Archive of Our Own

One. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a prissy ass bitch before, Miya?” An unfamiliar voice rings out in the MSBY dorms. “Maybe if you replaced the stick in your ass with something a little more fun, you wouldn’t be so god damn intolerable! I mean, I saw online where you couldn’t keep a fucking man around, but I didn’t think it was this bad!” 

Bokuto, who is used to Atsumu’s horrible and, quite frankly, disgusting taste in men, had become used to this over the years. Atsumu, with his (sometimes) charming personality, high volleyball IQ, and deceivingly good looks, has maybe the worst track record in the world when trying to find suitable partners. 

Bokuto had been living on this floor alone for the better part of a year before Atsumu showed up. The older MSYB players were already living together on the floor below, so when Atsumu signed, Bokuto was excited. He was finally gonna have a roommate! Movie nights, late-night snack runs, sharing cleaning duties, the list of activities was gonna be endless. It was gonna be great! And it was! Atsumu was a great roommate. Respectful, clean, only kind of a dick in the mornings. That was until Bokuto watched him enter the dating pool. 

“There are plenty of fish in the sea,” is a saying Bokuto grew up hearing.

He thinks Atsumu should stop fishing. 

Swimming? 

Whatever. The point is, Atsumu should maybe stop seeking out other fish. Maybe he could settle for a nice bit of seaweed. Pretty in the sunlight. Attached to something sturdy. Not a fucking loser. 

He’d complained to Akaashi about it time and time again. He’s certain his boyfriend thought he was being dramatic until he had witnessed one of the infamous breakdowns firsthand. 

Akaashi had stood wide-eyed in the kitchen, wondering if a bomb had gone off. Every single food item in their house was torn open and poured out. A full gallon of milk leaked from the top shelf of the refrigerator, creating a small river into the living room. Bokuto’s vanilla high-protein yogurt was smeared across their countertops. Dry cereal was loose and stomped on. Raw chicken and pork slabs littered every other tile. Condiments smeared together. He thinks there might be kimchi and peanut butter slathered on the walls. Drawers and cabinets were yanked open, their contents littered on the floor. It was rather artful. It was a fucking mess. 

Atsumu sat on the couch, head in his hands, as Bokuto worked to comfort him. “I was takin’ a shower, and I guess he saw my texts to Samu sayin’ I was gonna leave ‘em.” 

“It’s not your fault, Tsumu, okay? There’s nothing in that kitchen that we can’t clean up or replace!” 

“I only dated ‘em a month! What the fuck is wrong with him! What the hell is wrong with me? How could I let this happen?” 

Akaashi went to the store that night. One, because they needed groceries. Two, for a baseball bat. 

He looked Bokuto in the eyes and told him not to be fucking stupid, but if things got out of hand, at least he’d be able to handle it. 

Bokuto was lucky he’d found his seaweed. 

He wishes his seaweed were here and not in fucking Tokyo, but it is what it is. 

“Yeah? Is yer shriveled-up dick yer idea of ‘more fun?’ If so, I can see why yer ex left ya.”

That would be his cue to enter before things get out of hand. Once Atsumu got fired up, it was a recipe for disaster. He scrambles off the couch and rounds the corner just in time to see Atsumu shove a duffel bag into a tall, lanky man's arms. He’s not the worst-looking person Atsumu’s ever dated. He shudders. No, there’s been much, much worse. 

“Maybe next time, don’t bring up yer weird-ass relationship trauma on the second date, ya fuckin’ lunatic. I’d have cheated on yer ass too!” Atsumu yells, pushing his companion out the door before slamming it dramatically. 

Well, at least he wouldn’t need the bat.

“So…” Bokuto ponders as casually as he can, “Who was that Tsum-Tsum?” 

Atsumu huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “A fuckin’ dumbass loser, Bo-kun, that’s fuckin’ who.” 

Bokuto hears two other sets of steps behind him and knows that Shouyou and Omi-kun have both shown up to investigate the noise. They, too, have become familiar with Atsumu’s relationship antics, even if they have gotten fewer and farther between lately. It used to happen all the time, but now a month or two can pass without a transgression. The peace is nice when it lasts. 

“Very eloquent,” Omi-kun says, lips pursing to hide that evil smile he loves to throw around. 

Akaashi says it’s not evil. 

It definitely is. Especially when it’s aimed at Atsumu. Omi-kun is often amused at Atsumu’s misfortune, and it looks like this is no different, if the sparkle in his eyes is of any indication. 

“No, go ahead,” Atsumu groans, leaning against the door and banging the back of his head against it as hard as he can. “Laugh it up! It’s so fuckin’ funny that I’ve been seein’ that man for a month and every time I met up with ‘em all he did was complain about his “crazy bitch of an ex.” Finally told ‘em I was gettin’ tired of it and ya wanna know what his solution was? Do ya? He dropped his fuckin’ pants and shoved his dick in my face!” 

Bokuto winced, thinking maybe it was time to get a baseball bat for every room and not just his. Hinata’s jaw dropped, and he covered his mouth with his hands. “No, he didn’t!” Came his muffled reply. 

Atsumu groaned again, covering his eyes with his hands, ashamed and embarrassed. “Yes, the fuck he did. One second I was tellin’ em how I didn’t think we were movin’ in the right direction, and the next he was movin’ southbound if ya catch my drift.” 

“He didn’t do anything, did he?” Sakusa asked, and the evil smirk was gone. So was all the amusement that’d been written all over his face earlier. 

Omi-kun usually didn’t tend to comment on Atsumu's many, many, many failed attempts at relationships. If he did, it was usually to call him a dumbass or to call the men he was with dumbasses. He’d take any other opportunity to pick Atsumu to pieces, but Bokuto respected that. He pulled his punches, even if he pretended he didn’t. 

Atsumu stumbled over his words for a moment, cheeks heating up again. They could tell he was embarrassed by the whole situation, and it was clear he didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. 

“No! Of course not! I told ‘em to put it away, or I’d cut it the fuck off and, well, y’all heard the rest.” 

Omi-kun nods, but Bokuto can’t help but notice the way his jaw ticks. It does the same thing when they’re playing a really good team, and they’re pissing him off just a little bit more than usual. “Good,” he finally says, after a few moments have passed. “Don’t let him back in here.” 

Bokuto gets on board with that immediately. Grinning wide, he cracks his knuckles, “Yeah, if he shows his face again, I’ll kick his ass for you, Tsumu.” 

Atsumu snorts, “Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m done with him.”

Hinata holds his hands up in front of his face, making chopping Karate motions, “Yeah, Tsumu, if he comes back around here, he’ll see why I won that fight with Tobio in first year.” 

Bokuto raises a skeptical brow, “I thought he literally threw you across the floor.” 

Hinata waves his hands noncommittally, “Nah, I totally won. Tobio was just hella embarrassed, so he lies to anyone who asks.” 

“Daichi told me that, but alright.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the moment Atsumu begins to tune their chatter out. Eyes locking with Omi-kun’s dark ones. There’s something in there he can’t read. Something he’s never seen before.

A silent conversation is happening. One that he’s not privy to. 

Atsumu swallows, “I promise,” he says, and the words aren’t meant for anyone except Omi-kun.

Omi pauses, then, seeming appeased by this, gives one sharp nod before wandering back to his room. 

Bokuto suppresses his grin. He needs to call his seaweed immediately. 

Two. 

“Fuck, can ya lay off already? I get the point, ya don’t like ‘em.” 

“I’ll lay off ya when ya pull yer fuckin’ head out yer ass.” Osamu can’t help but scrub at a sticky spot on the counter more vigorously. It’s either this or he tackles Tsumu’s dumb ass and knocks some actual sense into his big head. 

“Look, he said he was sorry. If I can forgive ‘em, why can’t you?” Atsumu’s not even looking at him now. Instead, scrolling through his phone, pouting, because he knows he’s wrong but too stubborn to admit it. 

Osamu sighs. Loudly. He’s had this conversation with his brother more times than he can count. “'Cause ya haven’t actually forgiven shit, Tsumu! Not that I think ya should! Ya fuckin caught ‘em in bed with someone else twice. It’s a miracle you took ‘em back the first time. Let alone twice. What’s he even offerin’ ya? Somewhere to get yer dick wet? You can find that from someone who ain’t gonna two-time ya to tears every other fuckin’ day.” 

“It ain’t that simple.” 

“Except that it is!” He’s beyond frustrated. It’s like every guy Atsumu gets with is worse than the last. Practically criminal the shit they pull. In fact, Osamu is pretty sure some of them were fucking criminals. A never-ending cycle of clowns that seem dead set on using, abusing, and breaking his brother's heart in new and inventive ways. Without fail, Atsumu will find some fucking dickhead that manages to get him all starry-eyed, then, inevitably, they do some heinous fucking bullshit that has it all come crashing down. 

At first, Osamu thought there could be nothing worse than hearing about all the shit these idiots did. That was until Atsumu started hiding it. Telling him it was nothing, just for Bokuto, Hinata, Sakusa, or one of his other unfortunate teammates who witnessed the disaster to rat him out. 

“Not all of us meet the fuckin’ love of our lives at fifteen, Samu!” Atsumu says, sounding far more bitter than he probably intended. “I’m happy ya found Rin, and ya got to live yer fuckin’ fairytale romance, but some of us aren’t that fortunate!” 

Gritting his teeth, Osamu has to take a steadying breath to try and keep his cool. They aren’t kids anymore. He can’t just throw Atsumu on the floor and slap some sense into him when the lunch rush is about to start. 

“That’s not the point, and you know it.” 

“No,” Atsumu counters, putting his phone down on the counter, and leaning forward, “I’m pretty sure it is. You’ve never had to fight to keep anything in yer relationship alive. It's always been so fuckin’ easy for the both of ya, so ya don’t realize you actually gotta compromise to make shit work sometimes.” 

“Ya know that’s bullshit, Tsumu,” Osamu defends. “When yer in a relationship ya are gonna fuckin’ fight and argue. When that happens, you fuckin’ communicate and talk about it, though! And, yeah, sometimes that shit sucks, but ya work through it. Ya don’t fuckin’ cheat! Ya think when Rin pisses me off, I go out and fuck the first person who walks by? Ya think that’s what he does to me?” 

Atsumu crosses his arms across his chest and scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“No!” Osamu pushes, “Fuckin’ answer me? Ya think’ that’s what Bokuto does to Akaashi? Ya think that’s what Kita-san does to Aran?” 

“Can you just fuckin’ drop it?” Atumu says, jaw tense, and eyes looking far more glassy than they did thirty seconds ago. 

“No, cause ya know I’m right. Yer friends gotta be gentle with ya because they’re yer friends, but I’m not! I’m yer fuckin’ brother, and if there’s one thing I’m gonna do, it’s tell ya the truth. I’d hope you’d do the same for me. Ya know in yer soul that this ain’t right. I know ya do.” 

Atsumu doesn’t say anything, just stares at the spot to the left of Osamu’s face. His whole body is tense. It’s what he always does when he’s losing an argument and doesn’t want to talk about it. He shuts down, refuses to look you dead on. Osamu, in the back of his mind, knows that he does the same thing. That Rin has pointed out time and time again during difficult conversations. 

“Fine.” Osamu sighs, exhausted and angry and apparently powerless to change anything. If twin telepathy is a thing, he’s sure that he and Atsumu’s emotions are just feeding off each other right now. “I’ll leave ya alone. I can’t force ya to do anything ya don’t wanna do, but let me ask this? Is this the first guy that’s cheated on ya?” 

They both know it's not. 

“Is it the second? The third? Every time, ya go back. Give them chance after chance and make yerself miserable. For what, Tsumu? You’ve seen the outcome. Ya know how this story ends. We both do. Ya told me once that ya’d never be like them, but take a look around. Do you really wanna end up like fuckin’ ma? Waitin’ around for someone who never gave a fuck about ya to begin with?” 

Atsumu stood up from the stool slowly, eyes dark. Osamu knew what was coming before the words left his mouth. 

“Fuck you, Osamu.” 

Later that night, two messages sat on his phone from Atsumu. The first, a picture. A screenshot of a text thread with Atsumu’s, now, thank every fucking god, ex-fucking-boyfriend. 

The second, just two simple words. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Osamu smiled, feeling Rin reading over his shoulder. He began typing out his response and, for the first time, started to hope that maybe things would turn around for his brother.

“Don’t be. Now block that bastard.” 

Three. 

“Ew, no. Unmatch right now.” Rin’s nose crinkled as he looked at the guy strategically posed on Atsumu’s phone. 

“Really?” Atsumu said, looking through more of his photos. “He works out. Says he’s in finance.” 

“Nope,” Rin immediately declines. “Red flag. That’s just a way to say that he’s gonna ghost you when he’s “busy” with work.” 

Atsumu’s phone pings, and he opens the message that the man just sent him. Rin and Atsumu cringe simultaneously. 

“Oh my god,” Rin says, looking closer, “Tell me the tip of his dick is not oozing something green.” 

Atsumu zooms in on the image, “Jesus Christ. That’s fuckin’ tragic. He–he would know if he–” 

“–If he had fucking gonorrhea?” Rin practically wheezes. “I would sure fucking hope so, oh my god.” 

“Too bad,” Atsumu sighs, unmatching, “He had good biceps.”  

“Be so fucking for real,” Rin deadpans. “Though STI notwithstanding, I’m sure you’d have thought about them when he fucked you and then never responded ever again. Per my previous red flag warning.” 

“Why are we assuming that he wouldn’t have responded to me? Maybe I’d have fucked him and never responded?” 

Rintarou’s mother used to scold him for not being able to control his snarky expressions. There’s a permanent mark on the back of his head in the shape of her hand from the number of times she slapped him upside it and told him to fix his face. He simply cannot help it. This is how he knows the side eye he sends Atsumu is particularly deadly. 

“Because you, my friend, catch feelings the way five-year-olds catch colds.” He flicks Atsumu on the forehead, mostly because he can. “Which is to say: easily and with no fucking immune system. In fact, I think you should delete all your dating apps until you build up some fucking antibodies.” 

“I do not catch feelings easily!” Atsumu protests, leaning away from him and rubbing the red mark between his brows. 

“Sure,” Rin agrees casually, “Then name one person you’ve gone out with that you haven’t tried to seriously date after?” 

“What? So it’s illegal to want to actually date instead of just fuck around?” 

“Not at all,” Rin counters. “I’m just wondering how every single person you’ve matched with is someone you’ve been able to see yourself with long-term? Out of all the people you’ve met on those shitty ass apps, not one of them has been someone that you were unsure about?” 

Atsumu sinks further into Rin’s couch, locking his phone. He must sense that this is turning into an actual, serious conversation. His voice is small, instead of defensive, which isn’t what Rin had been expecting. “Why do you make it sound like a bad thing?” 

He has to tread lightly here. The last thing he wants to do is shame Atsumu for his dating history.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, Tsumu.” Rin begins, which, now that he thinks about it, is a terrible fucking way to start. He redirects. “What I’m trying to say is that I think we can agree that you’ve been with a lot of shitty fucking dudes, right? And I do mean Shitty. Fucking. Dudes. Scum of the earth. Should probably be put down. Publicly stoned by the townspeople. Drawn and quartered. We’re on the same page, right?” 

Atsumu snorts, seemingly a little more at ease. “Yeah. Got me fuckin’ there.” 

“I just wonder if you’re not giving yourself enough credit when you’re putting yourself out there. I know when you swipe right on these fucking losers, they must be actually fist-pumping the air because they cannot believe they landed you. You’re successful, hot, and your thighs are almost as good as your brothers.” 

“I despise you.” 

“Sorry, couldn’t help it.” 

“Please die.” 

“Anyway, you go out with these people and instead of just, like, testing the waters to see if you actually like these dudes, it’s like you black out or something. You go from “Hello, I’m Atsumu,” to “Hey, guys, meet my new boyfriend,” in like a span of thirty seconds. I just–I can’t figure out why. You’re always so loud. Like, at any given time, you’re one of the most exciting people in any room, but when you find somebody you think you like, it’s like you water yourself down into someone I barely recognize. You get so quiet. It’s–that’s not like you.” 

Atsumu shrugs, tugging on a loose thread on his sweater, “I mean, is that really such a bad thing? I remember everyone tellin’ me to shut up all the time back in the day.” He tries to joke, but Rin isn’t letting him off that easily. 

“We give each other a hard time, yeah,” Rin agrees, “But we never actually mean it. I know you don’t mean it when you call me a disgusting pig for kissing your brother.” 

Atsumu smirks, “No, no, I do mean that. Fuckin’ gross.” 

Rin rolls his eyes and pushes on, “Well, I don’t mean it when I tell you to shut the fuck up because I can’t hear myself think. It’s just how we talk. I give you a hard time, and you dish it right back. We’ve always been like that. Samu’s the same way. It’s like the foundation of our friendship. It’s different if it’s us. But if it’s these fucking weirdo men doing it? They don’t get to tell you to take up less space.” He grins wickedly at Atsumu. “I’d kill them if they tried. I do mean that.” 

Atsumu’s laugh is watery, and it makes something inside Rin’s chest ache a little. Atsumu’s always been a little bit of a crybaby, but this is different. 

“I think I’m scared no one is ever gonna like me for who I am. So, I gotta like, I don’t know? Make myself more palatable or somethin’? But I fuckin’ suck at it, because I can only act a certain way for so long before the real stuff starts to leak out. Then that’s pretty much when everything starts to go to shit, and that fuckin’ sucks because it makes me feel like I do gotta right to be worried, ya know?” 

Rin has known the twins for a long time. Since their first year of high school. He didn’t fall in love with Osamu instantly. It wasn’t love at first sight or anything like that. In fact, he kinda thought the Miya twins were annoying. Cocky, loud, and god were they obsessed with Kita-san, the fucking dweebs. Then one day, Rin filmed the two of them fighting, edited some stupid sound effects over it for shits and giggles, and posted it to his socials. He went slightly viral, earned a whopping $30 bucks off the video, and realized they might be useful for something other than volleyball.

Sue him, he used them as cash cows, and he’d do it again. They were a lot. He’s pretty sure he lost hair because of them. 

Despite their grating ways, he did manage to forge a friendship with them eventually. Osamu started bringing him homemade bentos, and they were a hell of a lot better than the premade cafeteria food. He and Atsumu tried and failed to learn to skateboard together. Together, all three of them turned Kita-san’s hair even more gray.

Realizing he had feelings for Osamu was painful. Getting shot might have been less painful, quite frankly. In the beginning, his feelings for Osamu were something that he was scared to even look at, but eventually he was able to hold them in the palm of his hand. Then, with a lot of time and a lot of pointed glances and generally unhelpful comments from Atsumu, he nurtured them into something that allowed him to kiss Osamu on the cheek in the summer of their second year. Thank god Osamu felt the same way and didn’t punch him in the face.

Atsumu called him a dumbass. 

He hugged him after, though. Then said something stupid about being their best man one day. Rin couldn’t even begin to comprehend that at the time, but Atsumu had been right. Even if it pained him to admit that. 

That same summer, he’d watched Atsumu link pinkies with a boy during the Solstice festival and was excited to see the stars dancing in his friend's eyes. Then that same boy panicked and outed Atsumu to the whole school by claiming Atsumu made a move on him, unprovoked. While Rin wiped stardust off his friend’s cheeks well into the night, Osamu was wiping blood off his knuckles. 

The first shitty, cowardly boy. Certainly not the last. 

High school wasn’t forever, though, and eventually they traded in their stuffy uniforms for professional jerseys (and an apron in Osamus' case) and took the world by storm. Rin and Osamu faced the endless trials and tribulations of a long-distance relationship, and Atsumu– 

Well. 

Asumu faced everything else. 

Scandal. Doxxing. Cheating. Every Varying degree of evil men. 

Sickening behavior. 

Rin has paid several Etsy witches to ensure they all receive what’s coming to them. 

“I just think,” Rin begins, trying to word his response as carefully as he can, “That you deserve more than you are allowing yourself to have. Maybe, instead of seeking out the roaches that are lurking in the trenches of online dating, maybe you just pause? Just breathe for a little while. Let the universe decide when it’s right and let it bring something to you instead. You shouldn’t have to minimize yourself for love, Atsumu. The right person will love you for everything that you are. Loud, smart, kind, snarky, talented, sarcastic, kinda mean, only okay at being a morning person, fucking terrible at Mario Kart, incredibly bad about leaving your socks scattered absolutely everywhere–” 

“Alright!” Atsumu laughs, shoving him off the couch, “I get it, ya fuckin’ dick.” 

“I can’t make you change your mind,” Rin says from his new spot on the floor, resting his head on the cushion next to Atsumu’s thigh, looking up at him. “I just don’t wanna see you hurt anymore. You deserve more. You always have.” 

Atsumu bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. His eyebrows are furrowing, and it still amuses Rin, even after all this time, to see how similar he and his brother act. 

Atsumu opens his phone and, with a few clicks, shows it to him. 

To Rin’s delight, he’s uninstalled all his dating apps. 

“I’ll try,” Atsumu concedes, looking unsure. 

“That’s all I’m asking,” Rin says, squeezing his knee reassuringly. 

Four. 

“Ya been quiet lately, baby,” Hanamu says, threading her fingers through her son's golden locks. It’s gotten longer since the last time she saw him. She misses his dark hair sometimes, but she’s happy enough to see him having fun. He’s no less handsome for it either. 

The back porch is her favorite place this time of year. The air is pleasantly warm, and the cicadas are just starting to buzz. Three years ago, the boys had gifted her a new patio set that she adored. Two wicker rockers, two garden chairs, a swing, and a small table. She’d felt like an old lady when she sat down in the rocking chair and practically melted into it. 

Atsumu, instead of using any of the empty chairs he’d bought, settled down at her feet, just like he’d done as a kid. He rested his back against her knees and allowed her hands to run through his hair. She used to do this for him when he had bad days. If he was fighting with Osamu, the other kids at school, or if their father came home from work in one of his moods. 

It was an escape. Just for a few moments. Something that felt like peace in the chaos. A lifeline for both of them. 

“Nah,” he says, leaning back into her touch more, “Just been busy with the team lately. We’re goin’ up against the Red Rockets in a week, and it’s been a pain in the ass to keep up with Aran and his cannon of an arm.” 

She tugs on his hair when he curses, but otherwise doesn’t scold. “I haven’t seen much of him lately, but Kita-san stops by every once in a while to keep me updated on what’s goin’ on, especially with his granny.” 

“Yeah,” Atsumu agrees. “I wish I saw ‘em both more, but they seem to be doin’ good, far as I can tell.” 

“What about you?” She asks, “You haven’t been callin’ as much lately. Everythin’ alright with you?” 

Atsumu’s shoulders tense just a little, just enough. 

“You been talkin’ to Samu?” 

She laughs, “Would it be a problem if I had?” 

“Yes,” Atsumu spits, “That rat can’t keep nothin’ to himself.” 

“Well,” she says, tugging on his earlobe, “Yer brother hasn’t told me nothin’, but now I’m curious about what yer hidin’.” 

Atsumu sighs, and it’s downtrodden. She has an inkling of what’s going on. Atsumu’s never very forthcoming about what’s going on in his life, but people talk. Despite what her sons think, she’s not so ancient that she doesn’t understand how the internet works. She’s seen things, heard things, read things. 

Things that make her blood boil. She wishes she could keep her kids bundled up and hidden away from the rest of the world, but she knows that’s not how it works. Especially with how public Atsumu’s job is. Being a public figure is no easy feat, and her son, well, it’s safe to say, he got her taste in men. 

She will never stop blaming herself for that. 

She raised two kind, compassionate, good men. 

She cannot speak for the rest of the world. 

“I don’t wanna make you upset.” Atsumu’s voice is so small, and she can feel her heart breaking for him. 

“Ya won’t,” she reassures him, “Not how ya think ya will, anyway.” 

He turns, sitting cross-legged in front of her, “Not how I think I will?” 

“Just talk to me,” she encourages. “It’ll feel better out rather than in.” 

Atsumu sighs, drawing his knees up to his chest and settling his head on top of them. The early summer breeze ruffles his hair, and he looks so young. 

“When you were with our sperm donor–” 

She snorts, but Atsumu cuts her off, “Nah, I refuse to call that thing our father. So, again, when you were with our sperm donor, did anyone ever tell ya to leave?” 

The boy’s sperm donor, as Atsumu so eloquently phrased it, was someone that Hanamu fell for hard and fast. Barely seventeen, her friends dragged her to a bar. She saw him there, and it felt like every piece was falling into place. Leather jacket, ruffled dark hair, boyish smile. 

She was in love. Hook, line, sinker. He had her in every way that counted. Every way that he could. 

She found out she was pregnant, and while she was, quite frankly, fucking terrified, she was excited too. She’d be done with school soon, and then their lives could finally start together. Their little family. 

Where she saw a beginning, though, he saw nothing but the end. The end of freedom, of youth, of life. 

He was in and out of the picture for years. He’d leave her high and dry, come back when he had nothing, but swear it was different this time. She’d fold every time. Maybe she was stupid, maybe it’s because she didn’t have anyone else. Maybe she just wanted to be loved, for once in her life. 

It took her far too long to realize the truth. The boys were eleven the last time he ever came back. He was drunk, and they were screaming. He’d cheated on her. Again. This was far from the first time. She didn’t even know how many times he’d done it. These were just the ones she knew about. She saw Atsumu and Osamu cowering in the corner of their room, holding onto each other for dear life. 

She knew then that she loved her sons more than she’d ever loved the man standing before her. And for the first time, she knew that someone did love her. They did. And that was enough. She just wished she would have realized that sooner. 

“I was young when I found out I was having you two,” she said, smiling sadly. “I wasn’t married, and I hadn’t even finished school. My parents weren’t very understandin’.” 

“I remember you workin’ all the time,” Atsumu says. “I know that things couldn’t have been easy. I guess I just never understood why you stayed with him for so long. Things seemed better when he was gone.” 

She does her best to fight off the tears that threaten to take over. That’s not what Atsumu needs right now. “I wish I had a better answer. Really, I do. I think I was young, scared, and alone. When things were bad, they were awful, I will admit. When they were good, though,” she says, looking off into the distance, “I think I convinced myself we could be a real family. You could have a mom and dad. He could be so convincin’ about it.” 

“He was a piece of shit, ma,” Atsumu says, scooting closer and squeezing her hands. 

She can’t help but laugh, and it’s watery, “Yeah.” She admits. “He was a piece of shit.” 

She breathes out, wiping at the edges of her eyes, still grinning, “Can I ask why you’re askin’ about this?” 

“Well,” Atsumu says, looking down. “It’s been brought to my attention lately that many of the people I’ve dated in the past have been, for lack of a better term, fuckin’ awful.” 

“I see,” she says, frown sliding back into place. “How are you feeling about that?” 

“If I’m bein’ honest, like fuckin’ idiot. Like, everyone has seen me crash and burn so many times. Some of ‘em have been so public, too. It’s–it’s humiliatin’. I just, I never realized how shit it’d gotten until recently. Bokuto told me he keeps a fuckin’ baseball bat in his room now. He’s scared, ma. He’s scared because so many of these fuckin’ losers have trashed our place, and it’s like? These are the type of people I’m bringin’ around my friends? My family?” 

“You can’t control the actions of others, Atsumu. I understand feelin’ some level of guilt over it, because I think it would be hard not to, honestly, but that is not on you. You cannot control how other people carry themselves. If Bokuto felt this was a necessary precaution. He’s probably just worried. I’ve met him, and I doubt he carries any ill will toward ya. I can’t lie and say I’m not worried, though. I’ve seen how some of these men act online toward you.” 

Atsumu whips his head up, “You’ve seen it, too?” 

“I don’t live under a rock. I follow you on Instagram, Tsumu.” 

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

“I know the shame that you can feel about somethin’ like this. You can talk to me any time you want, but I didn’t think the “Your mother doesn’t approve of your boyfriend” spiel would get me very far. I’ve been in your shoes before. I know that the only person who can make you leave a relationship is you.” 

“Well,” Atsumu sighs, “Me and Samu, I guess. He finally talked some sense into me. Even got Rin to help, the bastard.” 

“They care about you. We all just want you to be happy. Safe and happy.” 

“Fuck, ma, you’ll make me cry, don’t.” 

She reaches down to wrap him in her arms, “I love you so much. I’m so sorry for the shitty things you had to see when you were growin’ up. I know there are good people out there, Tsumu, so please, don’t settle. Don’t do what I did. Your father gave me you all and I will always be thankful for that, but I will never thank him for anything else.” 

“I’m scared,” he admits, leaning back. “I told Rin I’d try to slow down and let the universe bring me something worthwhile, but I’m worried I’ll just embarrass myself again.” 

“Ya can’t give up, Tsumu. If yer happy alone, then that’s fine, but ya shouldn’t punish yourself. Every mistake leads ya closer to where yer meant to be.” 

“What about you?” he asks, “Are you ever gonna try again?” 

She shrugs, “Maybe one day. If I can find a kind, strong, rugged man who sweeps me off my feet.” 

She laughs at the look on Atsumu’s face. He looks constipated at the thought of his mother ever moving on. Then it morphs into something more devious. 

“Ya know, Coach Foster is single.” 

“No,” She says immediately. 

“Wait,” Atsumu grins, “Hear me out! He’s only like 43, he’s got a six pack, works out every day, super kind. Saw him feedin’ a stray cat the other day.” 

“Miya Atsumu, don’t you dare!” 

Atsumu smiles at her, and he’s got that same look he had as a kid when he ruined his dinner with Konbini snacks then lied about it. 

“Think about it, ma,” Atsumu says, “Maybe we both gotta take baby steps to get where we’re meant to be?” 

The summer breeze smells sweet, and the cicadas begin to sing as the sun sets lower. She’s made a lot of mistakes in her life, but her kids will never, ever be one of them. 

Five. 

“Here, drink this,” Sakusa says, setting Atsumu’s water bottle down beside him where he’s hunched over on the bench, panting. 

Atsumu nods, face red, chest heaving, sweat drenching his skin, his jersey completely stuck to his skin. 

They sit in silence for a while. Atsumu guzzling water. No one is in the gym yet, still an hour to go before practice starts. When Atsumu’s breathing finally starts to even out after a few minutes pass, Sakusa nudges Atsumu’s black sneaker with his golden one. 

“How long have you been here?” 

Atsumu leans back against the bench, popping it against the low backrest. He shrugs, “An hour or two, maybe? Not sure.” 

“Foster’s gonna kill you, you know that, right?” 

Atsumu smiles, tilting his head to the side. “Only if he finds out, Omi-kun. I’m no snitch, what about you?” 

“Depends.” 

“Yeah? On what?” 

“On how stupid you’re being right now.” 

Atsumu splutters, “Stupid? I’m not even doin’ anything?” 

Sakusa absentmindedly fiddles with the cap of his water bottle. “You’re not taking care of yourself properly.” 

“Because I decided to get in some extra practice? God forbid a guy try and refine his serves. Maybe ya should be doin’ some extra practice too, if yer shoddy performance at the last game with the Red Rockets was anything to go off of.” 

“My serves were fine. You can be a dickhead all ya want, Miya,” Sakusa says. “Doesn’t change the fact that you came in early all last week, stayed late yesterday, and I’m almost certain you didn’t eat anything for dinner yesterday.” 

Atsumu stares at him, and his typically hooded eyes are wide open, “Are ya fuckin’ stalkin’ me or somethin’?” 

Sakusa rolls his eyes, “No, stupid. I can hear your stupid ass alarm clock through the wall. You’ve broken me. I wake up at the crack of dawn now, whether it goes off or not. Whether I like it or not. When I didn’t hear it, I thought you forgot to set it. I checked, and you were gone.” 

“Oh,” Atsumu said, and there’s something like guilt shining in his eyes. 

“I made dinner last night since Bokuto and Hinata were both gone. When I checked the fridge this morning to make my smoothie, it was still there.” 

“How do ya know I didn’t eat somewhere else?” 

Sakusa shrugs, “Did you?” 

When Atsumu doesn’t respond, it’s answer enough. 

“So again,” Sakusa says, “I’m not a snitch, but if I think you’re being stupid and hurting yourself, I will tell Meian and Foster.” 

“Of course,” Atsumu huffs, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice, “Can’t lose yer fuckin’ setter in the middle of the season.” 

Sakusa’s brows furrow, and he wants to thump Atsumu on his stupid forehead, “Are you an idiot?” 

“The fuck?” 

“I, your friend and teammate, am expressing concern over your well-being, and you think it’s just because I’m worried about the team? Don’t get me wrong, I’d really, really like to not fucking lose because I swear to god if I have to see Motoya smirk at me or add me to another fucking losers groupchat, I will murder him, but more than that, I’d just like to make sure, you’re like, actually doing okay?” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh,” Sakusa mocks, rolling his eyes at him. 

“Wait,” Atsumu says, “You think we’re friends?” 

Sakusa raises a single eyebrow, looking at him skeptically, “...Do you…not?” 

“No! Wait! No, fuck, I just, I mean–No, of course–” 

“Don’t hurt yourself. Christ.” Sakusa says, sounding far too amused. 

“I just mean, I didn’t think you liked me, ya know? Ya like, fuck with me all the time?’ 

“Yes?” Sakusa agrees. “As do Suna, Osamu, Aran, Inunaki, Thomas, and Meian? Hell, even Bokuto and Hinata try to give you shit, even if they suck at it.” 

“Well, yeah, but they’re–” Atsumu stops, cheeks turning red. 

“They’re what?” Sakusa asks, wondering if Atsumu has taken every barb as an actual insult this whole time. 

“I don’t know. It’s different.” 

“...Is it?” 

“The first time ya joined the team!” Atsumu says quickly, pointing his finger in Sakusa’s face like he’s uncovering some ugly truth. “I said it was nice to see ya again after all these years, and you scoffed and threw a towel at my head!” 

“Atsumu,” Sakusa says slowly, like he’s stupid. “You were naked.” 

“So what? It’s a fuckin’ locker room?” 

“Yes,” Sakusa agrees, “Even so, some of us weren’t raised in barns and actually show some decorum when it’s warranted. Even so, we watch movies together all the time. We eat dinner together. We always get paired together during away games. We go fucking grocery shopping on Saturday mornings. I let you use my car. You’ve met my mom? Twice.” 

“I guess I’ve just never heard ya say it out loud before?” 

Sakusa groans, “Do you want a god damn friendship bracelet or something? Is that what it takes to solidify a friendship with you?” 

Atsumu grins, “I mean if ya wanted to make me one I’d wear it!” 

“We’re getting off track here,” Sakusa says, rubbing his temples. “I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay?” 

Atsumu sighs, “Yeah, I’m good. Just been thinkin’ about some of the stupid shit I let slide in the past. Have had a bit of a wake-up call recently, ya know?” 

“Is this about the revolving door of rodent-men that have desecrated our dorm and embarrassed themselves?” 

Atsumu stares at him, closing his eyes slowly, “Well, when ya phrase it like that, grandpa.”  

“Oh, sorry,” he corrects. “Is this about those chopped, chud-ass fuckboy brokies who, no cap,  were being cringe af?” 

Atsumu groans, covering his face, “God, who taught ya those words? Motoya needs to limit yer screentime again. Jesus Christ, that’s painful.” 

“As is this whole conversation,” Sakusa agrees. 

“Yer fuckin’ tellin’ me,” Atsumu sighs. “I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life, and the only thing that can stop the overthinkin’ is volleyball. So, that’s why I’ve been practicin’ more lately. Whatever it takes to make the noise pause for a little while, ya know?” 

Sakusa nods, but he’s quiet for a while after that. Finally, he looks at him skeptically, “Well…what are you doing tonight?” 

Atsumu shrugs, “I dunno, what I always do? Shower. Dinner. Sleep.”

“Do you wanna go somewhere with me instead?” 

“That’s ominous.” 

“Shut up, it’s not,” Sakusa says, rolling his eyes. “Motoya’s been sending me TikToks about Dotombori, and I wanna go.” 

Atsumu raises an eyebrow skeptically, “You, Sakusa–I hate crowds, the heat, humidity, people, tourists, and breaking our diet–Kiyoomi, wanna go to Dotombori? The street food market?” 

“Is that such an outlandish thing?” 

“Yes,” Atsumu confirms. “I literally just said that.” 

“Look, if you don’t wanna go–” 

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth, Omi-Omi. I never said I wouldn’t go. I said it’s crazy that you want to go.” 

“I like street food,” Sakusa admits. “And I’ve been in Osaka for almost two years, and I haven’t been yet.” 

“Then we’ll go,” Atsumu says, easily. “It might be full of tourists, but their yakitori and pork buns are pretty amazing. Practically had to put Samu on a leash the first time we went there. He almost bankrupted us both.” 

Sakusa snorts, but believes him. Osamu is nothing if not passionate about his food. The first time Sakusa accompanied the team to Onigri Miya, Osamu had gone on a ten-minute tangent about the importance of balanced ginger. It was still the best Onigiri he’d had to this day, so he was sure Osamu knew what he was talking about.

“Go get cleaned up,” Sakusa says, “If Foster sees you like this, your ass is grass, and we both know it.” 

“Maybe Wednesday nights are the best nights to come,” Atsumu says, after they move through the Takoyaki line in just a few minutes. There are still crowds of people, but it’s nothing like the TikToks Motoya had sent, where everyone was crammed into the stalls shoulder to shoulder. 

They find a bench in a more secluded area out of the way and sit to eat. Atsumu takes one of the skewers, leaving the other for Sakusa. He shoves the entire ball of dough into his mouth at once, and much to Sakusa’s amusement, his eyes widen comically. 

“–Oly fuck, Omi,” He breathes out, words slurred, fanning his mouth. “That shit is hot!” 

Sakusa laughs, handing him one of the Ube bubble teas they’d ordered. Atsumu sends him a grateful look before slurping down the purple drink. 

Sakusa is sure to give his food a few seconds to sufficiently cool off before he bites into it, and it’s still boiling, but he, at least, doesn’t have to exhale like a dragon because he’s impatient like some people he knows. 

Sakusa has had the tofu version more often than the actual tako kind, and while both are delicious, he thinks this might be one of the best he’s ever had. Maybe Osamu had been onto something when he was talking about the importance of ginger. The pickled ginger inside the steamed dough added a subtle spiciness and made it just this side of sour. 

“This is good,” Sakusa says, offering Atsumu another skewer. Atsumu nods, “This is one of Samu’s favorite stalls. The Obachan who works it on Sundays gave him all sorts of advice when he first started Oni MIya. She pinched his cheeks so many times, and I think that sick freak kinda liked it.” 

Sakusa snorted, “Like you don’t help the aunties on the fourth floor bring in their groceries so they dote on you. I’ve seen all the red bean buns they leave for you.” 

Atsumu sniffs, taking a long drink of his tea, staring unabashedly at Sakusa, “Ya don’t know what yer talkin’ bout.” 

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, freak,” Sakusa says, eating the last skewer. “What do you want to try next?” 

“Do ya like crab?” Atsumu asks, standing up and pointing to a frankly comical-sized crab statue plastered on the outside of the building. “This place is amazing.” 

Sakusa nods, “I’ll withhold judgment for the sign for now, but the food’s really gotta show up and out for that kind of branding.” 

“Ya just hate whimsy,” Atsumu gripes, grabbing his hand and guiding him through the crowd. 

Atsumu insisted on getting the kani-man, and when Sakusa bit into the steamed buns, he couldn’t help himself. 

“Holy shit,” he moaned, closing his eyes and wondering how the fuck they got the crabmeat to taste like that. 

“Right!” Atsumu said, in no position at all to judge Sakusa, too busy savoring his own bite. 

“What the hell did they put in this?” Sakusa asked, “Crack?” 

“Nah,” Atsumu says, “This crab was doing the rich man’s drug for sure. Cocaine’s gotta be the only answer.” 

Sakusa would love to disagree, but fuck, Atsumu was right. 

“I can forgive the gauche crab sign. They deserve it. They’ve earned it.” 

“I’m ignoring your stupid signage commentary so I can enjoy this bite, pure of soul, as god intended.” 

Sakusa takes another bite, too, because who is he to disagree with that logic? 

They stop at a few more places, eating their fill, and enjoying the cooling night air. “I got one last thing I think you’ll like. I know yer not a big sweets guy, but there’s this place that makes a good Yaki mochi, and ya can get a decent side of green tea with it.” 

Sakusa shrugs, “Lead the way.” 

Atsumu brings them to a small hole-in-the-wall spot. There’s only one other couple inside, and they sit at a table in the back, talking quietly. An older lady mans the front counter, and she smiles warmly at them when they enter. 

Atsumu orders them two mochi and two glasses of matcha, and they find a place to sit. It’s slightly cooler inside, and Sakusa is thankful. The summer heat clings to everything and everyone, and while it was always hot in Tokyo, it’s sweltering in Osaka. Atsumu, born and raised in Hyogo, seems like he’s better suited for the hot weather. He always tans nicely, looking extra golden in the summertime. It makes his blond hair stand out, and his already white teeth gleam bright enough he might as well audition for a damn Colgate ad. 

Sakusa never fared well in the heat, ironic considering he plays volleyball during the hottest season of the year. His high school team used to make fun of him in the summer, because his already short temper withered into practically nothing. One time, Motoya, the bastard, ordered him a water bottle that stated, “I’m sorry for what I said when I was hot.” 

He wanted to be mad, but well, he was. 

The Sakusa that existed in the air conditioning and the Sakusa that existed in the humid air with the sun beating down on him were not the same people. He couldn’t be held liable for his actions. 

He’d done good today, though. Even as Atsumu dragged him from stall to stall, or as he became shoulder to shoulder with sweaty strangers, even as the humidity slowly and vindictively fucked up his hair, he hadn’t snapped or snarled or cussed anyone out. 

A win was a win. No matter how small. 

The sun had long since set beneath the horizon, and outside the glass window, the neon lights of Dotombori lit the street up in a kaleidoscope of colors. 

“Ya holdin’ up okay, still?” Atsumu says, blowing on his tea so he doesn’t repeat the Takoyaki situation. 

“Yeah, why?” Sakusa asks, pulling his mochi bun apart.

“I know how ya are when ya get too hot. I still haven’t forgotten the time ya spiked a ball at my head because the AC in the gym broke.” 

Sakusa pursed his lips, “You were being loud.” 

“I was callin’ the ball, you rat-bastard.” 

“Do you want an apology?” Sakusa concedes. 

Atsumu snorts, “Would ya actually give me one?” 

“It certainly wouldn’t be sincere. Since you asked, though, yes. I’m doing good. I had fun. I’ve wanted to come here for a while, and it was convenient that you’ve been here so many times.” 

Atsumu gasps, “Is that a sincere thank you from the mouth of Sakusa Kiyoomi? Be still my beatin’ heart.” 

Sakusa takes a long sip of his tea, unamused. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re the worst?” 

Atsumu nods slowly, “Yeah? He’s about my height. Got the same fuckin’ face, except he’s like ten percent uglier somehow. Name’s Samu. You met ‘em?” 

“It’s ringing a bell,” Sakusa plays along. “Though I think he was way more tolerable. And a better cook. Way more respectful, too. And last I checked, I think he could actually bench press more than his professional athlete brother–” 

“Jesus!” Atsumu laughs, “Ya always gotta go for the fuckin’ throat, don’t ya? Plus, ya seen the bags of rice he throws around. Hell yeah, he benches more than me. Could probably suffocate someone in his goddamn armpit, fuckin’ dick.” 

“...Do you know this from personal experience or?” 

“...” 

“That’s sad, Atsumu.” 

“Shut up, Omi. Ya don’t understand what it’s like to live with a walking, talking tumor.” 

Sakusa snorts, “Clearly you’ve never met Motoya.” 

Atsumu sips the rest of his tea, and Sakusa is quick to follow his lead. By the time they leave the small shop, the crowds have thinned out, and there’s a gentle breeze blowing that Sakusa welcomes wholeheartedly.

“What about you?” Sakusa asks, after they’ve been walking in companionable silence for a while. “How are you holding up?” 

The neon signs hanging on the buildings above them cast Atsumu in a colorful burst of light. His cheekbones are turquoise, and his brow bone is highlighted in lavender. The tips of his platinum hair glow pink, and every time he shifts, the gradient changes. Sakusa isn’t sure where Atsumu belongs, but he doesn’t think it’s on the streets of Osaka. Maybe in an art exhibit somewhere, tucked safely behind glass. People in cashmere and silk can stand in awe of him, picking apart the colors and what they mean. How they pale in comparison to the man wearing them. Discussing how no one has ever been good enough to touch; many have tried to sully, but he only ever burns brighter. A resilience not even science could hope to explain. 

It’s not the first time Sakusa’s felt this way about Atsumu, but it’s certainly getting harder to hide. He’s used to shoving those feelings down, letting them swish and swirl around in his stomach, but what does he do when they threaten to climb up his throat? 

“Me?” Atsumu says, smile small. “I’m doing okay.” 

“Okay,” Sakusa says, nudging his shoulder, “Wanna try that again and sound a little more convincing?” 

Atsumu sighs and lolls his head to the side, golden gaze looking soft. Like he’s been peeled open and everything’s on display. “It sucks, genuinely. I hate it. I kind of hate myself right now, but I can’t do anything but move forward, right? I made some…choices. Choices that I’m gonna have to live with. Choices that might define me for far longer than I’d like them to, but for once in my life, I think I’m finally doin’ the right thing, ya know?” 

Sakusa’s quiet, thinking the words over. Trying not to make the seeds of doubt grow any bigger than they already are. “Obviously, I don’t know the full extent of what you’re feeling, or what you’ve been thinking lately, but I think you’re wrong. About your choices defining you, I mean. I get what you’re saying, I do. I know you’re trying to own up to whatever you think you did, but I just think you should give yourself a little grace. Sure, you made a choice. It had consequences. That doesn’t define you, though. You can change your mind, and that’s what matters. I think the most important steps are the ones you take moving forward, not...not the ones that got you here today.” 

Atsumu stares at him. For a long time. The warm breeze swirls around them, and Sakusa breathes it in. There’s smoke lingering in the air from the closing foodstalls, and quiet chatter as the few remaining people walk past them, the heat isn’t oppressive, not with him. 

“I had a really nice time tonight, Omi.” Atsumu eventually says, and his eyes are so molten they’re practically caramel. 

Sakusa shrugs, hoping that the pounding of his heart isn’t as loud as it sounds in his ears. “Me too. Maybe we can do it again?” 

Atsumu nudges him with his shoulder, smile small, “I’m holdin’ ya to that.” 

“What are we doing?” Atsumu asks, plopping down on the couch between Hinata and Sakusa. 

Bokuto is crouched in front of the TV, hooking up the Wii, and holds up the case for Mario Kart. “Prepare to get red shelled, Tsum-Tsum,” Bokuto smirks. 

“Aw, no,” Atsumu groans, “Can’t we play somethin’ else? I just bought Just Dance 2014!” 

“You’re just mad because you suck,” Hinata says. “Maybe you should stop choosing Bowser. He’s got awful vibes.” 

Sakusa hummed his agreement, “You only want to play Just Dance because you like being the stupid panda on C’mon.” 

Atsumu pouts, leaning back into the couch cushion, “That song gives ya Panda Power, I swear to god! It’s like somethin’ takes over your body.” 

“Is that supposed to be convincing us?” Sakusa says skeptically. 

Atsumu shrugs, “We can play anything as long as it ain’t fuckin’ Mario Kart. I swear, I played with Suna and Samu every weekend, but I lost every goddamn game.” 

Hinata elbowed him in the side, “Yeah, whatever volleyball skills you have sure don’t translate to Mario Kart, huh?” 

Atsumu slowly turns his head to look at Hinata, “See if I ever fuckin’ toss to ya again.” 

Hinata sticks out his tongue and swaps seats, crash-landing on the other side of Sakusa. “Tsumu’s in a mood,” he loudly whispers. 

Bokuto fills the seat that Hinata just abandoned, and he pats Atsumu on the shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay, Tsumu. Someone’s gotta come in last place, there’s no shame in an honorable defeat.” 

“That’s it! I’m lockin’ in. Hope y’all like losin’ cause me and Bowser are gonna kick yer asses.” 

Three and a half hours later, Bokuto has won four times, Sakusa has seven first-place finishes under his belt, and Hinata is floating somewhere around five wins. Atsumu’s best placement was an embarrassing fourth. 

Atsumu was hiding his head in his hands when they decided to call it a night. Bokuto had to call Akaashi before it got too late, and Hinata was apparently going to help Natsu with her homework. Sakusa couldn’t hide the disbelief on his face, and even Atsumu picked his head up, eyebrows furrowed to shoot a worried look at Hinata. 

Hinata scoffed, “You're both assholes.” 

Sakusa shrugged, “Good luck. I’m sure she’ll need it.” 

Atsumu smirked, “I guess whatever volleyball skills ya have sure don’t translate to school, huh?” 

Hinata shot him a sour look before scrambling back to his room. 

Sakusa looked at Atsumu, and when their eyes met, laughter ripped through them. Sakusa nodded in approval, “God, that was good. You might suck at Mario Kart, but at least you’re still good at being a dick.” 

Atsumu slouches back into the couch, yawning and stretching his arms over his head until something in his spine gives way with a loud pop. He yawns and sleepily mumbles, “Are what ya eat.” 

Sakusa pauses, caught off guard by the vulgar joke. He’s noticed that lately, Atsumu doesn’t seem to be, for lack of a better term, eating much of anything lately. 

“Not so much lately, though, right?” Sakusa hedges. 

Atsumu’s eyes had started to slide closed, and he lazily opened one, peeking at Kiyoomi. 

“Are ya askin’ me if I’ve sucked anyone's dick lately, Omi?” 

Sakusa would rather the ground open up and swallow him whole. Why did he open his mouth? What the fuck is actually wrong with him? Motoya once admitted to putting detergent in Sakusa’s food when they were kids because he, allegedly, hogged their Game Cube. Luckily, it was harmless, just tasted like ass. He often wonders, though, if there were chemicals in that detergent that killed some of his more fundamental brain cells. It would make sense why he is the way he is.

“Uh,” he says. “No?” 

Atsumu throws his head back and lets out an ugly cackle, “Nah, I mean if yer interested, who am I to deny ya? I have not engaged in sexual intercourse in almost two months.” 

“Oh,” Sakusa says, and if he could say something a little more profound right about now, that would be great. “Why?”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow at him. 

He rolls his eyes, “I just mean, I know you were worried about it, but are you swearing it off forever?” 

Atsumu shrugs, “Would it be so bad if I were?” 

“Of course not,” is Sakusa's instant reply. “You should only do what you’re comfortable with, fuck what anyone else thinks.” 

Atsumu sighs deeply, looking at the ceiling instead of Sakusa. “Well, I’m not swearin’ it off, probably to everyone’s immense disappointment. I am steppin’ back, though. I just think I need to be alone for a little bit. Figure out who I am outside of wantin’ someone to like me romantically. If…if somethin’ were to come along and it made sense, and it didn’t feel bad. I think I would want to try again, but doin’ what I was doin’ before? I can’t do that anymore.” 

Sakusa’s heart breaks for Atsumu in ways that he doesn’t understand. He’s never been one to put himself out there, not really. He’d had a few short-term boyfriends in university, but it had never felt right. When it ended, it was like someone blowing out a candle. Quiet, anticlimactic. There and then not. It didn’t hurt, and it wasn’t anything like what he’d seen Atsumu go through. 

Bokuto said the fights used to be worse and far more frequent. 

Sakusa had laughed at some of the ones Atsumu had told him about. The stupid reasons his boyfriends would freak out and leave. Then he saw the toll it was taking on Atsumu. Every time his room or their apartment got trashed, the rumors that would spread online, the things he would hear those men say through their shared wall. Hearing about a crazy ex was different than seeing your friend in the throes of a toxic relationship. Atsumu laughed at the abusive behavior once they were gone, but Kiyoomi could hear him pacing in the middle of the night. Always stuck between knocking and asking if he could help, and not wanting to make it worse. 

Sometimes, he’d make tea, making enough noise that Atsumu would wander down on his own, and they’d sip quietly in the small hours of the morning. Not talking about it, but knowing it was shit. 

He’s sure that Osamu has something to do with this behavior change. No one hated the people Atsumu dated more than his brother, and whatever he said, Kiyoomi was thankful for it. Even if it’s just for a short while, Atsumu deserved some peace. 

“I know you didn’t ask for my opinion,” Sakusa says softly, “but you’ve never deserved any of the shit they’ve thrown at you. I think that sometimes, when people see something that shines, they’ll do anything they can to make it rust.” 

The shadows on Atsumu’s face deepen in the dim light of the living room. He smiles at him, but it’s sad and tired. “I appreciate that, Omi-kun, but I don’t think I’ve been shiny in a long time.” 

Sakusa denies it with a shake of his head, “No. You’re gleaming, Atsumu. You always have been.” 

+ One. 

“What’s that face for?” Osamu asks, placing a fatty tuna onigiri in front of him. 

Atsumu busies himself with taking a massive bite of the onigiri so he can ignore his brother as god intended. 

He gets a packet of mayo to the face for his efforts. 

“Oi!” He says, flicking the packet back at Osamu. 

“Don’t ignore me then, scrub. I’m feedin’ ya for free, the least ya could do is actually respond.” 

“Whatever,” Atsumu grouses, setting the onigiri down. “I’m not makin’ a face. Just thinkin’ is that such a crime?” 

Osamu snorts, “Sounds like dangerous behavior.” 

The back door of the shop opens, and Sunarin enters, soaked through to the bone. His annoyingly perfect hair is plastered to his face, and he looks like an overgrown rat. 

Osamu sighs, grabbing a towel from under the counter. “I told ya I’d take the trash out later, Rin.” 

Rin smirks, “Tsumu’s still sitting right there, though,” he says, pointing to Atsumu’s spot on the stool. 

“Fuck you, Rin.” Atsumu bites. “Hope ya get the fuckin’ plague.” 

“It would certainly help your chances of winning next season.” Suna agrees. 

“Enough,” Samu says, dumping the towel on Suna’s head and drying him off roughly. “Ya two bicker too god damn much. Can’t hear myself think most days.” 

Atsumu huffs, “He started it.” 

“Did not!” Comes Rin’s muffled reply beneath the towel. 

Osamu lifts the towel off his head, and he looks like a disgruntled cat. “Shut up,” Osamu says, leaning in to peck his lips quickly. 

Atsumu groans, “Can ya not be gay in front of my food, please. I’ll lose my appetite.” 

Rin deepens the kiss for a fraction of a second just to piss him off, then shrugs, satisfied. He takes the towel with him as he moves to hop onto the stool next to Atsumu. They elbow each other roughly as Osamu’s back is turned, but stop as soon as his brother faces them. Osamu doesn’t look impressed, and Atsumu does his best to look as innocent as possible. 

“Yer not slick,” Osamu grumbles, sliding an onigiri in front of Rin. 

It’s been raining cats and dogs for the better part of the day. Monsoon season is past them, but you wouldn’t think it from the frequent downpours they’ve been having. The rain made business at the shop slow, but it didn’t seem like Osamu was too worried about it. The sky was dark, and the rain showed no signs of stopping, but the shop was warm and dry, and the sounds of it hitting the roof above them were relaxing. Stupidly, he hadn’t brought his umbrella when he headed here earlier this afternoon, but he was praying Osamu had an extra one lying around. 

“So, what are you pouting about?” Suna asked, mouth full of food. 

Atsumu furrowed his eyebrows, “What is with you two today? I ain’t even doin’ anything!” 

“Exactly,” Suna says. “Usually, you’re a serial yapper, and I’ve barely heard a peep out of you today? So, what gives?” 

Atsumu turns to Osamu for help, but his traitor of a brother just shrugs, “He’s got a point.” 

Truthfully, something has been weighing on his mind, and as much as he never wants to admit to being scared, he is…nervous. Suna’s the one who told him to let the universe do its thing and bring him someone naturally. The thing is, he thinks that, maybe, it has. However, Suna was also the one who told him to take a step back. To stop jumping in so fast. 

How fast was too fast?

It’d been almost seven months since he deleted all his dating apps, almost eight since he’d kicked that last asshole out of his apartment. He’d enjoyed his time alone. He’d been hanging out with his friends more, mastered two new serves, pierced his ears, figured out he was a pretty good baker, still fucking sucked at Mario Kart no matter how many times he raced against his roommates, and maybe, most substantially, he’s fallen in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

He wasn’t expecting it. 

At all. 

In fact, when he realized, he kind of felt like someone had hit him upside the head with a shovel. He’d had to sit down. Think. Worry. Think some more. He’d baked five loaves of bread that night. They’d been forced to eat so much toast. 

The thing was, once he noticed, he couldn’t stop noticing. Everything about Kiyoomi just spoke to him in a way that he’d never experienced before. It started that night at the market, or maybe that night on the couch, after their first Mario Kart battle. Kiyoomi told him he was gleaming, which shouldn’t be monumental, but it was. It really, really was. Atsumu felt used. Tarnished. Like he’d spent so long trying to mold infatuation into something more, he’d let each one of those people chip away at him. He’d given so much of himself away each time, he didn’t know what was left in the aftermath.

It didn’t feel that way anymore. Kiyoomi had seen every part of him and still tried to get closer. He’d seen Atsumu at his worst between midnight and dawn, where he couldn’t get the thoughts to stop. He’d seen him at his best, trophy above his head, swinging Bokuto around, gold medal on his chest. Sleepy in the mornings, drunk on a night out, so stuffed he could barely move, overwhelmed, cranky, sad, happy. He’d seen every single part of Atsumu, and he’d never once shied away. It was never enough to scare him away, and wasn’t that fucking something? Atsumu wants him more than he’s wanted anything in a long, long time. 

What’s crazier is he thinks Kiyoomi might want him right back. 

They’ve been dancing around each other for months, and Atsumu has been content. He’d meant it when he said he needed time alone. To recalibrate. Figure out what was important to him. 

And he has. And among many other things, Kiyoomi ranks high on that list. He is important. 

“I’m afraid you’ll be angry with me,” Atsumu finally comes clean, rubbing his finger along the wood grain of the countertop. 

Osamu frowns, “When have ya ever cared about me bein’ upset?” 

Rin nods, “Yeah, I thought that went against your whole aesthetic.”

Atsumu sighs, “Usually, but this is different.” 

“Yer just gonna have to spit it out, Tsumu,” Osamy says, wrapping his knuckles on the counter. “Even if we get mad, yer gonna have to face it either way.” 

Suna scoffs, “Way to be reassuring there, Samu.” 

“What ya want me to lie to ‘em?” 

Rin ignores him, “What your brother is trying to say is that we’ll try to be understanding.” 

Atsumu groans, better to just rip the band-aid off, he supposes. 

He buries his face in his hands, and through muffled fingers, blurts, “I like someone!” 

There’s a long silence. A long, long silence. 

Atsumu chances a peek at them through his fingers. Suna’s brows are arched high on his face in surprise, but Osamu is almost unreadable, aside from his tense jaw. 

Finally, Suna leans forward, “Really? W–who is it?” 

Atsumu cringes, “I knew ya were gonna ask that.” 

Suna worries his bottom lip, “Did you meet them online–” 

“No!” He cuts him off. “No! I listened to you! I did! I’ve had everythin’ uninstalled since that day we talked.” 

Suna relaxes a little at that. Osamu doesn’t. 

“Who is it, Tsumu?” 

“I’ll tell ya,” Atsumu says, “but ya gotta promise not to say anything to him or anyone else.” 

Suna’s eyes light up, “It’s someone we know?” 

Atsumu nods, taking a deep breath. “It’s Omi.” 

Both of them freeze, and Atsumu thinks he genuinely might cry. He can’t believe his life has come to this. 

“No fucking way,” Suna says, smiling. 

Smiling? 

Smiling. 

Smiling! 

Hope. Useless, painful hope courses through him. 

He nods, “Yeah. He’s been–he’s been really great about everything. We–after all that shit went down–we started gettin’ closer, and he’s been a really good friend to me. I didn’t realize what I was feeling at first, but once I did…I’ve never felt anything like it.” 

Suna squeezes his bicep encouragingly, then looks up to the ceiling, clasping his hands together in thanks, “The Etsy witches were right! The universe provides! I knew she would bring something good to you, Tsumu! I knew it!” 

“Etsy witches?” Atsumu asks. 

Rin waves his hand, “Not important. What is important is that mother fucking Sakusa Kiyoomi managed to woo you!” 

Atsumu is relieved by Rin’s reaction, but he is fully aware that Osamu has not uttered a single word. Slowly, he looks to his twin and wonders if he’s about to receive another lecture. 

Osamu’s jaw is still clenched, but he seems to be working through something. 

“Does Sakusa know about your feelings?” Osamu asks, after a few more tense moments. 

“No,” Atsumu shakes his head. “I–I wanted to let you guys know first. Before I told anyone else.” 

Suna squeals, “I’m so fucking proud of you right now.” 

Atsumu eyes him wearily, “Can you go back to bein’ mean to me. Yer freakin’ me out.” 

Suna smiles, “All in good time.” 

“I like Sakusa,” Osamu says eventually, but it sounds like he’d rather be eating sandpaper than admitting it out loud. “He seems like he has a good head on his shoulders. I like Motoya-kun well enough. He’s kinda prissy, but I’m guessin’ you like that about ‘em.” 

Atsumu shrugs. He’s not wrong. 

“You sure you really like ‘em, Tsumu?” 

Atsumu smiles, “He’s the first thing I’ve been sure about in a long time.” 

Osamu finally cracks a smile, “Fine. I think he’s fine. If I found out he’s anything less than respectful toward ya, he is the last one that will ever get to disrespect ya. I don’t give a fuck if he’s yer teammate or not, got it?” 

“Yeah,” Atsumu says, fondness for his brother and Suna overwhelming him, “I got it.” 

“Good.” Osamu says, “I’m happy for ya, then.” 

“Me too!” Suna says, tapping on his phone, excitedly. 

Osamu peeks at the screen, “Why did you just send fifty yen to someone called WillowtheWicked?” 

Rin shrugs, “It was a tip for a job well done.” 

Before Atsumu can respond, the bell above the door dings. As the saying goes, speak of the devil, and he shall appear. 

The devil in this case is as handsome as he is tall. Kiyoomi stands on the rubber mat by the door, so he doesn’t drip rainwater on the floor. 

Rin is grinning like a maniac, and Atsumu is ignoring him. “Omi-kun?” Atsumu asks, “What are ya doin’? I would have brought ya some onigiri back if ya texted.” 

Kiyoomi’s ugly neon yellow raincoat is an eyesore, but Atsumu can’t help but think he looks cute in it. “You forgot your umbrella, stupid. You would have looked like a drenched sewer rat if I didn’t bring it to you.” 

Atsumu can’t help but smile, “Thanks, Omi! Ya didn’t need to do that, though! I didn’t check the weather before I left. I was just gonna take Samu’s.” 

“No, the fuck ya weren’t!” Osamu protests. 

Atsumu waves him off, standing up from his stool, “I was done here anyway, unless ya want somethin’ to eat?” 

Kiyoomi shakes his head, “No, thank you, as you know, Motoya is down, so I overindulged with him.” 

“Yer so weak against him, Omi,” Atsumu laughs, pulling on his coat. 

“He’s a pest. A pest who orders too much food then whines until I eat it with him.” 

“Hmm, sounds like someone I know,” he says, eyeing Osamu. 

“Shut up and get outta my store, ya rodent.” 

Atsumu salutes, nodding at Osamu and Suna. “I’ll see ya guys later. Don’t float away on yer way home!” 

He sidles up to Kiyoomi and takes his umbrella. “Thanks again, Omi. I wasn’t lookin’ forward to gettin’ soaked.” 

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, reaching to pull Atsumu’s hood over his head. “What have I told you about taking care of yourself?” 

Atsumu snorts, “That I’ve been doin’ a shit job.” 

Kiyoomi’s lips quirk up, “You’ve been doing better lately.” 

“Yeah?” Atsumu perks up, “Maybe it’s because I got you around to help me.” 

Atsumu turns to wave at his brother and Suna one more time. Suna grins widely and winks at him, and Osamu, to his surprise, sends him a thumbs up. 

They step into the rain, and before the door closes, he catches Osamu’s exasperated voice. 

“Do not send another hundred yen to that Etsy witch, Rintarou!” 

There’s no one else on the sidewalk as they stroll down it. They make their way through the downpour. Streetlights reflecting on the watery roads, and the world smells like it’s being washed away into something new. Raindrops fall on their umbrellas, and Atsumu watches as a little river forms against the curb of the street. 

They are in the middle of Osaka central, but for once, everything seems so quiet. 

It’s just them, the sounds of their shoes against the wet pavement, the pitter-patter of rain against a canvas umbrella, and their breathing, almost in sync. 

Kiyoomi’s hand brushes his by accident, but Atsumu, in a moment of bravery, grabs Kiyoomi’s on purpose. He links their fingers together and tugs, bringing them to a stop. 

Kiyoomi stops, looks down at their fingers, then back up to Atsumu’s face. His cheeks are red. 

Atsumu is counting on the rain to wash away everything that came before it. Every mistake that he made. Every doubt, every fear, every stupid decision. Once the sun comes out again, the world would be new, and so would Atsumu. He’d shine again, just like Kiyoomi said he would. Bright, beautiful, gleaming. 

He takes a step closer to Kiyoomi, and rain is soaking his shoulder now, but he doesn’t care. Kiyoomi has two inches on him, but he’s never been happier to look up. The streetlights reflect in his charcoal eyes, and Atsumu thinks they’re an abyss he’d gladly sink into if given the chance. Kiyoomi tries to keep himself unreadable, unbreakable, but Atsumu can see it sitting there on his face. Can trace the want he’s been hiding in every crevice, find it lurking even in the shadows. 

He takes another step closer, and Kiyoomi squeezes his hand. 

“I’m not readin’ this wrong, am I?” 

The shake of his head, his whisper of “No,” and it’s all Atsumu needs. 

Kiyoomi’s lips are soft and a little cold from the rainy weather. Atsumu sinks into it. He’s thankful Kiyoomi’s holding the umbrella, because it allows him to place his free hand on Kiyoomi’s cheek and trail it across the sharp line of his jaw. Kiyoomi’s breath is warm, and so is his tongue when it licks along the seams of his lips. Atsumu’s been wanted before, but he doesn’t know if he’s ever been needed by anyone until now. 

Kiyoomi kisses him like he might disappear if he stops, so Atsumu does his best to melt into him. Everyone’s heard the myth about soulmates. Starting out as an androgynous being, completely whole, lacking nothing. Two faces, four arms, four legs, wanting for nothing. Then the gods, fearing their power, split them apart and punished them to spend the rest of their lives searching for this missing half.

Call Atsumu dramatic, it wouldn’t be the first time, but he’s certain his search is finally, finally over.

Suddenly, the umbrella that was blocking the rain was gone. Water pours down on them, and Atsumu cracks an eye open just in time to see the umbrella flying away with the wind. He giggles into the kiss, and so does Kiyoomi, but then Kiyoomi’s hands are in his hair, and he’s not laughing about much of anything anymore. 

++ One

“So,” Atsumu says, twirling around in the new apartment’s kitchen. “What do you think? It’s nice, huh?” 

His mother sets down the box she was carrying and nods, “It is! Kiyoomi was tellin’ me it had a lot of natural light, and he wasn’t kiddin’.” 

Atsumu grins, “That’s my favorite part! I can photosynthesize in my very own livin’ room, now!” 

Osamu shudders as he passes by with a box, “Keep yer weird sex life to yerself, freak!” 

“What?” Atsumu shrieks, “No!” 

Before a brawl can break out, there’s a knock on the open door. Coach Foster stands there, plant pot in hand. 

Atsumu grins, ushering him inside,  “Coach! Glad ya could make it!” 

“Of course,” Foster says, “Had to see what you and Sakusa were leavin’ the dorms for, after all.” 

“This is it!” Atsumu says, guiding him into the kitchen. He spots his mother unpacking a box of pans, and his smile turns a little evil. “Foster, I know ya hear about her often enough, but this is my ma!” 

Atsumu's mother whirls around, eyes wide, before she shoots him a look so dirty, he knows he will be repenting for the rest of his life. She knows he’s scheming, but he has full faith in this plan. Kiyoomi called him an idiot, but if Rin can pay WillowtheWicked to work a miracle, why can’t Atsumu? 

She smoothes out her skirt, bowing to Foster. “Thank you for takin’ care of my son. Hopefully, he hasn’t caused ya too much trouble. 

Foster bows politely to his mother. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Atsumu’s always going on and on about his saint of a mother. Glad to finally put a face to an angel.” 

His mother’s face turns bright red, and he is so mentally fistbumping the air right now. 

“He’s been known for his dramatics,” she says, waving off the compliment. 

“I know you must have had your hands full with this one.” Foster chuckles. 

His mother sighs, “He’s where all the gray hairs came from.” 

“Mine too,” Foster commiserates. Which maybe this isn’t what he wanted them to bond over, but whatever it takes. 

Atsumu tiptoes to the living room to “help” Osamu unpack. Osamu hip bumps him, “Is this you tryin’ to create some fucked up form of nepotism, or somethin’? Tryin’ to make Foster yer step daddy? Keep yer place on the team? Has competition been that stiff lately?” 

Atsumu elbows him, “Shut the fuck up. Also, he’d be your step-daddy, too, dumbass. I’m just trying to make sure ma’s happy, that’s all.” 

Kiyoomi enters the apartment with a bag of takeout. It’s repayment for everyone helping them move in. He spots Foster in the kitchen and smirks at Atsumu, “How’s your nepo-baby plan going?” 

Osamu cackles, and Atsumu swears at both of them. 

Later that night, when all of their belongings had officially been moved in, he spotted Foster typing his number into his mother’s phone, and he smiled into his sleeve. She deserved some sunlight after all these years, too. 

Bokuto, who had shown up to help move exactly two boxes and then hog their food, hugged Atsumu in the doorway, and Atsumu felt some amount of grief for his oldest roommate. 

“It was fun, Bo-kun. I’m gonna miss it.” 

Bokuto smiled softly, “Me too, Tsum-Tsum, but I’m glad you finally found your seaweed.” 

Before Atsumu could even begin to ask, Bokuto was gone, bouncing down the stairs. 

Arms wrap around his waist, and he twists around, coming face to face with Kiyoomi. With the man who’d fallen for a wreck and loved him until he was whole once more. He smiles into the kiss, and there’s something akin to peace settling deep in his bones. Coming home, finding its place, burrowing into him. 

Light. Love. 

Right where he belongs. At long last.