, but didn’t hear, the large domed ceiling begin to open. It slowly retracted, layers of metal sliding past each other. The noise was probably terrible, but Kiyoomi couldn’t hear it through both the escape pod and his suit. All of the sound was escaping into the lack of atmosphere, though. The black sky opened before them. 

T-15 seconds.

T-10 seconds.

There was a sudden, jolting rumble beneath them. Kiyoomi clenched his jaw. The entire pod was shaking, and then there was a lurch forward, pressing him back into the seat. 

“Shit, wait,” Atsumu said.

“What?” Kiyoomi hissed. Atsumu let go of his hand and started poking at buttons on the panel above them. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Atsumu repeated, voice low and tense. Kiyoomi was trying to swallow down panic before but now it burst out all at once.

“What?” he demanded, as they started to move. He looked forward, and in an instant he saw what the problem was.

While the shuttle had taken off from the direct center of the launch bay, they’d pulled the escape pod a little to the side so that it met up with the platform. It was either that, or something in the timing that had messed up, because they were starting to shoot forward and there was a tiny sliver of the dome still in their way.

They pushed off of the surface of the moon, as Atsumu flipped switches and pressed buttons. It was too late. Kiyoomi could only watch as they jetted up, up, toward the high ceiling. He closed his eyes and waited, pressed back into his seat by the force, to the point that it was slightly painful.

Of course something had to go wrong, he thought, and it almost settled him. Maybe they’d miss the dome. Maybe his eyeballing of it was off. Maybe the dome would get out of their way before they got there.

There was another jolt, one that threw Kiyoomi’s head to the side and pulled at the straps holding him to the chair. He heard the crunch above them, the scrape of metal. Kiyoomi was going to throw up, and it wasn’t from motion sickness. Atsumu’s hand shot around wildly until it found Kiyoomi’s again and he squeezed it so hard it hurt. Kiyoomi’s eyes were still pressed closed. The force of the jets below them still powered them forward.

Maybe it was okay. Maybe nothing was wrong. 

“Omi,” he heard Atsumu say. There wasn’t urgency in his voice, or anything but a strange choking.

Kiyoomi felt a sudden rush of panic at the realization that Atsumu was also here, this was real, he was here, in his body, and this was happening. He sucked in a breath. “What the fuck is happening, Miya?” he demanded. “Atsumu,” he corrected breathlessly, clipped.

“I fucked up.” Atsumu’s voice was ghostly.

Kiyoomi didn’t know if that was true or not but he still immediately said: “No.” 

“No, Omi, I fucked up real bad and now we’re gonna die.”

There were a few agonizing minutes of force pushing him into the seat, and then at once the force was gone. Kiyoomi felt his hair lift, and suddenly he was only barely sitting in the seat. The jets were disengaging and drifting away, unlatching themselves from the pod. At once they were weightless.

Kiyoomi opened his eyes. Above them there was nothing but darkness. The window in front of them was mostly dark, with a sliver of some kind of light in the great, vast distance. Kiyoomi’s mouth opened and his stomach dropped as he realized that it was Earth. A crescent of it, surprisingly blue, haloed by a fine white mist. He’d seen Earth from the moon before, had marveled at it. Now it was the only thing he could see. He was lost in some eternal moment, watching that sliver of light. He took a breath. He wasn’t letting himself process it. He just nodded, to no one. 

“The…” Atsumu started. An audible gulp. “The lights aren’t supposed to be out.”

It started with a power failure, and now of course it would end with one.

There were some lights on in the panel above them, some running lights around switches and dials. So not everything was out. Kiyoomi took deep breaths. In through his nose, hold for four seconds, out through his mouth, hold for four seconds. He counted to five, then to ten. He named colors. He didn’t know how long he did it. His heart was pounding.

“We’re fucked, then,” he said calmly.

“I can try to figure it out.”

“It went out after we hit the ceiling,” Kiyoomi said. “Right?” He felt oddly still, all of a sudden.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Kiyoomi took a deep breath. “Okay.”

His brain was trying to kick itself into gear, to start planning and working on contingencies, but it was slow. If the air was gone they could either supplement with the oxygen tanks or stay in their suits. They still had food. They still had water. They could survive for a little while in this vehicle. 

Were they even still pointed at Earth? How did this thing navigate? With the power out it didn’t matter, because it wouldn’t work anyway, unless there was some mechanical feature they could use. That they had no idea how to use.

Atsumu was right. They were probably going to die, he realized with little fanfare.

It was amazing how quickly that could happen. An hour ago they were kissing on a bed. An hour before that they were packing. On solid ground, with air. Kiyoomi wasn’t breathing heavily anymore. He was frozen entirely. Atsumu was squeezing the life out of his hand. There wasn’t anything spectacular or mystifying about the moment. One minute they’d been on track to go home and the next they weren’t.

“We have three days to figure it out,” Kiyoomi said, but he didn’t even believe himself.

“We have three days to figure out which way we’re gonna die, you mean. There’s a lotta different options.”

They could take off their suits now that they were in zero gravity. Kiyoomi unclicked his helmet and flipped it up. His arms felt strange, lingering in the air without any effort on his part, no matter where he put them. The ship had been going up, out of the launch bay, but now the directions were all turned around and what used to be the top of the vessel now felt like the front. 

Kiyoomi unclicked himself from the seat and drifted out of it. Atsumu watched him and then undid his own helmet, taking it off and setting it aside. He put it on a surface but it slowly started floating up instead. 

“This is cool, at least,” Atsumu said, dry as a bone. 

Kiyoomi huffed out a laugh, somehow. “Fuck.”

“Fuck is right.”

“What happened?”

Atsumu drifted up out of his seat as well. “I messed up the timing.”

“Isn’t it automatic?”

“I don’t even know. I told it to start launch procedure. I think I told it too late.”

“Or we had it too far over. The vessel.”

“Or that.”

Kiyoomi just stared at Atsumu for a long moment. He could barely see him in the running lights of the panel, which only framed the outline of his face in red and green. His hair was lifting off of his head, just a little. Kiyoomi wondered what his own was doing. He reached up and touched it, finding it curly and fanned around his head in a bit of a halo. He probably looked ridiculous. What did it matter?

“Guess I’m not goin’ back to prison.”

Kiyoomi felt it again, suddenly, the lurch in his stomach. He swallowed. It felt different without gravity, less satisfying. “Atsumu.”

“‘Samu and my parents probably already think I’m dead, so that won’t change much. Good for that, at least.”

Kiyoomi wondered what stage of grief they were going to start with. Was catatonia one of them, or had they just not processed anything yet? He had no idea how long they’d been floating, at this point. He’d lost his sense of time the moment they hit the roof of the launch bay. It could have been ten minutes or half an hour. Maybe just a minute or two.

“We might be able to fix it,” Kiyoomi said. “You said so.” Well, he could name this one. Denial.

“I say a lot of things,” Atsumu murmured. 

Maybe they hadn’t been knocked off track. Maybe they’d powered through. Kiyoomi could see, through the window, that sliver of Earth right ahead of them. Maybe things would be okay. Maybe they were on course. Maybe they’d get lucky and match up with the Pacific Ocean as they reentered the atmosphere. Maybe the parachute on the vessel had some manual lever they could pull. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

“Makes ya realize how flimsy all these things are,” Atsumu said. He pressed a button on the panel. Nothing happened. He coughed out a bitter laugh. “Of course this would happen to us.”

Kiyoomi had always defaulted to anger, when he was surprised. But now, despite the situation, he couldn’t call it up to the surface. He tried, tried taking the empty feeling in his stomach and filling it with fire, tried forcing himself to be mad at the vessel or the prison or the universe. Even Atsumu. But he couldn’t do it. 

Anger was about control. Something in him seemed to know, subconsciously, that no matter how angry he got this would never be back in his control. He couldn’t seethe himself into a working spaceship. 

They could assess the damage. They could try to figure out what had gone wrong. They could try to rewire things--Kiyoomi didn’t know how well Atsumu knew the hardware side of computers, but he at least had to be better at it than Kiyoomi--or they could see about manual controls. There had to be safeguards in place for something like this. Safeguards on top of safeguards.

Or maybe there just weren’t.

Kiyoomi could at least deal with the immediate. He pushed himself over to the back of the vessel and found his duffel bag in the dark, strapped to the wall. He opened a side pocket and pulled out his flashlights. He flicked one on and pointed it away from both of their eyes.

“It was a good idea,” Atsumu said. “To bring those.”

Kiyoomi threw the other flashlight toward Atsumu. It sailed calmly through the air at a constant speed until it hit Atsumu’s palm. 

“This will take some getting used to,” Kiyoomi said quietly. 

“We need to see if we’re leaking anywhere,” Atsumu said, suddenly business. It seemed as though he’d shaken himself and gotten his wits about him in a single instant. He turned on the flashlight Kiyoomi had given him and started shining it around the walls. He shined it directly into Kiyoomi’s face for a second before flicking it away with a “sorry, sorry.”

The vessel seemed larger in the dark. The reflected light from the sliver of Earth helped a little, kept it from complete darkness, but it was only so much. The cabin was revealed to them in little circles of white that traveled across it, leaving the rest obscured.

The inside of the cabin didn’t seem to have been damaged. They examined the corner they’d hit, but they couldn’t see any cracks or blemishes. That was good, at least. If they were leaking anything, especially air, it would not only deplete their supply but send them hurtling wildly off course. 

“Maybe something just got jogged a little and it’ll come back online,” Atsumu said. “No way this can be this easy to break.”

“We hit the roof very hard,” Kiyoomi countered.

“There’s gotta be some kind of backup. Or I’m really gonna sue them from hell.”

“You think you’re going to hell?”

“Is that what ya got from my very funny joke?” Atsumu laughed a little, nervous energy working itself off. “And nah, I’ll just get reincarnated as a slug or somethin’.”

Kiyoomi started opening storage compartments. Food, water, he knew where those were. They’d stored a few extra things as well, things they’d packed that might be useful. Kiyoomi’s alcohol wipes. Atsumu’s speaker. 

Kiyoomi opened another compartment and his lips parted in surprise. “Life support backup,” he said. He turned to Atsumu. “Hey.”

There was a large red battery built into the compartment. Kiyoomi shined his flashlight on the attached tag of instructions, skimming them. They could get the air powered again, through a secondary wiring system. The toilet would work, probably, or at least have some limited functionality. The temperature and pressure control would function. He hadn’t even thought of that, the temperature. If they got into sunlight they could be cooked alive inside the pod, without the controls.

There was a switch, which Kiyoomi flipped immediately, not waiting for Atsumu’s input. A light directly above him came on, and he heard the low hum of air again, slowly revving to life. Atsumu gasped.

“Shit. What’d ya do?”

“It’s just life support,” Kiyoomi said.

“That’s better than nothin’,” Atsumu said. He took a deep breath. “Okay. I think if we’re gonna fix this we’re gonna have to spacewalk.”

“Absolutely not,” Kiyoomi said instantly.

“I’m just callin’ it as I see it,” Atsumu said. “It’s fucked up from the outside. There might be some panels I can muck around in down here, but if we don’t know how it looks out there we won’t be able to fix it.”

“You won’t be able to deal with wiring with your space suit gloves,” Kiyoomi said. “There’s no point.”

“And,” Atsumu said, “We gotta make sure the heat plating is still good.”

Kiyoomi blinked. Swallowed. “Oh.” He hadn’t even thought of that.

“Or else re-entry is gonna get pretty warm in here.”

There were so many things to take into consideration, and Kiyoomi’s brain still wasn’t working quite right. He swallowed. “Not right now.”

“No, of course not right now,” Atsumu said, trying for a smile. “My hands are shakin’ so bad, Omi.”

Kiyoomi pushed off from the wall and drifted over to Atsumu. He stopped himself on a chair and held out his hand. Atsumu looked up at him and then took it. Kiyoomi squeezed his hand through the thick glove. 

“We’re going to do everything we can,” Kiyoomi said, with more certainty than he felt.

“It might not be enough.”

“It probably won’t be.”

“Good pep talk.”

“I’m just being realistic.”

Atsumu shrugged and tried a weak smile. “A little fantasy never hurt anyone.”

Kiyoomi could almost believe him.

Three days seemed a lot shorter with the promise of death at the end of it. 

Kiyoomi’s mind, after about an hour of sitting, finally worked itself up into the overdrive he’d expected. He’d eaten, stared at the growing section of glowing Earth, taken off his space suit, and now he had to think.

Atsumu was absently wandering between various maintenance panels, opening them, looking at switches and wiring, and closing them again. The cabin was largely made out of a single piece of plastic, like a molded boat or a jacuzzi, so there weren’t many seams to get into and look at the guts of the vehicle. 

“It was a lot easier in Star Wars,” Atsumu said as he popped open a panel on what would have been the ceiling, if relative positioning mattered in zero gravity. “Ya just open up the grate on the floor, fuck around with the wires, use a wrench on somethin’, and suddenly the ship works again.”

Kiyoomi didn’t respond, staring out the window. They had a few options if they wanted to try to get the ship working again. There was Atsumu’s spacewalk idea, which Kiyoomi was only considering as a last resort. If it happened, Kiyoomi would volunteer himself to go. He had a gut-wrenching vision of Atsumu making some mistake, or Kiyoomi making a mistake holding him there, and Atsumu drifting off into the abyss of space alone. Kiyoomi could not let that happen, under any circumstances.

They could try to reroute some power from the life support battery, but Kiyoomi really, really didn’t want to do anything that could compromise its integrity. On the scale of ways to die, burning up on re-entry or hitting the ground at terminal velocity were much better than suffocating slowly or the inside of the ship turning into a greenhouse in the sun or the thermosphere.

“I don’t have a map of the wiring in this thing,” Atsumu said. He crossed his arms and braced himself between a chair and the wall, by the space suits. “I don’t know where any of these wires go or what they mean. I don’t have a solderin’ iron. The old twist-’em-together method would work in a pinch, but I dunno if we wanna bank us survivin’ on my twistin’ capabilities. I’d also rather not get electrocuted. All the ways we could die, that’d be the lamest, probably.”

“I’m sure your twisting capabilities are just fine,” Kiyoomi said. He was sitting in one of the chairs, held down by a lap belt, and he ran his hands through his hair. “Right now we have nothing. That would be something.”

“The most important thing would be the navigation,” Atsumu continued. Kiyoomi got the sense he was mostly talking to himself. “If we could get that back online. That’s probably real complicated, though. Next would be the radio. If we can get a signal down to Earth before we get there we can find out exactly how fucked we are before we enter the atmosphere.”

“Can you take apart the panel and isolate the radio?”

“It’s all one piece,” Atsumu said. “I could try to take it off and get into the guts, maybe. You’ve got a lot of faith in me, Omi. Still don’t know how we’re gonna get power in there, though. I mean, I could ham radio this shit if I have to. I had a friend who did that and I heard him talk about it. Ya didn’t happen to bring any 12 volt batteries in your bag, did ya?”

Kiyoomi snorted. “The only thing we have is the life support battery, and I don’t really want to break that open.”

“Maybe we try that right before we get there. Get a signal down, give us a couple hours to talk to ground control, and the life support doesn’t have time to get fucked up.”

“So we try it untested.”

“We are workin’ with the table scraps’ table scraps here, Omi.”

“I know,” Kiyoomi sighed. He drummed his fingers on his leg.

“What’s that face?” Atsumu asked, pushing off from the wall and drifting across Kiyoomi’s field of vision. He seemed to have overshot, and he had to stop himself on a chair.

“What face?”

“The Sad Omi face.”

“Besides the mortal peril?” Kiyoomi asked testily. He bit the inside of his cheek. Atsumu remained intent. “Well, I can’t do anything. I don’t have the skills to rewire anything. I can’t fix anything here that’s broken. There’s literally nothing I can do except sit here and wait.”

Atsumu furrowed his brow. He righted himself to Kiyoomi’s frame of reference. “I can barely do anything about it,” he said after a moment. “We’re both just pretendin’. Anyway, it’s not like you could fuck it up more than it already is.” He tried a smile.

“Looks like I’m not the only one good at pep talks,” Kiyoomi said, but he managed a smile back. Atsumu gazed at him fondly for a long moment before he grabbed the back of Kiyoomi’s chair and pulled himself in. 

Kiyoomi let his eyes close as their lips met. They kissed softly for a moment. “I don’t know whether to be glad yer here or upset I got ya into this mess,” Atsumu said against him.

“I did a good job getting myself into this mess,” Kiyoomi said. “Don’t hog all the credit.”

Atsumu smiled and kissed him again. “We can do this. How about today I try to figure out what’s goin’ on inside the radio, and tomorrow we look at the outside of this thing to see if we can fix it up?”

“That’s still dangerous.”

“Not as dangerous as crashin’ into Earth at 3600 kilometers per hour,” Atsumu said. “Or somethin’ like that, I didn’t do all the math.”

Kiyoomi grimaced. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We gotta do that soon.”

“I know.”

Atsumu worked for the rest of the day on wiggling the cover off of the control panel, finally getting it free with some hard, thin piece of one of the suits. It came off with a crack, scaring Kiyoomi half to death even though he watched it happen. Atsumu stared up into the mess of wires and other bits and pieces, in the dim light from the single overhead.

“Fuck this,” he said conversationally, as he shined his flashlight up and squinted. Kiyoomi laughed.

It was relatively easy, for now. Two more days. They had to sleep, to eat, and among that they could figure out how to rig this vessel to work. They were resourceful. They had to be.

Once those two days were up, Kiyoomi didn’t know where they’d be, or what they’d have to do. Maybe they’d miss Earth entirely and this would be a moot point. Maybe they’d go into orbit and they’d have even more time. There were more what-ifs than there were possible endings. 

Kiyoomi was built for split-second decisions and high-velocity problems. This slow waiting, the urgency of not enough time but that not-enough-time being entire days, messed with his perception. It felt like treading water and racing down rapids at the same time. 

Then Atsumu would kiss him as he passed by, and for a moment he’d forget. Atsumu brought him out of his own head, like he always seemed to do. 

Kiyoomi dreamed of little paws walking around his house.

Slowly, achingly slowly, the fox returned to health. It didn’t use its right front leg, not with the splint still on it, but it got around just fine without it. The cabin soon became its new territory. It liked to curl up on one of the dining chairs in the sun.

Kiyoomi grew used to the presence of the fox. It didn’t seem hesitant about him touching it, so in the mornings he scratched it on the head and in the evenings it lay beside him on the couch and watched the fire, leaning up against his leg. It acted more like a dog than a wild animal. Maybe it knew that he’d saved it.

Kiyoomi knew that he’d have to let it back outside when its leg fully healed. He couldn’t keep it in his house forever--it was still wild, and it was still potentially dangerous. It would be terrible if the fox got used to the cabin and then, if it ever got out, it was unprepared to live in the wild again. He didn’t want it to get hurt because of him, not again.

The fox had saved him from the dog, he knew. It had scared him back into his burrow and then distracted the dog so it wouldn’t go after him. Maybe Kiyoomi would have heard the dog eventually, maybe he’d have had time to run, but he’d been distracted by the fox. He’d been mesmerized. 

Why had it helped him? He didn’t know. It seemed to like him now, but that might be because he gave it food every day. Foxes were intelligent, but not that intelligent.

Little weasels weren’t supposed to be that intelligent, either, but Kiyoomi remembered his little paws and his long body and his sensitive whiskers. 

He had to prepare the fox to go back out, so he took it with him on short walks around the cabin. It seemed to delight in playing in soft, fresh-fallen snow. How could it still find joy in that, after spending its whole life outside? It lived on snow the entire winter. And yet it still played, favoring its right front leg but bounding into snowdrifts anyway.

Kiyoomi smiled when he watched it, smiled when he pet its head, smiled when it looked up at him with those sharp, golden-brown eyes. He knew it would have to leave soon, but he didn’t know how to explain that to the fox.

Day two arrived, somehow both too slowly and too quickly. 

If they were going to die, Kiyoomi wanted it to just happen and be over with already. If they were going to die, he wanted to have as much time in this vessel as possible, to wring out the last few moments they’d have. The closer it got the realer it got, the more Kiyoomi could visualize how it would happen, what the final few seconds would be like.

But they couldn’t die. He couldn’t let Atsumu die. That was his entire job. It was the job he had chosen for his whole life, to protect people. He just wasn’t getting paid for this one. That wasn’t the point here. 

“I’ll go out,” he said, early in the morning. They had woken up close to each other, held down by the straps of the upright zero-gravity sleeping pod that was definitely only meant to accommodate a single person. Their breakfast was of grainy protein bars and fruit juice out of a packet. “To check on the hull.”

“Absolutely not,” Atsumu said, taken off-guard by the subject. He grabbed onto a handle on the side of the cabin and steadied himself. “I’m gonna.”

“No,” Kiyoomi said patiently. He was drifting around the center of the cabin, arm’s length from the ceiling. “I’m not letting you out there.”

“And you’re in charge?” Atsumu furrowed his brow.

“If you try, I’m going to stop you,” Kiyoomi said. He’d come to the decision in the night, as he sat there, thinking through every contingency and possibility he could, round and round in his brain on an endless loop. “And I’ll be able to.”

Atsumu glared at him. “Do ya even remember what ya promised?”

“I’m not going to be left behind,” Kiyoomi said. “I’m going to go out, look at the damage, and come back in. That’s it. It will be simple.”

“Then I could go just as easy.”

“No.”

“And what if it isn’t simple? What if somethin’ goes wrong? Yer gonna leave me to crash into Earth all by myself?”

“I’m selfish,” Kiyoomi said. “Fundamentally.”

Atsumu pressed his lips together and let out a long breath through his nose. “Is that what yer callin’ it?”

“I should go as soon as possible,” Kiyoomi continued. He really, really didn’t want to, but he had to. “So we have more time to work on it if there’s something we can fix.”

“Then I’m gonna have to go out anyway.”

“Better than you going out twice.”

Atsumu still seemed willing to fight about it, but they both knew that if Kiyoomi had his mind set on not letting Atsumu go, he was never going to get out the airlock. “I could stop you too.”

“Then where does that leave us?” Kiyoomi asked. 

Atsumu worked his jaw. “I know what yer thinkin’,” he said, more softly. “What yer seein’.”

“Oh, you mean you drifting off into space and dying slowly?” Kiyoomi asked, with more edge than he expected. “That one?”

“You think I’d be okay with that happenin’ to you?” Atsumu asked. “You think I don’t care?”

“I told you,” Kiyoomi said. “I’m selfish.”

“Like that’s a justification.”

“It’s not. It’s just a reason.” He felt his mind start to tread in a dangerous direction, one he knew was only fueled by fear and proximity. He was not in love with Miya Atsumu, but some part of him told him he could be, if he wanted to be. He pushed that back. It was just the trauma. “I’ll be on the tether.”

“Not a great look, pickin’ a fight about this right before ya do it,” Atsumu said. “Any conversation we have could be the last one.”

“I told you, if we keep dealing in last s we’ll never get anything done.”

Atsumu gave him a long, hard look. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. “Then let’s fuckin’ get you out there so you can come back and I can never think about this again.”

Kiyoomi simultaneously relaxed and felt his shoulders tighten. He really didn’t want to leave the vessel. He didn’t want the airlock to be opened at all, for any reason, while they were still in space. But if they had to tell what the outside of the hull looked like, to see how dangerous it was going to be for them to re-enter the atmosphere, someone needed to go.

Kiyoomi got himself into a space suit. It was significantly harder in zero gravity. Atsumu was standoffish, but he didn’t say anything, even as he helped. Kiyoomi went to pull the top of the helmet down but Atsumu’s hand caught it. He leaned in and gave Kiyoomi a long, lingering, hard kiss, and when he pulled back he was glaring daggers at him. 

“If you get lost in space I’m killin’ ya.”

Kiyoomi tried to smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t wanna have to kill ya.”

Atsumu gave him a sharp look as he got into his own suit. Kiyoomi pulled his visor down and went to the hatch to the airlock. He waited until Atsumu was following him to twist the handle open. The door slid to the side and he pulled himself into the cramped airlock. Atsumu followed him and then closed the hatch behind them.

“Tether,” Atsumu said. 

Kiyoomi realized that he had absolutely no idea how to do this, and that it was probably very dumb to try. There was a long chain tether in a plastic wrapping, and it latched onto the wall of the airlock with a giant metal loop. Kiyoomi attached the clip on the end to his belt. Atsumu tugged at it, hard, and it didn’t come loose. 

“Okay,” Kiyoomi said. “Better to get it over with.”

“Three minutes and I’m pullin’ ya back in,” Atsumu said, buckling himself into what looked like some kind of life jacket on the wall. 

Kiyoomi nodded and Atsumu hit the lever that sucked the air out of the airlock. That was part of the air system, so at least it worked, on the power of the battery in the back compartment. 

Then Kiyoomi opened the hatch to space.

Immediately he felt a wave of vertigo hit him. It was black, endlessly so, right below his feet, above him, all around him. It looked as though he would fall forever if he set foot outside. He held back a lurching stomach and looked for a handhold on the outside of the vessel. 

He pulled himself out of the pod and the vertigo worsened. Nothing below his feet, actual nothing. An absence of matter. He bit his lip hard to distract himself. He felt the tether on his waist and reminded himself that he was not going to float away into nothingness. Atsumu wouldn’t let that happen. 

There were a series of handholds on the outside of the vessel, and Kiyoomi walked himself along them, achingly slowly. It didn’t feel like they were moving at all. No wind, no sound, nothing except the motionless vessel and Kiyoomi clinging to the outside of it. They were jetting forward at an improbable speed, but he couldn’t feel it at all. 

The front of the vessel was a large, flattened dome of some kind of metal. Probably something Kiyoomi couldn’t pronounce, if it had to stand up to incredible heat. The window on the inside was cut into it and recessed by about a meter.

“You okay?” Atsumu asked, tense.

Kiyoomi jumped a little. “Yes.”

He went hand over hand around to the spot that had been hit.

There was a large dent in the edge of the dome, crumpled but, as far as Kiyoomi could tell, unbroken metal. He ran a hand over it and then immediately regretted it, pulling his hand back onto one of the handholds as he felt his grip slip. 

There didn’t seem to be any maintenance hatches or anything nearby, at least not that Kiyoomi could recognize. The hull was largely one piece of curved, white-coated metal. There were stickers and signs all over it, but he didn’t know what any of them meant. 

“It’s bent,” he said into his receiver, “but it’s not broken.”

A breath on the other end of the line. “You think it’s good?”

“I have no clue,” Kiyoomi said. “Nothing around it. I don’t think you’d be able to get in to fix anything.”

“They made this shit as inaccessible as possible,” Atsumu complained. “Just for me.”

“I think we won’t explode on re-entry.”

“Head back.”

Kiyoomi didn’t need to be told twice. He ignored the nothingness below his dangling feet and went back across the hull of the vessel, hand over hand on the handholds. He grabbed onto the door of the airlock and Atsumu pulled him back in. They closed the hatch and Kiyoomi let out the longest held breath of his life. He couldn’t slump against the wall in zero gravity, but his shoulders relaxed as Atsumu refilled the chamber with air.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Atsumu said the moment his helmet was off.

“You?” Kiyoomi asked. He also felt a bit sick, but it was tempered by relief. He was back, safe, and Atsumu wouldn’t have to go out. His visions of Atsumu drifting off into space dissolved in his mind.

“Yes, me,” Atsumu snapped. “Fuck. I don’t know why I let ya keep doin’ this shit.”

Kiyoomi unfastened the space suit and slipped it off. Atsumu did the same and they hung them up. Atsumu shot him a strange look, and then he burst into unexpected laughter.

“What?” Kiyoomi asked.

“I was so fuckin’ scared, Omi,” Atsumu gasped after a moment of hysterics. “Holy shit.”

Kiyoomi watched him, mouth open. He calmed himself, taking some heavy breaths, and then he shook his head. There were tears in his eyes. “I was ready to pull ya back any second. I thought the tether was gonna break. I don’t know, I thought ya might unhook it yerself for whatever fuckin’ reason. I don’t know. I’m losin’ it, Omi.”

“Neither of us has to go back out there,” Kiyoomi reassured him. “We don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“This is another thing goin’ on the nightmare list if we make it back,” Atsumu said. “Yer on there a lot, Omi. I’m gonna see ya leavin’ that door until I die.”

Kiyoomi pushed off the wall and directly into Atsumu, wrapping his arms around him. Atsumu, after a moment of surprise, hugged him back.

“We’re going to make it back,” Kiyoomi said. 

Atsumu laughed again. “Yeah? Fuck you.”

“I’m not dead yet.”

“It’s impressive, since yer tryin’ so hard.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Can I get that in writin’?” Atsumu sighed. “I gotta work on that radio.”

Kiyoomi let him go and Atsumu gave him a little painless slap on the cheek. “For bein’ a selfish asshole.”

Kiyoomi smiled. He could feel his fear draining away, slowly, as they talked. 

Atsumu went back to the control panel, unscrewing things with a piece of metal he’d found and carefully extracting components and wires. Kiyoomi watched him some, asked if he could help, and then watched him some more. He worked both methodically and erratically, carefully pulling out delicate instruments and then letting them float randomly in the air around him. A dial connected to some wires started floating toward the ceiling and, without looking, Atsumu reached up and pulled it back down, while he unscrewed something else inside the panel.

Eventually he seemed to have some semblance of an object in front of him, with wires and a metal box and diodes, or whatever electronic devices had. This was entirely outside of Kiyoomi’s realm of knowledge. It seemed to be right on the edge of Atsumu’s and he was periodically frustrated.

But he was making some progress. He seemed to be entirely absorbed in the work--adrenaline tended to focus the mind, and the threat of almost certain death did the same thing, apparently--and Kiyoomi had to remind him to eat. 

“We’re missin’ a couple things,” Atsumu said after a long while. “Unfortunately, some of the most important bits. No transceiver, as far as I can see, unless I’m losin’ it. And obviously no antenna. That’s outside.”

“So it won’t work?”

“I didn’t say that, but I don’t know how to make a transceiver.” Atsumu huffed out a laugh. “Ya don’t happen to have yer radio, do ya?”

Kiyoomi blinked. “I brought it.”

Atsumu blinked back. “Oh.”

“Do you need it?”

“Yer literally savin’ our lives, Omi.”

Kiyoomi went to his bag and fished around for his pocket radio. There was an extendible antenna on the side and, he assumed, some kind of transmitter inside. He tossed it over to Atsumu, who caught it in midair.

“Hope ya aren’t attached,” Atsumu said. “‘Cause I’m takin’ this guy apart.”

He did, slowly, carefully pulling the halves of the radio apart and dealing with the insides delicately. He pulled out a bunch of wires and a tiny circuit board. The rest of the day was spent fiddling with wires, twisting them together and testing, apparently, with the radio’s small battery. 

“Worst case scenario we plug this thing in and everything in it fries instantly,” Atsumu said. “That’d suck.”

“Then that won’t happen.”

“Yer pretty sure of that, huh?”

“I am.”

“Never thought you’d be the optimistic one,” Atsumu said. “It looks good on ya.”

Kiyoomi smiled and watched Atsumu work for the rest of the evening.

Kiyoomi woke up in the middle of the night, the overhead light off and only the red-and-green running lights of the working parts of the vessel illuminating the room. Atsumu was gone, and as Kiyoomi blinked around sleepily he saw a silhouette across the cabin.

Atsumu was sitting on the back of one of the chairs, looking out the window, only his flyaway hairs and the edges of his face visible in the light coming from outside. Kiyoomi quietly unstrapped himself from the sleeping pod and pushed off from the wall, approaching him slowly.

He grabbed the back of the closest chair, and it made a small noise. Atsumu turned over his shoulder to look back, and Kiyoomi got a glimpse of what he was seeing through the window.

The entire Earth was lit up, a full blue circle that filled half of the window. It was hazy and bright, and at the angle Kiyoomi was at it framed Atsumu’s head like a halo. He could see the light shining off of the bridge of Atsumu’s nose, his eyelashes, his Adam’s apple, as he turned around fully. The rest of his features were visible but shrouded in darkness, a sharp contrast to the white-blue rim light of his silhouette. 

Oh no, Kiyoomi thought.

“Hey,” Atsumu said quietly, as though he were trying not to wake someone.

Kiyoomi momentarily lost his voice. He felt something swelling in his chest with each breath, like there was a balloon fighting with his lungs for space. He swallowed down the feeling but it persisted. His fingertips were tingling. 

“Hey,” he finally managed.

Atsumu turned back to the window. “It looks beautiful from up here.”

It wasn’t the only thing, Kiyoomi thought. The balloon swelled again. He pushed it down. “It does.”

“We’re so far away but we’re so close,” Atsumu said. “Gonna be a hell of a lot closer soon, though. This is probably the last time we’re gonna be able to see all of it at once.”

“Probably.”

“Everyone’s just so small, huh?” Atsumu continued. “Tiny. Everyone’s life is so tiny, but when yer in it it feels so big. It’s everything.”

Kiyoomi could only watch him. “We’re just two more guys, Omi. Two more tiny dots.” Atsumu hummed. “And my dot ended up stuck in one place for the next however many years because I stole somethin’ made-up from some other dots.”

Kiyoomi pulled himself closer. Atsumu looked back again to see him. 

“Glad yer my dot for now, though,” Atsumu said. 

Kiyoomi pushed forward and kissed him. Atsumu, after a moment of surprise, turned in the air and wrapped his arms around Kiyoomi’s neck. With the force of Kiyoomi’s motion they slowly drifted backward, kissing gently and languidly. Atsumu’s back gently hit the window, and he made a little happy noise into Kiyoomi’s mouth. 

Kiyoomi’s hands wound around the small of Atsumu’s back, pulling them closer together. Atsumu kissed him like he was trying to say something, to show Kiyoomi something. Or maybe Kiyoomi was the one who had something to say. Atsumu’s lips were soft. 

At some point they stopped kissing, their breaths hot between them. Atsumu tilted his head forward and their foreheads touched. Kiyoomi kept his eyes closed. He felt like he could send his feelings through everywhere they were touching, like Atsumu could tell that the balloon was there, where his organs were supposed to be. That it was swelling with every moment they were in contact. 

Kiyoomi wasn’t in love but he could be, so easily. 

Seven weeks, he thought. That wasn’t enough time. 

Was it?

“Omi,” Atsumu murmured, pulling Kiyoomi out of his thoughts, like he always did. 

“Yeah?” he asked. 

“I’m gonna find a way to see ya. No matter where we are.”

Kiyoomi had a feeling Atsumu didn’t mean where as in where on Earth. Kiyoomi didn’t believe in an afterlife. He didn’t believe in a lot of things. He still felt his hands trembling. 

“If you don’t find me I’ll find you,” he said, surprising himself with his own voice.

“Ah, shit,” Atsumu said. “I’m gonna cry again.”

“We’re going to make it,” Kiyoomi said, and for the first time he meant it. 

Atsumu laughed. He pulled his head back and Kiyoomi once again saw him framed by the Earth. It wrapped around his shoulders and curved up over his head, whole and glowing. “Name a place and I’ll be there.”

This was so dangerous. So close to something. Kiyoomi had never been like this, had never felt so open, like vulnerability was okay. Like it would be accepted. Like it would be returned in kind. Kiyoomi was standoffish. Kiyoomi was distant. He wore his mask and gloves and wiped things down before he touched them. He pushed clients through crowds, ducked their heads into cars, stood stoically by as they smoked and laughed. He didn’t feel like this, didn’t touch like this, didn’t tell someone that he’d find them no matter where they went. 

Maybe seven weeks was enough. Maybe Kiyoomi was lonely. Maybe those could both be true at the same time. 

Atsumu’s hand came up and his thumb skated lightly off of the skin above Kiyoomi’s eyebrow. “These are so cute,” he said. Kiyoomi knew what he was talking about. The two little moles above his eye met him every time he looked in the mirror. Atsumu smiled softly. “C’mere a sec. Lean down.”

Kiyoomi tilted his head forward and Atsumu placed two tiny kisses above his eyebrow. Kiyoomi laughed softly.

“I’m feelin’ sappy, okay?” Atsumu said. “It’s yer fault.”

“My fault? You started it.”

“Hey, you take a look at the Earth down there and tell me ya don’t feel sappy about it!”

“I don’t feel sappy about it.”

“Ya didn’t even look,” Atsumu accused. “Yer gettin’ to be just as bad as ‘Samu.”

“Learning how to handle you, you mean.”

“I don’t need handlin’,” Atsumu said. He wiggled an eyebrow. “Not the metaphorical kind, at least.”

“And we’re back.” Kiyoomi let go of Atsumu’s waist and rubbed at his eye.

“You should go back to sleep,” Atsumu said. 

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. “And you should come with me.”

“Can’t.”

“You can try. You can’t be exhausted tomorrow.”

“Not for the big day, huh? Sure, I’ll try. I’ll kick a lot, though.”

“I’ll kick you back.”

Atsumu smiled and gave Kiyoomi another quick peck. “We’re so gross.”

“We?” 

“Yes, we. We’re so lovey dovey I’m gonna hurl.”

There was the word. Kiyoomi’s easy smile dropped a little. “We’ll have to tone it down for the rescue team.”

“If we look romantic enough they might reconsider those conjugal visits.”

Maybe Atsumu had already crossed the line without Kiyoomi noticing. Maybe he was on the other side, waiting for Kiyoomi to join him. Maybe he’d cleared out the dangerous territory already, and it was safe for Kiyoomi to walk. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t see past Atsumu’s eyes and into his mind. 

“It’ll make a good headline, at least.”

Kiyoomi wasn’t in love. But the line was right there. He was on it. He could take the step. He wondered if Atsumu was on the other side, or if Kiyoomi would fall into the void forever, like he’d almost done outside. Would Atsumu pull him up by the tether? Could he go back over once he’d crossed? Kiyoomi’s feet were frozen. Maybe he’d already crossed the line. Maybe the line had moved beneath him without him noticing. Maybe he’d been on the other side since the dance, since they’d first kissed. 

Atsumu smiled at him and it didn’t take Kiyoomi out of his own head. Atsumu was inside his mind, too. It would be so easy, he thought. Maybe it already had been.

Chapter Text

In the morning it became real.

The Earth filled most of the window, blue and now a little green and they could see the beginnings of some continents. They were over Europe, they could see through the clouds. Atsumu was hard at work at his radio while the planet spun below them.

Kiyoomi had nothing to do but wait. Atsumu stuck his tongue out a little as he worked and Kiyoomi could only occupy himself with his thoughts. How cute it was. How this would be over soon. How much he liked Atsumu. How scared he was.

“No clue what our altitude is,” Atsumu said. “But I think I know what frequencies we need to be broadcastin’ at.”

Kiyoomi didn’t have anything to say to that. Atsumu’s shoulders were tight, and he worked efficiently, with a little tremor to his hands, components floating around him. 

“We have a little time,” Kiyoomi said. They had a few hours, maybe, before they would enter Earth’s atmosphere and begin the end.

“No, we don’t,” Atsumu said. He was breathing steadily. “We gotta test this thing.”

That meant battery power, which meant breaking open the battery pack in the compartment on the wall. Kiyoomi wasn’t excited for that, but they had to do it if they wanted a chance of this working.

“It’s probably all hooked in,” Atsumu said, “but we can get it open.”

Kiyoomi nodded and as Atsumu turned his mess of wires and circuit boards around, Kiyoomi went to the battery. He took a deep breath, took out his flashlight, and turned off the life support systems.

Immediately the light above him went dark, and the only light was reflected off of the Earth. From here it filled the entire window. 

Kiyoomi flicked on his flashlight and ran it over the battery. There was a seam they could get into, but he didn’t want to touch it. He didn’t know what he was doing. Atsumu came over, carrying what would hopefully be their radio. 

“This looks like a car battery,” Atsumu said. “Which would be perfect. There’s probably more than one of ‘em in there. If we can get one out we’re golden.”

Kiyoomi let him work with his metal shim and shaky hands. There were some cracks of plastic, and after a moment Atsumu held up a large brick battery, triumphant.

“We are cookin’ with gas now, Omi,” he said, sounding legitimately excited. He had a little incredulous smile on his face. “This shit could actually work.”

“You said there’s also the possibility we could fry it.”

“Or that,” Atsumu said. “We’re not gonna think about that.”

He hooked wires up and then, with little fanfare, flipped a tiny circuit breaker. There was a click, and then the connection he’d rigged up to his portable speaker started to hiss.

“Holy shit,” Atsumu breathed.

“Is it working?” Kiyoomi asked. 

Atsumu looked up at him, eyes wide. “I fuckin’ did it. Holy shit. I made half of this up.” He gestured wildly at the radio with open hands.

Kiyoomi felt something surge in him, maybe optimism. “You did it.”

Atsumu immediately pulled the entire contraption delicately over to one of the seats, pointing the antenna he’d salvaged from Kiyoomi’s radio out toward the window. “I don’t have a readout for what frequencies we’re on but I’m assumin’ if they’re sendin’ stuff into space it’s gonna be long-wave. So bottom of the range, which is perfect for yer transceiver.”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi said. He didn’t understand most of what Atsumu was getting at, but Atsumu kept talking, working off nervous energy.

“So I think we just play around until we hear somethin’ that sounds like NASA and then we start broadcastin’ right back at ‘em on that channel.”

“And they’ll hear us?”

“Fuckin’ hopefully.”

It seemed as though that was going to be harder than Atsumu made it sound. There were so many possible frequencies, even just in the low end of the spectrum, that finding any individual one with their inaccurate dial system would be difficult. Atsumu had rigged this all up with gum and elbow grease, and it showed in the clunky controls. It was still the best thing they had, miles better than anything Kiyoomi could have put together, if he was alone.

Atsumu played around with the dials until all Kiyoomi could hear was static. It followed him everywhere. It was driving him crazy. They were getting closer and closer to Earth with every second. 

Every once in a while, Atsumu would catch something, but then it would be gone. He was getting frustrated, but he was focused. Kiyoomi knew that kind of focus, the kind brought on by necessity, ignoring how your mind and your physical body felt. He imagined himself on a job, watching from the corner of the room as a client played cards and smoked. Being constantly on guard but motionless. It was so incredibly boring, but the brief moments of activity kept him going.

The little clips of sound that Atsumu was getting seemed to reinvigorate him. Then they’d go, and his shoulders would drop again. 

“Y’know, Omi,” he said, after a long while of messing with the knobs. Kiyoomi had been starting to think that the only thing he was capable of hearing was tinny, distant static. “I think I mighta just made a box that goes khhhhhh.”

“I hope not,” Kiyoomi said. He wandered over. The speaker was still spitting static at them.

“I haven’t gotten a single radio station,” Atsumu said. “Not even rock n’ roll.”

“Do those project this far?”

“Radio waves go until somethin’ stops ‘em,” Atsumu said. “I mean sure, the atmosphere does that a bit, but still. I should be gettin’ somethin’.”

“You made this out of napkins,” Kiyoomi said. “Give it a few minutes.”

Atsumu laughed. “This is the best napkin radio anyone’s ever made, then,” he said. “Y’know, that does make me feel better.”

He played with the radio a little more, moving his mouth from side to side as he did. “Hey, Omi, how about we forget this and kiss or somethin’.”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Kiyoomi said.

“If this isn’t gonna work anyway, might as well get in some quality time before the g forces knock us out and we hit the ground.”

“It’s going to work,” Kiyoomi said, more forcefully than he intended.

Atsumu gave him a long look. “It might, it might not.”

“It’s going to.”

“Yeah, well,” Atsumu said. 

Another half hour passed of Atsumu adjusting things and moving the antenna and turning the dial. Occasionally the static coming out of the speaker would warble, but then it settled back into white noise. Kiyoomi was becoming more and more impatient, but he couldn’t show it. They didn’t have a lot of time, and the scariest part was that he had no idea how much time they did have. Was it hours? Was it ten minutes? Would hitting the ground be a surprise? How long would he even have to be surprised?

Then, just as Kiyoomi was about to say something, the static warbled again. The warble stayed. It was a sort of womp womp type of fake-sounding speech, and then it was gone. Atsumu froze, his hand on the knob, and then he slowly turned it back, eyes flicking up to Kiyoomi, wide. 

It passed them by again, the same muffled noise. Atsumu was holding his breath, moving the knob in tiny fractions of a millimeter. Then, as though breaking through some kind of wall, they could hear a voice, speaking English.

“--and we have a lot of equipment here that helps us with our experiments,” a voice said, cut with static and hard to understand. “So we need to make sure that it’s all clean, all the time, which definitely takes a while.”

Then, a child’s voice. “Um...how do you...what kind of experiments?”

The woman’s voice continued, explaining things that Kiyoomi could only barely make out, with the static and his limited English. Stuff about bacteria and zero gravity. Zero gravity. Kiyoomi blinked.

“This is the International Space Station,” he said. 

“Holy shit,” Atsumu murmured. 

“Can we talk to them?”

“Apparently a fuckin’ kid is talkin’ to them, so I’m thinkin’ yeah.”

“Then figure out how to do it.”

“Jeez, jeez, okay,” Atsumu said. His hand shook a little as he fiddled with something. “Okay. Broadcasting, I think. Maybe.”

“Hello?” Kiyoomi asked the small receiver that Atsumu handed him

“You speak English?” Atsumu whispered.

“A little,” Kiyoomi whispered back. Then he continued. “Hello, is this the space station? We are in trouble.” He paused. “Sorry. Hello. We are coming from Luna 5. Luna 5.”

He had no idea what to say, and his brain was hiding all of the English he knew in a box somewhere deep inside his brain, where he couldn’t reach it. He waited, and then there was a sound.

“Luna 5. I can hear you, Luna 5. Can you repeat that?”

Kiyoomi was going to explode. He smiled wildly and clutched the receiver. “We are...um...we are in a ship that came from Luna 5. On the moon. Our ship is broken. My English is not very good, I’m sorry. This is not a joke. We are coming to Earth very fast. We need help.”

Another pause, and then, from the other end: “Luna 5, okay, so you’re coming from the moon, and your ship is broken,” the woman repeated. Kiyoomi heard a long breath. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” Kiyoomi said. “Close enough to talk to you.”

“Okay,” the woman said, her voice crackly in the static but clearly turning to business. “I can transfer your signal down to the ground, and they can help you, okay?”

“Please,” Kiyoomi breathed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you figured out.”

Kiyoomi was vibrating as they waited. There was nothing except more static for a few minutes. Then there was a crackle, and the static abated some. Kiyoomi didn’t know what to do, so he just started speaking.

“Hello? We are a ship coming from Luna 5,” he said, trying to remain calm. “We have no power. We need help.”

Nothing, and then some more crackling. Kiyoomi’s heart was in his throat.

He repeated it. Another crackle, then a distorted voice. Kiyoomi sucked in a breath. “We are a ship coming from Luna 5. We have no power. We need help.” His voice was turning desperate.

“...5, Luna 5?”

Kiyoomi’s stomach flipped. “Hello? Can you hear me?” he asked. 

The radio warbled and then, staticky and hard to understand, sounding surprised: “Luna 5, copy, we can hear you.”

Atsumu squeaked and pumped a fist into the air, knocking himself a little off-course. He corrected by grabbing onto the seat. 

“We are coming in,” Kiyoomi said. “Very fast. From the moon. We have no power.” He paused. “We are in a very small ship.”

There was some kind of commotion on the other side, and Kiyoomi could make out a little of it. Someone was repeating Luna 5? and someone said isn’t that the prison and someone else, the voice of their operator, said survivors.

Then they were back. “Luna 5, copy. Do you speak Japanese?”

Luna 5 was a Japanese base, so it made sense for them to ask, but Kiyoomi flushed with relief anyway. “Yes,” he said. 

“Okay, give me a second.” 

Kiyoomi bit his lip as he waited. The line was still fuzzy, but after a few seconds he heard more voices, distant. Is Kiyoko in? Go get her. Yes, it’s an emergency. 

Then, after a few tense minutes, where Kiyoomi was sure they’d lost the signal, or they’d gone too far in one direction, or they’d latched onto some other frequency, a voice returned.

In Japanese, a woman’s voice. “Luna 5, are you still there?”

Kiyoomi couldn’t help his desperate smile. “Yes. We’re here.”

“My name is Tanaka Kiyoko. I’m going to be translating for you. Do you know where you are?”

“Our systems are all out but it looks like we’re over North America.” Kiyoomi looked out the window, desperately trying to triangulate. “We’re still pretty high up.”

“The altimeter’s not digital so it’s still workin’,” Atsumu said. He went to the gutted control panel and steadied a pressure gauge to look at it. It was connected by a tube to, presumably, something on the outside of the vessel. “We’re not gettin’ readings. We’re on the edge of the atmosphere.”

There was some muffled noise as Kiyoko, presumably, parroted the information back in English. The vocabulary was too advanced for Kiyoomi, so he just waited.

“Okay. Do you know what speed you’re entering with?”

“No clue,” Kiyoomi said. He looked up to Atsumu for confirmation. Atsumu shrugged. “Whatever speed got us here in three days. About seventy hours.”

“Okay,” Kiyoko said. “And you launched directly from the surface of the moon?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said.

He heard, in English, in the background: How the hell did they get here?

That wasn’t promising. “We’ll do the math,” Kiyoko said. “We’re going to try to find you.”

Kiyoomi’s heart jumped into his throat. This was the perfect outcome, at least as perfect as they could hope for given the circumstances. There were about 30 more seconds of silence, and then Kiyoko said: “All of your systems are out?”

“Except for the analog ones, yes,” Kiyoomi said. “We had to turn off life support to power the radio.”

“Unfortunate, but smart,” Kiyoko said. Kiyoomi was so anxious that any praise made his chest swell. 

A few more minutes. Atsumu and Kiyoomi stared at each other, just watching and waiting, taking each other in as Kiyoomi’s throat tightened. “We found you.”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah!” Atsumu cried, an incredulous smile immediately pulling at his face.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Kiyoomi said. He was clutching the receiver tightly. 

“You’re about 2000 kilometers up,” Kiyoko said. “Moving at a slight angle, as far as we can tell, but you’re not going to make orbit.”

Kiyoomi hadn’t expected to. “How long until we hit the ground?” 

“You’re going to just barely make the Pacific Ocean, if you have a parachute.” Kiyoko paused. “Are you ready to follow instructions? You have about half an hour at the speed you’re going.”

Kiyoomi froze. Half an hour. His chest waited, waited for a heartbeat, and when it came it was so hard it rattled his whole body. “Oh.”

“Fuuuuck,” Atsumu breathed.

Kiyoomi shot off the chair. “You take the radio,” he commanded, and Atsumu looked at him for a second before complying, grabbing the receiver from Kiyoomi’s hand. 

“Name’s Miya,” he said into it. “I’m takin’ over while Omi works on the ship.”

“We’re getting the model of your vessel,” Kiyoko said. “Assuming it’s emergency issue.”

“Yep, we’re in the escape pod,” Atsumu said. “There’s probably a number on the outside but we already did one spacewalk and I’m not keen to do a speedrun.”

Kiyoomi couldn’t imagine how quickly people were working behind the scenes to get all of this information. He steadied his breathing. If there were analog systems he could use, he could follow instructions quickly.

“You’ve got a 6729,” Kiyoko said after another couple of minutes. “Are you coming in with the bell-shaped part of the ship facing down?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Atsumu said. “We got bonked on the way off of the moon but the heat plating’s still good, we think.”

“Once you hit the upper atmosphere you won’t be able to see anymore,” Kiyoko said. “You’ll have to pilot by instruments.”

“We don’t really have those,” Atsumu said. “Guess we’re gonna have to pilot by you.”

It was amazing, how quickly and totally Atsumu could put his trust in people. Kiyoomi was still at the ready.

Kiyoomi heard the steadying breath that Kiyoko took, even through the staticky radio. “First things first, if you have pressure suits you need to put those on.”

“Roger,” Atsumu said. “We’re swimmin’ in those.”

Kiyoomi immediately went to the wall and started pulling on a suit, probably faster than he should to ensure a proper fit. Atsumu joined him, leaving the radio with a quick, “I’ll be back.”

When they were on, an endless two minutes later, Kiyoomi held onto the top of his helmet and waited. “Okay. There are some exhaust vents on the sides of your ship. There should be some kind of panel on the inside that you can open to reveal them. We don’t know exactly where. You want to go to the one that is pointing most toward the east.”

Kiyoomi quickly triangulated, and then pushed off toward the wall. There was, in fact, a small panel on the side of the cabin, next to the airlock. He opened it to reveal several wires and a small wheel, similar to the one on the oxygen tanks outside of the prison.

“Got it,” he said. He checked again to make sure it was facing east, then nodded. Atsumu nodded back.

“Got it,” he repeated.

“Open that all the way for about ten seconds,” Kiyoko said. “Then close it again.”

They were trying to push themselves to the west, Kiyoomi could understand. He swallowed and then turned the gauge. He felt something in it rumble, but other than that he couldn’t tell what was happening. After an achingly long ten seconds he closed it again. 

“There’s a way to manually deploy the parachute, but you have to wait until the atmosphere has slowed you down some to do that,” Kiyoko said. “It should be toward the front of the vessel. Don’t do it yet.”

“Where is that?” Atsumu asked.

“We’re trying to find that, but you might have to look.”

How many minutes had passed, of their 30? It had to be getting close to ten. Kiyoomi could see something warbling the air in front of the window, at the edges of the front of the vessel. There was air there now, if only just a little. They were close.

Kiyoomi pushed off of the wall without closing the wall and went to the front of the ship, around the control panel. He grabbed onto Atsumu’s shoulder to stop himself and looked up and around. Nothing that looked like a parachute, as far as he could tell. There were bare buttons and switches.

“Where’s the outside of this thing?” he asked Atsumu.

“I stuck it in a compartment in the back so it wouldn’t float around,” Atsumu said.

Kiyoomi had an idea, but he wasn’t sure if it would work. He went to the back of the cabin and opened compartments until he found the curved piece of plastic, wedged in and slightly broken around the corners. 

He returned to the control panel and held up the cover, trying to line it up with where it had been originally. There were so many small, identical switches and dials, and some of them were missing. On the panel cover, however, he did find a small symbol that looked kind of like an umbrella. Next to it, in small print, was Parachute Manual Override.

He just had to figure out which button it was connected to, but he couldn’t test it until they were in the range where they’d need the parachute. He lined up the panel again, searching for a button that would fit. There were so many that looked exactly the same. Maybe he’d have to press them all at the same time and hope that none of them did anything he didn’t want them to.

“Luna 5,” Kiyoko said, “you’re going to be landing just south of Hawaii. We’re going to see if we can get the Coast Guard to you.”

“That’d be spectacular,” Atsumu said. “In case we don’t die.”

“We’re going to do our best,” Kiyoko said. A pause. “What are your names?”

“My buddy’s Sakusa Kiyoomi. He’s lookin’ for the parachute right now. I’m Miya Atsumu.” He bit his lip. “Yer probably askin’ ‘cause Luna 5’s a prison, huh?”

“I just wanted to know,” Kiyoko said lightly. “Are either of you, um. Inmates?”

“Omi’s a guard,” Atsumu said. “I may or may not be.”

“Right,” Kiyoko said. Then, “Have you found the parachute control?”

“I think so,” Kiyoomi said. It could be any of about four different buttons. 

“Don’t activate it yet.”

It was getting hard to see out of the window. There was a mix of red hot something and air warbling, obscuring their vision. They were going to have to hope, now, that they hit the ocean. The ocean was very big and they were very small. It would be hard for them to hit anything but, he thought.

“Luna 5, we have you on radar but it isn’t perfect. You have about twenty minutes until touchdown.”

“Twenty,” Atsumu repeated. 

“At ten kilometers you’re going to need to activate the parachute,” Kiyoko said. “It’ll be a quick descent after that, so you need to turn your seats around and strap yourselves in.”

Turn the seats around. Kiyoomi could figure out how to do that. He could figure out how to do that right now. He floated over to the seats and looked around the back two. There was a lever and a ratchet system, so he pulled it and flipped the chairs backwards. He wiggled them to make sure they were secure.

“You guys are moving very fast,” Kiyoko said. “Even with the parachute it’ll be a hard landing.”

“We can take it,” Atsumu said, looking to Kiyoomi. “We’re big boys.”

Kiyoomi smiled despite himself, despite the situation. 

Kiyoko talked to them as they neared their destination, keeping them busy as the commotion behind her increased and then, at once, died out. The window was entirely obscured by red and white, so they were flying completely blind. Kiyoomi hated being out of control, but there was something about the complete totality of his loss of control that was relaxing. There was nothing he could do, so he didn’t have to try. He just had to wait until they deployed the parachute, and then he’d be sitting until they either landed safely or died. 

The thing that made him more scared than anything was that he couldn’t protect Atsumu from anything. Not the impact, not the fear before it, not what came after, if they survived. That was out of his control, too, and he bristled at that. He watched Atsumu sit with the radio, chatting with Kiyoko and obviously trying to hide his nerves under faux-glibness and laughs.

Death was looking less and less likely. Kiyoomi couldn’t bet on it, but he could try.

“Fifty kilometers,” Kiyoko said. 

Two thousand to fifty in the space of about fifteen minutes. They were close. Kiyoomi could feel a rumble in the cabin, the echo of what was happening outside, whipping through increasingly dense air and wind. Kiyoomi went to the control panel and prepared to press as many buttons as he needed to.

“Forty,” Kiyoko continued. A few seconds. “Thirty. Get ready.” Ten more seconds. “Twenty.” Then, after an endless, breathless pause: “Now!”

Kiyoomi pressed about ten different buttons at once. One of them went in a little more than the others, and it made a satisfying click. Immediately Kiyoomi was thrown off balance. Atsumu went tumbling into the window, hitting it with a scary thump.

Kiyoomi could feel the tug of gravity for the first time in days, pulling him down to the front of the vessel with Atsumu. He landed hard.

“Shit,” Atsumu spat, rubbing his hip. “Couldn’ta warned us about the gravity, huh?”

Kiyoomi looked up at the seats. They were going to have to climb. Maybe he should have seated them before they pulled the parachute. The parachute. Gravity.

“It worked,” he breathed. “Atsumu, the parachute worked.”

They weren’t going to die. The window was starting to clear from its red-hot obscurity. Atsumu was looking at a circuit board.

“Yeah, it worked, and it also hurt.” He paused. Looked at Kiyoomi. His eyes widened in realization. “Wait. It fuckin’ worked.” He laughed once, incredulous.

“We need to get into the seats,” Kiyoomi said. “Now.”

It was difficult to readjust to gravity after days without it. They didn’t know how much time they had until they hit the water, but it probably wasn’t all that much. They climbed the chairs to the second row, clumsy in their suits, and managed to get themselves buckled in. 

This way, they were staring up into the back of the vessel, watching the storage compartments and the door to the bathroom. Kiyoomi swallowed. They had no idea when they were going to hit. It would be a surprise no matter what. 

“Hey, Kiyoko-san, or whoever’s listenin’,” Atsumu said into the receiver, resting the makeshift radio on his chest. “I think this got fucked up by the parachute openin’, but if you can hear me we should be good.” He put down the receiver and fiddled with the contraption for a second. “Oh, shit, it got unplugged,” he said. He put something together, flipped something else, and nothing happened. “Goddamn it. I don’t think I can fix this now.”

He set it down and stared forward. Then he held out his hand between them. “Omi.”

“We’ll be fine,” Kiyoomi said. He took Atsumu’s hand. Now all they had to do was wait. Wait until they hit, wait until they were picked up by the American Coast Guard, wait until they were separated and Atsumu was put back into jail and Kiyoomi’s mind was going absolutely wild with possibilities, all of a sudden. He squeezed Atsumu’s hand hard, and received a squeeze in return.

He didn’t know how long it was, as they waited in silence. The ship rumbled around them, wind whipping by. Any second could be the impact, and they didn’t know how hard it would be. How hard did skydivers hit the ground? Not very, Kiyoomi imagined. How different was it for a multi-ton spacecraft? Probably very.

When it happened, it felt like a car suddenly slamming on the brakes, or a roller coaster lurching to a halt. Kiyoomi was slammed into his seat, and for a moment his vision went dark. Then it returned just as quickly. Their hands had been disconnected in the impact. They rocked from side to side violently, as though on waves, and slowly they settled.

It was entirely dark. Kiyoomi just breathed for a second. Then, without any communication, they both scrambled out of the seats and made their way to the bottom of the vessel. It was bobbing slightly. Hopefully not sinking. Kiyoomi couldn’t even think about that without his claustrophobia whiting out his mind. There had to be some way for the vessel to float once it hit water. 

Kiyoomi pulled off his suit to the waist and grabbed the flashlight hooked to his hip. He illuminated the cabin, and Atsumu, and then he pointed the light to a small ladder leading to the airlock. 

“I never wanna be in here again,” Atsumu said. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet.

Kiyoomi climbed the ladder in a daze. Atsumu had a harder time, taking the radio with him, but he managed to follow. They opened the hatch to the airlock, and then, with little fanfare, opened the door to the outside and let in the light.

It was initially blinding. They weren’t underwater, thank god. Kiyoomi shielded his eyes as he looked out into the distance on his knees. There was water as far as he could see, and an equally blue sky. It was probably about midday. 

He looked down and saw a large inflatable ring surrounding the vessel, bobbing on the water. There were some tall waves, and the two of them rocked side to side as they passed underneath. 

“Holy shit,” Atsumu said. He set the radio down and put his hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. Kiyoomi turned to look at him, face blank. He didn’t know what he was feeling. Relief, primarily? No, it was mostly nothing. 

Then he saw Atsumu’s equally shocked face, and he felt only the swelling of that balloon in his chest, the one he didn’t want to name. He looked down at the radio on the floor.

“You saved us,” he said, voice unusually thick. Atsumu blinked up at him.

“Omi,” he said softly. “Are you cryin’?”

Kiyoomi reached up to his face. Now he could feel it, a cool track of liquid down his cheek. He touched it, and his fingers came away wet. He just stared at Atsumu as they rocked there, on their knees in the airlock, with the bright sky in front of them. 

Atsumu took a breath and then grabbed the back of Kiyoomi’s head, giving him a sudden, fierce look. It was intense and bright and Kiyoomi had a hard time keeping his eyes open in the light of it. It was like Atsumu was about to say something, but nothing came out and he just stared at Kiyoomi, mouth open, eyes penetrating and shining in the sunlight.

Kiyoomi pulled Atsumu into a hug, resting his chin on his shoulder, their knees touching. Atsumu took a shaky breath.

“We made it,” Atsumu said. It was as though he was only just processing it. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Omi.”

He laughed, bright and clear. Kiyoomi sniffled and then coughed out a laugh of his own. “We made it.”

Atsumu pulled back and then surged forward into a hard kiss, holding Kiyoomi by the sides of his face. Kiyoomi kissed back just as firmly, as desperately. They stayed there for a lingering moment, rocking back and forth on the waves. Then, reluctantly, Atsumu pulled away and looked down at the radio.

“Better try and fix this before they think we blew up,” he said. Kiyoomi nodded and sat back on his heels, watching Atsumu pick up the mess of wires and fiddle with it. He worked quickly in the light, and after a few moments the staticky hiss returned to the speaker.

Atsumu turned the dial and held the receiver to his mouth. “Helloooo,” he said. “This is Luna 5. Oh shit.” He paused. Then, in English, “Luna 5, um. On the radio. Hello. How are you?”

Kiyoomi laughed. Atsumu had a twinkle in his eyes. “I’m fine, thank you, and you?” he continued. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and held out his hand. Atsumu gave him the receiver.

There were a few seconds of mostly static as Atsumu carefully turned a dial, and then at once there was muffled speech, followed by clear words.

“Luna 5, please copy. Have you landed?” It was Kiyoko, her voice thick and obviously hiding anxiety. The static was much worse now. “Luna 5.” A breath. “Luna 5, have you landed? What is your status?”

“Copy. We’re here. We landed,” Kiyoomi said. He suddenly felt the tears pushing at the bridge of his nose again. He blinked.

A muffled sound of someone speaking, probably Kiyoko translating. Suddenly, there was an eruption of noise from the other end. It took Kiyoomi a second to figure out that it was cheers. From lots of people, all at once. His chest swelled with something other than the balloon.

“Copy, Luna 5. You made it safely.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Atsumu said loudly, so his voice would be picked up. “But we didn’t eat it on landing so we’re probably good.”

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Don’t worry,” Kiyoko said. “We know where you are, approximately. You’ll be picked up soon.” She paused. “You’re welcome, but it wasn’t just me.”

“Thank you to everyone, then,” Kiyoomi said. He breathed out long and slow.

“Hold on,” Atsumu said. “Gonna be quiet for a sec.”

He pushed the hand that Kiyoomi was holding the receiver with down and leaned in to kiss Kiyoomi again. Kiyoomi smiled into the kiss, one hand coming up to cradle Atsumu’s jaw. After a few seconds, Atsumu pulled back again. 

“Sorry, back,” he said.

“You’re ridiculous,” Kiyoomi said. 

“You still like me.”

“Somehow.”

“You guys hang tight,” Kiyoko said. “I can stay on the line if you need me to.”

“I’m sure you guys have shit to do. We can keep this open in case we need somethin’. I don’t know how much battery we have on this thing and I don’t wanna waste it,” Atsumu said. 

“Alright. There should be a flare gun somewhere inside, if you can find it. That’ll help.”

“Roger that,” Atsumu said. “Don’t know how we’re gettin’ any of our shit because the back is now the ceiling, but we’ll figure it out.”

They set the radio aside after a few goodbyes and Atsumu set it to the side. The air smelled like salt and there was a cool breeze. 

They kicked off their space suits and dropped them down into the cabin of the craft, sitting there in their leggings and t-shirts. Kiyoomi couldn’t stop staring at Atsumu, no matter what he tried. He had to absorb everything, every bit of his face and his body and his eyes. 

He didn’t want it to, but it felt like the closing of a chapter. A vacation, and now they were coming back to work. The little world they’d created in the prison was done, and now it was time to go. Kiyoomi almost missed it. 

It was strange to think of Atsumu on Earth, when he’d only ever known him in space. It was like the world he inhabited where he was a bodyguard, where his cousin pulled him out for dinner on the weekends, where he sat at home and read nonfiction books from the library--that world and the world with Miya Atsumu were separate. Now they were trying to come together, like water and oil. He imagined Atsumu putting on professional clothes and going into work. He imagined Atsumu with his twin brother, laughing in a restaurant. He imagined Atsumu in prison, playing basketball in a courtyard, keeping a small dorm room of his most important possessions, behind barbed wire. 

He imagined Atsumu’s face when they were dancing, that small smile, his heavily lidded eyes fluttering closed moments before they kissed. Hey, Omi. Do you like boys?

Atsumu was so dumb. 

Kiyoomi was probably in love with him.

They were picked up about two hours later by a mid-sized Coast Guard boat. They’d seen it on the horizon as they walked around the inflatable raft. They hadn’t managed to locate the flare gun, but Atsumu, ill-advised, had climbed the side of the vessel and stood on top, waving his arms wildly and shouting. His voice was lost in the vastness of the ocean, but they seemed to have seen him, because soon a boat sped into full view, a white and orange dot growing on the empty sea.

It was a bit of a blur, as they were brought onto the boat and given blankets and water. Kiyoomi thought for the barest moment about the stuff in his duffel bag, but none of it was important enough to crawl back into the vessel to take. 

No one on the boat spoke Japanese, so Kiyoomi had to answer questions in English as well as he could. Their identities were taken down, confirmed, and someone asked them about returning to Japan. They had to go as quickly as possible, they knew. Atsumu was still a prisoner. He would be flown back in handcuffs. 

“You were on the moon,” one woman said. 

Kiyoomi nodded. “We were.”

“Alone.”

“For two months.”

The woman looked at him like it was the craziest thing she’d ever heard, but she also seemed impressed. She spoke a little too rapidly for Kiyoomi to catch everything that she said, but it seemed to be something to the effect of calling them “real astronauts” and comparing them to some science fiction movie he’d never seen.

An island came into view, and soon they were docking at a pier. One of the Coast Guard was talking into a radio, and they had to wait for a while, just sitting at the dock. They were eventually met by some kind of authority, maybe police, and Kiyoomi had to watch for the first time as Atsumu was handcuffed. They let him keep his hands in front of him, and he offered a cheeky smile at Kiyoomi.

“C’mon, ya know ya wanted to get cuffs on me,” he said. “Maybe these ones just aren’t pink or fuzzy enough.”

Kiyoomi couldn’t get himself to laugh. He watched impassively as Atsumu was led out and onto the dock. Kiyoomi was allowed to follow untethered. It looked like any other city, from the water. Kiyoomi had no idea which city it was--his knowledge of Hawaii was extremely limited. Kiyoomi wondered, absurdly, how he would get back into Japan without his passport.

They were brought to what was probably a Coast Guard station and set up in a small room with chairs and a table. Kiyoomi felt the first pangs of anxiety at the smell in the room, the fingerprints on the table, the rumbling air conditioner in the window. Maybe he should have brought something from his luggage. He’d feel a lot better with a mask and some alcohol wipes.

They were given a couple bags of chips and some wrapped sandwiches. Someone stayed in the room with them, quietly reading a magazine in the corner. Kiyoomi wondered what they’d been told about the two of them. How much did Earth know? Had there been funerals? Did the two people stranded on the moon make the news? Would Kiyoomi have to convince the Japanese government that he was not, in fact, dead?

He was broken out of his train of thought by, of course, Atsumu. 

“I look like a fuckin’ chipmunk,” he said.

He had to bring both hands up to his mouth in order to eat anything, and he was staring dully at Kiyoomi as he took a potato chip and proceeded to nibble at it, holding it in both hands. Kiyoomi laughed in surprise. 

“You’d think maybe they’d send along a little ‘so actually he’s just in jail because he’s a computer nerd’ and they wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of cuffin’ me. Not like I’m an axe murderer or somethin’.”

“You know what you’d do.”

“Yeah, but they don’t know that,” Atsumu said. He paused. “Anyway, this is an island. Where the hell am I gonna go? Shit, I feel like a lot of people speak Japanese in Hawaii.”

“Probably.”

“So keep it down.”

The person in the corner was a white man with dirty blond hair. Kiyoomi didn’t want to stereotype, because what did he know, but he was pretty sure they were okay to speak freely.

“It’s weird being back,” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu nodded.

“Super weird.”

“It’ll be even weirder to be back in Japan.”

“Hey, for me it’ll be the same,” Atsumu tried to joke. “Except with less manual labor. You think I’m still gonna get paid for that or does bein’ legally dead nullify that?”

“I hope it isn’t too bad,” Kiyoomi said.

“Nah,” Atsumu said dismissively. “I spent a year on the moon. How bad can an Earth prison be?” He smiled. “Plus, at least now ‘Samu can pretend he wants to see me.”

“After this I’m sure he will.”

“Nothin’ like learnin’ yer dead twin is alive to make ya care about him again.”

“He cares about you either way.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. It’ll be good to see him again. Ma’s probably gonna come by, too. Nobody’s gonna mess with me, when they learn I helped land a rogue spacecraft from the moon. Not that they’d mess with me, anyway. I’m a loveable goof.”

“Goof, at least.”

“Hey, you know you love me.”

Atsumu said it jokingly, with a smile, and Kiyoomi sucked in a breath. It was the trauma, he reminded himself. The tense situations. The time they’d spent alone. 

“Maybe,” he said.

His tone must have been off, because Atsumu’s smile faded. He blinked. “Oh.” A pause, thick in the air. “Omi, I--”

The door opened and Atsumu’s mouth clicked shut. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or not. His ears were flushing hot. He should have continued the joke. He shouldn’t have made it serious. He stared at Atsumu for a moment and then turned to the door, schooling his expression. 

There was a young man there, in a blue Coast Guard uniform. He smiled at them. “How are you guys doing?” he asked, in slightly accented Japanese. “I’m CPO Kenta Miller. I’ll be looking after you for a little while.”

“We’re great,” Atsumu said. “Good chips.” He held up the half-empty bag. His handcuffs clinked.

“We’re arranging a flight out to Japan for you,” Miller said. “If you need to sleep, we have some cots we can make up.”

“That would be nice,” Kiyoomi said. He looked over at Atsumu. “Is he going to have to be in custody?”

“Well, ah,” Miller said, looking surprised at the question, “This is a military organization. He already is.”

“I stole money on the internet,” Atsumu said, putting his hands up. “I’m not dangerous. I know y’all gotta keep me cuffed and everything, but I thought I’d just let ya know, ‘case you were worried.”

Miller nodded, hiding a bit of a smile. “Alright. We’ll keep that in mind.” He watched Atsumu for a second. “You’re from the Kansai region.”

“Hyogo,” Atsumu said. “You been?”

“My mom is from Osaka,” Miller said. 

“I work in Osaka,” Atsumu said. He paused. “Worked. I guess. I didn’t ever actually get fired, so. I dunno.”

They talked for a little while longer, just small talk, and it amazed Kiyoomi how Atsumu seemed to be able to carry on a conversation so easily. He’d only occasionally seen Atsumu interacting with other people. Most of his time with Atsumu had been just the two of them. It was fascinating to watch him talk to anyone else, in a weird way.

Kiyoomi couldn’t help but analyze the way that Atsumu spoke, the way he smiled. Was it different from how he spoke to Kiyoomi? It was, obviously--he was handcuffed and making small talk with someone in the United States military--but the hints of his personality were still there. He laughed easily. He made jokes. He put the other person at ease. 

Eventually, they were taken to another room, where some cots had been made up for them. Atsumu seemed to fall asleep immediately, but Kiyoomi’s brain was working too hard for him to drift off. He stared up at the ceiling, marveling at the chance to relax and just be horizontal after so much time in the ship. He watched Atsumu’s sleeping face, his chest as it slowly rose and fell, his hair splayed out on the thin pillow. 

He was glad they were keeping them together. It made sense, in terms of manpower required, to keep them in the same place, to only need one or two people to watch over them. He wondered if Atsumu had gotten used to the lack of privacy, to having someone watching him at all times. Even in a modern prison, where inmates could move around freely and had access to many amenities, there was still barbed wire outside and guards in uniform walking the halls. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if he himself would be able to acclimate to it. To always being observed.

Kiyoomi eventually found his eyelids drooping. He didn’t know how long they’d have to sleep, but he could make some use of it, at least. He let his eyes fall closed and remained still. He could hear Atsumu breathing beside him and it calmed him, somewhere deep inside. He was really fucked, he realized. And for Miya Atsumu, of all people.

Motoya would never let him live it down.

Kiyoomi dreamed of the edge of the woods.

The fox bounded happily through the snowdrifts behind him, biting at the fresh fall and stomping into the crackly ice. It hid behind trees and then came scampering out, following Kiyoomi as he trekked into the white-and-green forest. 

Kiyoomi’s walking stick dug into the ground with each step. Finally, after a good hour of frigid walking, he was exhausted. He stopped and found a fallen tree, wiping the snow off of it and sitting. The fox came up to his feet and sat, tail swishing.

Kiyoomi’s heart was about to break, he knew it. He bit his lip and then pulled out some beef jerky. He offered some to the fox, who took it and started gnawing on it happily, lying in the snow. Its leg had healed, and it only had the slightest limp. Maybe it would have that limp forever. Kiyoomi didn’t know.

Kiyoomi stood, and the fox got up with him.

“No,” he said, voice tight. “You have to stay out here.”

He knew the fox couldn’t understand him. He might have to scare it away. He didn’t want to do that, to break its trust like that, but he couldn’t keep it forever. He couldn’t have it lingering around the cabin. It wouldn’t be safe. 

“Stay,” he commanded, holding out his hand. The fox quirked its head to the side.

He took a few more steps, the fox tentatively following. He turned around and, with more force, said: “No.”

The fox withered and looked up at him, eyes glowing in the light. Kiyoomi swallowed. 

“You can’t come back with me,” he said. “You belong out here.”

He took a few more steps. The fox took one to follow him. “Hey!” he yelled, sudden and sharp. The fox startled and then, with a few lingering steps, bolted into the woods.

Kiyoomi stood there for a long moment. When he was sure it was gone, he started the long walk back to his cabin. His throat was tight and his entire body felt wrong. He didn’t regret taking the fox in, but he should have known the whole time that something like this would have to happen. 

When he reached his cabin again, he collapsed onto a chair, in the warmth of the indoors. He looked down. It was the chair the fox sat in. Kiyoomi put his head in his hands and, against his own will, cried.

Kiyoomi woke up with drying tears in his eyes, so he wiped them away and waited for Atsumu.

When Atsumu awoke and sat up, Kiyoomi went over to his cot and, despite the woman standing in the corner, kissed him lightly. Atsumu happily tilted his head up to meet him, warm and sleepy. Kiyoomi’s heart beat quickly, waiting for some kind of reprimand. The woman didn’t say anything, or even act like she’d noticed. Kiyoomi silently thanked her. Atsumu stretched, having some trouble with the handcuffs.

They were given some more food, and then there was time to sit around. They talked about nothing much at all. They already knew a lot about each other, and had experienced all of the same things for the past few weeks. There was nothing new to talk about. 

Things were slow, and then suddenly they moved very quickly. They were booked onto a commercial flight leaving from the airport in Honolulu, where it turned out they had been the whole time. They were taken by car directly onto the tarmac, and Atsumu was loaded in first. They weren’t seated together. Kiyoomi had a moment of panic, as he was brought onto the plane as well, that this was the last time he was going to see Atsumu until he visited him in prison. 

They hadn’t even said goodbye. Atsumu had hit him with a smile and a “see ya soon, Omi,” but that wasn’t enough. Kiyoomi’s fingers itched. 

He was already thinking of contingencies, and he still had hours of flight to go. He thought about what their reception would be like in Japan. If they were in the media, then perhaps they’d be interviewed. Kiyoomi could see him then, closer. He didn’t know how the prisons conducted visitation, but in the nicer ones there were sure to be looser restrictions. Maybe he could touch Atsumu. If they had to go somewhere together, to JAXA or to any kind of court, in litigation against the state or something similar, they could see each other. 

It was silly to be thinking of all these things, and he knew it. Maybe he should accept that the bubble of peace was gone now, and it would never come back. Maybe it was meant to be this way. Maybe he and Atsumu were never meant to be together. 

Kiyoomi couldn’t help imagining a future. It’s how he always was--anxiety made him plan, plan, and plan. He had to know what he was going to do before he did it. He needed to know all of the exits in the bar before he let a client go there. He needed to know who was coming to the party so he could keep people out. He needed to know whether or not he’d wait fifteen years for Atsumu to get out on parole.

No, he wouldn’t. It was too long. Atsumu talked about wasting the best years of his life in prison. Kiyoomi didn’t know if the next fifteen years of his life would be the best, but he knew that it would be too long to hold a candle for someone. Ten years would be too long. Five? What if it was five? Could two months turn into five years and come out the other side okay?

Did Atsumu even want to see him? Kiyoomi knew that now his own cards were out on the table. It was Atsumu’s turn. Maybe he didn’t want Kiyoomi waiting on him, on a chance that might not even happen. Maybe he wanted to form relationships with people he could actually interact with on a daily basis. He was so tactile--would a monthly visit and a single hug be enough? 

The conclusion Kiyoomi kept coming to, over and over, was that there was no way for this to continue in the long term. 

If there was a way he could capture that moment in time, that one week they had where he liked Atsumu and Atsumu liked him and they kissed in the vocational kitchen and fell asleep together, he would. To put it in a bottle and relive it over and over again. A week where Kiyoomi had been, despite everything, happy.

It was impossible now, and Kiyoomi was sitting with the loss of it. Maybe Atsumu was, too. Maybe it hadn’t been as important to him. Kiyoomi didn’t know. Atsumu had flirted with him from the very beginning, when Kiyoomi hated him. What was so different now? How could he tell?

The plane landed nine hours later and Kiyoomi didn’t see Atsumu. He waited at the gate, as other passengers passed by, but Atsumu didn’t come down the hall. He’d probably been taken off the plane some other way. You didn’t want to march someone in handcuffs all around an airport. 

Kiyoomi had no wallet, no passport, but the person who had flown with him was apparently taking care of it. She was a tiny, very organized woman named Yachi Hitoka, and she’d tried to make idle conversation with him during the flight. He hadn’t been good at it. Kiyoomi watched the plane on the tarmac through the windows, and he didn’t see Atsumu at all.

Chapter Text

News must have traveled fast in the nine hours Kiyoomi was on the plane, because he had only a few seconds of warning between a screech of “Kiyo!” and being hit from the side by something smaller than him moving very quickly.

Motoya threw his arms around Kiyoomi so hard it knocked the wind out of him, and they stumbled a few steps. Kiyoomi was immediately on guard, but the sight of a head of warm brown hair and an old high school duffel bag calmed him momentarily. Then he realized that someone other than Atsumu was touching him, for the first time in two months, and he had no idea where Motoya had been.

“Oh my god,” Motoya cried, into Kiyoomi’s side. He was out of breath. “You’re actually alive.”

“Hey,” he said. He patted Motoya’s shoulder and then, with great effort, forced himself to return the hug. “Yes. I’m alive.”

“I got here as fast as I could,” Motoya said, starting to ramble. “They wouldn’t tell me what flight you were on or when you were going to get here, so I just grabbed some of your clothes and stuff and booked it. And then I...oh, wait, first things first.”

He let go of Kiyoomi and swung the duffel bag around, unzipping it and pulling out a couple of items. One was a face mask, still in its packaging, and the other was a small bottle of hand sanitizer. 

“I thought you were probably going crazy and I didn’t know if you had any yourself, and--”

“Oh,” Kiyoomi said, and all of a sudden he felt his eyes growing hot. He took the mask and stared at it. He took a shaky breath and then looked back up at Motoya. He hadn’t realized, with Atsumu occupying so many of his thoughts, that he’d really, really missed Motoya. Achingly so. “Thank you.”

“Oh, no no no, you’re not crying,” Motoya said. “I’m the one who gets to cry. I thought you were dead.”

“Me too,” Kiyoomi said. He unwrapped the mask and put it on. Immediately he felt better, a barrier between him and everyone else. Then he squirted the hand sanitizer on his hands and rubbed them together, feeling the cool as it evaporated. It was a calming feeling.

“Did you get the passport? It took me like an hour to find,” Motoya said. “I was freaking out. I’m still freaking out. Aren’t you cold?”

Kiyoomi parsed the various topics. “I got through customs somehow,” he said. He hadn’t been in charge of that. Yachi had left to do official business and he’d been shepherded off into another area after the plane had landed. There were definitely extenuating circumstances, and Japan probably wanted him in the country. “So it probably did.”

“Good,” Motoya breathed. “Whew.”

“And I’m a little cold,” Kiyoomi said, looking down at himself. He had the tight undershirt he’d been wearing for the past three days, and underneath the large blue cargo pants he’d been given by the Coast Guard he had his leggings on. He looked entirely out of place in the busy airport, with smartly-dressed people passing him quickly on all sides.

Motoya ruffled through the bag some more, pulling out a hoodie and some tennis shoes. “I don’t know what you have in space, or whatever, but I figured you probably didn’t have a lot of clothes.”

“Motoya,” Kiyoomi said. Motoya blinked up at him. 

“Yeah?”

Kiyoomi pulled him into another hug. Motoya made a small oof and then, shoes and hoodie still in hand, he returned the hug. 

“Oh, I’m going to start crying again and I have to drive you back and everything.”

“I missed you,” Kiyoomi said. 

Motoya leaned back to look up at Kiyoomi suspiciously. “Who are you and what did you do with my cousin?”

Kiyoomi smiled, invisible under the mask. “I had a long two months.”

He realized, without excitement, that people were going to start asking him about what happened, and he’d have to boil it down to its essentials. The power went out a few times. There was a moment when he almost suffocated. They’d had to land their escape craft with a ham radio connection to NASA. But it was mostly boring. The parts that weren’t boring were mostly Atsumu.

He couldn’t say that part. He could say that they became friends, that it turned out that Atsumu wasn’t so bad. But how could he explain any of the rest of it? 

“I can imagine,” Motoya said. “Seriously, we...I mean, I don’t know if I’d call it a funeral, but…”

“I get it.”

“Yeah.” Motoya looked down. Then he shook his head, like he was clearing it, and looked back up at Kiyoomi intently. “Okay, warm clothes, then car, then we can talk. We want to get you out of here before you become a celebrity. It’s starting to be all over the news.”

“Oh, no,” Kiyoomi muttered.

Yachi showed up at that point, holding a bunch of papers and a bag from an airport convenience store. 

“Sakusa-san,” she said, handing over the papers. He felt a passport inside. Hopefully his. “You’re all set. Komori-san, I’ll keep in contact with you.”

“All good,” Motoya said. “I’ll keep him safe.” He elbowed Kiyoomi in the side. “Guess you’re my client now.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh yeah? Where do you live? You’ve been dead for two months.”

“Fine,” Kiyoomi said. “I guess I have a bodyguard now.”

“How the tables turn.”

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi said, pointedly turning to Yachi. “I don’t...I’m sorry, but I don’t know where…”

“Oh!” Yachi said. “Sorry, I should have led with that. I’m also with Itachiyama.” She smiled. “We’re glad you’re okay, Sakusa-san.”

We. Kiyoomi supposed that meant that he was going to be able to come back. He could definitely use Atsumu on his resume. 

Atsumu. Kiyoomi sucked in a breath.

“Do you know what happened to...do you know where Miya is?” he asked, trying not to sound desperate.

“He went into custody,” Yachi said. “Right off of the plane. I don’t know where exactly he’s going, but I can try to find out for you.”

“I…” Kiyoomi started. His inclination was to say no, not to trouble her, but his need to know outweighed that. “Yes, please, if you could. I didn’t…” He took a breath. “I didn’t say goodbye.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to see him,” Yachi said sympathetically.

“The guy you were stuck with,” Motoya said. Kiyoomi nodded, mind whirring, looking for the fastest way for him to get to see Atsumu.

“Glad to see other people for once?” Motoya tried. “You guys didn’t get sick of each other?”

“I…” Kiyoomi said. What could he say? “No.”

Motoya opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Right. Okay, let’s get you dressed and moving. Thank you again, Yachi-san, like a million times.”

“It was no problem,” she said.

“You’ve been on planes for what, twenty hours?” Motoya asked. Kiyoomi looked down at Yachi in surprise.

“It’s really fine,” she said, waving her hand. 

“You flew there and back?” Kiyoomi asked. 

“We wanted to make sure you got back safely,” Yachi said. Her smile was bright and she was put together, not looking at all like someone who hadn’t slept in more than eighteen hours, all spent in flight.

Kiyoomi didn’t know the chain of communication that had led to Itachiyama being the ones to come get him, but he supposed it had something to do with Motoya. He was the only adult family Kiyoomi talked to regularly, besides the occasional visit to their shared grandmother, so of course he would have been notified first. 

“Thank you,” he said. He paused, and then bowed a little. Yachi returned it with a smile.

“I hope to see you back, Sakusa-san,” she said. “Everyone’s been talking about you since you left.”

“Great,” he muttered. “I’m sure only good things.”

“Mostly good things,” she said.

“They love you,” Motoya cut in. “They’re mad at corporate. They’re saying, you know, if you make one mistake, that’s it? They ship you off to the moon? Sorry, if I talk about this I’m going to get heated. We probably don’t need that right now.”

Kiyoomi had no doubt that Motoya was right at the front of the mob for this one. He smiled, though he thought it probably didn’t reach his eyes. “Okay, should we go?”

“Oh! Yes,” Motoya said. “I keep getting distracted. Put this on.”

He threw the hoodie at Kiyoomi and Kiyoomi dutifully pulled it over his head. “There.”

“Oh, Sakusa-san,” Yachi said. “I just wanted to let you know, we’ll be taking care of the government. In relation to, um, you being alive. It’s actually a very interesting legal situation.”

“So I was declared dead?” Kiyoomi asked. He pursed his lips. “And no one even came to check.”

“Not exactly,” Yachi said. “It’s a complex situation. You’ve technically been classified as missing.”

“Well, I suppose that’s technically true,” Kiyoomi said. “Except they knew exactly where we were.”

Kiyoomi hadn’t really had a chance to be bitter about the situation. He had a million conflicting emotions. They could have been rescued earlier. Someone could have at least tried to help them, just in case they were alive. Leaving them there, presumably dead, on the moon? Negligence.

And then he thought about Atsumu. About the time he wouldn’t have spent getting to know him. He would have evacuated and gone back to Earth safely, and figured out whether or not Itachiyama would take him back. He’d never have found out about Atsumu’s brother’s restaurant. He never would have found out what Atsumu’s face looked like when he woke up. He never would have looked at Atsumu and thought, if we’re going to die, at least we’re together.

Kiyoomi felt suddenly overwhelmed. He didn’t know why his emotions were all over the place recently. Atsumu had broken down some wall within him, and now he was bleeding from it with nothing to stifle the wound. Atsumu had been healing him, but now he was gone. Kiyoomi had to rebuild the wall as fast as he could.

“Thank you again, Yachi-san,” he said.

“Oh!” she said. “Here. Just in case.” She thrust the convenience store bag at him. Inside were some snacks and a pack of disinfectant wipes. Kiyoomi thanked her and then Motoya took him out to his car.

Motoya asked surprisingly few questions on the way, at least not anything too personal. Light things-- did you have freeze-dried food? Was there gravity? Were there any difficult prisoners?

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said to that one. “They turned out not to be so bad.”

As word of the survivors and emergency landing spread, Kiyoomi found out that he was, apparently, a hero.

Prison Guard and Convict Survive Two Months Alone in Space, a headline read. News of Kiyoomi helping land a rogue spaceship, of beating the odds and surviving on the moon alone. Atsumu seemed to get second billing, and it made Kiyoomi bristle. Kiyoomi’s past was brought up, his history as a bodyguard. It was framed as though he’d kept Atsumu safe the whole time. 

Only some of the time, Kiyoomi thought.

It was a good story, at least. Kiyoomi sat in Motoya’s apartment, eating cereal, watching the news. There was an interview with Tanaka Kiyoko, who was apparently an engineer with JAXA spending a couple of years working in the United States. She talked about how calm and collected Kiyoomi and Atsumu had been, and she deflected credit for the landing off of the team at NASA and onto the two of them. 

The evacuation of Luna 5 had made news two months ago, and there had been some to-do about potentially going back up, but eventually associated costs and the likelihood of Kiyoomi and Atsumu being dead had stalled a return mission. Rescue would have come back up eventually, but it was still probably better for the two of them to have returned the way they did, despite the accidents involved. 

There were people asking for interviews from Kiyoomi, but he was avoiding them. He hadn’t left Motoya’s apartment since he got there, his cousin going out to get groceries and takeout by himself. He was making sure that Kiyoomi got every bit of terrible, indulgent food he could get his hands on, to take his mind off of the “astronaut food” he’d probably had to eat. Kiyoomi told him that Atsumu had cooked, and that he was fine, but Motoya insisted.

There was a guest room in Motoya’s apartment that was filled with boxes from Kiyoomi’s old apartment. Kiyoomi was touched that Motoya had gone in and gotten everything, but he didn’t miss the darkness in Motoya’s eyes when he looked at the room. He must have spent weeks staring at his dead cousin’s belongings, unwilling to move them but unsure what to do with them. He’d kept them all, at least. Maybe he’d had some hope.

Motoya didn’t ask much about the ordeal for the first day or two, but then it seemed that his curiosity won. He plopped down on the opposite side of the couch from Kiyoomi with a bag of some kind of takeout. He set it on his coffee table and leaned back.

“So,” he said, and Kiyoomi somehow knew what was coming. “I’ve been a good boy, but now I really need a full play-by-play of space.”

“Most of it was boring,” Kiyoomi said.

“Okay, then skip the boring parts.” Motoya crossed his legs and waited, watching Kiyoomi expectantly. “Just give me the greatest hits.”

“Well,” Kiyoomi said. He took a deep breath. “The power went out more than once, including the oxygen. I almost suffocated on the surface of the moon independently of that. I helped pilot a broken spaceship and land in the Pacific Ocean. There. Greatest hits.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Motoya said. “I’m gonna need some explanations.”

So Kiyoomi explained. He told Motoya about the initial power outage, the evacuation, how he and Atsumu were left behind. He told Motoya about the second power outage, then about the botched oxygen tank filter replacement. He paused, then mentioned the end, him putting his oxygen on Atsumu’s back. 

“I’d say I’m surprised,” Motoya said, “but I’d be lying.”

Kiyoomi supposed that was fair. He told him about re-entry, about the panic, the boredom of waiting three days just to die, the moments of landing. By the end, Motoya’s eyes were wide.

“Shit, Kiyo, this is probably the coolest thing that has ever happened to anyone.”

“It didn’t feel particularly cool,” Kiyoomi said testily.

“Fine, fine,” Motoya said. “So tell me about the other guy. I mean, you were stuck with him for two months and he’s, what, a criminal ham radio enthusiast?”

“Financial crimes,” Kiyoomi said immediately. He sounded like Atsumu. “He wasn’t dangerous.”

“That’s good, at least,” Motoya said. “I’m still picturing, like, seven feet tall, bald, tattoos.”

“He’s a little shorter than me,” Kiyoomi said. “With terrible bleached blond hair. He’s our age. He self-identifies as a ‘computer nerd’ but he’s pretty fit.” He could describe Atsumu physically with ease, but he wondered how he’d explain the rest. “He’s an asshole. But not in a bad way.”

“Not in a bad way?” Motoya laughed. “What does that mean?”

“It means the good things about him outweigh that,” Kiyoomi said, a little more quietly.

Motoya watched him for a second. “You guys get close?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said, because there was no point in lying about it. Eventually he’d have to explain why he wanted to see Atsumu so desperately, why he’d be going to visit him in prison, why his face changed when he thought about him. 

“I mean, I guess you guys were living right on top of each other, huh?” Motoya said. “How big was this place?”

“Big,” Kiyoomi said, “but not big enough not to see him every day.”

“Miss him, huh?” Motoya asked, voice a little teasing. Kiyoomi wondered what his face must have been doing.

He looked over at Motoya. “A bit.”

“If he’s a sore subject I’ll leave it,” Motoya said. 

“He isn’t.”

“Then why do you look like that?”

“There’s just a lot I could say about him.”

“Like what?” Motoya asked. “You gotta give me the goods, Kiyo. Was he good at basketball? Was he hot? How much money did he embezzle or whatever?”

“Three billion yen,” Kiyoomi said. “And it was extortion.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually know,” Motoya laughed. 

“I know a lot about him.”

“What about the basketball, then?”

“He played volleyball in high school,” Kiyoomi said. He paused. A tiny smile formed on his face, without his consent. “And yes, he’s hot.”

Motoya cackled. “There’s the goods. At least it wasn’t all bad, huh?”

Kiyoomi let out a long breath, his smile fading. “At least.”

Motoya got a bit of a funny look on his face. He waited a long moment to speak. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“With your not-fine face?”

“That’s what Atsumu said,” Kiyoomi smiled. “Do I have one of those?”

“It’s your eyebrows,” Motoya said. “They pinch right up.”

“I’ll have to keep track of that.”

“It’s endearing,” Motoya said. “Okay, enough grilling for today. I’ll save more for tomorrow.” He leaned forward and untied the top of the bag on the coffee table, pulling out a foam box. He opened it, revealing a neat row of all different kinds of onigiri. “Not super fancy, but I’m also the best cousin in the world and got some of these with umeboshi.”

Kiyoomi blinked down at the onigiri. One of them was speckled with sesame seeds. He swallowed.

“There’s somewhere I have to go tomorrow,” he said suddenly. Motoya looked at him in surprise.

“Where?”

“I have to go talk to someone,” Kiyoomi replied, eyes wide. He’d almost forgotten.

“Okay, well, I’ll go with you,” Motoya said. “If you want.”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi said. He stared at the onigiri. “Thank you.”

Onigiri Miya had a low-key interior, with a counter and a display case of various kinds of rice balls and other foods. There were a couple of stools in front of part of the counter, and some employees in black baseball caps working diligently. A couple of high school girls were ordering and then standing around as they waited, murmuring to each other.

Kiyoomi was wearing his mask and a jacket, his hands stuck deep in his pockets and his shoulders high. He felt too tall and too big, no matter where he went, and all of his attempts at making himself smaller just seemed to make people wary of him. At least it made them leave him alone. It was a benefit in his line of work. Meanwhile, next to him, Motoya looked like a real person who could interact in public.

A smiley young man was waiting by the register, and he looked up at Kiyoomi and Motoya expectantly. He wasn’t familiar. Not the right person. Kiyoomi loitered around the entrance until Motoya pulled him forward.

“You wanted to come order something?” he asked. 

“Um,” Kiyoomi said.

“Well, it’s rude not to,” Motoya said. “I’ll get something while you figure out why we’re here.”

Kiyoomi watched Motoya go up to the counter and speak with the smiley young man. He looked down at his feet and steeled himself. Then he looked up, determined--hoping his “determined” face wasn’t the same as his “scary” one--and went up the counter behind Motoya.

“Just a second,” the smiley young man said. 

“Oh, he’s with me,” Motoya explained. He looked at Kiyoomi with eyebrows raised.

Kiyoomi cleared his throat. “Is Miya-san in?”

The employee nodded. “Yeah, he’s just in the back for a minute. Do you need me to get him?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said. “Please,” he added after a moment.

“Okay, let me just finish up with your order here and then I’ll go do that,” the young man said cheerily. He didn’t have a nametag. 

“Business with someone?” Motoya asked. Kiyoomi didn’t respond. He had no idea what he was going to say or do. Why was he here? 

The only thing he knew was that he had to talk to Miya Osamu, had to share something, had to know that Atsumu existed outside of him and his experiences. They waited off to the side while the employee at the register ducked back into the kitchen. He was gone for a few moments, and then he returned, followed by another, taller man.

Kiyoomi’s entire chest clenched at once, and he forgot how to breathe. They were really identical, down to the expressions on their faces. It was the expression Atsumu wore when he thought no one was looking, a cool, calculating stare. Miya Osamu was wearing the same baseball cap, but Kiyoomi could see that his hair was a different color, though it was a similar style to Atsumu’s. 

“Can I help ya?” Miya Osamu asked as he reached the counter. Their voices were slightly different. Motoya had taken one of the seats as they’d waited.

Kiyoomi didn’t know how to speak. He opened his mouth as Osamu watched him, waiting. Motoya looked between them, back and forth, and then he reached out to kick Kiyoomi’s shin.

Kiyoomi shot him a look, broken out of his stupor, and then returned his gaze to Osamu. “My name is Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he said. He paused, to see if that would ring any bells. Osamu blinked at him. Kiyoomi took another difficult breath. “I was the one...who was with your brother. On Luna 5.”

Motoya blinked at Kiyoomi, and then his mouth formed a little “o.”

Osamu took a second to process, and then his eyes slowly widened, his mouth falling open in tandem. He glanced at the kitchen, then back to Kiyoomi.

“Hold on a sec,” he said. He darted back into the kitchen and returned a moment later, taking off his apron. He paused, just to stare at Kiyoomi for a moment, and then rounded the counter. He looked about how Kiyoomi felt. A little lost, a little nervous. Kiyoomi still had no idea what he would say.

“Sakusa-san, right?” Osamu started. He paused, then bowed a little. Kiyoomi returned it. 

They stared at each other. Motoya was smiling awkwardly. 

“Sorry,” he said. “He’s a little. Quiet.”

“I apologize,” Kiyoomi said. “I came here, and I don’t know what to say.”

“Why don’t we sit down?” Osamu suggested, gesturing to the free stools. Kiyoomi nodded and sat next to him. “So...ya know Atsumu.”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said. “He told me to come here, when we were back. I...he misses you.”

“Shit,” Osamu murmured. “I thought you were both...I mean, everyone thought…”

“I know,” Kiyoomi said. “We’re both glad to be back. He told me…” Kiyoomi glanced to the side. “He told me you hadn’t been to see him.” Kiyoomi didn’t know why he was leading with, emotionally, one of the harder topics of conversation.

Osamu was quiet for a second. “Yeah,” he finally said. “It’s because I’m a piece of shit.”

“Whoa,” Motoya said. Kiyoomi held up a hand to shush him.

“It’s true,” Osamu said. “But if he told ya anything, ya know he’s a piece of shit, too. That’s how come we’re twins.” His expression was bittersweet. 

“He told me a lot of things,” Kiyoomi said. “We were alone for two months. I know...a bit about you.”

“How much did he tell ya?” Osamu asked slowly. “Did he say anything about--”

“If I said something about it I’d be breaking a promise,” Kiyoomi said. Osamu swallowed.

“He just can’t keep his mouth shut, huh? He’ll just blabber anything. Good to know he hasn’t changed,” Osamu said. He sighed. “Yeah, I’m gonna go see him. Even if I didn’t have to. I shouldn’ta stayed away.”

“He...well, he thinks you hate him.”

“Shit. I do,” Osamu said. “I mean, if I’m right about what he’s told ya, you can see why. I got so mad. Then it’d been too long before I visited him, and I knew it was too long, so I just kept puttin’ it off. I didn’t want to see the look on his face when I finally showed up.”

“He wouldn’t have been disappointed.”

“No, it’s not that,” Osamu said softly. “He’d’ve been so happy.”

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi said, because he didn’t know what else to do.

“I know he’s probably told ya to hell and back, but some things ya can’t ever say. As far as I know there’s only three people in the world who know about it, now.”

“And it’ll stay that way,” Kiyoomi said firmly.

“Unless ‘Tsumu gets stuck on some fuckin’ deserted island with another stranger and tells them all about it, too,” Osamu said, trying for a smile. Kiyoomi had seen that exact look on Atsumu’s face. He swallowed.

“No promises there,” Kiyoomi said, mirroring the little smile.

“I’m actually just gettin’ back to work,” Osamu said, gesturing to the shop. He seemed to want to talk, and Kiyoomi was willing to listen. “I took a lotta time off after...y’know. I thought I hated him so bad. For leavin’ me, gettin’ himself locked up. I didn’t realize that it could get worse. I mean, I always thought he’d be there, at least.” He bit his lip. “If ya have a twin, don’t ever let ‘em die.”

Kiyoomi felt breathless with the weight of Osamu’s expression. Osamu shook his head. “Shit, I’m here raggin’ on ‘Tsumu for spillin’ all his secrets and now I’m doin’ the exact same thing.”

“You’re alike in some ways,” Kiyoomi said. “Different in others. I only know what he’s told me about you.”

“Well, whatever it is, he’s probably right,” Osamu said. He pointed a finger. “Ya tell him I said that, I’m findin’ where ya live.”

Motoya laughed and Kiyoomi jumped. He’d almost forgotten that he was here. “Sorry, this is my cousin, Komori,” Kiyoomi said. Motoya waved. “He came with me…”

“I’m his handler,” Motoya offered. “I keep him out of trouble and order food for him.”

“He’s self-appointed,” Kiyoomi drawled.

“I get that,” Osamu said. “I was ‘Tsumu’s handler, I guess. World-appointed. Did a pretty bad job.”

“I’m going to go see him, too,” Kiyoomi said. “We, um. It was a long time. That we were there.”

“He didn’t come onto ya, did he?” Osamu asked, pained. “Little shit’s always like that.”

“He…” Kiyoomi started. He glanced at Motoya. There was something bubbling in his stomach, the urge to get the information out there, to have someone in the world know besides him and Atsumu. He didn’t know what Atsumu would think of that. Atsumu would probably have already told everyone he knew. “It may have been successful,” he said diplomatically.

If Motoya had been drinking something it would be all over Kiyoomi. He sputtered and coughed on his own spit. Osamu nodded grimly. “Figures. Yer tall.”

Kiyoomi snorted. “Is that the only criterion?”

“He’s only got three brain cells. He can’t fit any more information than that.”

“He saved us,” Kiyoomi said suddenly. “On the way down.”

Osamu took a slow breath. “Yeah?”

“He built a radio out of spare parts and we used it to contact Earth,” Kiyoomi said. The news hadn’t been covering that, because no one knew about it except Atsumu and Kiyoomi. “He’s the reason I’m alive.”

It was true, and Kiyoomi hadn’t stopped to think about it. Without Atsumu, sure, he may not have been in the situation to begin with, but that was a moot point. Without Atsumu, Kiyoomi would have crashed into the ocean at a kilometer per second and the ship would have been obliterated. The thought left him breathless again. 

“‘Tsumu sure likes savin’ other people, huh?” Osamu said quietly.

“Sounds like something you have in common,” Motoya said. He seemed to have recovered.

Kiyoomi realized that they were still sitting on stools in the middle of a busy onigiri restaurant, and this was perhaps not the perfect place to be having a deep conversation. He shot a dull glare at Motoya. 

“I’ve been keeping you,” he said to Osamu. Osamu shook his head.

“This is important,” he said. “Thank you for, y’know. Coming by. Lettin’ me know.”

“I can come back,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Why don’t I just give ya my number and we don’t have to talk in the middle of my workplace,” Osamu suggested instead. He immediately backtracked. “I’m not sayin’ I don’t appreciate ya comin’ by. I just…”

“Elsewhere would be better. I understand,” Kiyoomi said. “I can answer any questions you have.”

Osamu fiddled with his pocket and pulled out a phone, handing it to Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi took an alcohol wipe from his pocket, ripped it open, and wiped down the outside of the phone carefully. He put in his number and gave it back. Osamu didn’t comment on the wipe.

“I’m glad he wasn’t alone,” Osamu said, as they got up. 

“I’m glad I wasn’t alone,” Kiyoomi said. Osamu smiled.

Kiyoomi left Onigiri Miya feeling strange. Motoya tagged along behind him, bag of onigiri in hand.

“So you and the criminal,” he said, when they were out of range of other people.

“His name is Atsumu.”

“Okay, so you and Atsumu.”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“You did say he was hot. I should’ve known.”

“This is really not the most important part of that conversation.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No.”

“I can’t believe it took you going to space to get a boyfriend.”

“Stop.”

“Are you going to visit him in prison?”

Kiyoomi stopped walking, a sudden irritation rising in him. “Thank you for reminding me where he is, and that it’s hard for me to see him,” he snapped. “I had forgotten.”

Motoya stopped too, eyes wide and looking a bit cowed. “Jeez.” He bit his lip. “So you guys weren’t just...fooling around.”

Fooling around. Kiyoomi remembered waking up to Atsumu’s face. “I’m not going to talk about this on the street.”

Motoya didn’t say much else as they went back to his apartment. Their footsteps echoed on the stairs on the way up to the fourth floor, compounding the silence between him. As they entered, kicking off their shoes, Kiyoomi pressed his lips together and then said, primly: “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I was being a douche,” Motoya said. 

“It’s not an easy subject to talk about.”

“You really like him.”

Kiyoomi looked away. He was, apparently, an open book now, so why stop? “Yes.”

“Shit.”

“That sums it up.”

“How long is he in for? I mean, is he going to get parole?”

“His sentence is fifty years,” Kiyoomi said, the gravity of it hitting him over and over again, new each time. “He should be eligible for parole in about fifteen.”

“Shit.”

Kiyoomi sighed. “So it doesn’t matter if I like him or not. Whatever we had is over.”

“You can go see him, though, right?”

“Occasionally,” Kiyoomi said. “In a supervised room, for about an hour at a time.”

“You...Kiyo…” Motoya tried. He set down the bag on the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll get over it eventually,” Kiyoomi said stiffly.

He would, he knew. Time heals all wounds, so they say. He just wasn’t sure if this one was a wound yet. Was it bleeding? Had Atsumu been ripped away yet? Kiyoomi had no closure, no official goodbye. He couldn’t even remember what they were talking about before they got on the plane. The blade was in, but it hadn’t been pulled out yet, keeping him whole. Is that what going to see Atsumu would do? Twist, pull the knife away, leave Kiyoomi to bleed on the floor?

He was being dramatic about this. Atsumu was one man. There were billions of men in the world, some of them just as good as Atsumu. Probably. But none of them were Atsumu. Kiyoomi wanted to be logical about this, but all of his logical systems broke down when he thought of Atsumu’s smile. 

He’d get over it eventually, he told himself, so much so that it stopped having any meaning.

Kiyoomi received an unexpected text about two days later.

He had no idea how Hinata had gotten his number, but there the message was, bright and sunny and gnawing at him.

Hey!!! This is Hinata Shouyou! I heard that you’re back, and alive????ヾ(´･ ･｀｡)ノ” We have a lot to catch up on! If you want, we (me and some of the other Luna 5 crew! Basically bokuto-san and meian-san and bokuto-san’s best friend who might also be his boyfriend I don’t know!! Σ(･o･;) ) are going to be having some drinks, if you want to come! Everybody wants to see you a lot!ヽ(*⌒∇⌒*)ﾉ

Kiyoomi could barely decipher the text itself, let alone the kaomoji. Equally hard to decipher was the motive behind the text. He barely knew any of the other guards. They’d worked together for just over a month. Most of the time he’d spent on Luna 5 was stuck with Atsumu, not working. 

But he knew that Hinata was nothing if not earnest, so the offer of drinks was probably legitimate. Kiyoomi wondered if it was a guilt thing. If they felt bad for leaving him and wanted to reassure themselves that he wasn’t angry.

Kiyoomi wasn’t angry. There was no reason for him to be. He’d chosen to stay behind. The first in a long line of times he’d chosen Atsumu. 

“You should go,” Motoya said, when Kiyoomi told him about it. Kiyoomi had known that was the answer he’d get, but he still sighed.

Motoya could be remarkably persistent, which is how Kiyoomi ended up in front of a bar that Friday night, trying very hard to look like it was somewhere he belonged.

When he’d entered, he’d seen from across the room Hinata’s shock of orange hair first, followed by Hinata’s surprised face, followed by Hinata’s tiny body flying across the floor to meet him.

“Omi-san!” he cried. He stopped right in front of Kiyoomi, practically vibrating, but he didn’t touch him. Kiyoomi appreciated that.

“Shouyou,” he said.

“I still can’t believe it!” Hinata said, looking over Kiyoomi’s whole body and shaking his hands. “Come on!” He beckoned for Kiyoomi to follow him through a modest crowd to a table. There was a stained glass lamp hanging above the table, where Meian, Bokuto, and a man Kiyoomi didn’t recognize sat. 

“Guys!” Hinata said. They were mid-conversation, but looked up at Shouyou’s insistence. 

Bokuto broke into a huge grin. “Sakusa-kun!”

Meian smiled, more easily than Sakusa remembered. “Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi took a deep breath, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hello,” he said. 

“Oh!” Bokuto said. He gestured at the man next to him. “Sakusa, Akaashi, Akaashi, Sakusa.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” this Akaashi said lightly, with a bob of his head and nothing more. Kiyoomi immediately liked him better than anyone else at the table.

“Likewise,” Kiyoomi said. There wasn’t much place for him to sit, and he wasn’t going to squeeze into the booth, so he just stood there until Hinata seemed to realize the issue and hopped up. 

“I’ll get you a chair!” he said.

“You should take the chair,” Bokuto argued. “Let him sit in the booth.”

“I would much prefer a chair,” Kiyoomi said. “Thank you.”

Hinata somehow got a chair over to their table and Kiyoomi was nervous enough about the environment that he wiped down the seat before he took it. He slipped off his jacket and waited for the inevitable.

“What was it like?” Hinata immediately demanded, as he got back into his side of the booth, next to Meian.

“Let him get a drink, at least,” Bokuto laughed. 

“Sorry,” Hinata said. 

Kiyoomi got a beer--in a bottle, not on tap--and they started chatting. It was fairly simple. He didn’t have to talk much, especially with both Hinata and Bokuto there. It seemed as though Hinata looked up to Bokuto, almost to the point of hero worship. They’d known each other in high school, though they went to different schools, and Hinata had chosen to become a correctional officer because of Bokuto. That explained why someone so small and bright was working in a prison.

“How’s Earth been?” Bokuto asked. “We’ve been watching the news, and all, but I’m sure that’s only part of the picture.”

“Earth has been fine,” Kiyoomi said. “More habitable.”

Bokuto laughed. “You know, now that I know you’re okay, I swear it’s gotta be the funniest thing in the world that of all the people to get stuck up there with, you got Miya.”

“We know you weren’t his biggest fan,” Meian said. 

“Well,” Kiyoomi said. “He’s not so bad.”

Bokuto laughed again, for some reason. “He wear you down? I knew you guys could get along.”

“Indeed,” Kiyoomi said. Get along.

“Did the power stay out?” Hinata asked. 

“It came back on, about fifteen minutes after you all left,” Kiyoomi said. Bokuto’s mouth fell open. 

“No kidding.”

“No kidding.”

Eyes immediately shifted to Meian, who kept his face still. “We didn’t know what was going to happen,” he said. “Evacuation was the right decision.” He didn’t sound conflicted.

“I agree,” Kiyoomi said. “I managed to find and close the door, but there was always the possibility that it could have been too late.”

“The margin of error is very small,” Meian agreed. He paused. “I’m sorry, though.”

“It isn’t your fault. I chose to stay.”

“I thought for sure we were leaving you for dead,” Hinata said, a bit more somber than usual, though that wasn’t saying much. “Remember when we were talking about the scariest things we’d ever done? I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared than when we were in the shuttle and I thought you guys were dying.”

“Well, we didn’t die,” Kiyoomi said. “It was mostly uneventful, punctuated by near death experiences.”

“Jeez,” Bokuto said.

“We’ve only heard about how you got back, of course,” Akaashi said, voice calm. 

“I haven’t answered any questions for the press yet,” Kiyoomi said. “I’ve mostly managed to avoid them.” He didn’t say that he was waiting for him and Atsumu to be interviewed together. He’d start insisting on it soon, if no one else suggested it.

“What did you even do up there?” Bokuto asked. Kiyoomi took a long sip of his beer.

“Mostly nothing,” he said. “Cooked, read, checked up on the systems. The radio was the only thing out, and we never figured out why.”

“Remember that this isn’t an interview,” Meian said. 

“We know, we know,” Bokuto said. “But aren’t you curious?”

“I’m going to let Sakusa tell whatever stories he likes.”

“Okay, dad,” Bokuto said. Meian rolled his eyes.

Kiyoomi finished his beer and got another. He could feel his shoulders loosening as they talked, as he mostly listened, answering questions here and there. He knew he wasn’t the most interesting person to hang out with in this kind of setting. He wondered what Atsumu would be like.

That was a train of thought that was not good to have among other people, but once he started it he couldn’t stop. He imagined Atsumu there with them, laughing at jokes, telling his own, nudging Bokuto in the side because of course they’d be friends, in a different life. Atsumu would love Hinata if they knew each other this way, would probably pinch his cheeks and rub his hair. Atsumu might find ways to bring Kiyoomi into the conversation. He might give Kiyoomi unsubtle looks and wiggle his eyebrows and laugh when he was called out on it. 

But the divide was made, and Kiyoomi had fallen on the side of the free. He was the one who could go out to bars to meet people and spend time drinking and talking. It was a waste, he thought. Atsumu couldn’t. Atsumu, who belonged around other people. Atsumu would have more fun than Kiyoomi was having.

Kiyoomi realized belatedly that he was staring into space, letting the conversation pass him by. He was starting to feel the beer and a half he’d had so far. He was tall, but he’d never been good at holding alcohol. He hadn’t tried all that much. Sobriety was part of his job. 

First of all, I need to see drunk Omi immediately, he heard Atsumu say in his mind. 

Shit. It had been a week since they’d seen each other, and he missed Atsumu this badly.

“Omi-san?”

Kiyoomi blinked and looked up to see Hinata peering at him curiously. “Hm?”

“You okay?”

“Yes,” he said, covering quickly. “It’s just been a while since I’ve been around so many people.”

The bar had been steadily filling, and while it wasn’t packed wall-to-wall it was getting tighter. It was the kind of place that people sat down at, thankfully, so there weren’t bodies pressing in from all sides. It was still a lot for Kiyoomi. He’d had so much time alone, with space to breathe and stretch his arms, and now he had to remember that in the real world, other people existed in droves.

“I get that,” Hinata said sympathetically. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“What I want,” Kiyoomi said, probably ill-advised, “is another beer.”

“That’s the spirit!” Bokuto said. Akaashi shook his head but the look on his face was fond. Maybe Hinata had been right about the boyfriend situation. “Meian-san’s paying, so drink up.”

“Or don’t,” Meian added, but he didn’t look upset.

Kiyoomi got another beer, and by the time he was a quarter of the way through it he was absolutely tipsy, at least. He smiled more easily, relaxed more, listened more intently to the conversations happening at the table. Maybe he’d be able to hang out without thinking about Atsumu.

Nope, there it was again. He wondered if Atsumu would like a place like this, or if he’d prefer somewhere more fast-paced, with more dancing. Probably the latter. Kiyoomi knew that he was making up some version of Atsumu he’d never seen, extrapolating how he interacted with other people from the few bits of it he’d seen. From the way he acted around Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi still didn’t know if he was different. He had no basis of comparison.

“Hey, Sakusa-kun,” Bokuto said. “Wait, can I call you Kiyoomi?”

Akaashi sighed audibly. Bokuto turned to him. “Hey, at least I’m not trying to call him ‘Omi.’”

“Hey!” Hinata said.

Omi. Kiyoomi hated, in the deepest bits of his heart, that he missed that.

“You may,” he said. “Not Omi.”

“Sweet,” Bokuto said. “Anyway, Kiyoomi-kun, how many times did you and Miya fight?”

It must have been the alcohol but Kiyoomi laughed. How many times had they fought? Once, when they sparred. He had a feeling that wasn’t what Bokuto was talking about. Once, when Atsumu had told Kiyoomi about the escape attempt. Once, very briefly, when they’d gotten back to the base after the oxygen tank fiasco. That one had ended in a hug, so Kiyoomi didn’t count it.

“Less than you’d think,” he said. “Atsumu is surprisingly good at defusing a situation.”

“Atsumu, huh?” Bokuto said. Kiyoomi blinked and his ears started burning.

“We spent a lot of time together,” he said. 

“Did he call you ‘Omi’ the entire time?” Meian asked. 

“Unfortunately,” Kiyoomi said. Hinata bristled.

“Is that bad? Should I stop?” he asked. Kiyoomi shook his head. 

“It’s fine. I’ve gotten very used to it.” Kiyoomi turned back to Bokuto. His lips were loosening, he could tell, but while he had the self-awareness to realize that, he didn’t have the self-control anymore to stop it. “I flipped him over my shoulder a few times.”

“Oh my god,” Bokuto said, cackling. 

“We were sparring, but still. It was cathartic.”

“I bet you guys were the best of friends by the end, though,” Bokuto said. “Since you didn’t kill him. I feel like those are the only two options.”

“We’re…” Kiyoomi started. He suddenly realized where he was, and the context of the conversation. This was not the place to be revealing things he should be keeping close to the chest. “Fine,” he finished. “I like him just fine.”

Was this what he was going to have to say forever? It wouldn’t matter in a few months that he was in love, if he even still was. It wouldn’t change the reality of the situation, the insurmountable wall between them, topped with barbed wire. Unless Atsumu broke out of prison and they went on the run, that would be it. 

Kiyoomi paused.

Nope. He was drunk.

He had the briefest vision of the two of them in some other country, in sunglasses and baseball caps, drinking afternoon cocktails in some hotel that wouldn’t ask too many questions. Kiyoomi was drunk to even be thinking about it. His life wasn’t a spy movie. Those things never turned out well.

He needed to see Atsumu soon, so he could reorient himself and stop going off on these flights of fancy. He needed concrete evidence that they both existed on Earth, now, and that they could not be together. 

His phone buzzed, and Kiyoomi looked down at his pocket. It was probably Motoya, asking if he needed a ride home. Motoya was a mother hen, sometimes. Kiyoomi was an adult.

He pulled out his phone and squinted at it. Akaashi and Meian were having a more subdued conversation while Bokuto laughed raucously at something Hinata had said. 

It was a message from an unknown number. 

Hello, Sakusa-san. This is Yachi Hitoka. I’ve gotten some information on where Miya Atsumu was transferred, and the rules about visitation. I’ve emailed them to you, but I thought I’d let you know. I hope you’ve been able to get some rest.

Kiyoomi bit his lip and resisted the urge to open the email immediately. He saved the number and looked back up at the table, but his mind was running in a completely different direction. When he got home he’d have to look into it, see what he’d have to do to get visitation rights. How long it would have to be before he could actually see Atsumu.

God, he was obsessed. He wanted to slam his head into a wall. This wasn’t like him. Seven weeks and a few near death experiences and he was here clutching at every scrap of information about Atsumu like he’d die without it. Maybe it was a pre-emptive mourning period. Maybe he was in the denial stage, and it was heightening his emotions. Maybe he just needed some time to cool down, and then he’d come to his senses. 

Atsumu was just some guy. Kiyoomi had to remember that.

He turned his attention back to the table and let the warm buzz of alcohol carry him into the conversation again. 

Kiyoomi dreamed of hunting.

He’d set up some traps in the woods around the cabin, but none of them had yielded anything. It was still mid-winter, and though he had food stored he would need more soon. So there he was, stalking rabbits and deer in brown-and-white warm clothing. 

He was deep in the woods when he saw a flash of movement between tall, thin trees. He stepped carefully, avoiding the crunch of leaves and old snow as much as he could. A deer was standing about thirty meters away, head raised and pointed to the side. It was looking directly at him. He remained motionless. His compound crossbow was heavy in his hands.

A deer would be enough, if he was smart about how he stored it, to supplement him for the rest of the winter, among jars of pickled vegetables and a pantry full of newly sprouting potatoes. He waited frozen for a few minutes, until the deer put its head back down, searching through the snow for hidden grass. It took a step and Kiyoomi carefully raised his crossbow.

He armed it and then aimed, staring through the sight. It made a hollow click and he waited again, when the deer looked up. Seemingly satisfied that it was alone, it went back to eating. 

Kiyoomi steadied his breathing. He waited. His finger was on the trigger.

Then, from behind him, a sudden sound, almost like a scream. He jolted and the deer ran, bounding into the distance, dodging trees with perfect ease. Kiyoomi lowered the bow and whirled around to see, some distance behind him, two animal shapes.

One was large and dark, with a white crest on its chest. A bear. Kiyoomi immediately tensed. In front of it was a small, gray-and-red creature. A fox. It was backing up. Why didn’t it just run? As it took a careful step back Kiyoomi saw a bit of a limp, almost undetectable. His blood ran cold.

The bear was closing in. It was the middle of winter, and it didn’t look well-fed. It could be dangerous to the both of them. And the fox still wasn’t running. Why? It was sure to be faster.

“Hey!” he yelled, surprising himself. He stepped forward in the snow, disarming the crossbow and then waving his arms up and around, making himself look as big as possible. The bear hesitated, and the fox glanced back. It yelled again, a terrible screech, as though it were trying to bring attention back to itself.

“Nope,” Kiyoomi said. This fox wasn’t going to try and save him twice. He kept moving toward the bear, yelling and keeping his arms wide. He was tall, and though the bear was large it was, hopefully, smart enough not to try and fight something much larger than it. Maybe it knew about humans.

It turned, after one last glance at the fox, and high-tailed it back into the woods. Kiyoomi’s heart was pounding, and the confidence he’d been projecting to scare it away waned in almost an instant. He let out a long breath and looked down at the fox. It came up to him in the snow, looking up at him with piercing golden-brown eyes. 

“You again,” Kiyoomi said. The fox stared, mistrustful. “I’m sorry.”

He stored the crossbow on his back and knelt down. The fox watched him warily and then came closer. He held out a hand, palm down, for it to sniff. It did so and then it ducked its head down and pushed up into Kiyoomi’s palm.

Kiyoomi’s chest clenched and he scratched the fox behind the ears. 

“Looks like maybe we’re meant to be,” he murmured. The fox trilled its approval.

Kiyoomi had to see on the news that Atsumu had given an interview with a reporter in prison. It was in a nice chair, and he wasn’t handcuffed. Seeing his face made Kiyoomi’s throat do uncomfortable things.

Atsumu was talking up Kiyoomi like he’d been the only one there. He talked about Kiyoomi saving him during the evacuation, about Kiyoomi saving him outside, about Kiyoomi keeping him company, about Kiyoomi talking to the ISS and setting up the ship for their landing. He barely mentioned himself unless asked, in which case he did bring up the radio. He said, almost verbatim, what Kiyoomi had said to Motoya and the Luna 5 crew. It was mostly boring, punctuated by moments of terror. 

“It sounds like you and Sakusa-san became quite close,” the interviewer said.

“You really gotta learn to trust someone when yer stuck up there with them,” Atsumu replied. “If ya don’t, yer not gonna make it.”

A utilitarian answer, appropriately distant. Kiyoomi didn’t let it hurt him, at least not too much. He understood.

Some traitorous part of his brain wondered, though. Was Atsumu’s trust utilitarian? Was it a means to an end, to survival? No, it couldn’t be. The trust you gave someone because you needed them and the trust you gave someone because you liked them were different. If it was only for utility, they wouldn’t have needed to kiss. Atsumu wouldn’t have needed to tell him about his brother, or his childhood, or all of the incriminating information he gave Kiyoomi with the promise that it would be secret. 

Maybe the sex had just been a side perk. Maybe Atsumu didn’t particularly want to see him, if he couldn’t have that. But Atsumu couldn’t be that good of an actor. Then again, he’d played the part of someone who was terrible at computers pretty convincingly. 

Most of all, Kiyoomi was terrified that, despite how strongly he was discovering that he felt, that Atsumu didn’t feel it with the same intensity. That he didn’t miss Kiyoomi as much. That Kiyoomi was bleeding out and Atsumu never had a wound to begin with. Sure, he’d be happy to see Kiyoomi. Did he need him, as much as Kiyoomi needed him? Maybe he didn’t.

Kiyoomi had to tell himself that that wasn’t true. There were some things you couldn’t fake. 

The interview wrapped up and Kiyoomi decided, begrudgingly, that he should probably be open to giving his side now. He watched to the very end, taking in the very last moments of Atsumu on screen, and when the news switched over he turned it off. 

“He seems pretty cool,” Motoya said. 

“You don’t just have to say that,” Kiyoomi said.

“I mean it. And he seems to think you hung the moon, so.”

“That’s just what he’s like.”

“Uh-huh. You were right--he is pretty hot.” Motoya stretched. “Well, at least he likes you back.”

Kiyoomi didn’t want to think about that, not too hard. It only made it more difficult for him to be reasonable. 

He did give an interview of his own, an uncomfortable and cramped experience on a set that looked bare anywhere but through the camera. He wasn’t as gregarious as Atsumu, and when he put things succinctly the interviewer looked at him like he was expected to continue. 

He told them about how well Atsumu knew the prison and how to fix it, how he learned how to launch their escape vessel, how he saved them on the way down, how he kept Kiyoomi sane. They asked about food and Kiyoomi mentioned how Atsumu would cook, that he was good at it. 

Finally, a few days later, a letter came. Kiyoomi had been approved to go see Atsumu. Atsumu had six hours of visitation time a month. Kiyoomi couldn’t take all of it--Osamu and their parents were sure to want to see him. But Kiyoomi was going to be able to visit, to spend some time with him. 

On the list of permitted activities: handshakes, hugs, kisses (within reason) at the beginning and end of a visit. The list made Kiyoomi’s fingertips itch. It had been two weeks since he’d returned, since he’d seen Atsumu. How could two weeks on Luna 5 take so long, but two weeks on Earth could pass so quickly? His days felt empty, even if he was doing more, going more places. 

He was worried that he was forgetting. Forgetting what Atsumu was like. The two needs warred in his mind, and neither was winning. On one side, Kiyoomi knew that he needed to put some distance between them, so he could move on, so he could get over it. On the other, he was terrified of losing the feeling that Atsumu gave him, the feeling of being wanted and being helpful and being interesting. He had to let Atsumu go but he was scared of losing him.

He’d already lost him, he thought. He’d lost him before they’d even begun, from circumstances out of his control.

Kiyoomi started planning what day he’d go and what he’d wear.

Chapter Text

The prison was surrounded by a giant wall, but the inside of it was remarkably homey. The buildings looked more like a university than a prison. Kiyoomi supposed this was one of the fancier ones, the ones focused primarily on rehabilitation. It would make sense for Atsumu to be here--he wasn’t violent, and though he’d be there for a while, he had a lot of useful skills.

Kiyoomi was met at a desk where he checked in, was patted down, and then was led down a bright hallway to a room with several tables and a couple of couches. It was surprisingly nice. It looked somewhat like a corporate conference room, with a reinforced window leading out to the hallway and a couple of cameras in the corners of the room. There were a man and a woman at one of the tables already, chatting quietly. Kiyoomi was instructed to wait at one of the tables or on the couch. 

He felt his nerves rising as he slinked over to a table and sat. He kept his hands in his pockets. He was wearing his high school track jacket, the one that went from yellow to bright green. He wondered if Atsumu would notice, if he’d remember.

He sat there for a few minutes, silent, and then he saw movement through the window. A prison guard, followed by Atsumu.

His throat immediately closed up and he watched as the door was opened and Atsumu was led inside. He wasn’t handcuffed, and he was wearing casual clothing, though he was only in socks. He smiled brightly when he saw Kiyoomi, waving a little. The guard brought him all the way over to the table and then, miraculously, left them.

“Hey, Omi,” Atsumu said.

Kiyoomi stood up. He stared at Atsumu for a long moment. His chest was doing all kinds of funny things. He really was done for. “Hey,” he said.

“So, a little bird told me,” Atsumu said, “that I’m allowed to kiss ya.”

“Do you want to?”

“D’ya think I’d bring it up if I didn’t? Do you want to?”

Kiyoomi smiled, unbidden, and Atsumu stepped into his space. Kiyoomi knew they were being watched, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He put his hands on Atsumu’s hips automatically and Atsumu hooked a finger around the top of Kiyoomi’s mask, pulling it down under his chin. The action was surprisingly intimate. Their lips met and the knots in Kiyoomi’s shoulders immediately loosened. 

They just stood there for a moment, the kiss soft and chaste. Then Kiyoomi, with regret, pulled back.

“It said ‘within reason’ on the instruction sheet,” he said.

“I think this is plenty reasonable,” Atsumu countered.

Kiyoomi kissed him again. He opened his eyes just a little and saw the two people at the other table watching them. In any other situation that might have made him nervous, but Atsumu, as always, brought him out of his own head.

“Okay, enough of that,” Atsumu said, murmured against Kiyoomi’s lips. “If I start I’m not gonna be able to stop.”

He pulled back and turned to the table. “I guess we sit down like grown ups and talk or somethin’.” He sounded dull and disappointed, exaggeratedly so.

“Is this your first visit?” Kiyoomi asked as they took their seats.

“Yep,” Atsumu said. “You really expedited this one, huh? Same day delivery.”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“Yeah, and I know you’ve got forms and forms to fill out,” Atsumu said. “Honestly, I didn’t expect ya for at least a month.”

“I’d…” Kiyoomi started. “I’d never have waited that long.”

Atsumu watched him for a moment. “Okay.” Something about his voice was strange. 

“Something wrong?” Kiyoomi asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“No,” Atsumu said. “The opposite.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Also, um. I took a shower right before. Just in case you were worried.”

Kiyoomi huffed out a laugh. “Thank you.” He hadn’t actually been worried; somehow the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Atsumu smiled at him like he’d won something.

“So, what’s been up in the great outdoors?” Atsumu asked, putting an elbow on the table. 

“Not much,” Kiyoomi said. “Birds.”

Atsumu laughed. “C’mon. You gotta give me somethin’. I’m livin’ vicariously through ya now.”

“My cousin won’t leave me alone,” Kiyoomi said. “He means well, but he goes everywhere with me.”

“He’s a bodyguard too, right?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said. His mouth twisted up. “That doesn’t mean I’m his client.”

“I dunno,” Atsumu said. “The way you get yerself into trouble, I’d hire someone to keep ya safe.”

“I went out with some of the other guards from Luna 5,” Kiyoomi said. “For drinks.”

“Shit, I can’t believe I missed that,” Atsumu said, snapping his fingers. “Ya get wasted?”

Kiyoomi had gotten pleasantly drunk. “I had enough alcohol that I hugged Bokuto-san at the end.”

“Oh my god,” Atsumu said. “Of yer own volition? Ya weren’t held at gunpoint?”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Not that I knew of.”

“Seems like ya like gettin’ shot, so maybe it wouldn’t matter to ya,” Atsumu joked. Kiyoomi glared.

“It’s only been twice.”

“That’s two more times than the average person, Omi.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I’m gonna hire yer cousin to wrap ya in foam. Until ya look like a marshmallow.”

“Please don’t. He’d do it.”

Atsumu smiled. “Man after my own heart.”

Kiyoomi had forgotten how easy it was to talk to Atsumu. How much he enjoyed talking to Atsumu, though he’d never say it out loud. 

“I talked to your brother,” Kiyoomi said after a moment of comfortable silence.

Atsumu’s smile faded. “Oh?”

“He’s going to visit you.”

“Ya threaten him at gunpoint?”

Kiyoomi sighed. “He felt bad that he hadn’t seen you.”

“He should.” Atsumu worked his mouth around. “How’s he doin’?”

“Pretty well,” Kiyoomi said. “The restaurant is popular. I got his number and we’ve been talking a little bit.”

“Ya got his number?” Atsumu groaned and flopped forward on the table. “I can’t believe it. Yer tradin’ me out for a newer model.”

Kiyoomi snorted. “You’re only six minutes older.”

“Exactly.”

“He’s very nice. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Unfortunately for you, he’s a taken man,” Atsumu said. “I’d say that I don’t know anymore, but if he and Sunarin broke up I’ll eat my own foot.”

“Well, it’s already in your mouth most of the time,” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu looked scandalized. 

“Two weeks and we’re right back where we started,” Atsumu said. “I miss when you were nice to me.”

“When was that?”

“Yer awful.”

“Like I said,” Kiyoomi smiled. “You bring out the worst in me.”

“And happy to,” Atsumu said, brightening. “Good to know the corruption stuck.”

Kiyoomi realized, unrelated to their conversation, that he’d never seen Atsumu in jeans. He was wearing them now, a surprisingly nicely-fitted pair. He liked them a lot. He was getting distracted. 

“Didja see my interview?” Atsumu asked, his cheeky smile seeming very much like he knew what Kiyoomi was looking at.

“Oh, the one where you told them I walked on water and raised the dead?”

Atsumu laughed. “I just told the truth.

“You told half the truth. Did you see mine?”

“Yeah, and you only told the other half,” Atsumu said. “Guess we both have our priorities straight.”

Kiyoomi paused. “Am I a priority?”

“Yer my main one, Omi.” He said it so sincerely, like it was obvious. “Besides my family.”

Kiyoomi felt his ears heat. “Oh.”

“I get it if it isn’t the same for you,” Atsumu continued. “Ya don’t gotta wait around for me.”

“You are,” Kiyoomi said. “My main priority.”

Atsumu was quiet. His tongue searched around his mouth. “Omi.” Kiyoomi waited for him to continue. “When we were...y’know when we were at the Coast Guard station.”

Ah. Kiyoomi nodded.

“You said...or, well, you didn’t quite say somethin’,” Atsumu said. “Ya said ‘maybe.’ And I know ya probably forgot about it or whatever but I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot and wonderin’, y’know. How ya meant it.”

“How I meant it?”

“People say they love their friends all the time,” Atsumu said. That was more like him, to cut to the point instead of beating around the bush. “And I know it wasn’t that long, in retrospect, and on the outside yer probably meetin’ other people and I know it wouldn’t make sense, logistically, for us to keep doin’ this long-term, because it’d be too hard on you to have to keep comin’ back here…” He was rambling, eyes darting away from Kiyoomi and down to the table. 

Kiyoomi swallowed. “I do love you,” he said, because, if nothing else, that was still true. For how long it would be so, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t speaking about futures now. He was speaking about his present. He realized only belatedly that it was supposed to be some big confession, not a casual statement across a table in a prison visitation room. He was a little breathless.

Atsumu looked like Kiyoomi had hit him. He just stared at Kiyoomi for long enough that Kiyoomi was starting to get uncomfortable. Should he not have said it? That seemed to be the direction Atsumu had been going. He didn’t think he’d misread it. 

“I can’t believe,” Atsumu finally said. “That you said it first.”

The tension snapped and Kiyoomi laughed in surprise. “That’s it?”

“I was so sure I was gonna surprise the shit outta ya,” Atsumu said, picking up steam. “And even if ya gave me one of those ‘thanks but I don’t feel the same way’s at least I woulda gotten it out there, but no! Ya gotta come in and say it without me. I can’t catch a break.”

“You thought I would have rejected you?” Kiyoomi’s brow furrowed.

“I dunno,” Atsumu said. “Ya get a lot of time to think in here, and it’s probably for the worse.”

“Well, now you know.”

“Shit, Omi,” Atsumu said. “I mean, obviously, I love you too. I don’t know how I couldn’t, after all the shit we went through.”

“It might fade,” Kiyoomi said. “When those memories do.”

“I heard that if ya remember somethin’ too much, the memory gets less and less accurate,” Atsumu said. “So I’m tryin’ really hard not to remember anything in the first place. I don’t want it to fade.”

Kiyoomi’s chest clenched at the tone of his voice. “Me neither,” he said. “But it probably will.”

“Where did optimistic Omi go? I liked him.”

“Well, now I’m realist Omi,” Kiyoomi said. “I just…” he took a breath. “I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

“We’re gonna get hurt no matter what,” Atsumu said softly. “Might as well be in love when we do it.”

Something in Atsumu’s voice, or maybe the words themselves, pulled at something deep within Kiyoomi. He felt the bridge of his nose start to sting and he blinked rapidly to keep whatever was going to happen away. He couldn’t keep Atsumu’s sharp gaze.

“I don’t know how you just say things like that.”

“I say what I mean. No sense in not.”

The woman was getting up from her seat, and she and the man hugged tightly. They looked similar. Likely siblings. Then she left, casting one more glance at Atsumu and Kiyoomi. Atsumu didn’t see her. He was still watching Kiyoomi.

“It’s dumb as shit but I miss the prison,” Atsumu said, when she was gone. “Up there. Not the concept of prison in general. Still doin’ that one.”

“Me too,” Kiyoomi said. “Not all of it. Just...just the end.”

“Yeah.”

“I told Osamu about us.”

Kiyoomi didn’t know what reaction to expect, but Atsumu smiled. “Did he take out his shotgun and tell ya not to break my heart?”

“Little does he know, I’m not afraid of shotguns,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Or breakin’ my heart?”

“I don’t know if I could.”

Atsumu gave him a strange look. “I think it’d be pretty easy, actually.”

Kiyoomi sighed. “Then I guess I’m afraid of that, yes.”

Kiyoomi had only had this for a few weeks, but he was already terrified of losing it. When he was away from Atsumu, he felt like he was on the edge of some cliff, and at any moment he could choose to walk away or to fall. Now, he realized, as he looked at Atsumu’s face, that that wasn’t the case. He was already hanging over the edge, and he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to climb back up. He’d already fallen.

It had taken him a long time to get to the summit of that peak, to make it to that cliff in the first place, and without Atsumu it would take even longer to get back up. And at the bottom of the cliff were a bunch of bad decisions. Life-changing decisions, if he let go.

They talked for a while more, but Kiyoomi didn’t want to take up all of the time that Atsumu had for visitation. He knew that Osamu would follow through and visit Atsumu eventually, and there had to be time left over for them. They had a lot to talk about. 

“I should…” Kiyoomi started, during a lull in the conversation, about an hour in.

“Right,” Atsumu said, visibly deflating. 

“I’ll be back.”

“Will ya?”

“Is that even a question?”

Atsumu shrugged. “It’s a big world out there.”

Kiyoomi glared at him, finding a strange irritation. “I’m aware, and I’ve made my decisions. I don’t know why you keep acting like I don’t like you very much.”

“Force of habit,” Atsumu said. “It was a pretty big 180.”

“Then get used to it faster,” Kiyoomi said. “I’m not leaving.”

“Shit, Omi,” Atsumu said. “I love you.”

Hearing it so plainly made the balloon in the middle of Kiyoomi’s chest swell up, from where it had been hiding. His fingers were tingling with it. He swallowed. “I love you, too.”

Atsumu gave him the most incredulous smile. “That’s never gonna get old.”

“Hopefully it does.”

They stood up and Atsumu pulled Kiyoomi in for another kiss. This one was longer, a little deeper, a lingering goodbye instead of a quick hello. Kiyoomi didn’t want it to end, but he also didn’t want someone to come in and reprimand them. He stayed a few seconds past the time he thought they should stop, anyway.

“I’ll be back,” he repeated.

“Nice jacket,” Atsumu replied with a cheeky smile.

A guard was waiting for them, and she smiled at Kiyoomi as she led Atsumu back out of the room. Kiyoomi left, and as he stepped past the walls of the prison the warm jitters he got around Atsumu left too. God, he was seconds from bad decisions, every time he saw Atsumu. Atsumu wasn’t good for him. Atsumu was the best for him.

“Never quit your job for a man,” Motoya had told him, pointing his finger in the way of a mother, when he’d found out that Kiyoomi was gay. 

Kiyoomi had rolled his eyes. Now he thought he knew what Motoya meant. 

Bad decisions were percolating in his brain, bubbling below the surface. Ways it could happen. Places to go. How Kiyoomi could help. It would just be harm reduction, wouldn’t it? If Atsumu was going to do his best to get out either way, helping him would be the easiest way for both of them, right? 

Kiyoomi knew he sounded insane. What was he going to do, break Atsumu out of prison and elope? He’d be implicated if he disappeared at the same time. It would be hard to see Motoya. Why was Kiyoomi even thinking about this? He needed to go home and get some sleep. He needed to look around at apartments and get out of Motoya’s hair. He needed to go to Itachiyama and see if they’d give him his job back. He had so many things to do in real life, and none of them involved a hare-brained scheme to break his criminal boyfriend out of fucking prison.

This wasn’t a movie. This was just how Kiyoomi’s brain worked. Planning for every possible future, no matter how unlikely. That’s how anxiety functioned. When he went on public transportation he planned what he would do if someone bumped into him, or if he had to grab onto a handle on a train. When he was on a job he planned how to get a principal out of danger. When Atsumu was in jail, he planned how to get him out. It was just a thought exercise.

Kiyoomi wondered if Osamu had Atsumu’s passport.

Their second visit, about a month later, went significantly worse.

“This won’t work if we don’t both want it to,” Kiyoomi snapped.

“It’s not going to work anyway,” Atsumu countered. “What, yer gonna come visit me once a month for the next fifteen years? Sorry, actually just found out the other day that it’s gonna be seventeen. One-third of my sentence, then I’m eligible for parole. Why drag it out if it’s just gonna end eventually anyway?”

“We can figure it out,” Kiyoomi said. “We can figure it out.”

“You should at least try,” Atsumu said. “Try to find someone else.”

“You don’t want that.”

“Obviously fuckin’ not,” Atsumu said. “But it’s probably better for you.”

“Is this really how you want to spend the one time a month I get to see you?”

Atsumu sighed sharply and shook his head. “I’m just tryna be reasonable. The situation is fucked no matter what we do.”

“Like I said,” Kiyoomi said tersely. “We’ll figure it out. But we can’t even try to do that if you don’t want to.”

“I just don’t know what there is to figure out,” Atsumu said. “Me loving you isn’t gonna get me out of here early.”

Kiyoomi leveled a strong look at him. Atsumu gave it back. “I suppose it won’t.”

They couldn’t talk about it, about the proclamations that Atsumu had made on the moon about breaking out a second time. Kiyoomi hoped that Atsumu could understand the meta-conversation he was trying to have. 

“I mean, shit, Omi, I’d love for ya to come see me every month,” Atsumu said, softer. “But I can’t do that to ya.”

“I’m an adult,” Kiyoomi said. “I can make my own decisions.”

“You deserve better,” Atsumu said. “Ya deserve someone you can come home to.”

Kiyoomi had a breathless image of the two of them in an apartment, of opening the door after work to find Atsumu sitting on the couch. His chest pulled him toward the vision, wanting. He clenched his jaw. It wasn’t possible, at least not the way they were. The ways to make it possible were stupid.

“I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Just…” Atsumu started. “Try. Okay? Just a little bit. For me.”

“Sounds like it’d be the opposite of ‘for you.’”

“I want ya to be happy more than I want ya,” Atsumu said. “Just by a little bit.”

God, Atsumu was so good at finding just the worst thing to say at the worst time. Kiyoomi hated how that made him feel, how the balloon floated up into his throat and choked him with his own affection. 

“I’m not just going to leave you here.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I should do a lot of things that I’m not going to do.”

“Just go on a date,” Atsumu said. “Just one. Ya hate it, I’ll never mention it again.”

“Why?”

“I said why.”

Kiyoomi was so frustrated. He understood the point that Atsumu was trying to make, but he didn’t understand why he was so vehement about it. Was that supposed to be some kind of message? Did Atsumu want him to move on for other reasons? Kiyoomi couldn’t tease it apart. 

“Fine,” he said, clipped. “I’ll go on a fucking date.”

Atsumu didn’t look pleased. What did he want? He was usually so straightforward. But there had to be something to this besides Atsumu looking out for Kiyoomi’s future. There had to be. He couldn’t be so self-sacrificing, when it obviously upset him. 

“Okay,” Atsumu said.

There was another pair of people in the visitation room, a couple of men who looked to be in their sixties or so, playing chess at one of the other tables. Kiyoomi had caught the eyes of one of them a few times. He seemed to be listening. Not that Atsumu and Kiyoomi were being particularly quiet. 

“You aren’t going to do something stupid, are you?” Kiyoomi asked testily, a little more quiet.

“Me, stupid?” Atsumu asked. The joke didn’t go over. He sighed. “No. I’m not.”

They both knew what he was talking about. Kiyoomi nodded. “Okay.”

They cooled down and their conversation was quieter for a little while, about nothing much at all. They were both still simmering, or at least Kiyoomi was. Atsumu seemed dejected. That didn’t make sense. He was the one who brought it up.

They kissed when Kiyoomi left, a short thing, and Atsumu stared up into his eyes for a long moment afterward.

“I do love you,” he said. “I just don’t know if it’s enough.”

“It is for me,” Kiyoomi said dully. He was done with this conversation.

Atsumu looked away.

The older men got up at a similar time, putting away their chess and ending their own visit with a handshake that turned into a quick hug. The one who was visiting--much shorter than Kiyoomi, with a tan jacket and salt-and-pepper hair--followed Kiyoomi out through security and into the daylight.

They were walking in the same direction for a moment. Kiyoomi could feel the man’s eyes on him, but he wasn’t going to engage. Whatever this guy wanted, Kiyoomi was not in the mood for any more interaction.

“It’s tough,” the man finally said, as they went out of sight of the prison. Kiyoomi felt a spark of annoyance. 

“Mm,” he said. 

“Maybe you’ll have better luck than I did,” the man continued. Kiyoomi stopped walking. If the man was going to end up forcing a conversation, he didn’t want to have it with the man trailing a few steps behind him. He couldn’t help the bit of a glare that pulled his eyebrows together.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“How long is your boy in for?” the man asked. Something in the way he said your boy tugged at Kiyoomi’s brain. He didn’t refute it.

“Fifty years,” he said coldly.

The man whistled and gave Kiyoomi a sympathetic look that he absolutely did not want.

“Mine’s in for twenty, but his parole hasn’t been approved for going on five years now,” the man said. 

Mine. Kiyoomi tried to picture this man’s chess partner, the other older man. He had a hard time--the inmate’s back had been to him. “Ah. I’m sorry.”

“We met older, so I don’t know how it is for younger folks. Maybe you see it differently. We eventually decided on what yours was talking about.” The man held up his hand, where a ring sat. “Now we’re just good friends.”

Kiyoomi had nothing to say to that. His annoyance was turning into some kind of unfamiliar desperation. The thought of years spent like that, of coming to see Atsumu month after month until all they were doing was chatting and playing board games, ending their visits with a hug, while Kiyoomi went home to someone else. The vision was almost physically painful. He took a deep breath.

“Like I said, it’s different when you’re young. Maybe you have a chance.” The man smiled, a fatherly kind of smile.

“Why are you telling me this?” Kiyoomi asked. He didn’t know what the man’s point was. To move on? To find someone else? Kiyoomi had heard enough of that from Atsumu today.

“Because sometimes I regret it,” the man said. “Giving up.”

Kiyoomi dreamed of a fox.

It wound around his ankles as he walked across the floor of the cabin, trilling and jumping at the bowl of food he had. He pushed it to the side with his foot and set down the bowl, making it wait a second before he let it pounce.

“You act like that, they’re going to think I never feed you,” Kiyoomi said softly. 

The fox responded by taking a piece of meat out of the bowl and putting it on the floor before it continued to eat. He was going to have to clean that up, now. 

With another mouth to feet, one that ate a lot of meat, a single deer wouldn’t stretch as far as Kiyoomi hoped. He’d have to go hunting again, but he could also let the fox go and get its own food every once in a while. They could go out together and search for winter berries; they could walk to the lake and ice fish in the cold.

Kiyoomi went to the kitchen to prepare his own dinner, while the fox ate in the background. He sliced up a potato and some strips of meat and prepared a pan on the stove. A low fire burned in its belly, and the eyes were warm. Smoke puffed up through the chimney.

Kiyoomi was focused as he cooked, listening to the meat sizzle and watching the potatoes slowly brown. He had some onions, which he added and let caramelize. The warm smell of food started to drift through the cabin.

Kiyoomi felt a presence behind him, and then two arms wrapped around his waist. He took a little catch-breath of surprise. He felt a head rest on his shoulder. 

“Are you on tip-toes?” he asked.

“No,” Atsumu said, in a way that implied that he very much was. Kiyoomi pushed the food around the pan and let his other hand rest on the arms around him. One of them had a nasty scar across the forearm.

“Shrimp.”

“I’m way taller than average.”

“Shrimp.”

The hands unclasped and Atsumu pinched Kiyoomi’s sides, making him squirm. He turned around with a wooden spoon in hand and Atsumu danced away, laughing. He darted forward again for a quick kiss, taking the hand that Kiyoomi was holding the spoon with and grasping it by the wrist, his other hand coming to Kiyoomi’s waist, like they were dancing. 

“Go put another log on the fire,” Kiyoomi said, when they broke apart. Atsumu let go of him and went to the stack of logs by the fireplace, taking his time in selecting the perfect one. “We need to go hunting soon.”

“That’ll be nice,” Atsumu said. “Chance to stretch my legs.”

Kiyoomi finished cooking and brought his plate to the table, sitting. He ate in silence as Atsumu watched the fire. Then Kiyoomi went to the fire with him. He picked up the fox, its fur thick and matte in the firelight. He sat in the chair across from the fire and put the fox on his lap, where it curled up into a ball and sat, letting out a deep, contented sigh. 

The fire turned to a sun, the room to stars, slowly. They twinkled out of the floorboards and materialized in the air. Kiyoomi watched as they swirled around, finding their places in the sky. The chair disappeared into nothingness. Kiyoomi’s vision changed and the fox grew bigger and bigger, until it towered over him. It looked down with its golden-brown eyes and then sprang away, long legs carrying it into the stars again. Its fur glistened and shimmered with tiny dots, until the dots were all that remained, and it froze in place, a constellation. Kiyoomi followed it, stepping through its stardust footprints, until he too was deep and lost in the sky. His paws were small and his body was long, and eventually he found himself intertwined with the stars of the fox, his own fur turning to pinpricks of light and his own body becoming weightless in the nothingness, until all that was left were stars. 

…

As with all of his worst plans, Kiyoomi didn’t tell Motoya about this one.

“Going to see him again?” Motoya asked. He was over at Kiyoomi’s new apartment, helping him get settled in. 

“Of course,” Kiyoomi said. He stacked plates on top of each other in a cabinet. He wondered how long he’d use them. 

“You going to go on that date first?”

“Yes.”

“With who?”

Kiyoomi sighed and the plates clinked together loudly. “I’ll find someone on a dating app, meet them for coffee, and never speak to them again.”

“That doesn’t seem like much of a good-faith effort,” Motoya said, leaning against the counter.

“It isn’t,” Kiyoomi snapped. “It’s to get Atsumu to shut up about it.”

“Then why not just tell him you did it?”

“I’m not going to lie to him,” Kiyoomi said. Motoya watched him for a moment.

“You really like him.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“No, I mean you really like him. Love kinda like.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“Kiyo,” Motoya said, his voice softer. “I’m not trying to fight you on this.”

Kiyoomi knew he was tense. It felt like he’d been tense for two weeks, ever since the confrontation with Atsumu. If it even counted as a confrontation. He could feel it in his shoulders and his neck, in the way he spoke to other people. A constant stream of why would he even say that and what am I supposed to do now and how do I like him so much when he’s such an idiot.

“It isn’t a good idea,” Kiyoomi said. “The two of us.”

“Probably not,” Motoya said. “Do you want to do it anyway?”

Kiyoomi looked at him and squinted. “What?”

“Do you want to do it anyway?” Motoya asked, slower, with better enunciation. Kiyoomi pursed his lips.

“Yes,” he said. 

“Then do it,” Motoya said, with a shrug. “You decide you don’t like it eventually, you stop. You aren’t making a decision for the rest of your life, here. You’re making a decision for now, and you can reevaluate it whenever.”

It certainly felt like the rest of Kiyoomi’s life. He thought of the wheels that were already in motion. He looked at Motoya with a stomach full of regret, regret about his own stupid choices. He thought of standing in Osamu’s apartment above Onigiri Miya, while Osamu dug through boxes.

I’m going to make a terrible decision, Kiyoomi had said. 

Any decision about ‘Tsumu is a bad decision, Osamu had grumbled.

You aren’t going to stop me? Kiyoomi had asked.

Osamu had turned back up to him and sighed. He’s gonna lose his mind in there. I know ‘cause we got the same one.

He won’t, if I can help it, Kiyoomi had replied, and he’d meant it. And, because I know Atsumu will ask, you never helped me.

Obviously not, Osamu had scoffed. Barely know who you are.

He’d stood, something in his hand, and looked at Kiyoomi. Don’t ask why I have any of this shit, he’d said. Ya don’t wanna know.

Kiyoomi didn’t ask.

Kiyoomi thought of the little handheld scanner and booklet currently burning a hole in his top dresser drawer. 

“I’m here for you whatever you decide,” Motoya said, breaking Kiyoomi out of his reverie.

You don’t know what that means, Kiyoomi thought. “Thank you,” he said.

Motoya helped him put away the rest of his dishes, which mostly amounted to him complaining about how he was never going to be able to reach a single plate whenever he came over. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and set aside a place setting--a plate, cup, bowl, knife, spoon, and chopsticks--on a low shelf. When Motoya saw it he kicked Kiyoomi in the shin.

When Motoya left, Kiyoomi went to his bedroom and pulled out the passport. He flipped it open. It was still good and would be for another year. It had a picture of Atsumu, not smiling but with sparkling eyes. His hair was even more yellow-blonde. Kiyoomi flipped through. Atsumu had been to Germany, apparently, in the past five years, and once to the UAE. Dubai? He’d never mentioned that. Kiyoomi wondered what the visits were for. Vacation? Work? Family? 

Kiyoomi had so much more to find out about Atsumu. He couldn’t get that filtered through one hour at a time, once or twice a month. The weight of it kept hitting him over and over, and each time he had to come to terms with it anew.

What was he going to do?

Kiyoomi had never been one to think through his actions. He planned and planned, of course, because of his brain and his anxiety, but did he second-guess himself? Wonder whether or not his plans were worthwhile? Or did he get a single lead and follow it to its logical conclusion, without regard for anything else?

Would he have become a bodyguard if it hadn’t seemed like the logical step between wanting to keep people safe and a career? There were other options he could have picked, ones that weren’t as dangerous. But he hadn’t thought it through. He’d just done it. 

He was good at his job because he didn’t leave time to think. He acted on instinct, and his instinct happened to be good. If someone came at him and someone else with a gun, he put himself between them. If there was danger, he sought it out and eliminated it. If someone was suffocating on the moon, he took off his oxygen and gave it to them. Were those good decisions for him? No. Did they help someone else?

That was the only relevant question.

Atsumu belonged outside. He belonged around other people. He belonged laughing in a bar with friends. He belonged behind a computer, doing whatever he wanted. He belonged in the world. Right now he was in danger--his bright eyes, his bubbly personality, his warmth, all that was in danger. And when Kiyoomi saw danger he got angry and he went toward it.

Extradition treaties with Japan, his search history read.

Kiyoomi didn’t often dream memories, but he found himself falling into it as he drifted off.

Atsumu was on top of him, naked under the blanket, and they were kissing slowly. It was in Kiyoomi’s bed in the guards’ dorm. Kiyoomi felt the warm contentedness in his stomach, the feeling of rightness and belonging, the heat of Atsumu’s skin, sweat a little sticky between them. 

“I still can’t believe ya used a glove,” Atsumu murmured. Kiyoomi slapped him on the hip. 

“It’s unsanitary.”

“That’s just one of the things ya gotta roll with,” Atsumu countered. “I mean, you do you. I’m certainly not complainin’.”

“But you are going to make fun of me.”

“You betcha.”

“We should take showers.”

“In a few minutes? I’m warm.”

Atsumu put his head down on Kiyoomi’s chest, their legs tangling. His hair was soft and it tickled. Kiyoomi felt a swelling in his chest and he tilted his chin down, kissing Atsumu right on the top of his head. Atsumu huffed out a laugh. 

“Nobody would ever believe me,” he said.

“About what?”

“About you being so sweet,” Atsumu said. “Yer such a romantic.”

“You’re right, no one would ever believe you.”

“I can’t believe I cracked the candy coating and it turned out there was chocolate inside.”

“The center is bitter. Keep digging.”

Atsumu laughed, and Kiyoomi could feel the vibration through his chest. “I’ll find out everything.”

He lifted his head up again and planted another kiss on Kiyoomi’s lips. His smile was sleepy and soft, with heavily lidded eyes. He looked so content, so in the moment. Kiyoomi smiled back, just a little.

“Ya got such a pretty smile, Omi,” Atsumu said. “Even from yer worst angle.”

Kiyoomi shoved him off as Atsumu laughed. “I’m taking a shower.”

“One more kiss,” Atsumu demanded, pillowing his head on his hands and gazing up at Kiyoomi. 

Kiyoomi sighed heavily and then leaned down. Atsumu had an indulgent smile on his face, the one Kiyoomi used to despise, and their lips came together for a little peck.

“I can get ya to do anything,” Atsumu said.

“That is objectively false.”

“We’ll see about that. Ya got a soft spot for me, I know it.”

“When you have a soft spot on an apple, you cut it out,” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu snorted.

“Then cut me out, Omi. I’m waitin’.”

“Goodbye, Atsumu.”

No, Kiyoomi thought, punching out of the dream. Turn around.

Kiyoomi kept walking toward the bathroom. He tried to force himself to turn around, to return to Atsumu in bed. Showers could wait. 

“I got caught,” Atsumu said, from behind Kiyoomi. He stopped and turned.

“Oh,” Kiyoomi said.

“No more visitation,” he said dully. “Not for a long time. They’re movin’ me up to maximum security.”

“No, they aren’t,” Kiyoomi breathed. 

“A nice cell,” Atsumu continued. “Not as homey as this one, but nice enough. I’ll be okay.”

Kiyoomi felt a weight on his hand. A ring on his finger. He stared at it.

“We’re just good friends, though,” Atsumu said. “It’s okay. Go take your shower.”

Kiyoomi turned and continued to the shower. He told himself to turn back, to fix this. To make it better. But there was nothing he could fix. He breathed heavily. Water sprayed down on him from the showerhead. 

He heard shuffling outside and watched, through the open bathroom door, as Atsumu was led away in handcuffs. He waved and smiled.

“See ya, Omi,” he mouthed. Kiyoomi scrambled out of the shower after him, but he was gone. Down the halls of the prison on the moon. Kiyoomi was alone.

The date went as well as it could have. The man was nice, a bit reserved, and Kiyoomi knew that even in a world where Atsumu didn’t exist, there wouldn’t have been a second date. The conversation was awkward. Kiyoomi spared them both the rest of the afternoon by paying for the man’s coffee and excusing himself halfway through. Underneath the disappointment he saw a hint of relief in the man’s eyes. 

When he got home, he started getting things in order. Osamu’s scanner. A little, round, blank door key fob. A laptop bag, computer included. An appropriately apologetic face when he showed up to the prison carrying a bag.

He had about a week until he was going to visit Atsumu again. That was enough time to convince himself that this was a terrible idea. No, he already knew that. It was enough time for him to convince himself that, despite the terribleness of the idea, he was going to do it anyway.

Kiyoomi was just greasing the wheels. Right?

A week passed, a week of Kiyoomi going into Itachiyama and doing paperwork while he waited to be assigned a new client. A week of Kiyoomi thinking about nothing much at all, except the speed with which he’d need to make decisions. He was good at that. Speed and commitment were his friends.

The day finally arrived. Kiyoomi found himself remarkably level-headed. He imagined the entire scenario from beginning to end.

Then he went to the prison.

Its outer walls stood before him, more imposing than they usually were. He announced himself at the gate and went through, laptop bag over his shoulder. He was calm. Even if he wasn’t, he was wearing a mask. 

A prison guard met him at the gate. Kiyoomi’s heart rate spiked, but he didn’t show it. He stepped a little close to the guard as she unlocked a door and tapped the side of his laptop case, where the scanner was. He had no idea if it worked. 

“You’re going to have to leave that out here,” the woman said. Kiyoomi nodded.

“Sorry, I was just coming from work,” he explained. He had to move quickly. “Let me just put my keys in here.”

He stuck his hand into the bag, located the scanner, and pressed another button, writing whatever data was on there onto the empty key fob. It happened in one smooth movement--he’d practiced. Then he palmed the key fob and zipped up his case.

“Will this be okay out here?” he asked. The woman nodded.

As she turned, Kiyoomi glanced around at the cameras--there were only two. He turned his back and at the same time lifted his mask, popping the little round disc into his mouth. He almost threw up, but he held it back. This was necessary. He’d sanitized his hands. He’d prepared for this.

He was patted down and then the woman turned to the door that led into the hallway where he’d meet Atsumu. Kiyoomi was much taller than her. He watched her tap a pad with her own key and then type in a number. He focused intently. 

Then he followed her into the hall, down to the visitation room, heart pounding. No one could look in his bag. If they did, this would all be over, and he’d have hell to pay. But that was the only weak link, he thought. He’d planned for contingencies.

Atsumu came into the room, smiling as usual, and Kiyoomi stood up to meet him. He pushed the key to his cheek as they kissed, Atsumu humming happily into his mouth. Kiyoomi wondered if Atsumu could feel his heart.

“I went on a date,” he said immediately as they sat down. Atsumu’s smile faded momentarily, then came back, a bit forced.

“Oh? How’d it go?”

“I left halfway through.”

“Omi,” Atsumu complained.

“It wasn’t worth it. I told you it wouldn’t be.”

“Were they nice, at least?”

“Extremely,” Kiyoomi said drily. “Turns out I like assholes instead. Don’t. Make the joke.”

Atsumu’s mouth was already open, but he clicked it shut and smiled. “Then I don’t know why you’d like me. I’m an angel.”

“Lucifer was an angel.”

“What a zinger.” Atsumu leaned across the table conspiratorially. “Got any more dates lined up?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu’s eyebrows rose.

“When?”

“Next month,” Kiyoomi said. “Right here.”

Atsumu blinked and Kiyoomi saw the tips of his ears redden slightly. “Shit, Omi. Ya can’t keep doin’ that.”

Kiyoomi quirked an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

“Insultin’ me one minute and then sayin’ shit like that the next,” Atsumu said. “I can’t take it.”

“Your poor heart.”

“And then ya make fun of me again. Yer so hot and cold, Omi.”

“You should be grateful for the hot you get.”

“Oh, I’m grateful for how hot you are all the time,” Atsumu said with a smarmy smile. 

Kiyoomi couldn’t help the little smile that formed on his lips, even as he rolled his eyes. He felt the key fob in his cheek. “You’re good at memorizing things,” he said.

“Holy different subject, Batman.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Only the best,” Atsumu said dubiously. “Why?”

“I know a nice place you should go when you get out.”

“That’s a million years in the future, Omi. You think I’m gonna remember?”

Kiyoomi shrugged. “Won’t you?”

Atsumu took the challenge as it was intended. “Oh, absolutely,” he said. “So where’s this place?”

“It’s a cafe in Bangkok.”

“I didn’t know you were a globetrotter, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu said, obviously surprised. 

“Maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Only sixteen more years to find it all out.”

“Maybe more.” Kiyoomi read off an address, one he’d memorized to a T, conversationally. He said it a few times. Atsumu seemed more and more suspicious with each recitation. “Got it?” Kiyoomi asked.

Atsumu nodded slowly. “Seems like ya really like this place.”

“It’s very good,” Kiyoomi said. “I just think you should go there when you get out. Their tea is very good.”

Atsumu blinked and then his eyes blew wide. He schooled his expression immediately and cleared his throat. “Can do, Omi,” he said.

Kiyoomi smiled. Atsumu looked a little dazed. “You got a lot of faith in me,” he said. He paused. “To remember, I mean.”

“If you can’t remember, I’ll help you,” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu was looking back and forth between his eyes.

“Maybe that’s not so smart, Omi,” he said. “For all we know that place won’t be there by the time I’m out.”

“I think it’ll stick around for long enough,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Ya gonna go there with me?”

“How about I meet you there?”

Atsumu was having a hard time controlling his expression. He was fidgeting in his chair.

“Don’t get too excited,” Kiyoomi said with a little smirk. “It’s still a ways away.”

“You know me,” Atsumu said. There was a fire burning behind his eyes. “I get excited about everything. I gotta figure out how I’m gonna get there. Sixteen years isn’t that long to plan.”

“I’ll help you out,” Kiyoomi said. “I can help you get a passport when you’re out. It isn’t too hard.”

“You think of everything, Omi,” Atsumu said. He paused. “Just don’t put yerself outta house and home for me.”

“It’s no trouble.” Kiyoomi took a breath. His tone lowered. “Not for you.”

Atsumu stared at him, caught between multiple emotions, the most prominent of which was a blinding, overt adoration that Kiyoomi found hard to look at. “We still on for that date next month?”

“That’s up to you.”

“I’ll let ya know,” Atsumu said. He smiled. “This place better have mind-blowin’ tea.”

“It’s so good you’ll never want to come back here.”

Atsumu laughed, the loudest noise in the room for quite some time. “You might have to ship me back home.”

“I don’t think I’d be allowed to do that.”

“No?”

“I don’t think anyone would be.”

“You do think of everything, Omi,” Atsumu said. His eyes were sparkling now, his smile fierce and lingering. “You tell anyone else about this place?”

“Only your brother. He thinks he’d like to go too.”

“I can’t believe yer double-dippin’,” Atsumu said. “Just because we’re twins. Didn’t I tell ya he’s taken?”

“From what I’ve seen he and his boyfriend seem amenable to a third.”

“Omi, I love you, but that is literally the last thing I ever want to think about,” Atsumu said. “In the universe. My darling baby brother is as pure as the fallen snow.”

Kiyoomi’s fingertips were tingling from the stress of the conversation, from the implications he desperately hoped that Atsumu was picking up. “You’re the one who told me to go on dates.”

“Not with ‘Samu or Suna. They’re off-limits. Other than that, go buckwild.”

“Noted.”

“Mind running that place by me one more time?” Atsumu asked. Kiyoomi rattled off the address again, saying each word carefully. “It’s gonna be hard to remember for sixteen years.”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“Nah, ya don’t have to. It’ll fly by, I think.”

“I hope so.”

They chatted for a little longer. With every moment Kiyoomi envisioned someone opening his bag, seeing the RFID scanner, knowing what it was, coming in to get him. Them making him open his mouth, the tag falling out. Them knowing what he was doing. The tag got heavier and heavier in his cheek.

Finally, it was time for him to go. Atsumu asked for a few more minutes, and Kiyoomi obliged, but then they both stood. Atsumu looked at Kiyoomi like he was something special. Kiyoomi didn’t know if he deserved it, but he accepted it nonetheless.

Atsumu stepped up for a kiss, which Kiyoomi met him for immediately. It was soft. Kiyoomi took a deep breath.

“This is going to be gross,” he murmured. 

“I’ve sucked yer dick, Omi.”

Kiyoomi sighed sharply against Atsumu’s cheeky grin. Then he kissed him again, opening up the kiss after an appropriate amount of time. Instead of tongue, he carefully maneuvered the key fob into Atsumu’s surprised mouth.

“Yer a fuckin’ super spy,” Atsumu whispered. Kiyoomi pulled back a little to look at him. 

“You’re good at memorizing things,” he said again. Atsumu blinked.

“We went over this.”

Kiyoomi leaned in again and stopped right before Atsumu’s mouth. “0-5-1-0-9-5,” he said.

Atsumu sucked in a breath. They kissed. Kiyoomi repeated it. “0-5-1-0-9-5.”

“0-5-1-0-9-5,” Atsumu said. They kissed again. Kiyoomi could feel Atsumu’s arms shaking under his hands. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“How long can sixteen years be?” Atsumu asked jauntily. Kiyoomi smiled.

“Hopefully, shorter than you’d think.”

When Kiyoomi was out of sight of the prison his anxiety overflowed all at once and he crouched down on the sidewalk. There wasn’t anyone close-by. Kiyoomi pushed back his rising throat and swallowed. Deep breaths. Count to ten. Colors. 

It was out of his hands now, and that terrified him. He trusted Atsumu. He knew that Atsumu trusted him. Should he? Had Kiyoomi done everything right? Had he said the right number? What if he’d forgotten? Had the conversation been subtle enough, or was someone listening and parsing what they’d been saying? Were there microphones? What if Atsumu was caught with a contraband key? What would happen to him?

Why was it that when it came to Atsumu, Kiyoomi was always out of control?

Now it was out there, and he couldn’t take it back. The deed had been done. Atsumu was in possession of both a key and a code to the outside door. Kiyoomi didn’t know if it worked for other doors, too. He didn’t know if it worked at all. For all he knew it was a dud. Atsumu would have to find that out himself. Now Kiyoomi just had to wait. To wait, and to book a flight to Thailand.

Chapter Text

The man was there again.

He ordered a small tea and sat down in a chair by the window of the cafe. He was very quiet and spoke only a few words of Thai, and he’d been there almost all day every single day this week.

He was very tall with black, curly hair, and he wore a blue surgical mask the entire time, except for when he pulled it down over his chin to take a sip of his tea. Other patrons came in, chatting, and he watched them quietly. At first, Tip had been worried, wondering if he was going to suddenly spring up and try to rob her. But he just sat, ordering a new tea and a bit of food every couple of hours, and then at closing time he got up and left. 

She had no idea what to make of him. He had piercing eyes and the way his eyebrows pulled together made him look seconds from some kind of violent outburst at all times, but as far as Tip could tell he was polite and courteous. A young couple came in the door at the same time as him one morning and he held it for them. He kept ordering food, as if to justify his presence there. He kept looking at the window, as though he were expecting something, but that something did not seem to come and at the end of the day he left, his shoulders tight.

She wanted to talk to him, but she didn’t think they’d be able to have much of a conversation. She didn’t know where he was from, but he was definitely foreign. Japan or South Korea, maybe. She only barely heard him speak, so she couldn’t place an accent. He felt sort of like a ghost haunting her shop. 

Another day, another disappointed walk out the door, and Tip resolved to help him somehow. She’d gotten used to him being there, and he’d been fine so far. He didn’t stare at her, so she didn’t think he was stalking her. He seemed entirely in his own head all day, watching the window or his phone, or occasionally some kind of puzzle in the newspaper. At one point he even seemed to be trying to apologize for inconveniencing her, though he sounded sort of like he was reading off of Google Translate.

With each day his shoulders got higher and higher. One week passed, and then they were into the next. Did he have a job? What was he waiting for? Was there some kind of event that Tip would have to be ready for? No one else seemed to know about it.

On day nine, Tip came by his table with a piece of cake. He looked up at her with wide eyes and gave a little shake of his head. I didn’t order this. She smiled and pointed at it, leaving it on his table and encouraging him to eat. He seemed genuinely distressed, but after a moment he seemed to accept that she wasn’t going to take it back. He thanked her and stared at the cake for a long time, while Tip hid behind the register and hoped that he’d take a bite.

Eventually, he did. Then another, and soon the cake was gone. He rolled the little dessert fork idly between his fingers for a few moments, and then he put it down. He went back to staring out the window. Tip marked that one down as a partial success.

The day wore on, and the man didn’t move. He sipped his tea and read on his phone, and Tip put him away in the little corner of her brain that was now reserved for observing his actions. He was a curiosity, and boy, was Tip curious.

There was a squeak of a chair, and suddenly the man stood up. Tip blinked. His eyes were locked on the window, then on the door, as it opened and another man stepped inside. He had bleached blonde hair underneath a baseball cap, and he slipped off some sunglasses as he entered the cafe. Tip got ready to take his order, but he stopped walking. 

The man who had come every day was frozen in place, staring at the new arrival. The arrival was frozen as well. Then, as though through some unspoken agreement, they stepped toward each other until they were right in each other’s space. Tip was worried for a moment that they were going to fight. She ducked lower behind the register and watched them. There were a few other patrons, but only one or two of them seemed to notice the display in the center of the room.

Then, miraculously, the dark-haired man pulled down his mask, revealing an incredulous smile. The new man smiled as well, and they said something to each other. The man with the blonde hair surged forward and, to Tip’s surprise, kissed the dark-haired man right on the mouth.

Tip’s heart beat faster as she watched them. The dark-haired man was smiling desperately, and his eyes looked a little glassy. The other man was speaking rapidly, right up against him. 

Oh. This is what the man had been waiting for. 

Tip wasn’t a crier, but she felt herself tearing up. If this wasn’t the most romantic thing she’d ever seen. He’d waited for more than a week, coming here every single day, for this? Had they been separated? Why had they picked her shop? She wasn’t sure she cared so much about the last one, because she was glad she got to see this. She almost felt a little bad for watching them, but they were in her cafe, and she could look where she wanted. 

The blonde man gave the dark-haired man another quick kiss and then pointed at the register. Tip schooled her face immediately, suppressing with all her might the smile that was threatening to break free. She watched the two of them approach, and then the dark haired man, eyes bright, ordered a very sweet coffee. Tip nodded and he paid, and she turned around to make the drink.

She let her smile go free. Was this some kind of movie? Were there secret cameras? She took a cup of ice and poured some iced coffee into it, followed by a couple pumps of sugar syrup and some milk on top. She was distracted, and hoped that it was the drink he’d ordered. She turned around to get a lid and saw the two of them sitting at the man’s usual table, talking and just staring at each other. 

She went over and presented the coffee. The dark haired man immediately looked apologetic--for not having waited by the counter, she assumed. She shook her head and, not knowing what else to do, gave them a quick heart with her hands. 

Immediately, as she turned around, her face flushed red. Why had she done that? What was that even supposed to be? She probably looked creepy, or at least a little dopey. She heard a little chuckle behind her and power-walked back to the register. 

Over the quiet radio, the song changed. Tip had a randomly shuffled playlist of big band songs from around the world. She liked the vintage aesthetic. She could only barely hear this one, not that she paid much attention anymore.

The blonde man laughed out loud, making Tip jump. He pointed at the ceiling and started singing along a little. The song was in English. Tip realized which one it was.

“Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars…” a voice sang. 

The dark-haired man rolled his eyes and the blonde man punched him in the arm. Tip smiled at them, unable to contain it anymore. She couldn’t help but feel like she’d assisted them somehow. Helped them find each other, if they were lost. If nothing else, she had a great story to tell her sister. 

They stayed a little while longer, talking and drinking their drinks, and then they got up to leave. Tip watched them go, a warm buzz in her stomach. 

Outside, Atsumu tugged on Kiyoomi’s hand. “Ya gotta hear about my daring escape.”

“Did you just open a door and walk out?” Kiyoomi asked.

“Technically,” Atsumu said. “But! I was so sneaky about it. I don’t think they even noticed I was gone until I was gettin’ my shit from ‘Samu and gettin’ on the bus.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous? Ya snuck a counterfeit key to me in yer mouth.”

Kiyoomi sighed sharply through his nose. “It worked.”

“Did you think it wouldn’t? Have a little faith, Omi.”

“I did,” Kiyoomi said. He looked back at the cafe. “Why do you think I was waiting?”

Atsumu’s expression changed, softened. “I told ya. No matter where we are, I’ll find ya.”

“That was said under threat of death,” Kiyoomi said. 

“Doesn’t make it not true. Now, you gotta give me a few days so I can wallow in guilt about the fact that ya left yer whole life behind for me,” Atsumu said. “I already did some of that on the way here, but I don’t think I’m done.”

“I’m not a criminal on the run,” Kiyoomi said. “At least, I haven’t been officially indicted for anything. I can go home whenever I want.”

“Like you’d leave poor little me here alone.”

“Osamu and I can trade off being your chaperone.”

“I love you, Omi,” Atsumu said. “Even when yer bein’ a dick.”

“Somehow, I love you too,” Kiyoomi said, “Even though you’re always a dick.”

Atsumu gave him a smug smile. Through the window, Tip watched them talk, smile, and kiss again. Then they left, and she buried her face in her hands. She hoped they’d be back. Maybe they’d be regulars. Maybe they could be friends. Maybe they’d invite her to the wedding. Maybe they were just visiting and she’d never see them again. 

Like ships in the night. Tip sighed dreamily. She needed to stop daydreaming at work.