Blooming Days - rinflake - Haikyuu!! [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: Sowing

Chapter Text

He didn't enjoy sweating, at all.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was not, by all means, an enthusiastic and ecstatic supporter of that bothersome, disturbing and irritating amount of body liquid, which just couldn't help but haunt and harass, with its unpleasant and uncomfortable and nauseating fluidy substances, the body and the mind of a human being who desired nothing but to forget the troublesome nature of that one, simple and single transparent drop of sweat. That drop of sweat which assured itself to not miss a chance of falling deep into the eye of an innocent man, and to sting, once it touched the cornea, so incredibly inevitable, so tragically unavoidable, that he always had to fight back those burning tears, pathetically pouring out, and violently forcing his indistinguishable eyelashes into surrender.

He did not retain passion, nor benevolence, regarding the foul and unclean act of sweating, but he surely appreciated and completely understood the greatest and ultimate motive beyond that. Those unbearable and annoyingly invasive glimpses of corporal liquids all over his body, that skin, suddenly shining and glimmering, beaded with imperceptible and pearly sweat drops, adorning every single inch of his flesh, with the same amount of defined precision a goldsmith holds while composing their precious and priceless jewellery.

Those intolerably wet consequences were effects, visible and material sign of a cause. They flowed, out of their pores, as instant proofs of accomplishment. It appeared; that sweat materialized itself every time he ran, giving him the impression of completion, a reached sense of fulfillment. The natural course of things, he could easily foresee. Sweat necessarily had to pour out as he moved his body with enough intensity. Plain and simple. Easy, commonly assumed, a predictable reaction, totally under control.

When he ran, reinforcing his strength, training his stamina, challenging those muscles of his, aiming to endure the more he was capable of, out of the broad variety of his possibilities, he knew what that was for. He knew where it was going to lead to. Practice, volleyball, being better, seeking new and exciting opponents, settling for nothing less than the goddess of victory herself. Purpose, goal, sense. But he was sweating right now.

Running, as if the most evil creature of the other world were chasing him down, about to finally get to him. His legs were moving, his breath fizzling out frantically. He was running, through streets he knew so well he didn't even need to name them, corners which painted in vivid and bright colors every single blurred memory his mind could think of. The old and decadent ramen store at that dangerous crossroad where savage pigeons didn't seem to be able to keep those disgusting products of their digestive system for themselves, proudly shooting for the heads of clueless and innocent bystanders; the huge neon sign for the not so huge supermarket where Sakusa had never found, not even once, the soy milk he certainly didn't like, but he was so used to; the flower shop, constantly infested with bees, on the other side of the sidewalk, he always made sure to avoid on his way home from practice and not because he was scared of the mere insects, but in order to escape from the old lady, owner of the place, who, rumors had it, was apparently selling drugs as a side job so she could get, eventually, those pricey dentures made of pure diamonds she had always dreamt of. And how it all changed.

How those little, almost insignificant, details were just aspects of a newly built daily life, an innovative routine which was growing, each day, into habits, a systematic costume. Familiarity, on top of it all. In that instant, though, all he could sense, all he could perceive, eyes on those exact same places, was painful emptiness. Those spots looked distant now, turned into unreachable postcards of silent and unacknowledged happiness where time froze. And Kiyoomi was stuck in between of an uninterrupted stream of images of calm and serene tenderness which kept hassling his mind, reminding him about everything he had potentially lost. A missing link, that was it. The ultimate hint to solve the enigma; the last note to complete a symphony far from being balanced, but so close to reality; shadows and shades to allow a work of art its final form, 'cause light and colors, as beautiful as they sound, would not stand, would not be, would not impose themselves and simply would not exist without their contrary set in darkness. And so Sakusa's gentle memories were not being able to survive without that thing.

That thing which provided not color, but shadowing, deepness, authenticity. Not harmony, but dissonance and noise. Not the impeccable perfect shot of a last movie scene, but the truth happening after the ending credits. He was running, desperate, and it didn't make any sense, since walking wouldn't have made much of a difference, but he was running, for no reason, like he had never done his whole life. And he was sweating. God, he hated sweating.

He wanted to reach him.

He needed to reach him.

He laughed, hysterically maybe. Kiyoomi never ran outside of practice, but there he was, running to him. To that insufferable pain in the ass. Running to him, he kept telling himself, to Atsumu Miya.

YOUTH

It did not start easily, Sakusa would have said, and probably, the day it all started, nothing had actually started at all. He did remember, however, how badly his mood had dropped, that morning, years ago, back to his high school days, as soon as he had made the disgraceful discovery that, not only his ungrateful cousin Motoya had stolen the usual shirt he wore on Thursdays under his Thursday jacket and left without him, running away like a thief, before he could face the consequences of his infamous actions, but also, Kiyoomi was totally going to fail that one math middle terms assignment he wasn't prepared for even slightly. He had his agenda, his immaculate calendar, a bright and red circle around that one day and math test, written in such a cubital font, so big that even his aunt, who suffered from a severe form of astigmatism, which Kiyoomi had read on the internet wasn't genetically transmittable so his sight could breathe in relief, could see it.

So how could have his eyes not seen, how could have he completely forgotten that there was an insanely huge reminder in capital letters of that one thing he must have not forgotten? Transient global amnesia. He had found out online while attentively brushing his teeth, getting ready for classes. That must have been it. There was no way that in a perfectly healthy and ordinary neurological state, Sakusa would have let that fundamental academic information slide. It had slipped away, out of his brain, just like that, so unexpectedly, so unlike him, that the only reasonable cause behind such a gigantic carelessness, could not have been nothing less serious than amnesia. He had definitely experienced temporary memory loss. That was it.

Checkmate, Komori Motoya who always used to claim Doctor Google wouldn't have been of any kind of help. But, even though he was one hundred percent confident in his self diagnosis, he was distressed by this strange feeling that his irrefutable logical explanation was not going to stand up and win against the imminent scholastic failure he was about to face without a proper and acceptable preparation. So he sighed, fairly and resignedly sighed, as he put on his mask, then his shoes, textbook in hand, hoping that knowledge could magically show up by itself inside his mind as he carefully read something about equations and parallel lines on his way to school.

The keen and cold morning air was stinging on his cheeks, while Kiyoomi was personally struggling, hair continously falling over his eyes as windy breeze was insinuating itself into his not so well combed curls, distracting him from whatever all those confusing numbers and diagrams meant. Numbers, he strongly disliked numbers. Numbers, essays, projects, assignments. At age fifteen, Sakusa firmly believed high school would have been his last stop. His last heroic strain, his final heartfelt effort related to a world he never belonged in.

"I'm gonna play volleyball, I don't need this." He had once said to his parents, Christmas Eve it was, and, miraculously, they were home. Sakusa had uttered those words with no such a thing as eagerness or fervour. It was coherent, only rational. He was good, people told him and he had been gifted with objectivity enough to understand that people weren't lying. Talent naturally overflew out of his flesh and bones, revealing itself in his genuine propensity to accurately read the game, his innate inclination to efficiently analyze the outcomes of different situations, in his tendency to never underestimate the challenges of the court and his cynical winning attitude which turned him into the essential key to triumph and success. So, him becoming a professional player would have been the most righteous aftermath of a natural and consequential path he just had to follow. He resembled his father, patting his head with affection, a clear expression of fondness strange to what Sakusa had been exposed to.

"School's important, Kiyoomi." His mother had calmly told him, the glimpse of a gentle smile creeping into his face. "In times when physical force may decay and fall, the mind is eternal."

Neurodegenerative diseases. Those words would have sounded so ridiculous in front of the many difficulties neurodegenerative diseases caused. That's how Sakusa would have loved to reply in light of the weird Star Wars resembling set phrase his mother had addressed him. But he had chosen silence instead, quietly nodding as he realized that, even if volleyball was his real and most effective future, it wasn't like he could escape the tight grip of the institutionalized demand for canonically cultured individuals. So there he was, eight in the morning, walking to school, nose buried in a book he wasn't quite even understanding, careful not to bump into hurried employees and rushed students, minding to pick the most deserted looking car of the subway, making sure not to sit anywhere, not to touch anything. Those germs were not going to catch him. "Aren't you gonna fall?" Elderly women always expressed their concerns, frowning and raising their eyebrows, when they saw him fighting against the relative motion law, desperately seeking stillness inside of an electric modern dragon which just couldn't stop slowing down abruptly, directly attempting on his life and wellbeing. But he, he was an athlete, thank to all the gods above he was an athlete and if there was something he was capable of summoning, that was balance.

And after that absurdly long and torn ride, Sakusa had finally landed on the long cherished schoolyard of the prestigious and well known Itachiyama Institute, achieving his first goal of the day, hoping all that incessant reading on the way would have prevented him from missing it completely. A bunch of hours, all he had to do was resist, hold on, endure. Endure those infernal school hours so he could reach it, reach the gym, put his weirdly fluorescent jersey on and play, on the court, where he was alive, strong, never lost, free from any obligation, far from any complication. It was simple: whistle, game on, play. And, to the extreme surprise of many, Kiyoomi loved simple. He had always wished he could live his life with the same ease he felt when he was in the middle of a match. Oh, he wished.

"If ya didn't hafta make that stupid bet with Alan-kun on who was gonna drink more bottles of water in ten minutes yer piss wouldn't have taken so long f*ckin' dumbass!" A sudden air shift unexpectedly distracted Sakusa from the current page his eyes were fixed upon. He lifted his gaze, soon enough to catch the slippery figure of that so uncommon accent's owner sprinting forward with such an undeniable speed Kiyoomi wondered if the guy who had just passed by hadn't been the spirit of a shinkansen turned into a wild human being. Inarizaki High, his sight followed the words at the back of the guy's shirt as his brain decrypted their message. Inarizaki High, he thought. Could it be about their practice game?

"Shut yer trap, 'Samu! Y'er just jealous my bladder's bigger than yer dick, jackass!"

A moment, it was an unfortunate moment. A unique and unlucky second defining space and time on that very exact instant. Kiyoomi almost fell. He felt his chest vibrating in a considerably alarming way, the wind knocked out of him, as soon as a way too trained body clashed against his shoulder blades, with no trace of mercy, and Sakusa would have sweared that monstrously devastating impact would have made him cough his cardiovascular muscle out, if only he hadn't been strong enough to swallow whatever was climbing up his throat down where it belonged. Furious, his face probably didn't show it, but he was furious, fighting against the urge to scream at that rude jerk who apparently didn't know what manners and spacial awareness were. And he would have screamed, directing his rising frustration toward the designed villain of the day who almost broke him a bone, when he noticed. His book. His textbook wasn't there, it wasn't in his hands anymore. He dared to look. A little bit further. Then his eyes reached the ground. It was floating. His math manual was floating, peacefully floating in a dirty and nasty puddle of what Sakusa thought was the rain from last night.

Kiyoomi froze.

He had lost it. There was no way he could restore his book. Powerless staring, in front of the tragedy that had already consumed itself. He was never going to learn math, that's for sure.

"Oh sh*t." Sakusa heard it again, from behind his back, the voice of a dead man walking. "I'm so sorry, dude. I didn't even see ya, I swear and..." The boy interrupted himself when he noticed the guy he was apologizing to wasn't even listening, his eyes fixed on something he couldn't see from where he was standing, so he took a step ahead. "Jeez. I... sh*t." Sakusa wasn't even able to talk back, so he stayed there as that atrocious stranger picked his handbook up, now socked in mud and musty water. The guy tried to make it look better, shrugging the dirt off of it with the only result that a few pages had fallen off in the process, and when his brilliant mind came to the conclusion that, maybe, he was making it worse, he had stopped. A mortified look on his face. That wasn't enough, Kiyoomi thought. He had vandalized and destroyed his source of information, that wasn't enough.

"I'm really sorry, man. My brotha's an idiot and I really didn't see ya, I guess this yers, I mean." But as soon as the unknown guy tried to hand the book to Sakusa, the latter flinched and stepped back. He wasn't going to take that now heap of filth with him, and he wasn't going to touch it, not with his own hands. And then, that was it, the usual. The same old glance people who didn't know him gave to him every time he did something or he had a reaction which wasn't considered universally shareable. The boy was puzzled, Kiyoomi could tell. He was almost expecting him to say something, just like everyone did in those cases. Storms of are you okay? Is something bothering you? Why that look? Why did you bring your toilet paper from home? And all that kind of things Sakusa didn't want to hear all the freaking time. But the stranger had said nothing. Unusual.

"Leave it there." That was all Sakusa uttered, a flat tone hiding how upset he actually was.

"What?" The boy still kept his confused expression, now frowning so aggressively Kiyoomi almost thought it was funny.

"Just leave it there." And Sakusa would have simply archived the issue and gone on with his life for that day, but that disturbing guy, evidently, didn't have any intention to let him be. "I just can't leave it here. It's a goddamn book."

Sakusa snorted out of annoyance behind his mask. "Fine. Then keep it."

"But this ain't mine-" The hand of that boy tried to reach Kiyoomi's arm. He knew there were people who felt the need to touch the person they were talking to in order to reinforce the concept or whatever. His cousin, Motoya, was one of those people, but this wasn't his cousin Motoya and, again, he took a step back. He did expect a feedback at that point, a comment, an offended glare, at least. Lots of people took it personally, and few of them understood that Sakusa's reactions had nothing to do with them personally in the first place. The hand of the guy stayed still, stuck in the air for a few seconds, then he slowly took it back, not a single word leaving his mouth. Curious.

"'Tsumu! What the hell, are ya coming or not?" His brother, that was how said 'Tsumu did refer to the half human half shinkansen guy. The boy in front of Kiyoomi winced at that recall. "Don't ya see that I'm talkin' here, stupid trash?"

"Gorillas now can talk?"

Sakusa couldn't help but lightly huff, amused a little by that exchange. But then his phone rang inside of his pocket. A message, there it was.

From: Komori Motoya (cousin) Are you coming or I'm not being killed today even if I took your Thursday shirt?

8.27 AM. Hell, he was late.

"Hey! Where are ya running? I still got yer book!" He heard, not intending to dignify the guy with a reply. "Hey! Mask guy! D'ya think y're freaking Spiderman or somethin'? C'me back!"

To: Komori Motoya (cousin) Yeah, I'm coming. I just stepped on a sh*t.

From: Komori Motoya (cousin) And you didn't cry?

To: Komori Motoya (cousin) It was a talking sh*t.

From: Komori Motoya (cousin) A talking what?

Sakusa had totally blown the assignment. Loud and clear, but thanks to the favor and kindness of his young professor a second chance had been given to him and to all those who had failed. He wouldn't have missed it this time. He just had to buy a clean book. But that was a problem marked for later, anyway. His sports backpack felt kind of heavy on his shoulders that day. Must have been the new ice buckets he had put in. He had bought some of them for himself when he found out that his teammates were using the school ones in unconventional ways, such as pressing those on unconventional body parts as well. "They wanna know how it feels like to be Frozone from The Incredibles." Komori had explained. "And they need to feel it on their butts?" Sakusa had bluntly said back. When he entered the locker room, nobody hadn't shown up still. He had made it an habit, being there before everyone else. It was useful, he always thought. It helped him breathing, cooling off, relaxing, avoiding the unbearable concentration of pubescent boys and the hideous smell they constantly released. Being the first to get there and change, meant being the first to leave that place and being the first one to get on the court and that was all it took for him to be okay.

"Guys! Let's do our best today against our opponents!" Itachiyama's setter and captain Tsukasa Iizuna had decided to pump his team up right before their friendly match. "They've made a considerable long trip to get here in Tokyo and they're tough ones, but let's get straight in their heads who're the number ones!" And they all screamed in agreement before breaking the line, about to start their warmup routine. Inarizaki High, Kiyoomi remembered the alien encounter of that morning. Those goofily crude guys were going to be their rivals for the day. "It's them! It's them, Kiyo!" He almost jumped, caught out of guard as Motoya approached him so unreasonably excited. So Sakusa had taken for himself the privilege to give an eye to the gymnasium's doors suddenly opening. "Who's them?" He had asked, as young and tall boys started to appear and come in, looking around, shining and enthusiastic, as if that was their first time seeing the inside of a gym.

"The twins everyone's talking about lately." Komori cleared for him, an hint of concern mixed with genuine perplexity. "The Miyas. Haven't you heard?"

"Have I?" Sakusa absentmindedly asked, while his eyes were jumping from one face to another, searching for that odd guy he had talked a few hours ago. He must've not passed unnoticed, Kiyoomi considered. His dyed hair was so sterlingly unpleasant that its color not even so remotely resembled the one of a rotten egg yolk, left out of the fridge for over twenty one days and, also, now that Sakusa was thinking about it, the lifeless corpse of Tweety the bird. Or probably both at the same time. "They were featured on Monthly Volleyball last month. The same one you were featured on. You bought it, I saw you." A baffled Komori had to remind him.

"I just read Wakatoshi's interview." Ushijima Wakatoshi, oh man, he truly admired the guy. The only teenage boy on earth who didn't stink. A very relevant detail, Sakusa was convinced. "Why this doesn't surprise me not even in the slightest bit?" Komori then laughed, a grin Kiyoomi wasn't able to decipher painting his face. "What is this?" Hence he asked. "What's with your face?"

"Nothing." Komori was still chuckling. "I find it funny."

"Funny? What is funny?" And the conversation would have probably developed from that point on, if something hadn't stolen so suddenly the attention of the both of them. "Look!" Motoya's focus shifted. "That's Miya Atsumu!"

"That's the talking sh*t!"

They had said at the same time, their exclamations clearly in conflict with one another. "He is what?" His cousin articulated in words, totally unprepared for that outcome. And Kiyoomi hadn't been the only one being spotting from a distance. Their eyes unexpectedly met and he saw him. The talking sh*t's face lighting up just like the one of a small child, he was waving his arms so widely in such a flashing way, bringing the attentions all to himself, screaming so loudly, that Sakusa almost felt the urgent desire to end his existence right there, right now. He was waving at him, Sakusa could not ignore, and that was why the entirety of his teammates was dimly staring at him. That was unusual, even weird, for Kiyoomi to be greeted with such a burning energy from someone like that. "Hey! Y're the mask guy!"

"Kiyoomi, do you know Miya Atsumu?" Motoya had asked, his jaw currently on the floor.

"No." Sakusa had stated in a grave tone. And that wasn't even a lie.

"Mask guy! Hi! 'Samu, look! It's him! The mask guy! Without the mask!" Sakusa could feel his head explode from all that noise pollution.

"He's talking to you, though." Komori couldn't hold himself back to stress the obvious.

"No." Kiyoomi still irremovable. "I definitely don't know him." And the game was on.

At the end of the second set, Sakusa had to admit Inarizaki wasn't bad. Yes, they were undisciplined, chaotic, mostly egotistical players. They made a lot of mistakes and their force and strength went absolutely overboard sometimes, their defense often vulnerable as they tried to score with everything they had, and they bickered and argued, a lot, and then, with the same amount of vigor and spirit, they cheered up on one another, as if they hadn't been fighting since the game start. They were not a well oiled team, but they were hungry and strong individuals put in one team, every single one of them trying to assert dominance. Total disarray, but they were good, and when they had stolen that one set from Itachiyama, after an intense deuce which had seemed to last an eternity, Sakusa couldn't help but take his own time and go breathe and cool off out of the gym for a few minutes. It was a practice game after all, he could allow himself to avoid strategies talks and plays analyses. He breathed in, as much air as he was capable of, then he breathed out. Iizuna wasn't completely wrong on Inarizaki being tough rivals, but they weren't being even the bests. They were just... incredibly stressing. So, who had been the best in quality of opponent in Sakusa's opinion? He had his answer figured out already. In total solitude and tranquillity, he unlocked his phone, as the screeching sound of sports shoes on a shiny parquet flooring echoed behind his back.

"Y're on Facebook? Didn't seem the type at first glance."

Sakusa had almost let his cellphone drop when an unwanted face had overbearingly made his way into his visual range. "It's dead meat anyway. It's all about Insta now. Ya gotta believe me when I tell ya." Kiyoomi blinked. What was that? Ignore him. He just had to ignore him. So he didn't say anything and he kept scrolling as if nothing more than a bug had appeared. But this bug, unfortunately, couldn't shut his mouth. "Hey! Isn't he that guy? That gross spiker? Right there. On yer screen!" Maybe ignoring him wasn't going to work, Kiyoomi realized.

"He's not gross." Those had been the first words Miya Atsumu had heard him say.

"Are ya stalkin' him or somethin'? 'Cause that's the only thing yer phone's been showin'." He hadn't failed to underline.

"This is the main timeline, and I have two friends." Sakusa explained himself even if he couldn't care any less. It had been Motoya's fault. Everything in his life had been Motoya's fault. "Facebook is cool, Kiyo!" He had said. "That's how you make friends in this century, I swear. You gotta have it." And his account was made. Komori, his self proclaimed social media manager, had filled his profile with pictures, inspirational quotes, interests which weren't actually in Kiyoomi's interest and he had proceeded, unprompted, to add every single person attending the Itachiyama Institute to Sakusa's friends list. And they had all accepted. Except for the janitor on the third floor, but that had been totally Kiyoomi's fault since he had made those accusation of negligence towards him, reporting him to the principal, when he had seen him clean the window glass with the same cloth he had seen him clean the inside of the toilets.

Highly unhygienic, Kiyoomi had thought, and that man didn't even get fired. However, he hated it. He hated all those notifications the app kept bugging him with, he hated it when Facebook told him to wish happy birthday to people he hadn't talked to not even once, he hated it when unnecessarily long statues, he never cared enough to read, full of unnecessary words, appeared on his timeline. Too many faces, and he just didn't like the format. So he cut it. His friends list went from 512 to 2 real quick: Ushijima Wakatoshi and his cousin. Motoya almost cried. He truly was confident in his social media manager skills. And Sakusa had shattered all his dreams of glory.

"Two friends? Are ya a hermit or somethin'?"

"I wish I was, that could spare me from talking to you right now." Blunt honesty. Again, that wasn't personal.

"Ain't it rude to talk like this?" Atsumu pointed out.

"Do you feel offended or something?" Sakusa then asked.

"Nah. Been used to it. I get that a lot." Atsumu had said smiling lighthearted, even if Sakusa wasn't fully convinced that getting that a lot was a good sign. But, anyway.

"Anyway he is gross. And y're gross too."

"Are you straight up insulting me now?" Sakusa raised an eyebrow.

"What? That's not an insult. It's somethin' ya must be proud of." He had claimed, pride in his chest.

"Proud of what?"

"Proud of yourself, for me, the best setter and soon best player of high school volleyball, telling ya y're kinda good. Ain't it cool? What's yer name again?"

"I'm sorry? What did you just say?"

"I said ya good, man. Keep it up!"

He hated this guy.

"Did you f*cking experience brain damage when you stick that stupid head of yours into the radioactive expired oil McDonald's uses for those plastic fries in order to get that disgusting hair color to come out?" And just like that, in a span of five seconds, Sakusa had suddenly decided to make it personal.

"How dare ya?" Atsumu's rage was clear, flames sparkling inside his eyes. "D'ya even know who're ya talking to?"

"An arrogant piece of trash." Kiyoomi confidently replied. "And you're not even the best player I've ever seen."

"Are ya saying I ain't sh*t?"

"I'm saying you're not even that great and yet, you're mouth is full of crap." He had said, perfectly calm, unlike the other one, fully worked up.

"And who's the best ya've ever seen if not me?" The question was obviously rhetorical, but Sakusa simply answered as if it weren't: "Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi's the best."

"Are ya f*ckin' with me? This's unreal." Atsumu blatantly raised his arms in the air, outraged and resentful, as if Sakusa had just proceeded to call his whole family names. "Ya can't even keep up with me on that damn court." Kiyoomi rolled his eyes.

"Page forty two." He had uttered.

"Page forty two? What are ya even sayin'?" Atsumu asked, his eyes then following Kiyoomi's movements as he put his now locked phone in his pocket, ready to get back to his team.

"Page forty two, Monthly Volleyball, same issue of the magazine as yours."

"What d'ya mean?" Atsumu frowned at him.

"You asked for my name." Kiyoomi explained. "Page forty two. Top three best spikers in Japan, highest rate of service aces scored per game last and current season included, Sakusa Kiyoomi Itachiyama's wing spiker." An unreadable expression had possessed Atsumu's features as Kiyoomi finally introduced himself. "If I can't keep up with you on the court, it's clearly because you're not even playing on my level. I stand ahead."

Sakusa wasn't the kind of player who usually bragged, but, somehow, shoving in that haughty Miya Atsumu's face what a class act he actually was, felt a whole new level of satisfying. The whistle he heard, warned Kiyoomi that they were about to resume the match, so he walked in, turning his back on Atsumu. And once they were all there, the game started again. Even if Sakusa was a competitive type, he had never been the one who wholeheartedly desired to crush his opponents on the concrete. Never, in his still not so longrunning career, he had felt the intense and heavy wish to break down, piece by piece, the so precious confidence, built up in years and years of training and practice, of another fellow player, humiliate them, just for the sake of seeing them cry desperately their hearts out as they regretted ever starting playing volleyball.

But the third set of that innocent practice game against Inarizaki High told a different story. His teammates had noticed, how his spins were being nastier than usual, how his precision during serves had increased to a level somebody would have thought he was running for the gold medal at the Olympics in that humble school gym. And certainly said teammates weren't going to complain about that unanticipated change of character. They were now on the lead with their score, significantly ahead since their five points of advantage on Inarizaki would have not been easy to recover once Itachiyama had reached and gotten past the twenty points goal. Last drop of sweat, last rotation, last whistle blow, last serve, last set, last spike and Sakusa made sure to slam it to the ground. The opponents' libero wouldn't have been able to catch that ball even if he had tried hard enough. 25-17, and it was over. Destroyed, that was how Atsumu looked while letting himself fall on the floor, exhausted, insanely sweaty, his arms covering his face as his chest was frantically going up and down as he breathed, deeply, trying to regain the oxygen he had lost during the game. It was incredible, Kiyoomi thought. Seeing him defeated did feel extremely incredible. And before he could realize, the lines of his lips were curving up, imperceptibly.

"Kiyo! A demon possessed you during the last quarter or what? You're a monster!" Komori had suddenly shown up by his side. "What got you so invested?" He had said while struggling to catch a breath after such a match.

"I don't know, the game. I guess." He had replied, his heart still racing inside his body, almost trying to break out of its own ribcage. "Let's get in line." Motoya had told him and Sakusa tossed a last glance at Atsumu's direction on the other side of the net. Their gazes met and Sakusa couldn't help but grin, smirk out of pure delight. I stand ahead, his eyes were telling loud and clear. And Atsumu tsked, inhumanely bothered, but not breaking contact by looking away. Then Sakusa heard him screaming something both dumb and idiotic to his identical twin and that had been the end. The two teams politely greeted each other and the Inarizaki folks got on the bus headed to the train station before the sun had set on the Tokyo Skytree.

His family wasn't home that day, just like they hadn't been home for the whole week, so, obviously, Kiyoomi was going to crash at his aunt's home for the night. When they were children, Komori was always excessively hyped every time Kiyoomi's mom dropped his son on their front door. It didn't use to be the norm, actually, for him to spend his time at Komori's place, that was why his cousin used to feel that enthusiastic. At first, Sakusa's parents used to share every single detail with his aunt on why they were leaving, how long their business trip was going to last and they called, they did call, asking for their son, to hear from him every single time after dinner. But, at some point, them being gone had become routine, the new normal. The less explanations given the more the years went on: no more calls, no more clarifications, no ulterior elucidations. Sakusa had learnt to have his personal stuff always packed, his backpack constantly ready and filled with the necessary. Komori's room was now his room too, and his own room back home had become nothing more than a storage, the waiting room between one night at Motoya's and the other.

He still remembered this assignment given to the class, first day of middle school: describe your home. Kiyoomi had handed a blank paper for his teacher's concern. "I don't know if my home is still my home and I don't want to steal my cousin's home." Eleven years old Sakusa had stated back then with the most innocent look on his face. The school had rushed to call his parents. To this day, Sakusa still wasn't aware of what those two and his teachers had said to each other on a one and a half hour long conversation over the phone. The greatest mystery ever come across the Japanese archipelago. However, things hadn't changed.

So he had ended up there, again, laying, with no sense of composure, on the strangely electric blue armchair in his aunt's living room, while his two beloved cousins, Motoya and his little sister, were attentively watching an old Tokyo Mew Mew episode, sitting on the sofa right there. The clock on the wall almost striking midnight, but that didn't matter much anyway: school had blessed them with a few days off. The professors' bathroom ceiling had cracked because of some pipes issues and it needed to get restored, or at least, that had been what students were told. Anyway, no alarms set, no early subway runs, no morning walks. Everything was good. Boring, almost, Kiyoomi would have said as the voice actors of those television show's characters were playing in the background, summoning the power of thousands of strawberries in order to fight a way too rainbowish evil villain. Kiyoomi's eyelids were almost falling, crashed by the severe fatigue he was sensing after a hard week of training. Their practice game had taken place just a couple of days ago and still his body was suffering from the extreme effort he had put into it. But now, the exhaustion was finally prevailing, his sight blurring and every sound around him turning into soft and relaxing white noise. Sleep. The novel he was currently reading falling on the side as his eyes were closing. His brain stopping processing informations and stimuli more than it should. Sleep, in the end, some healthy sleep. And it did buzz. Completely out of the blue, before Sakusa could even benefit from that peaceful rest he was sure he was about to get, the phone buzzed. Selfish, unsympathetic, unapologetic. The screen lit up by itself, bringing up the presence of a notification Kiyoomi's eyes refused to focus on. He blinked, once or twice, trying to get his sight back on work and then, he wished he was blind.

He read it. Letter by letter and still, it didn't make sense. A friend request.

Miya Atsumu has sent you a friend request.

At that point, he was just staring. Staring, confused and bewildered. And he had probably been staring, puzzlement on his face, at the screen for too many minutes since, another notification popped up all of a sudden. Sakusa frowned.

Atsumu Miya (11.46 PM): Online and not accepting my request. Still lost on Ushiwaka's profile?

Kiyoomi looked up. Everything was still the same around him. He hadn't been kidnapped and thrown into a different reality or a cinematic parallel universe. Motoya laughed, alongside his sister, as a character in the show they were watching made a pretty lame joke in Sakusa's opinion. Komori's sense of humor was still awful. So, yeah, everything was normal. He set his eyes down on the screen again: the message preview was still there.

Kiyoomi Sakusa (11.50 PM): We're not friends.

He had typed, intentionally ignoring Atsumu's latest accusations. Sakusa gave a look at the miniature of his profile picture: same horrible hair, same annoyingly smug dumb face and his tongue sticking out of his mouth, and then, on a disgustingly oafish note, it was a mirror selfie, a mirror selfie with the flash on. Sakusa couldn't believe a single human being could be so lacking in taste.

Atsumu Miya (11.52 PM): Yet!

Atsumu Miya (11.54 PM): Why ain't ya typin?

Kiyoomi Sakusa (11.54 PM): I'm not interested enough in this conversation.

Atsumu Miya (11.55 PM): Should I make it spicier? ;)

"The hell..." Sakusa couldn't restrain himself from muttering as his eyes followed the progression of those words. His little cousin glared at Kiyoomi, Motoya, on the other hand, was way too invested in the episode to notice. And then the loading symbol of a picture attached on its way popped up on the screen. Kiyoomi raised his eyebrow.

Kiyoomi Sakusa (11.59 PM): Isn't that turmeric?

Atsumu Miya (11.59 PM): Yeah! A spice!

If Komori's sense of humor was awful, Atsumu's one was simply dead.

Atsumu Miya (00.00 AM): Ya still didn't accept my request. It's a peace offer, dude. Ya must hop on it.

Kiyoomi Sakusa (00.01 AM): Peace offer for what?

Atsumu Miya (00.03 AM): It's about the other day. When ya almost came for my head. I'm sure ya wanted to kill me back on the court.

Kiyoomi Sakusa (00.04 AM): You must be thinking highly of yourself for you to believe I even remotely cared.

Wrong. Totally a lie. Sakusa wasn't one who easily lied, but that, for sure, had been a lie. He, in fact, had wanted to kill him.

Atsumu Miya (00.04 AM): What? No way! There was totally chemicals between us!

Atsumu Miya (00.04 AM): And ya definitely did look hot with that killer mood of yers y'know! ;)

Hot.

Sakusa completely froze. Hot. Instant ramen he had for dinner was hot; summers in that hell hole of Tokyo were hot; The Billboard Japan hot 100, that, was, literally, hot. Him? Hot? And he hated it. He hated how something lightly flickered in his chest and how his stomach seemed to fall into an unknown and unnamed void.

Atsumu Miya (00.08 AM): Too far?

Atsumu Miya (00.09 AM): Jeez, I guess I'm sorry, thought we were on tha same team, Omi-kun. The whole Ushijima biggest fan thing... y'know.

Kiyoomi Sakusa (00.10 AM): What did you just call me?

Kiyoomi Sakusa (00.10 AM): And what team?

Kiyoomi Sakusa (00.11 AM): We were literally separated by the net.

Multiple texts. That was how Kiyoomi realized something in that conversation was affecting him. He just didn't know what precisely.

Atsumu Miya (00.12 AM): Yeah, but it's the fish inside the net that brings us closer, Omi-Omi.

Fish. Why was he talking about a fish? Was Atsumu on drugs? He did seem the type. The one who just wanted to try because his friends had told him so and then... fallen in the merciless addiction spiral. Sakusa could never. He even held his breath every time he had to come across smokers. Passive smoking damages your lungs faster, he had read once. Fish. What could that mean? But then, it clicked.

"Motoya, I have a question." Sakusa had said, his voice covering the nth Mew Mew's battle.

"Kiyo, give us a second. The little girl right here doesn't want to get distracted. She has been waiting to watch this episode again for so long!" He had replied, pretty much hooked.

"You asked me to watch it, nii-chan." The soft voice of his sister denied Komori's affirmations.

"'Cause I read your mind!" His cousin wasn't the one who gave up. "I asked you so 'cause I read your mind and it said you wanted to watch Tokyo Mew Mew with me!"

"You can do that?" His younger sister was amazed and thrilled by the obviously untrue revelation. "Of course I can do that!"

"Komori." Sakusa wasn't giving up either. "I need to make you a question."

And that was when Komori paused the show. Then he turned to him and he simply said: "I'm all ears."

"Can the word fish be considered a sexual allusion?"

"What?" Motoya's high pitched tone almost broke his eardrums.

"I'll take it as a yes." Sakusa had stated, then proceeding to ignore Komori's huge amount of questions which had come out of his ordinary curiosity.

Kiyoomi Sakusa (00.20 AM): Is the word fish a sexual allusion for co*ck in this particular context?

Atsumu Miya (00.21 AM): Yeah, Omi. It is.

That day, Sakusa Kiyoomi had blocked Miya Atsumu on Facebook. Later on, that day, Sakusa Kiyoomi had also found out heterosexuality didn't necessarily apply to him. Then again, that day, Sakusa Kiyoomi figured out Miya Atsumu had come out to him as certainly not heterosexual. Once more, that day, Sakusa Kiyoomi realized, said Miya Atsumu had made a move on him. Was Kiyoomi hom*osexual?

"Kiyo, she fell asleep." His cousin had brought him to planet earth real quick. "And my favorite episode is over. Wanna see that V-League game we had recorded?"

Sakusa nodded. "Yes, why not."

And that was it.

After the miraculous epiphany, Kiyoomi had met Ushijima just once. He was in Tokyo, for a couple of interviews and something really close to an audition for some big team competing in the very first division of the league. The federation was keeping an eye on him, actually, the federation was keeping eyes and an entire set of glasses with different gradation lenses on him. It was remarkable how emphasis was dancing around the figure of Ushijima Wakatoshi and surprising how the guy in question wasn't even acknowledging his greatness. He was almost over his third and last year of high school so it had been only natural for professionals and managers candidates to start reaching him out. Still, the day Kiyoomi met him, he was the same old Wakatoshi, the boy who was in for nothing more nor nothing less than the sport, unbothered by the seductive charm of sponsors and the alluring nature of money and fame. And it had been his unrestrainable passion, his overflowing obsession, his uncontrollable dedication to volleyball, expressed with such a reflecting power, an exceptionally loud silence, that he didn't even need to scream, yell out loud or proclaim himself as the most incredible promising young headliner of their generation. He respected the game too much.

So it was quiet, everything about him was quiet, barely whispered, an inaudible murmur. When on court, he was the most voiceless boisterous thunder Sakusa had ever seen, he was crashing waves brutally consuming rocks without emitting a single sound. Seeing him playing, felt the same as admiring Caravaggio's most violent, bloody and cursed arts and, simultaneously, the most peaceful byōbu landscape piece ever come to light. When Sakusa had first seen Wakatoshi playing back in middle school, for the first time in his life, he had felt... inspired. So, yeah, it was only natural for the whole Japan to finally see what a breathtaking and magnificent athlete Ushiwaka actually was.

"We won't see each other at the Spring Tournament." Ushijima had uttered, no trace of resentment in his voice as he let Kiyoomi know in person that another team from Miyagi, Karasuno he had said, had managed to defeat Shiratorizawa in the end. They were eating an ice cream, sat on a bench of fortune somewhere alongside a park area, catching up for a couple of hours before Ushijima had to leave for apparently career related stuff.

"That means we won't face each other. And you won't lose to me. You're lucky." Sakusa had stated, but there was no desire of challenge, no mockery in those words. Truth to be told, it felt disappointing, the idea of not playing against Ushijima on the court, the idea of not having to marvel at his superior athletic form, while also trying to reach him, deep down wishing to be able to finally overcome him one day.

"I would have liked to play with my team, one last time, but yeah, I'm lucky." Sakusa turned to him after he spoke. Wakatoshi's eyes seemed distant, lingering on something unknown to Kiyoomi's sight. They were looking far, far away, so purely concentrated on some spot unidentifiable to anyone else's eye. Kiyoomi looked at him. The way his strong jaw was relaxed, his marked bone structure seemed more delicate as rays of sunshine, filtered through leafy trees, were illuminating his features. He was there, right next to him, so close, yet on his own cloud too many floors away from Sakusa's one. Right there, but so unapproachable, so unreachable, Kiyoomi wondered what his mind was thinking of. His face looked calm and seren and utterly graceful. It also looked beautiful, he mentally added. Ushijima Wakatoshi really did look beautiful to Kiyoomi's eyes.

"Win it, okay?" Sakusa almost winced when Ushiwaka spoke, his bubble of thoughts disappearing all of a sudden. Ushijima stood up, he had to leave, duty called. But he gave Sakusa one last glance: "Win the Spring Tournament and let's meet again, on the court, someday."

"I will." Kiyoomi had said, struggling to ignore the heat on his cheeks jeopardizing his usual composure. Thank God he wore masks, he found himself considering. "Of course I will win."

"Do your best then." Wakatoshi had allowed Kiyoomi to witness the hint of a smile, softly painting on his face. They greeted one last time, waving each other goodbye. Let's meet again, Sakusa's brain kept retracing that single moment. Let's meet again, Ushijima had said, probably out of friendly courtesy or, maybe, because he did mean it. Let's meet again, and Sakusa would have loved to meet him again. Let's meet again, and, suddenly, that whole Komori's teasing about Ushijima that Kiyoomi had never understood was no more obscure to him. I like this guy, Kiyoomi thought. And there he was Ushijima Wakatoshi, Sakusa's first and gentlest heartbreak.

Kiyoomi hated to unpack. He was so used to unpack that his feelings had mutated into insufferable loathing, obnoxious hatred and heinous aversion. And he was unpacking, again, in a room with a dresser way too small for his entire cleaning products collection to fit in. Also, there was filth, somewhere, probably alongside the windows curtains, he could sense it, it was there. Even if Motoya had said that he was definitely hallucinating and nothing, in that minimal space for breathing incredibly bad for an asthmatic kid pocket sized room, was dirty. But Kiyoomi knew it better. That had been the reason why, clock striking past nine post meridian, a terrifying co*ckroach had made its appearance, in all its horrifying glory, inside their shared room there, at the All-Japan Youth Training Camp.

Letters had come right after the National Spring Tournament selections. Both Kiyoomi and Komori had been scouted and convened by the federation. A massive amount of pride had filled both of their families' hearts. It was huge, an astronomic opportunity to set a very fundamental stone on the path for the professionalism and the vocational world. And they had accepted, as might be expected. Creme de la creme, the best teenage players of the whole Japan, all reunited at the Ajinomoto Training Center. Growing boys not releasing just hormones, but also talent, extraordinary talent filling the air as they showed their supreme plays. And the new faces, lots of new faces Sakusa had never set his eyes on. He had bumped into one of those the very first morning, before practice. A Karasuno peer, in an overexcited state standing still in the middle of the parking lot, staring at the signs spelling majestically the building name. Kageyama Tobio, he had introduced himself completely unprompted as Sakusa had recognized the name of his team as the one of those who had defeated Wakatoshi. He seemed nice, Sakusa had thought even if on their second day he had proceeded to underestimate Sakusa's strength insulting him by calling him normal.

How did he dare? Surely that kid was crazy. Then, there were the same old faces. Those faces Kiyoomi had seen, Kiyoomi had heard of, Kiyoomi had played against. And of course, he had to be there. No way that ass face wasn't going to show up at some point. So there he was, shining like an idiot, a consistently grown in a way too short span of seven months, Miya Atsumu. Sakusa hadn't seen it coming, not at all. In fact, if he had had to bet on who, between the legendary Miya twins, would have made it to the Japan national team, he would have picked Osamu, Atsumu's brother. They had played against just once, but he did remember how skilled and, most importantly, controlled the guy was. Not that Atsumu wasn't a good choice, but he was... so immature. Sakusa was not going to speak to him, if not for necessity, that was what he had decided prior and of course Motoya would have thought it would have been nice to ruin it for him. So he had waved at Atsumu, enthusiastically when he had spotted him from a distance once they had entered the gym together. And Atsumu, on the other hand, had waved him back, so energetically that it left Kiyoomi confused. Komori had met Atsumu the same amount of times as him, how could he be so happy to see him again? And how could Atsumu be so happy about seeing his cousin either? It felt so bizarre. People, sometimes, were so bizarre.

"It's good to see ya too, Omi-kun." Atsumu had said with a mellifluous tone, after Komori had ditched them to go and say hi to a guy Sakusa had never seen once in a lifetime. How many people did his cousin know? How could be so popular and socially inclined?

"Yeah, whatever." He had said, desiring to dismiss him as soon as possible.

"Hey!" Atsumu wasn't letting it go. "It won't be the same as last time." A different layer now curling up around his voice. Sakusa glared at him, waiting for him to spit out whatever he had to say. "We're on the same side of the court now." Kiyoomi wasn't quite getting it, but he let him go on. "Mess up on my sets and I'm gonna be the one who kills ya this time." A warning, he was giving him a warning.

"I'm not some amateur, Miya." Sakusa had replied, plainly, sounding unimpressed. The shadows creating contrasts darkened on Atsumu's face and he took a step ahead, getting closer to Kiyoomi, to the point the latter could perfectly point out every single flaw of him, starting from those weird hair. Yet, Atsumu didn't seem to have the intention to physically make a contact with him. Then he dared, getting boldly close. Strangely close, now that his breath was oddly tickling Kiyoomi's right ear. Still, Atsumu wasn't touching him. "I don't care who ya are, amateur or national champion. Screw up and y're nothing but sh*t." And just like that, he moved away.

"See ya later, Omi Omi!" He had cheerfully said before leaving Sakusa's side.

Dumb. That had been the second word which had come to Kiyoomi's mind as his brain was processing those boorish's claims. Did he really think he would have sounded intimidating or even remotely threatening? Dumb, that fool had sounded ridiculously dumb. What an arrogant idiot. Disrespectful also, as if Sakusa Kiyoomi could ever ball up a set. What an ass.

Hot.

Because even if Kiyoomi would have committed murder to himself rather than admitting it, hot had been the very first word popping up into his mind as Atsumu's stupid ass was talking so close to his face. What a nightmare, he couldn't believe his brain had even processed a thought like that. He blinked, his eyes wandering on Atsumu's figure far from him, now talking to a white haired tiny guy, Hoshiumi Kourai. Did they know each other? Hot. Did Kiyoomi consider Atsumu hot?

Then he saw him: Miya Atsumu standing and scratching his own butt. Sakusa blinked once again: no. He did not consider Miya Atsumu hot.

Anyway, even if both of them had shared a kind of rough start, seemingly with no route for change, everything between them had quickly and unexplainably cooled down in a span of a few hours only. They were kids at that time, that's how things between kids work, right? The co*ckroach. The co*ckroach had changed it all. Kiyoomi had almost cried, and didn't take shame on it. A co*ckroach manifested itself, he had screamed and almost cried. A pretty normal reaction to his standards. Komori hadn't been of any help, not even capable of killing that incumbent monster, so Sakusa had swallowed his pride and, for a greater good, he had done it. He had showed himself weak, right in front of Miya Atsumu (and Hoshiumi Kourai) and he had begged, on his knees, for him to help him and get that thing killed. It didn't matter that, at end of the day, that Kageyama guy from the room next to Sakusa and Komori's one had barged in, getting rid of the disgusting boneless creature in a span of two seconds, mad at them for their yelling preventing him to sleep. Atsumu had helped. And Kiyoomi succeeded in not blowing up his own room and the entire dorms section. Fire disinfects, he had considered during that insane co*ckroach haunt. So, Atsumu and him, without even confronting each other about it, had called it off.

The curious interactions, the general disliking, the childish rivalry which was obviously unrequited since Kiyoomi could not care less about it. However, it was over, and their nations faced days of peace. Even if Atsumu was still the most unbearable individual Sakusa had ever laid his eyes on, even if Atsumu's friendly attitude was still the most annoying punishment he had suffered from. But no volleyball fights and no personal attacks. War suspended.

"I've got beers to celebrate our last night togetha y'all!" Atsumu had screamed in the aisle, banging at every Youth Camp participant door.

"It's apple juice." Sakusa had easily noticed.

"What? God! Those idiots at the supermarket f*ckin' fooled me!"

They were not idiots. Of course they wouldn't have sold all that alcohol to a literal child. But Kiyoomi didn't speak. And that was how he had ended up in a room stranger to his with a bunch of other guys, sitting on Hoshiumi's bed, a creepy seagull plushie staring at him from the other side of the room. "It's a gift. From my friend Hirugami. He wants to become a vet." Kourai had said, as if that would have clearly explained why he had brought a four point five feet tall stuffed animal with him. And they were drinking apple juice, as Atsumu suggested, talking loudly and noisily snorting at every lame joke one of them cracked, and when Komori cracked a joke, their laughs even soared. Oh God. People laughing at his jokes. Next day, his cousin would have come home genuinely thinking he was a comedian. The atmosphere was full of giggling, it was sparkling, a shimmering air filling every inch of that single room. Sakusa wasn't hating it. Of course more than two people meetings weren't his absolute favorites, but it wasn't like he was totally hostile to them. He had even smiled, at some point, and the whole room had risen in thunderous applauses to that one man who had succeeded into bringing a grin out of the one and only Sakusa Kiyoomi. He had told them they were idiots. They had chuckled even more.

"Let's go with a drinking game!" After a while Hoshiumi had firmly declared. "Drinking game? With apple juice?" Komori had said not fully convinced.

"A drinking game?" Kageyama had talked, his face twisted in self evident confusion. Kageyama was the quiet type, Sakusa had been able to learn during those constricted days of forced coexistence, that was why he didn't think he would have accepted to get involved with very noisy people. Speaking of personality, Kiyoomi almost did expect to see himself in Kageyama Tobio, but he had been wrong, because judging from what he had seen of the younger boy that night, Kageyama was, yes, the quiet type, but his eyes were lively, bright and observant. The Karasuno setter did want to get involved, he did want to feel part of something, he did want to connect with other people, and he seemed to be there because of his will to learn.

"I got this!" Obviously Atsumu had to scream. "We could do something like... never have I ever! That should be fun!"

Fun, of course, for lame sixteen years old kids. "They are sixteen years old kids and you are too, Kiyoomi." Sakusa had imagined his cousin scowl him. Imaginary Komori was right, though. They were kids, and those kids had accepted with such a burning passion, Kiyoomi believed that night would have been painfully endless. Of course he wasn't playing. He was just there, with his glass of juice in one hand, hoping to become deaf and lose permanently his sense of hearing. He had learnt, against his will, things about his temporary teammates he had never wished to know. Some of them had brushed their teeth with their fingers, others had apparently urinated in public swimming pools. Again, he learned how Hoshiumi Kourai had eaten an impossible amount of his friend's dog's food, just to prove that his stomach was totally made of steel, and he had been hospitalized the very next day, after finding out that he wasn't throwing up and his bones weren't hurting because he was transforming into an agry chihuahua, but he had simply catched salmonella. "I almost died that day." He had assured as many hands were patting his shoulder showing support. Kiyoomi also learned that Komori had worn another person's underwear. His underwear, to be specific. His cousin was so dead.

"Never have I ever thought of kissing someone in this room." And everyone had their jaws on the floor when Atsumu took his apple juice and he took a shot. A storm of: is it me, Atsumu? As if said Atsumu was freaking Jesus. Are you damn serious? You thought about kissing one of us? Then the usual questions for starters, like: are you gay? Do you like dudes when you're gay? And Atsumu was just laughing, center of the attention, just laughing. Even if he wasn't actually showing it, Sakusa was animated by a certain curiosity too, so he waited.

"Just tell us, Atsumu-san!" A voice erupted and everyone else's immediately died down. "Or kiss him. Whoever that is."

"What?" Hoshiumi had exclaimed. "No, gross. I don't want Atsumu to kiss me, since he's obviously referring to me!"

"I won't tell ya!" Atsumu had interrupted them all. Their interest completely wrapped around Atsumu's finger. "And I can't even kiss the guy. It's almost physically impossible." He had laughed it off, his eyes now staring at nothing but his own shoes. Could that be embarrassment?

"Physically impossible?" Kourai echoed his words. "I get it now! You were talking about yourself! Go get this guy a mirror so he can kiss himself!"

Atsumu again laughed, as if that conclusion was crazily ridiculous, and it probably was, but he didn't deny it either.

As crazy as it did sound, it made sense. Of course he was talking about himself. He was a narcissist after all.

The game went on, for so long it was starting to turn strangely weirder, and to save himself from ulterior odd and traumatic details about those boys' lives, Kiyoomi reached for the phone he had in his pocket, and simple as that, he clicked on the Instagram app he had downloaded in order to follow a very efficiently updated volleyball fanpage and he just started scrolling. It wasn't so different from Facebook, Sakusa had thought after making an account, but it was quieter. Calmer, even. Less words, less talk. Just pictures, videos, a caption every now and then, Kiyoomi enjoyed the tranquillity of it. That had been his fifth time updating the timeline, the tiny circle loading less content as the time passed, Sakusa was almost giving up, condemned to listen to the Never Have I Ever implications until the very end of the day. His finger was there, ready to lock the phone again, when he saw it. A video. Wakatoshi had posted it on his private account. Unusual, he never posted videos. It wasn't even long, only forty five seconds counted. Kiyoomi put one of his earphones on.

"What do we think of this last party as third years, Wakatoshi-kun?" Some sort of external narrator had asked as the supposedly phone camera was set on said Wakatoshi, sitting on a little couch of what had seemed a spacious communal area. "This is not a party, this is just you being drunk after two beers."

Beers. They had real beers.

A giggle, an amused giggle from that unknown guy. Then the screen went black. Then again, the point of view suddenly changed. There he was a redhead boy, Kiyoomi recognized him, he had seen him, a long time ago, in a match against Shiratorizawa. He was recording himself while singing some kind of mostly creepy tune and his head was lightly resting on one of Ushijima's shoulder. "What if I fall asleep here tonight and then a gremlin comes stealing my pants? What do you say? What would you do, Wakatoshi-kun?"

"I would bring you another pair of pants." Ushijima had answered, not weirded out in the slightest by that redhead unsettling imaginary. "Why not fighting the gremlin?"

"The noise would wake you up." And Kiyoomi had seen it. He had seen with his own eyes, the way Ushijima's face had softened, the way his gaze had lingered for an imperceptible half second on that boy right next to him. The way he had looked at him, so much tenderness, so much care pouring out, like he had never looked at anything else but him. Half second. Not even that much, nobody would have noticed. It was minimal, negligible, a small detail which shouldn't have mattered. Too bad Sakusa had seen it and he had noticed. "But that would be so fun, Wakatoshi-kun!" And the clip was over.

"Gotta go to the toilet." Kiyoomi had muttered, raising his voice enough for the other people inside the room to hear him, and just like that, to numb to even sense their responses, with that single excuse, he had stood up and quit. He wasn't sad. He wasn't perceiving abysmal condolence, his eyes weren't all of a sudden blind because of unstoppable and agonizing tears, his breath hadn't been cut short and his lungs weren't burning in blue flames of anguishing heartache. His head was completely clear, no sorrowing thoughts had conquered his exposed mind, causing ulterior devastation. His heart wasn't breaking inside its small cage, his heart wasn't about to detonate itself, nor it was not about to go through inarrestabile bleeding and consume its own existence. There were no shattering glasses, no screams and destructive cries to suppress.

It wasn't loud.

It only stung.

Somewhere, probably near his stomach. Or maybe his intestines. Just a few centimeters below, and Kiyoomi would have thought he was getting struck by appendicitis. It felt more like annoyance than incurable despair, and it felt a lot more like bitterness than deep discouragement. The video was playing again, on repeat, soundless now, since Sakusa had put off his earphones and set the volume on mute. It was weird. He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to take that guy's place. He didn't desire to be the center of Wakatoshi's careness and affection. He didn't want to take that role because he had never thought about it, not even once, his mind had never hesitated, never come across the need for being looked at by Ushijima in that very particular and special way. Never. He liked his company, and he liked him, Kiyoomi knew he liked him and he also knew he didn't like him as he liked his cousin or as he liked his beloved and respected captain Iizuna. He liked him, he liked him as an idea he lingered on before falling asleep. He liked him as a nice and sweet tune stuck in his head. His feelings were discreet, not noisy nor pretentious. His sentiments were delicate and selfless. He didn't demand for himself the real thing, he knew already he would have never been able to confess. He didn't even want to confess, but he did claim the fantasy for himself. He did take joy from the reverie.

Kiyoomi could have stayed still, his whole life, not making a move on him, not even expecting Wakatoshi to make a move on him. He liked where he was, he enjoyed where he stood. No confessions, no confrontations, no risk of failure, no worrying possibility of his emotions being misplaced. Everything was under control where he was standing. And yet it did sting. As if there was no connection, zero communication between his rational brain and the soul of his own being. Kiyoomi didn't want Wakatoshi to return his feelings, but he was fond of the imaginary in which he did. Reality. He couldn't control reality. He breathed in as he was letting his back resting on the first piece of wall he could turn to. He breathed out.

"I come in peace."

Sakusa looked up to match the voice with its respective face. Atsumu had his hands in the air, a friendly expression, as he was speaking so: "I swear, this's not an idea of mine. Komori wanted to check on ya. The dude was scared the apple juice hurt ya or somethin'."

Kiyoomi blinked, in puzzlement. "I'm not allergic to apples." Or maybe he was, but didn't quite remember? "Or am I?" He spread his eyes wide open. "Hey, man! I'm sure that ain't the case. I'm allergic to acorns, ate one in first grade. Couldn't breathe. Ended up being one foot away from tha grave."

"You were dying?" Kiyoomi had asked, shocked as his hands reaching his own neck by instinct, hoping to never experience respiratory failure and arrest. "Yeah." Atsumu confirmed, his back now leaning on the same wall as Sakusa's, just four of five centimeters away. "But ya look pretty much alive to me. I mean, ya ain't dead."

"True. I am not." Sakusa agreed. "I could never grant you the satisfaction of reporting my lifeless body."

"I would even cry in front of tha police." Atsumu had said.

"Would you?"

"Yeah. And, at yer funeral? I'd say everyone in there we were best friends." He put on his gloating grin.

"I would jump out of the coffin with my dead body and come back to life just to murder you." Kiyoomi had easily responded.

"What about yer ghost haunting me forever?"

"That would mean seeing you way too much for my own liking even after life. That'd be exhausting."

Atsumu had laughed. He didn't care if Sakusa found him extremely annoying, didn't he?

"Oh? What's that?" Damn, he forgot to lock the phone, and he couldn't do that now, there was no point in hiding it. Atsumu looked at the screen, the soundless video still playing as he silently watched. He looked at Kiyoomi then, who was clearly trying to avoid eye contact with him. He looked again, once more, at the video on display. Sakusa could hear his brain think from there.

"Ya do like him. Like him, like him, right?"

Kiyoomi couldn't deny. "I see." Atsumu took his silence for confirmation. "Y're prettier, anyway."

"This is not a competition, though." Kiyoomi had uttered.

"Well, then it should be!"

Kiyoomi half laughed at Atsumu's absurdly childlike enthusiasm. Was he making efforts to cheer him up?

"I'm going back inside. Do ya want me to tell 'em somethin' for ya?"

He was being nice. Too nice. Sakusa glared at him without even noticing. "Okay, fine! I'll take it as a no. No need to gimme that look, dude."

"Are you trying to cheer me up?" Sakusa had asked.

"D'ya think I would voluntarily go help a prick I can't stand?" He had replied, but that wasn't an answer. Not at all.

"Yeah, but-"

"I'll say Komori-kun y're very much alive, just tired. G'night Omi." He gave Kiyoomi his full back, raising his right arm in an unnecessary peace sign. "Goodnight." Sakusa had murmured, more to himself, and with no second thoughts, he took the chance to catch some sleep, before Motoya would have come ruining it for him with his fastidious snoring.

He wasn't going to think about Wakatoshi, he didn't want to think of him. It was pointless. The only thing he knew was that he was going to text him, the following days. Just like Wakatoshi himself had asked him to. Sakusa was going to update him, tell him about the whole training, about practice, about how many strong new players he had met. They were going to talk again, about volleyball. As friends, like they had always done. Just friends, like they were always going to be. He would have talked to him about his Youth Camp days, and that would have been it. He knew now, that would have always been it. And his heart had formed fractures, but it did not break.

"How could you think I was allergic to apples?" Kiyoomi had asked Komori after they had stepped inside his cousin's home the next day.

"Allergic to apples? You?"

"Yes, yesterday night. You thought I was allergic to them and you sent Miya to check on me. Didn't you?"

"I didn't do it. I didn't send anyone to check on you. I know you're not allergic to apples. I know all your allergies. Who do you think I am? A random cousin twice removed? Hell no, Kiyo. I know everything about you and I take pride in that!" He erupted, more offended than he should have been. "Unbelievable."

If Komori hadn't asked Atsumu to do it, that could mean...

Kiyoomi let his backpack fall.

They didn't meet again. Or, at least, they didn't have a chance to talk. The Spring Tournament started right off. Inarizaki had been crashed by Karasuno's new force. Sakusa didn't even bumped into Atsumu during those days. Their third and last year then began, and it was all about rush, and speed, and hurry. Kiyoomi was applying to university, he had to get his grades right before the end of the year, he had to practice volleyball as hard as he could in order to get that scholarship for that famous collegiate team. He had to learn to face the unexpected disappointment which had come from Itachiyama shockingly and surprisingly losing at Nationals that year. Sakusa had to grow, as a player, as a person. He had to challenge himself, finding a different way to live without the absolutely disturbing, but cherished presence of his cousin Motoya when the latter had accepted to play for the EJP Raijin right after high school. A few tears had come down his eyes, as they were drawing apart. "Why are you tearing up, Kiyo? I'm calling you every single day!" But then Motoya had cried too. He was going to be an adult. And the day came, when university started and a new era of his life asked for him at the front door.

There was no time for him, to think about Miya Atsumu. Nor his thoughts ever wandered or touched the image of the guy. He was locked in a past Kiyoomi didn't actually intend to ever go through.

Until.

GROWTH

Entering his adulthood days, Sakusa did expect the rising of a different feeling. Just like movies, novels of literature and culture value, audio-visual products, even commercials sometimes, had taught him, he had genuinely thought that some kind of change had to be due. All those coming of age cinematic pieces, all those nostalgic composed modern symphonies, everything got him into the general belief that, at some point, during his first year of university a drastic earthquake would have completely rocked his current way of living, disrupting from the roots his whole existence. However, his life moved on just fine, and, most importantly, like always, but in a different setting. Universitarian classes were nothing like high school classes. They were longer, professors didn't seem to appreciate nor even consider breaks in between, and they were consistently harder. But they were definitely more chill. It didn't matter if Kiyoomi showed up late, it didn't matter if Kiyoomi skipped a few of them, it didn't matter if he didn't respect deadlines, it didn't actually matter if he was there or not. The only thing University demanded from its students was not to fail exams. The strategies they adopted, how much effort they had put into studying, university just didn't want to know. And for Sakusa, that was the most appealing change he had experienced and the only thing he could have ever wished for after high school.

His results? They were not certainly stellar, he was aware of that, but he had never really liked school and his sports scholarship easily cleared for everyone that it had never been the case. But people couldn't know, and it was insane how many of them, looking at him at the library, so appropriately well dressed, so composed and polite in his manners, so attentively reading whatever his computer screen was showing, thought that he naturally was a polished scholar. Even a gifted one. Girls from his classes had tried to approach him. Could you help me with this paragraph? Could we revise our notes together? And all those kind of apparently innocent requests and questions which always ended with a: "I'm deeply sorry, I'm not interested in that." And a parade of oh, you didn't seem the type and more diverse and fresh combinations. His personal favorite: "But you're an athlete!" As if the whole athletes smacking each other asses on the court could have not been labelled and catalogued as hom*osexual activity. But he never said that out loud. Rumors were true, the one good thing he had achieved after leaving school, had been the total and unapologetic embrace of his sexual identity.

He didn't plan a huge coming out and he didn't have an actual big and controversial story. His parents didn't know at that time and he had never felt the desire nor the need to inform them. It was pointless, he liked to think. They didn't even know his favorite color, he used to see them not even twice in the entire arc of a month. How could Kiyoomi consider that it was fundamental for them to know? Simply, it was not. And then there was Motoya, on the other hand. His most significant resource, his worst cousin, his best friend Motoya. Sakusa was pretty convinced Komori kind of knew. Thinking about it, lazily recalling the entire length of his teenage years, vaguely recollecting memories and things which had been said, Sakusa was sure, Komori did know. It had been set in the ways Motoya had always avoided being gender specific when they used to talk about that stuff, from the pure idealisation of love, to the most trivial and practical manifestation of it. It had been set in the many times Motoya had spotted and intercepted valid options in terms of potential boys possibly charmed by his appearance, even before Kiyoomi could do that.

"Isn't that dude staring at you?" Komori used to say at least once a week. "Everyone does when I'm wearing this mask." The Hello Kitty mask. His emergency mask when he ran out of masks and he forgot or simply hadn't been able to buy some more masks. "Yes, but actually no! I think he's interested in what's under the mask!" Komori had terrifyingly winked. "My mouth about to spit on you if you don't stop." And his cousin had laughed, but Kiyoomi had looked up and that was true: a guy was checking on him.

"Is he of your liking, sir?" Motoya had joked back then.

"Shut up and get lost." The guy definitely was.

So, all considered, Sakusa hadn't found it troubling to talk to Motoya about it when a chance had come by. Kiyoomi had met the guy one evening, concomitantly with practice.

It was cool, practice. The team was great, they all did work well together. There was no unnecessary and mean competition between them. Every single piece matched with the others as perfectly as it could be. They were disciplined, and strong. The strongest team of collegiate volleyball. None of them had come to play and Sakusa did feel it. The training room was full of aspiring professionals. If they were there, that was because they had earned it. Their coach constantly wanted them to do more: serve more, sharpen their attacks more, think about their defense more, study strategies more, even sleep more, play more, push more. Kiyoomi did not like pushing, especially when it didn't take any advantage with it. He did not like exhausting himself, only increasing and skyrocketing the chance of his body getting hurt from excessive and extreme physical strain. Counterproductive, counting too many risks of backfiring. But he did push, because time was running. He did push, because everything around him was moving faster and faster and he did see them. Every damn time, on the television. He did see them, some of his old mates, some of his old rivals, his long past opponents, his never met again acquaintances, his friends. All of them, one step ahead of him. Professional players competing in a professional championship, losing, scoring, winning.

And what was he doing? What was he doing right there, stuck between the four suffocating walls of a college gym, just for him to religiously come back every night to his even more asphyxiating dorm room? He was wasting time. He did tell himself when his mind could not let go of the image of Kageyama Tobio, so young and so talented, imposing himself, being a total monster on the majestical scene of the Olympic Game in Rio at age nineteen. He was hostage of a golden cage, he had thought when his brain was hardly memorising notions for his upcoming exams. He was losing it, precious time he didn't have a clue if it was ever going to come back. So he pushed, and he pushed more. He didn't want to get left behind. He didn't want to become one of those, one of those people who used to say: "I was good at sports when I was a kid! Almost made it!" While sitting in a bar, with a briefcase by the side, referring to it as if that had been nothing but a foolish and childish dream of youth.

Sakusa's ambition wasn't just a dream. Sakusa's ambition was figured, designed, concrete, real. Being a volleyball player was the only reasonable future he could have. He couldn't miss it, he couldn't let everyone else get past him. They needed to know he was there, they needed to know he was about to come. The whole volleyball scene needed to see, with its own eyes, what kind of champion was about to rise and sweap away whoever dared to get on his way. He pushed. Even when his legs hurt, when his knees started coloring blue. When arms were sored and his palms were bleeding, full of disgusting blisters. He was angry, jealous, raging, envious. Of Kageyama Tobio, of his cousin Motoya, of Wakatoshi. So he pushed, being it the only thing he could do to try and not feel the overpowering burden of growing older and feeling like being a step behind. Unable to reach the people who had significantly surpassed you on the way.

Kiyoomi was practicing his serves, at that time. The gym empty, except for him and the dull sound of the ball constantly being hit. And he hit it and hit it and hit it, perpetually, as if hitting that ball could make all his intrusive and obsessive thoughts fly away with it, disappear from his consumed and extenuated mind which kept tormenting itself over and over. His skin burned, as sweat incessantly scrolled through. And Sakusa had almost hit him.

"Man, what the hell? You almost cut my head straight off!" A guy had suddenly appeared in the trajectory of the ball.

"You got in the way!" Kiyoomi had advocated for himself on his side of the net.

"I gotta close this sh*t!" He had said, still shell-shocked by the speed and the force of that shot he had miraculously dodged.

"What?" Kiyoomi had calmed down a bit hearing those words, his whole spirit essentially cooled off as he tried to understand what the stranger meant. "I was trying some plays on my own. Practice was just over." He explained, regulating his breathing back to a normal state as the conversation kept going.

"Just over?" The boy smiled, amused, as he couldn't believe what Sakusa had just said. "What time do you think is it?"

"I don't know." Kiyoomi meditated about it. "Eight?"

"It's ten pm, man. Get out of here, you're gonna die." He was smiling again. That boy, Kiyoomi thought, seemed very nice.

He was a law student. Sometimes closing off gyms and labs and pools at night, when activities were over, for the sake of helping the university guardian he used to hang out with, who happened to be this friend of his from middle school. He was indeed very nice, Sakusa got to learn. He was gentle, and mature and respectful, and funny even. He had become his friend first, spending afternoons at the library or on random courtyard's benches and evenings at the dorms, talking about all and nothing at the same time. And playing Uno. That guy nourished a weird enthusiasm about the Uno game. Then, one day, he had kissed him. With such a gentleness, Sakusa had been left speechless. He had agreed to date, and that had been how his first relationship ever had occurred. It felt nice, it was comforting to have someone to casually spend time with, and the sex? That was great. Fifteen years old Kiyoomi had always been grossed out by the idea of it, by the idea of the mere act. The bodies clashing, the too extreme physical contact, the corporal fluids and the smell. It did seem particularly disgusting and bothering to him back then. However, he could say he did enjoy it now. And he had surprisingly found out it was a useful activity to get rid of adrenaline after intense trainings and matches. A considerable useful activity.

They got along, his appearance was quite charming and he was, in an extremely comforting way, predictable. Kiyoomi had figured him out since day one, to the point he always knew how to deal with him when choosing where to go eat, when fighting, when merely discussing. The guy was an open page from a book Sakusa seemed to have read a thousand times already. He did not have to torture his head trying to understand him, there was no need. It was simple, it was easy. He suddenly started feeling like routine, highly monitored and counting zero risks. And the greatest part of it all? He wasn't demanding. He didn't require the same level of openness in their relationship, he did never insist nor press on Sakusa into exposing himself, unveiling those aspects he didn't want to consider. The boy just seemed to appreciate whatever he had in store for him to see, never challenging him, never greedy or hungry for those details Kiyoomi never had the intention of sharing. He accepted Sakusa, he didn't force him, he didn't push him, he did not hold the arrogance nor the presumptioness to inquire into him. To investigate those colors Kiyoomi wanted to hide, or to assume thoughts Kiyoomi himself had never analysed. He respected him, that was what Sakusa would have said back then, he respected his vital and essential individuality.

He did not care, that was what Sakusa would have never said back then. He wasn't interested, a combination of words he would have never considered even coming up with. The relationship itself was frivolous, only superficial, an assumption he would have never thought of making, until the realization had hit him like a truck transporting fruit and vegetables on fire, crashing him full speed, single witness the scorching sun burning the deserted three-lane highway during a deathly hot summer day.

Sakusa was waiting for him. Kind of sleepy, looking at the ceiling on a boring Saturday afternoon, no practice, no games, no classes, and he was waiting for him in his room, laying on his not so comfortable bed which's mattress had felt tender as a sharpened rock since the very first day spent in there. Still, Sakusa had found a way to get used to it, even if he wondered how severe the damages on his spinal column would have been once university was over. He had been blessed with the supreme concession of free time and his partner luckily happened to be free too. Kiyoomi had invited him over. Nothing excessively thrilling or extreme, just hanging out together at his had sounded a lot like a good plan and an excellent idea to recharge, considering how tied his agenda was going to be in a few days. So he was mindlessly staring at how the paint alongside the windows was clearly and slowly cracking as times went on. Signs of abating, evidence of fragmentation failure, he thought about repainting and fixing it himself, with his own hands. But he needed the right tools, a house painter tools.

How could he get those? The Internet. The Internet always had answers. It didn't matter how strange a question in Kiyoomi's mind could seem, there was always going to be somebody out there, a fierce born hero, he personally liked to think, who just happened to have had the same exact doubt as his. Humanity was fascinating. "This is what caring for our neighbour really is about. This is what humans are made for." He did say to Motoya quite often. "Answering weird questions of other humans online without batting an eye." And he was there, typing on the search bar to try and find out about the costs of wall painting, when a notification popped up, distracting him permanently with no chance of coming back.

Miya Atsumu had just posted a story after a long time.

Kiyoomi blinked. His finger stopping midair from whatever it was clicking on. Miya Atsumu. Posting on Instagram again.

When talking about his old volleyball rivals, Kiyoomi liked to think of Atsumu as nothing more than an annoying acquaintance, because that was what Atsumu actually was: a not very much so stranger whom he had talked to and spent time with more than a couple of times for him to not be considered completely unfamiliar and less than ten times for him to be considered a friend. Also, his entire personality did give the impression of an hyperactive pile of intolerable and muddled energy, and he was quite sure that even if the universe had let them meet more than a couple of times, Sakusa could have never stand a person like him on the long run none whatsoever.

Ergo, they would have never been friends. Of that, he was certain. However, his status of not so stranger had granted Atsumu with the privilege of the access to Kiyoomi's social media once high school was over and the chances of meeting in person had considerably lowered themselves. Long story short, during his first months of university, when an innocent request on Instagram from Miya Atsumu, the brand new galactic setter of the MSBY Black Jackals, the popular and rising powerhouse of the V-League set in Osaka, had appeared between plenty of others in his account box, he had carelessly accepted. Just like that. A dumb idiot face on his feed to cheer Kiyoomi up when he started doubting his own value, there to remind him that he was never going to reach the low where Atsumu proudly did stand. Except, Atsumu did not. Stand on the low. Not practically, at least.

He was turning into a superstar.

Young, bold, daring, fierce. Too full of himself, self-righteous, unapproachable, unapologetic. The moment, a pumped arrogant, the nicest and the most genuine guy the volleyball crowd had ever known. It didn't matter what the press did say, it didn't matter which words the headlines had in store for him. He was talked, he was heard, he was seen. He was under the spotlight, and he was shining, totally shining under the intense brightness of it. That idol like treatment didn't fail to gift him fans and supporters. Fans and supporters he had already unexplainably collected his way through high school, but now. Now, there were tons of them. Millions of followers, loyal fanbases, plenty of sponsors. He was a model, a commercial man, the face of a few perfume scents, the guy on the tickets for the match and of course, of course, Miya Atsumu had to be the body and the Japanese representative of those Gucci underwear. He was a one of the guys type and a natural pleaser, owners loved to drag him inside their restaurants and take a picture to frame on the wall. He was the narcissist type to never refuse selfies when fans on the streets asked him for ones.

He was social, so energetically sociable that celebrities were starting to reach to him. Constantly bringing him up when mentioning people they would have liked to have a chat with. Dating rumors, so many of them, Sakusa wasn't keeping track anymore. Singers, actresses, showgirls, models. Especially models. "She's a good friend of mine." He always stated when tabloids started feeling particularly eager. It was always a good friend of his. Even when paparazzi had blurred pictures of him exploring the cavities of his beloved current friend of the moment like a professional dentist. Atsumu, however, certainly was not a professional dentist. And Kiyoomi would have loved to claim that was it. He would have loved to affirm that public relations and social visibility were the only things he was getting recognition for. But that would have been a lie. To give a report more properly, he had to admit that his popularity among the general public, the character he had built for himself, it all was just an insignificant side of the story. He was good, he was immensely good at his job, Sakusa hated to agree. He had polished his technique, tamed himself, taught himself how not to follow, while on court, just his basic and raw instinct, he had trained his body to religiously obey his mind, he was studying the game, he was studying the players, he was improving himself, he had matured enough to get off that pedestal he had built around himself during his teenage years and he was willing to learn, to get better and to be the best version of his self, taking mistakes as chances, still not lingering on them as part of a past which could have not been changed, but not letting those mistakes being forgotten in vain either; and chances as the consequential outcome of labour and good work. Journalists and sports reporters were full of praises.

A man of his age, a strong spirit such as his, his will of succeeding and evolving. They talked about him. They talked and they made predictions, they looked through his statistics just to get themselves in awe when they noticed how quickly Atsumu was getting stronger and growing, the more every day, every hour. They talked about him, the Japan national team, they murmured when their television shows were on. Him, and all those spectacular professionals who were defining an era for the country, holding the given title of The Monsters Generation. Plus, Atsumu's hair was not ugly anymore. It was still blonde, but a very much more pleasant to the eye blonde. Back then, Kiyoomi had thought that an insolent self-absorbed smug like Atsumu would have peaked there in high school. Right now, Kiyoomi thought Atsumu's climb and takeover were just about to get started.

So, they did follow each other on Instagram, they did not speak to each other, but there was this thing, this kind of habit both of them shared, which had begun one night, absolutely unexpectedly and absolutely by mistake. It had happened along the lines of the Gucci underwear period, Sakusa did recollect. Scrolling the timeline before falling asleep, just like he always did before finally closing his eyes to give himself rest at night. And carelessly scrolling he had seen it. The picture, the damned and very much cursed picture. It was a simple photo, a surprisingly high quality one. The background, pitched black, in order to extraordinarily and strikingly exalt and emphasise the absolute protagonist of the shot. The almost naked and suggestively watered body, the sculpted and oiled chest, the exceptionally harmonious proportions, the artistically enhanced bulge hinted by the gentle but courageous bending of the underwear, the man: Miya Atsumu himself.

On Kiyoomi's defence, that had been his first time ever seeing Atsumu basically undressed and he surely didn't have a particular liking for his persona nor his company, but he couldn't lie. He was an adult now and he simply could not lie: the guy was by definition handsome and ridiculously attractive. His mind had taken a strange pleasure into tracing and retracing with his own eyes the lines of Atsumu's adonis abdomen, so tensed, following those lines up to where they poetically vanished, beyond the elastic band, causing Kiyoomi to wonder and hesitate on the thought of the man under the underwear. He had swallowed painfully dry. He had no issues in admitting it now, but, that first time, that first enormous shock, had damaged his pride and morals a bit. And while peacefully lying under the covers, looking at Atsumu's picture for Gucci, posted by Atsumu himself, as he held his breath for no reason at all, those flexible wrists of his had failed him.

Failed him big time.

And he had dropped it.

He had dropped the phone and it had disgracefully landed on his face. His nose hurting by the brutal impact. He ouched, painfully, in the silence of his dorm room. Then he took the phone again in his hands, up from where it was. He had yawned, out of tiredness because of the strict practice lately and he had unlocked the screen, again, and there it was the first Atsumu's post Sakusa had ever liked. His heart skipped a bit. His nose, it must have been his nose. His nose must have double clicked on the picture before the phone could land safely on the mattress.

Kiyoomi was paralysed, and all he could do was stare, keep staring at the irreversible damage he had caused. Taking his like away was not an option. It would have been lame and Instagram had that odious habit of notifying every single activity at an upsetting speed. Lame, so lame. Kiyoomi couldn't let Atsumu think he was lame. So he clicked on it, clicked on Atsumu's profile picture and he did it. He left a second like on another picture because gods forbid the only post Kiyoomi was leaving a like on was going to be a post in which the guy was wearing underwear only. He had handled it well, Sakusa thought. In a mature and not panicked at all way. He mentally patted himself. Then, not even ten minutes later, a notification popped up: two likes, from Atsumu, on his two latest pictures. And that was all it took for their kind of tradition to begin. A couple of likes, once a week, at least. It was how they communicated. No comments, no reactions, no texts. At some point, Sakusa didn't even know the reason why they kept it up. They were not friends, they didn't even like each other.

However, Atsumu wasn't stopping and Kiyoomi wasn't certainly losing to him. But at some point, Atsumu did it. A month. His silence on social media had been going on for over a month. No more embarrassing captions filled with creepy emojis, no more videos of him flexing his biceps for his clearly flavourless supporters, no more douchy mirror selfies. Radio silence. Kiyoomi knew he wasn't dead. Championship was still on, he had seen him play on the TV once, or maybe twice, he didn't keep the record. Still, his activity rate on Instagram had never been closer to an absolute undeniable zero.

Until then.

Kiyoomi meditated about it. He seriously considered clicking on the pop up notification on the spot. But he decided it would have been better to wait, a few minutes, not hours. He was curious, sure he was. The reappearance of a certified show-off on the Internet after deep and long moments of cold vacuum. One, two, five minutes, then he had let his finger slide.

A dog. Miya Atsumu was making his comeback by posting a picture of his face right next to the one of a dog. He was smiling brightly, sitting on what seemed to be a couch. His own couch, the one in his apartment, Kiyoomi mentally pointed out. He had recognized the fabric from past photos Atsumu had on his account. The dog, though, seemed new. Atsumu didn't own a pet. Or, at least, he didn't seem to own a pet before his social hiatus. Kiyoomi zoomed in to take a better look. The dog had a collar and a tag attached to it. Maybe Atsumu had adopted that adorable creature? Could it be...?

The fire emoji.

He didn't have a clue on how that had happened, but he had tapped on it before his eyes could realise the reactions' tab had popped up. A fire emoji. Kiyoomi wished a real fire could burst and burn him and his shameful embarrassment alive. He only had one hope: Atsumu not noticing him between the hundreds of people who had probably reacted to his story, just like Kiyoomi had unintentionally done. The guy had an army for himself. His insignificant direct message was about to be buried by the gigantic amount of enthusiastic fans seeing that one picture in that exact moment. Kiyoomi could breathe in relief. Or maybe not.

settertsumu: Did ya burn yer finger on that emoji 'cause of my hotness, Omi-kun?

They hadn't talked in years. Almost three years, Sakusa thought. How was that man so comfortable with destroying every single trace of social norms and polite courtesy? He was unbelievable.

sakusakiyo: I was looking at the dog.

Brief, professional, respectable. That had been the approach Kiyoomi had went for that tedious afternoon.

settertsumu: Ya see the dog? That's not mine. It's Inunaki's. One of my peers here. His girlfriend was visiting, he needed tha house empty and clean, so I volunteered to look after his dog in the meantime. D'ya like dogs?

Too many informations he had never asked for. Sakusa was sure the guy was one of those who had a tendency to easily go off topic writing essays. He just knew.

sakusakiyo: Very considerate of you and yes, I do like dogs.

As soon as Sakusa had his finger on send, the message had already been registered as seen. So, Sakusa was waiting for the reply, an instant reply, but no sign of typing on the other side seemed to be there. Then a clip suddenly materialized on the chat. Kiyoomi frowned, but he mindlessly played it.

A bark. Atsumu had recorded a five seconds video of himself barking. Kiyoomi raised his eyebrows.

sakusakiyo: You're not a dog, Miya.

settertsumu: How can ya be so sure?

sakusakiyo: You don't own dog ears. Or a tail, and you literally speak. Unfortunately.

Seen. No typing again. Sakusa waited, trying to not think on how the whole interaction wasn't bothering him not even in the slightest.

Not a clip this time. A picture. He clicked on it. Atsumu was probably in his own bathroom now. Kiyoomi could tell by the sink and the toothbrush he could see reflected inside the mirror. Atsumu was standing in front of it, his face not completely visible, partially hidden behind his cellphone. He was casual, in his loosened up sweatpants. One of his arm stretching over his head to the point his white t-shirt was mildly raised up, and Kiyoomi's eyes could perfectly see the athlete's marked and sharp hipbones and traces of his skin glowing under the artificial light of the room. And even if those details had quite catched his precious attention, Sakusa could not miss the dog ears and the not actually realistic tale Atsumu had drawn on himself.

settertsumu: So? What's the response?

Kiyoomi couldn't believe that guy. Still, he found himself amused a little.

sakusakiyo: I'm suddenly a cat person now.

settertsumu: Always knew that y're actually funny.

settertsumu: Anyway, gonna send ya another pic of the real dog.

And Atsumu did send him another picture of the dog, but the mirror now showed said dog being lovingly held in Atsumu's arms and said Atsumu was now disturbingly shirtless.

sakusakiyo: Where is your shirt, Miya?

settertsumu: Yer eyes are on me and not on the dog now, ain't 'em?

sakusakiyo: Competing with a dog. You would kill for attentions, wouldn't you?

settertsumu: If y're the one chasing me, officer.

sakusakiyo: Are you ever going to stop being such a pain in the ass?

settertsumu: If ya ask me nicely, maybe.

The middle finger emoji. Kiyoomi had sent him a middle finger emoji and that had not been a mistake.

settertsumu: See? Y're always funny.

"Kiyoomi? Everything's alright? Are you in there?"

Kiyoomi flinched when he realized his boyfriend must had been there knocking on his door for a while, considering his concerned voice. sh*t, how could have he not heard it? He dropped his phone on the spot, and he hurried himself to the door.

"Hey! It's been five minutes! I thought you were dead in there or something. Are you okay?" He was looking at him, slightly worried.

"Yeah, sorry, it's- I mean, it is far. It took me a while, since it's far." Sakusa unsuccessfully made up.

"Far? What is far?"

"The door. The door is way too far from my bed. I was there, when you knocked, you know. So, like I said, it took me a while."

The boy genuinely laughed. "Fun. This is fun. You're funny. You're never funny. Why you sound so funny now?" And with no further questions, he came in.

Kiyoomi, still standing, with his hand on the doorknob, immediately frowned. "Me? Never funny? I'm always funny..." He muttered to himself in disbelief.

He closed the door.

It went on for a while, their relationship.

But the more it went on, the more Sakusa genuinely thought it was going to reach an expiration date and that would have happened to be sooner than later. They grew distant, to one another. Things they kept for themselves, miscommunication, misunderstandings. The original enthusiasm slowly erasing itself, leaving behind nothing but residue of a connection which had started fading away since the day they had first met. A relationship condemned to the ephemeral. Only temporary, too feeble, a fleeting flame consuming itself causing its own death. Volleyball, that had been the corny and cliché excuse the guy had served him in the end of things. "Your head is all about volleyball, there's no place for me. Am I wrong?" Kiyoomi hadn't denied, at that time. He hadn't really spoken. He only nodded, letting him speak, letting him convince himself that the failure of that relationship had been Kiyoomi's fault and Kiyoomi's fault only.

Sakusa had let him go, not putting up a fight, not trying to take him back, not trying to get him to change his mind. He let him slip away, like water flowing through his fingers. He let him walk away, from his life and his memory. He had let him break up with him, not opposing resistance. He didn't think he was completely wrong: probably, his brain was all made of volleyball; still, a part of him had wanted that relationship to work. A part of him had wanted to take a challenge. Kiyoomi had liked that illusory sensation of affection and intimacy, but there must had been something inside of him because it didn't matter how his now ex boyfriend had seemed to care, Sakusa simply felt as if he could not let himself feel it. He could not let himself live it. He could not free the emotions he knew he had, somewhere.

"It's just that you didn't love him." Motoya had reassured him when Kiyoomi had called. Feeling guilty, like an absolute monster, when, after the end of his first relationship he hadn't shed a single tear. "It's not like you're a stone cold asshole. It's just... you didn't love him."

"Isn't it weird, though? He didn't love me either, but he ended up crying. He was breaking up with me and he was the one crying and I just stood there, feeling... nothing." Sakusa had confessed.

"You know, sometimes, when relationships end, people don't cry because they're gonna miss the person they're breaking up with. They're gonna miss stability and they're gonna fear solitude and loneliness. I think that's why he cried."

"I think it's stupid." Kiyoomi had claimed, his tone severe, like it always was every time he expressed a judgement towards something. "It's stupid to think that things such as stability and emotional equilibrium should depend on another person. You cannot put faith on someone this much. You'll never know what their mind is on. It's just... I find it naive even, to think someone is going to have your back no matter what."

"And I find it funny." Komori had laughed at him through the phone.

"What?"

"You literally play a sport which forces you to trust other people." Komori had pointed out.

"It's just volleyball. What's the worst thing that could happen? Losing?" Kiyoomi told him in disagreement.

"But aren't human relationships the same? Aren't they about losing and winning? Just like a match?" Sakusa really wasn't getting it. "A game is hard, exhausting sometimes, but that's because you're not the only one on the court and you cannot play if you're the only on the court."

"Wait, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying." Motoya got closer to the speaker, Sakusa could tell. "Volleyball matches are extenuating and ruled by uncertainty too. But aren't you playing those anyway?"

Just like that, with the sun setting on his very first serious interpersonal experience, his last year of university had finally got started. And it was all about playing. He could see it, every day he woke up and opened his eyes he could see it, right in front him, the start line he had worked so hard to reach. All his sacrifices, all those sleepless nights between practices and studying for his ultimate exams. All his hardwork and his efforts and his infinite endeavours. They were about to pay off. Because they had noticed him, they were starting seeing and not just casually landing their eyes on him, but actually looking at him. His team had gone far. Challenging the strongest teams in Japan as college representative during a special tournament held by the federation. That's when Kiyoomi had the chance to play against Ushijima again. They had waved at each other and greeted after the match just like two old friends, and even if the Adlers had crashed his team down, Sakusa was still glad to know that was not going to be their last battle, but the first of many.

Playing against such a tenacious and famous team had given him the taste of what every day in the professional world would have been like. And he wanted to take more than a bite. Sakusa himself had gone far, setting the bar high for whoever was going to replace him in his team as bookmakers were sure that he was going to get the MVP title for the Japan National Collegiate Volleyball Championship. Several talent scouts from popular V-League teams were keeping track of his growth. They were watching him and all Kiyoomi had to do was what he was the best at: play.

Then, his swansong as a college student came. One night, last match. It was a Friday night, the decisive game which would have proclaimed the final winning team for the collegiate championship. Sakusa was calm. Ultimately calm. Defeating or being defeated, it was all about those last sets they were about to play. If they were going to be firsts in their country, or firsts between the loosers. Everything was about to get dictated right there, on the court and Sakusa didn't know if winning or losing would have changed his destiny. The only thing he seemed to care were his opponents, right in front of him. The people chanting, the crowd, the whole screaming and the cheers. The V-League recruiters attentively watching, the reporters and the press. The opinions and the sever judgements they would have formed from seeing him play. Every stimulus external to the mere battlefield seemed dull, distant, nullified by the extreme concentration and the sacral respect Kiyoomi had for volleyball. So he stood up, with his shoes on, his hands getting familiar with the ball. He closed his eyes and he took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and looked to the other side of the net. A whistle from the referee forcing the spectators into silence.

Ready, set, it began.

And after five tough sets, they had won the game and the championship. Kiyoomi had gotten the title as best player of the league. Said talent scouts had approached him, outside, at the end of the game. Business cards, telephone numbers, let's keep in touch were flying out from everywhere. They wanted him to audition, others wanted him to sign already. The lights of his university days would have soon be set on off and a new and fresh and craved and yearned and long desired time was on its way to begin. The gym was about to get closed, the crowd had moved victory celebrations somewhere else. His team had invited Kiyoomi to join them for an after party, one last time. And he had refused, one last time, claiming a very much made up headache he just could not bypass.

Sakusa had won. It had been a triumph and a success. He had achieved to greatly succeed throughout his four years of college. Successful and accomplished, he was walking through the streest which would have lead him to his dorm room. Successful and accomplished, he remembered his fridge running out of soy milk. He turned back, taking a different direction. He would have bought soy milk and then he would have come to the dorms, to finally get changed and rest, as a personal trophy. He tightened himself inside his jacket, the nightly breeze tingling his freshly washed and clean hair. He looked up when he glimpsed the modest konbini from afar.

Lights were still on, so he reached it and he came in. Half deserted as it seemed, with the cashier almost falling asleep on the counter, it was not going to take long. He wandered through the supermarket shelves looking for the one thing he needed. He spotted it, a unique bottle of soy milk in the dairy section. He stood in front of it, his arm stretching to reach for it. He had one hand on the top of the bottle when a sound coming from the fruit section nearby stole his attention. The sound of someone holding their breath. Sakusa looked around. Still, no human being on sight. So he had decided to go check himself, leaving the purchase of his soy milk for later. With the sports backpack on his shoulder, still huddled together with his blazer, he took several steps to the origin of the mysterious sound. He stared at piles of fruit boxes stacked on each other, strawberries looking considerably tasty that day. However, nobody seemed to be there. Maybe Kiyoomi was starting hallucinating. It could have been a thing, he thought, after an intense game. He considered coming back to his soy milk and simply leaving, dreaming of his cushion on his way to the dorms. But then again, a sound. Coming from behind the bananas boxes. Something was there for sure. Maybe a wild animal, or a stray cat, or a monkey escaped from the zoo a few blocks away. Yes, that must have been it. Kiyoomi, courageously, reached the bananas, and he dared to give a look.

"Miya?"

Kiyoomi was not looking at a monkey, definitely not a monkey. What he was looking at was a grown adult man, in a fancy and probably expensive suit, sitting on the floor of a food store, hiding himself behind bananas. A fever dream. Someone from those talent scouts men must have drugged him during their meeting because there was no way that he was looking at a twenty two years old Miya Atsumu, volleyball professional player and Internet celebrity, hiding himself behind bananas. But that was not a dream and reality can be actually surprising from time to time.

"Shut up!" He had whispered, visibly panicking as he looked around as if he was hoping no one would come by.

"What? Miya, is it you? For real?" Kiyoomi had raised his voice, mildly disconcerted, and he would have asked more questions, if Atsumu hadn't reached the hem of his pants dragging Kiyoomi down on the floor with him. Sakusa was now crouching there, next to the bananas boxes, his face uncomfortably close to Atsumu's one. He looked at him. No, he was not hallucinating. That was him, it was Atsumu in flesh and bones, right in front of him. He did his best in order to not freak out.

"What the f*ck are you doing here?" Yes, he was doing his best.

"Shhh! Please, shut up or lower yer voice, Jeez! I told ya already!"

So he was hiding himself for real.

"Why are you hiding?" Sakusa asked directly. "And why are you here?" He tried not to sound too upset and shocked about it but then he had simply failed.

"D'ya mean why I'm here next to the bananas or why I'm here in Tokyo?" He answered the question with another question.

"Here. Next to the bananas. No. Here. In Tokyo. I mean- yeah, Tokyo, earth." Kiyoomi mumbled in the disastrous tentative to make some sense out of his confused mind.

"Earth? Well if ya wanna know why I'm on planet earth I guess everything started when mama and dad had asked for an amazing son and they found themselves with an amazing son and a 144p copy of said amazing son. D'ya need details about impregnation and birth?"

"Okay. I guess I will tell to the store manager that you're hiding here."

"No! sh*t! No!" Atsumu quickly reacted, seemingly losing his previous sarcasm. "Fine!" He breathed out. "I was thinking about sleeping here tonight."

Kiyoomi blinked. "Why? Did you suddenly get dumber?"

"I am here, in Tokyo, for the game. Yer game."

"My game?"

"Yeah. The MSBY talent scouts wanted me here with them, no particular reason, they said they needed a representative of the team or some sh*t like that I guess."

"And this explains why you want to sleep next to bananas as if your goal is reconnect with the stupid monkey inside of you because...?"

"Can ya let a man speak, Omi-kun?"

Omi-kun.

Why did Kiyoomi miss hearing it?

"Thanks." Atsumu almost snapped. "I was with them. Saw the game, shaked hands with people, something ya'd totally hate." He had added. "Had a small chat with, I don't know, a new sponsor or somethin'. We go drink, in a bar. Managers and scouts leave early, telling me: Hey Atsumu, ain't ya coming with us? Train's early tomorrow morning. And I say: I'll be there soon, ya go ahead guys, I'm sitting here for a couple more of these shots. 'Cause those shots were top tier, Omi, and so it was the bartender guy, but let's not talk about that." Sakusa had felt the urge to roll his eyes. "Then everything's over, Imma head to the place we all staying for the night. Train for Osaka being there tomorrow, y'know. It's past midnight, I want to snatch some sleep."

"I'm not following." Sakusa frowned.

"Just wait for it." So Atsumu kept going. "I'm in front of the facility. The reception's closed. That's fine, workers need to sleep too. No problem, I have the key card they given to each one of us."

"But you actually don't have the key card." Sakusa anticipated.

"I don't actually have the key card." Atsumu echoed Sakusa's words dramatically. "I forgot it, in my room. So, how do I enter the building?"

"I don't know, how do you enter the building?" Sakusa's knees were starting to slightly hurt from being in that position, but the interest in Atsumu's story had prevailed over the minor pain.

"I call the guys who are with me. Genius, right?" Atsumu bitterly laughed. "But I don't have their numbers. 'Cause I never asked them. Then I think: fine! I'll pay for a room hotel nearby! But I have one thousand yen in my pocket and my wallet and credit cards are in the f*cking room."

"So?"

"So, Omi Omi, I'm sleeping here tonight."

Insane. Atsumu was insane.

Kiyoomi stood up. "What? Are ya leaving?"

"Yeah. I'm leaving." He had said, turning his back to the guy.

"Okay, fine." Atsumu did sound disappointed. "A goodnight would have been nice to hear!"

Kiyoomi smiled, truly did smile behind his mask. "I'm leaving, but you're leaving with me, jackass. I've got a futon in my room, for emergencies."

Emergencies like Komori coming and visiting him unannounced just so he could go to Disney World, Kiyoomi thought.

"Ya want me over at yers for the night, Omi-kun? Ain't it inappropriate or somethin'?" Atsumu tried to joke around.

"If you don't get up in less than one second you are seriously gonna spend the night with those bananas." He had warned, and Atsumu had never stood up so fast.

When leading the way to his own dorm room, Sakusa tried to understand why he had offered Miya Atsumu a place to stay. He wasn't obligated by the law to give that man a shelter, nor he owed him any kind of favor. Sakusa could have just left him there, in that fruit section, letting Atsumu take responsibilities for his own forgetfulness and let him live the dream alongside those crazily yellow bananas. Could those have been genetically modified? Kiyoomi had to mentally take note and remember to ask that konbini about their food suppliers next time. Atsumu hadn't talked, all the way to Kiyoomi's dorms, not a single word had left his mouth. Kind of odd, strangely unusual. He had done nothing but following him, in deep silence. Any type of spoken approach abandoned before he could test its functionality. Sakusa gave him a quick look. Still silent, but he was... smiling. To be fair, he did seem a little bit fuzzy. Great, Sakusa had thought, he was bringing with himself a tipsy Miya Atsumu. "How much have you drunk?" He had asked as they were finally getting in the building.

"I told ya. A couple of shots." Atsumu was blabbering as he entertained himself looking around the entrance. "How many people live here, Omi? D'ya have a roommate? How does this work? Is it like those American movies? D'ya all party every night all night?"

Kiyoomi huffed. He was like a child on his first school trip. "No."

"No what? I made ya lots of questions."

"No. Just no."

"Fine." He could sense him rolling his eyes behind his back as they walked up the stairs. "So I'm assuming you never filled a bathtub with alcohol."

"I actually did once."

"What?" Atsumu asked in a high-pitched voice.

"Yeah, ethyl alcohol. I was cleaning it." Sakusa answered serious.

"Of course. Ethyl alcohol, why didn't I think about it." Atsumu muttered more to himself. "Who lives in front of ya?" He kept going with his detective Conan act.

"I don't know."

"You don't?"

"No."

"What if they're a murderer?"

"Then I would knock on their door and beg them to take your life away." He said atonal. Atsumu didn't even flinch. "Why wouldn't you do it yourself?"

"Blood grosses me out."

"Blood grosses you out." Atsumu echoed. "What about poison?"

"Are you making suggestions now?" Sakusa reached for his keys, starting to unlock the door.

"Just trying to have a conversation here." He shrugged his shoulders, nonchalantly.

"Come on. Get inside." He had cut Atsumu off, letting him come in his room first.

Kiyoomi had disgracefully found out how insufferable could it be to share such a little space with such a huge professional disturber of the public peace just like Atsumu happened to be. He was noisy, he was nosey, he always had a pointless question to make, and, worst of all, he had made a mess of his sink, traces of toothpaste on the mirror and the emergency toothbrush Kiyoomi had given to him irreversibly fallen down into the toilet. He could swear Atsumu had washed his body with the shampoo lotion when in the shower. Kiyoomi just knew. And when he, as the enviable and kind host he was, had lent Atsumu pants of his own (pants which he was planning to throw to the garbage anyway) to comfortably sleep with, his guest had said: "No, thanks." And, with no respect for the universal sleeping guidelines which stated that it was important and fundamental to rest in comfortable clothes, he had slipped inside the futon with his suite still on. Sakusa couldn't help but stare in profound shock.

Kiyoomi, on the other hand, with his beloved pyjama on, got in his bed, pulling his covers up, trying to ignore the presence of another professional living inhalator inside his room. One night, just one night, and Atsumu would have been gone. Kiyoomi closed his eyes. He could make it.

But then, a sound got him.

"Miya." He had called for him, not able to hide his annoyed tone. "What are you doing with the futon?"

Atsumu had gotten out of it, now standing up and looking at his temporary bedroll. Then, he made his choice. "I'm moving the futon."

"Outside?" Sakusa let it slip ironically.

"Nope. Next to your bed."

"What?"

And he did it, just like that. Moving the futon right next to Kiyoomi's bed. As his head was still on his pillow, Sakusa stared at him getting himself in a lying position as well. He thanked the interior designers of those college dorms his bed was a raised one.

"I can't hear ya breathing from that far." Atsumu stated.

"And that would be a problem because?"

"I like knowing I'm not alone in the room even when my eyes are closed. I don't like sleeping alone." He confessed to a very much puzzled Kiyoomi.

"Don't you... live by yourself now? Now that you live in Osaka? Alone?"

"Yeah, but that's different y'know."

"No, I actually don't."

"Walls are thin. I can hear Bokuto."

"Bokuto? As in Bokuto Koutaro?" Sakusa asked, absently eyeing the ceiling.

"That guy. He got the apartment near mine. We're on the same team. You should know. I saw ya did yer research. When we got in and ya disappeared inside the bathroom yer computer was still on. I just had to move the mouse and the screen lit up. Trying to get yer head wrapped around which team to join?" Atsumu had then said.

Atsumu was a snooper, a real one.

"I got many offers." Kiyoomi casually let it out.

"I bet ya did. Ya were insane on the court today." Honest, Atsumu did sound honest. Sincere words of appreciation and no mockery on sight. Was Atsumu a significantly mature person now?

"Did you watch the game?" Kiyoomi didn't mind asking.

"Of course. Told ya I was there with the staff. That crazy receive on that giant and beefy spiker from the other team, end of the second set? Just, wow. Ya were good back in high school, but ya got more solid now. That sh*t was fire."

"I didn't quite recall you being a pleaser." Sakusa bluntly pointed out.

"What? I'm not being a pleaser. It's me stating facts and recognising growth." Atsumu defended himself. "I have a particular eye for talent when I see it. And I did that a lot too back in high school. Wasn't I the one acknowledging Kageyama Tobio's potential at the time?"

Youth Training Camp. Sakusa wouldn't have said Atsumu had acknowledged Kageyama's potential. Bugging into his head, obviously challenging him as a setter, trying to scare him with his dumb and idiotic opinions. That sounded more truthful.

"You didn't do sh*t, Miya."

"Omi, ya straight up lying!" Atsumu complained. "Anyway." He recovered quickly then. "Who got ya?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are ya gonna choose?" He was showing suspicious interest.

"Does it matter to you?"

"I was just asking." He heard him moving to one of his side. Sakusa, still staring at ceiling, could feel Atsumu's eyes right on him. However, he didn't dare to return his look.

"I don't know." Kiyoomi breathed out. "They're all kinda great. It's not that easy."

"So y're being spoilt for choice." He commented.

"You could say so." Sakusa sighed. It was crucial for him to choose a team, a good one, the right one. A great team which could help him grow, a team in which he could get to try and let himself being seen, being visible. He did want a strong team, he did need a fair competition, a good environment. But he had to play, he needed to become a regular, he could just not sit on a bench, not after four years of endless waiting, while all of his rivals had already made it. He wanted a team with the guts to bet on him. Right away. He wanted a chance to shine. He desperately needed a chance to shine.

"Come and join us." Atsumu interrupted his stream of consciousness all of a sudden.

"Join you?" He echoed his words.

"Yeah, us. The Black Jackals."

Sakusa's mind immediately thought about the two MSBY's managers who had approached him among many others after the match. Joining them. A very well known association, an organised company. It was obvious they had cathed his attention. Atsumu took advantage of his silence to go on with his speech: "We're a good team. The boys are all incredible, I guarantee. And it's not like we're oldies or somethin'. We're more like a growing animal. We're just now searching for our own pace. I don't think we reached our final form, yet, we got this crazy energy and it just clicks right." Sakusa was listening carefully to his words. "Shouyou-kun will join us for the upcoming season."

"Shouyou?" Kiyoomi repeated trying to match that name with a face.

"Hinata Shouyou. D'ya remember Karasuno right? Kageyama's past team."

"Oh, right. Hinata. From high school." Kiyoomi had met him at least twice. A short elf with orange hair and full of energy.

"Exactly him. He's coming back from Brazil. He told Bokuto he was there to improve basics through beach volleyball and merging with a huge shark in order to grow taller." Atsumu stopped midsentence. "But I do think the shark part's kind of a bullsh*t."

"You think so. How perceptive." Kiyoomi held back a laugh.

"However." Atsumu had decided to ignore him. "He was great when we were high schoolers. He's a banger addition to the MSBY's dynamic and the sports club really is thinking about snatching the Adlers' primacy and leadership."

"That's great for you. But, why are you telling this to me?" Kiyoomi asked.

"I think ya might be of help, Omi-kun. I've seen ya play tonight. You gotta be there, with me, with us, of course. Dear gods the things we could do together. It's just... yer overflowing power and yer defence skills. Man, we could seriously win this year, no more second place. We could steal the title from the Adlers. Just think about it."

Stealing the title away from the Adlers. Man, Kiyoomi did want revenge on the Adlers and Ushijima himself. But joining the Black Jackals?

"Is it a set up?"

"What?" Atsumu's voiced betrayed confusion. "A set what?"

"I mean." Kiyoomi cleared it for him. "Is this a plan? One of those talent scouts plan? You claiming you don't have a place to stay, accidentally bumping into me of all people, sneaking all the way into my room and then trying convincing me to join your team. Is this a set up?"

Sakusa couldn't see it, but Atsumu was aggressively blinking.

"Wouldn't it be a bit overboard, Omi-kun?"

"It's not like your exaggerated and almost caricatural personality wouldn't be down with that." Sakusa considered.

"Yeah, I guess y'er not wrong." Miya did agree. "But this ain't the case. I really just lost my key card."

"Yeah." Kiyoomi tiredly sighed. "I figured."

"But I'm being serious here. Think about it." Atsumu clarified.

"How is it going for you, anyway?" Sakusa asked, eager to move the attention away from himself. "How long has it been for you there? Three years already?"

"Four, almost." Atsumu corrected him. "Four long years far from home." He had said with a certain nostalgia Sakusa could not simply miss.

"Are you complaining? You don't like it there? They treat you like a superstar or something." Kiyoomi had muttered not too subtle for Atsumu to not hear his words.

"Are ya jealous? Would ya appreciate the same treatment as mine?" Atsumu smugly said back.

"Not at all." He wasn't jealous of Atsumu, he just wondered why him and the people, as a society, were being forced to constantly stare at Atsumu's image that much. It bothered him, and the people, but especially him, mostly. However, he did not articulate those thoughts out loud, not at the time. "That's not what I meant."

"Yeah, sure. You can have the superstar treatment if ya join us anyway, we can share. I think y're good looking enough."

Sakusa held back the umpteenth sigh of the night.

"I like it there, in Osaka, by the way." Atsumu broke their shared silence. "Then team is cool, the guys are fine, we do get along well and I got myself a pretty busy social schedule, y'know."

"Yeah, people talk." Kiyoomi told him.

"People? Do ya mean the press?" He could perceive Atsumu trying not to laugh. "Please, those losers always say the weirdest sh*ts about me. Like, they keep saying I date every famous chick I've ever talked to."

"You don't?" Sakusa hated how surprised and involved he had sounded regarding that particular topic.

"D'ya think I do?" Atsumu did seem offended now.

"Yes? I mean, no." Kiyoomi replied by instinct. "No, but-"

"But what?"

"I saw pictures."

"Pictures?"

"Yeah, I do recollect one. Actually. It just appeared on my screen, it's not like I enjoy reading about you. You were kissing a girl." Sakusa did remember way too well for his own liking. "Passionately, even."

Atsumu openly laughed this time.

"I still can't believe people bought that crap."

"Crap?"

"It was staged, Omi. She really is a friend of mine, but these guys were basically stalking us 'cause she's some popular actress and y'know, I enjoy the spotlights."

"So it was a joke." Kiyoomi realized.

"Bingo."

And Sakusa had let himself get fooled. He did feel kind of stupid.

"But you can't say you haven't dated people at all." He wanted to point out.

"Of course I date people. But it's not like, I mean, it's not like I have a thing for fooling around or somethin'."

"That's your own business, anyway. The media should stick their nose out of it." And Sakusa meant it, but why did he feel so relieved?

"That's my own business, yes." Atsumu agreed. "Anyway, just like I said, Osaka is cool, and people are kinda great too, and I'm never actually alone. Jeez, I told ya Bokuto lives basically with me, right? Walls thin and all that stuff?" He got back with his talk. "He never stays still. I hear every single thing he does. From shouting when he's on the phone to sing in the freaking shower. He likes opera, who would have thought he was an opera kind of guy? Unreal. And ya know when he just turns into pure noise? When his fiancé visits him."

"Bokuto has a fiancé?" Sakusa asked amazed.

"Yeah, that Akaashi guy. The f*ckurodani setter. D'ya remember? From High School?"

Of course he did, Itachiyama had played plenty of games against f*ckurodani. "That one. And I swear to God, he always calls for him, out loud. I don't even know why, he must like his name a lot. But the worst comes when I can't here Bokuto anymore." Atsumu had said, whispering, as if it was the plot of an horror movie the story he was telling.

"Why? Why is it bad not hearing Bokuto?" Sakusa wasn't quite sure if he wanted to know or not.

"'Cause I can hear Akaashi."

Sakusa's mind stopped processing for a moment. Then the dots were suddenly connected. "That's disgusting." His face constrained into a deeply repulsed expression. Atsumu, next to him, had hit his own face with his pillow. "That's terrifying, every time it happens my brain can't stop picturing those two together, it's a nightmare." Kiyoomi had heard him say, sincere despair flowing through every word. "So, yeah. It's very lively there. Still." And he paused. "Sometimes... sometimes it does feel like... no, it's stupid. Forget about it."

"What?" Kiyoomi had found himself interested. "What is stupid?"

"For real, that's just... I'm a grown ass man, that's just stupid."

"So?"

Atsumu took a deep breath. "I get homesick, sometimes. More than... some times. I miss home. That's it."

"You miss home?"

"Yeah, I mean. I miss it. Like I said, I'm never alone, but it feels kinda lonely at times. It's like... different. Too much, it does feel overwhelming, occasionally." Atsumu confessed. A pure transparency transpiring from him which Sakusa had never been able to witness before. "Don't ya? I mean, haven't ya? Four years of college stuck in this room? Don't ya ever miss home?"

And in that deep and dark night, Sakusa had replied with something which would have been fertile soil for any therapist in town: "No."

"No?" Atsumu's tone was obviously surprised. "Like... never? Not even once?"

"I didn't spend much time at my house, growing up. I was always at Komori's, and it's not like I can consider that my home. I think." He had admitted with a certain hint of uncertainty.

"Why not?"

"I mean, when it's home, that's your home, right? So, you do things that you can do when you're home. How should I put this into words, it's... yeah, I got it: the dishes."

"Dishes?"

"They never let me do the dishes. After every meal, my aunt didn't want me to do dishes. That's a thing you do, though. When it's your home. I... I love them, but it never felt like that was my home. It's..." God, Sakusa hated explaining himself.

"The dishes. So, home, for ya, correct me if I got this wrong, is being able to do the dishes."

"No. I mean, yes. No. Kind of." See? He hated it. "What is home, then? What do you mean by home? What do you mean when you say home?"

"Y'know, Omi, it's not like home is those four walls within my house or my finger pointing letters forming the word Hyogo on a map or somethin'. It's more like, a feeling I guess. Yeah, we could say so. Home is... my brother screaming. 'Cause he's like that, he screams, 'cause he's always mad at me, for some reasons. I think he's a piece of sh*t, by the way. Then, my mom, always screaming, 'cause she thinks we're both pieces of sh*t, by the way."

"So there's a lot of screaming." Kiyoomi noted.

"Yeah." Atsumu giggled. "Yeah. And my dad, looking for the remote. There was one time, when he couldn't find it and we found out it got stuck in the toilet. They all blamed me. Insane, I'm telling ya."

"Was it you?"

"I had read online the kind of batteries the remote had in were gonna explode if touching radioactive water, okay?"

"Radioactive water?" Kiyoomi not so subtly judged him.

"'Samu used that toilet! Of course water had to be radioactive!" Atsumu still seemed convinced.

"Are you aware of the level of stupid energy you give off?"

"Ain't it charming, though?" And when Sakusa did remain silent, Atsumu thought it was a sign for him to keep talking: "Anyway, home. This is home. Home's also those old pals of mine and me, in the courtyard playing volleyball. And then they always ditched 'cause they were weak as sh*t and they did prefer Kita-san's grandma's rice cakes more than my perfect sets, but I mean, those rice cakes did totally slay the competition. So I may or not may ended up following them to get myself one of those. And then the smell of the neighbour's dog sh*t near the dumpster when mom sent me to take out the trash, as disgusting as it sounds, but I swear to God I can still nose it in my sleep sometimes." Atsumu shivered because of his own words. "This is home. It's like this place in my mind that can never change, somewhere which is always gonna include me. Yeah, that's it. It's a lot like somewhere safe. And belonging. A sense of belonging. A picture I'll always be part of, no one can cut me out of it. No matter how big the scissors are or if they wanna burn it or rip it apart. I'm home, when I'm in Hyogo, and I'm with my people and I just know I'm their people too. Don't get me wrong: I would never go back, I'd never drop it here and go back in time to live my teenage years again or some romantic sh*t like that. I'm happy where I am and this is what I wanted to do and this is what I wanna do every day, damn. I'm living the dream. Memories are just memories, I know this better than anyone else, that was literally my team's motto and I still stand by that, hell yeah. And I know this sounds lame. I'm a functional adult, I earn money, I pay the bills, but... I can't help, I miss it."

"And I hate it. I hate that f*cking garbage of 'Samu for dropping out. I hate everything we could have been together. Can ya imagine that? We were such a bomb duo back then. And this! The glory, the notoriety, it would have tasted so different. I hate it, sh*t. I hate him. He has his onigiri store now and I'm so disgustingly happy for him and I happen to forget that he doesn't play with me anymore when on court, I love it on court 'cause, seriously, it feels so good, but at the end of the day, I miss him. I miss it. I miss home, I miss Hyogo, I miss my old friends, I miss freaking Alan. I hate it. I feel so desperately lonely. I hate him. I hate my stupid brother." He had talked, with such a heartfelt and authentic and brutal honesty Sakusa had never traced in him, not even once, before that singular night.

"You don't hate your brother." Kiyoomi had said, his voice so calm it could have easily passed as nothing more than an unheard whisper.

"Yeah, I don't hate my brother. That's why I'll never be able to forgive him." Then a heavy silence fell on him. "Sorry." The word which followed.

"About what?" Sakusa had replied.

"Sorry. I'm sorry for venting. If it bothered ya or somethin'."

"It didn't." And Kiyoomi meant it. It did not bother him at all. Just one thing. One thing which had kept bugging into his head, violently forcing him to focus on that one thing he had never had enough strength or spirit nor will to understand. At every line, at every word Atsumu had let slip, Sakusa couldn't help but think. That one question he had always wanted to ask. That one question which had always followed him through every stage of his still ongoing life.

"I should sleep, anyway. If I wanna catch the train tomorrow."

"Miya." Kiyoomi had stopped him before the other one could close his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"What if someone doesn't have it."

"Have what?"

Kiyoomi held his breath, something strangely stinging inside his chest. "A home." Then he cleared for him. "What if someone doesn't have a home."

He heard him. Sakusa couldn't see Atsumu looking at him in that pitched black room, no light in sight. He couldn't see Atsumu, if not trying to trace his figure below, right next to him. His figure now surrounded and completely swallowed up by shadows. But he could feel him, his eyes, again, staring at him, trying to look for his face covered in the dark as well. Kiyoomi's heart was curiously pounding, so quickly he hoped the other guy couldn't hear it. Then Atsumu had moved his gaze away from him.

"They can build it." He had said quietly. "They can build a home."

"Goodnight." Sakusa had instantly replied, turning to his preferred sleeping side.

"Night, Omi-kun."

To build a home.

Too bad Sakusa wasn't graduating in architecture.

"If people see me leaving yer room now they'd think we slept together, ain't 'em?"

That had been how the real Miya Atsumu had returned, waving him goodbye as he was opening the door, ready to get that train to Osaka which would have let him reunite with his team. "They'd think I went insane for letting someone who's not my boyfriend get in here. That's what they would think." Sakusa had replied, kind of missing the way more bearable Atsumu version of the night that had just passed.

"You got a boyfriend?" Atsumu asked, voice coming out in a more high pitched tone than he would have admitted.

"Not anymore." Sakusa had casually cleared his doubts, and Atsumu had awkwardly and strangely laughed.

And in a blink of an eye, it had been over. University, the whole life changing experience which hadn't change anything at all. In a blink of an eye, Kiyoomi had found himself at his very own start line. After years, and years, of painful waiting, he just had to choose. Applauses from his parents, sincere happiness on his cousin's face. Some of his old high school mates had reached to him, congratulating him about his extraordinary strong will and his studies. Sakusa had said many goodbyes, to those surely friendly people he had met in college, knowing he would have never seen them again. And he was okay with it. He said goodbye to his college coach, his college team. They had all cheered for him when news were spreading around about him being enthusiastically scouted. He had thanked them, from the bottom of his heart, swearing he was never going to forget the victories they had shared.

Sakusa had thought, deeply and significantly thought, about every possible outcome. He had analysed every single turn up, every kind of implication. He did think, about those words and those half promises Miya Atsumu had had for him that night. Joining the MSBYs, crashing the competition, being the big surprise of the tournament, winning the title. Hinata Shouyou had gone past tryouts, Kiyoomi had heard. He actually was about to be a phenomenal addition to the team. Kiyoomi wondered if it would have worked. If all of them would have worked. If him, of all people, would have worked and made it in the professional world. He was packing again, with his backpack on his shoulder again, leaving again. He was moving, he was still moving, headed nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

What if I fail? What if I'm not cut out for this? What if this is too hard? What if I disappoint people, but what if I disappoint myself? What if I find out that everything I worked so hard for, everything I sweared I loved, isn't what I really want? What if I lose? What if it all backfires and at the end of the day I hold nothing in my hands? What if my efforts are going in vain? What if I do hate it?

"Isn't it going to be fun?" Komori had told him through the phone. "We're gonna play against each other! I'm totally gonna win!"

"Clearly, you are not." Sakusa had said, trying to get his suitcase on board of the train.

"Are we gonna see each other, though?" His cousin had asked with the excitation of a kindergarten. "Before the championship starts and all that stuff? I wanna visit the castle! Must be dope!"

"Why you're always the one who gets to travel? Why can't I visit you in Hiroshima?" Kiyoomi's phone was almost falling from the little space between his ear and his shoulder.

"Kiyo, point is: your places are always cooler than mine. And I don't live by myself, I have a parasite living with me as my roommate, don't you remember that?"

Sakusa sweared he had heard a deeply offended hey in Suna Rintaro's voice.

"Why do you share the place with the guy if you think so low of him?" Kiyoomi could not understand.

"Rent, bills, I never learned how to cook. He had never learnt how to cook either but two negatives make a positive and stuff."

"Really?"

"No, we go for takeaways every single night."

"I gotta go." Sakusa had cut it once he had succeeded into reaching his designated sit. "You know phones aren't always working on here."

"Yeah, have a safe trip, Kiyo. I can't believe you made it. See you on the other side!"

Kiyoomi did smile, his mask hiding that for him.

His choice, his final choice, had been only rational. The natural path he had to follow. The castle was cool, the team seemed strong, Osaka looked great.

MSBYs, the Black Jackals.

The origin of it all.

Chapter 2: Watering

Chapter Text

AIRING

It was all new.

Sakusa Kiyoomi had turned into a news himself.

He had googled his own name once, before leaving Tokyo, right after accepting the unbelievably fruitful Black Jackals' offer. A picture of him during one of his college games, lots of pictures of him during his college days, his full name showing up marked as the most useful result of research, online volleyball headlines energetically reading out how a great team was about to become even greater after having Sakusa signed up with it.

Forums of enthusiasts publishing his current statistics, analysing them, discussing them with such a genuine passion and interest, Kiyoomi found himself scrolling and reading until he had reached the bottom line which was summing him up as an incredibly gifted player who could have easily bloomed in the right and stimulating enough environment. And another comment, from an extremely brand new user, a kind of dull and bland one, which, unfortunately, had caught his attention: "He seems no fun at all, how is he gonna fit in the Jackals' locker room?" The user's useless opinion had then been removed from the website as non pertinent. But the forum's policy surely hadn't been able to take it down and erase it from Kiyoomi's mind. Was he really no fun at all?

Must have been the moles, those two moles on his forehead. He always thought those made him look absurdly serious. Of course, it must have been the moles. Still, he had decided to scroll down and simply not to think about it, as his eyes were lively moving from one long winded article to another. He had left Tokyo, a few hours later. The train he was on, leading him to Osaka, his new place to stay. As soon as he had detrained, his, again, keyword new, manager had reached him, at the very end of the rails, offering Kiyoomi his help with the seemingly seriously heavy luggage and that insanely stuffed and inseparable backpack of his. Kiyoomi had kindly refused.

Medical examinations, psycho-aptitude tests, the MSBY's staff was even taking the measurements of his body as if they were going to build from scratch an entire coffin around him. Obviously, that was not the case, the sports club just wanted to get him the most perfectly fitting uniform he could had ever asked for. They all had a talk, sitting on the fanciest leather couches Sakusa had ever had the privilege to lean on his whole life. Lot of talking had been made: about him as a player, his goals, how he did think he could have improved the already flourishing group of professionals the club had recruited, how he was going to cooperate in order to get his new team to the top of the nation. Then, their conversation had proceeded covering the most trivial topics, yet the most practical ones: his annually income, the ways he was going to perceive his salary, how the bonuses distribution after winning particular games was going to work, the statements he was free to make in interviews with the press and the statements he was significantly discouraged to.

The MSBY's vice chairman had handed him a folder. An amount of papers which could have led Kiyoomi into deep and profound exasperation if his manager and his lawyer hadn't been there to get a grip on it. Silence, an awkward one, courtesy smiles, lots of fidgeting. Then, the sonorous sound of a way too filled file being closed on the desk. Kiyoomi looked at the men who were helping him that day. A thumb up. A satisfied thumb up from his manager. That was all it took for Sakusa to stand up from that luxurious seat and do what he had learnt grown ups always did: shake hands. After the handshake he had waited. Waited along the aisles of the building which was witnessing his rise as a professional player. He could not help but feel thrilled. A sincer smile creeping into his face, his left leg now incessantly bouncing, not for the hateful pressure due to an academic evaluation, but, finally, for an exciting and thrilling reason.

Someone from the staff had called him, after everything being done and ready. Sakusa had noticed camera lenses of reporters, as soon as he got in the room in which he was about to fulfill his primary purpose and long craved dream. He had politely bowed, greeting all those people in suits from the administration he was sure he was never going to see again. The club president gleefully looked at him, inviting him with a nod to join him and stand with him behind the desk which had been prepared for the occasion. There were too many people, Sakusa found himself thinking.

Too many people in an almost suffocating small room. Uncomfortable. But he wasn't allowed to think nor linger on that particular feeling, because thunderous applauses were crushing him and suppressing the stream of consciousness which would have taken place otherwise. Reaching the pompous man behind the desk, Kiyoomi noticed a couple of things: a contract, his contract, the one he was supposed to legitimate with his own signature; a pen, a black inked pen, of course there was a pen; and a shirt, his shirt, with his name and his chosen number printed on the back of it: Sakusa, 15. He stared at that shirt, his skin already tingling in joy and fulfilment at the mere idea of putting it on, feeling the usually rough texture typical of sports cloths.

"A look for the cameras, son." The old chairperson had told him with care and solemnity flowing out of his voice, after Kiyoomi had reached for the pen on the side of the contract. Lights, flashing lights had blinded him completely. Put up a smile! He had heard someone say. Look this way, Sakusa! One of the photographers had casually screamed. He had blinked, once or twice, trying to regain the sight he thought he had lost because of the white and intense brightness. He awkwardly curved up the angles of his lips, too many eyes on him, between camera lenses and actual human beings. He had tried to please their requests as much as he could, the voices, of the people in what it was nothing but a small and limited crowd, adding up together with one another, causing probably the most insufferable acoustic chaos Kiyoomi had ever experienced.

He felt the pen, still trapped between his fingers. He looked down at the paper on the table. Blank, he just had to fill that single blank space with his name, nothing more, nothing less. Once he had done it, all that unbearable noise, that violent assault on the senses, the blasting sensation of realizing that he could not even escape, everything, everything would have disappeared, just like that. And calm, and tranquillity, and peace, would have come again.

"You can sign." Another flash, meanwhile Kiyoomi was carefully following the man's directive. He breathed in, as his hand was tracing with ink the letters forming his own name. "Just shake my hand now, and give another look to the cameras. It's for the newspapers." And he did it, not even questioning the guidelines. The firm handshake didn't last long. A few seconds, maybe, the time for the photographers to come up with decent shots. "Welcome to the Black Jackals, Sakusa-kun." The president had told him with a light hint of paternal affection. "Make yourself at home."

In a matter of mere minutes, all those strangers were starting to slowly flow out of the way too crowded room. "Thank you, Sir." Sakusa had replied, as the other's grip on his hand was finally slackening. And it was over. The agony of those incessant and insistent sounds, the excruciating feeling of being hanged on a gallows platform, all those faces he could hardly focus on, his martyrized senses due to all those stimulus. Over, it was all over.

"Wait for me outside. I've got to discuss a few little details regarding the agreement with their business department and we're done for good. Congratulations, Kiyoomi. I'm sure you're going to create an incredible and long satisfying career for yourself." His manager had told him, his eyes glimmering with such a gentle and selfless happiness. Sakusa nodded, deeply grateful for his words and his work and he had thanked him, even if he felt eager to finally get out of that asphyxiating cubicle where the signature ceremony had taken place in.

He had gone past the door, at last, walking long the whole now deserted aisle, looking for something similar to a seat or a bench where he could have leant on, and where he could have rested, trying to calm himself down, avoiding that disturbing feeling of an increasing agitation underneath his skin. Too loud, at some point, in there, everything had seemed too loud. There was silence, surrounding him in an intensely comforting manner. A continuous hissle, the dull sound of the absolute nothing, bothering his ears now that all around him was immersed into a serene and idyllic quiet. A bench, his eyes had spotted a bench, a wonderful bench at the end of that irritatingly infinite hallway.

Kiyoomi let his body fall on it, leaving his self composure and his usual orderliness completely aside. He had closed his eyes, hoping to not see the haunting shadows of those flashlights behind them, hidden behind their obscurity. His fingers had reached his pulsating temples in order to massage them and get a minimum sense of relief out of it, the beginning of a smashing headache unfortunately creeping in. It was too much. Even if he had mentally prepared himself, even if he was a grown adult now, even if he had learnt how to handle all those negative sensations which sometimes still found their way in, in spite of it all, at some point, it had felt like it was too much. The weight of all those stressing solicitations had become too heavy for Sakusa to simply endure and not feeling them at their full potential. But he had made it.

That had been his first thought after his heart had stopped pounding so much to the point he had considered his ribcage was going to suffer because of it, after his breath had started to slow down considerably, after his legs had stopped shaking and his arms had quit all that fastidious trembling. He breathed in. Kiyoomi made it, he had put his name on that contract, he had a team now. After years of waiting, years of painful anticipation, he was part of a club. He had signed for it and his time was about to come, his career about to be born, arising from his nourished efforts and his hard-earned sacrifice.

Unreal, it didn't matter how comfortable he was hiding himself behind his detached persona, it felt unreal, affecting, exciting. He breathed out. Trying to forget the unfathomable anxiety the whole contract signing experience had given him, he told himself to focus on what was actually vital, crucial, ultimately important: he was a professional volleyball player now. That was his job, his vocation, his true reality. He was quivering still, alone, sitting on that bench, his hands grasping his own head, but he had made it, he had made it into the V-League.

"Omi?" Sakusa had heard, in a questioning tone. He had let his gaze wander, looking for the origin of that sound, his hands still firmly holding his own head as if they were afraid his brain could just melt and stupidly slip away from his eardrums. Then his eyes did set themselves on the one person who had talked, tearing Sakusa away from his own mind. "Is it really you, Omi?" Kiyoomi had absently stared, until his cognitive processes had suddenly clicked.

"Miya?" He had simply articulated, his voice coming out weaker than he had wanted it to. "What are you doing here?" He had asked, automatically, even if Kiyoomi himself was probably the more stranger of the two inside that building. He was dressed casual, Kiyoomi noticed. He had never seen him wearing something far from the spectrum of a tracksuit, a volleyball uniform or, directly from his fresher memories, a fancy suit. "A meeting, I'm here for a meeting with a modelling company who requested my precious services and sh*t like that. The boring usual for such a handsome guy like me, y'know." Atsumu had said, always so vibrant and vivacious, he usually let Sakusa speechless, wondering how could he be the same old annoying Atsumu he had first met in high school and a visibly grownup at the same time.

A modelling deal. Kiyoomi judged that it actually made sense. He just nodded at his explanation, his body and mind still feeling excessively drained to come up with a nice and witty comeback to Atsumu's answer. So tired, he did feel so tired. "Is everything alright, man? Ya do feel okay?" Atsumu had frowned, peculiarly even.

"Yeah." Kiyoomi had murmured, his fingers back at trying to drive out his headache by rubbing his own temples with his fingers. "I'm fine." By Atsumu's look, he was finding it odd. It had been the way Kiyoomi hadn't tried to verbally show how much of a narcissistic bummer he thought Atsumu was, maybe. Or the way he hadn't sent him, not even a single one, that ordinary snarky glare which Sakusa always reserved him every time they had ended up meeting each other. Strange, that had been totally strange. "You ain't looking fine, though."

Sakusa didn't even hear him speak. He closed his eyes, again, trying to focus on the human sound of his heart beating inside his chest. Wishing for his head to stop hurting that much. He couldn't wait to get out of there. Out of that administration office's building. He couldn't wait to see his manager coming out of one of those hundreds mirror like rooms, telling him it was all done and completed and letting him go back to the minuscule apartment he had been able to afford near the MSBY's sports center and unpack, finally unpack with the certainty of not having to leave again. Not anytime soon, at least. "Omi, what's up with you?"

He hadn't seen him. Kiyoomi hadn't seen him, not even perceived him. He hadn't noticed Atsumu walking in order to get closer to him. He hadn't heard him asking him again if he did feel okay, he hadn't even cared to see how he was basically kneeling right in front of him, trying to get a glimpse of him and discern the tense expression which was currently taking Kiyoomi's face hostage. Atsumu, on the floor, on his haunches, was staring at him, a slight concern betraying his eyes.

A hand on his knee. Slowly, Atsumu's hand had decided to rest on Kiyoomi's knee, careful, unsure, hesitant, ready to disappear from where it was at any Kiyoomi's given or even mild hypothetical sign of discomfort. Touch, touch had been the only thing Atsumu had been able to think of in order to get the younger's attention. And that had surprisingly worked. Kiyoomi's eyes were now leaning on and tracing the veins of Atsumu's hand resting on his knee. The skin, beneath the humble suit he was wearing, tingling a bit at the new sensation. It didn't bother him, it was not irritating and it didn't feel hideous at all. So, Sakusa had let him. He had let Atsumu rest his hand on his knee, his grip now consistently firmer.

"Y're sure y're okay, Omi-kun?" It felt gentle, and sweet, and tender. A sincer and honest worry in his voice which had only made Kiyoomi feel small. Small, defenseless, vulnerable. Such a heartfelt interest he hadn't gotten from anyone in a long time. Sakusa looked away from Atsumu's hand as he had realized his eyes were lingering way too much on it. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I signed. I just signed the contract, shaked hands with the president, the reporters and all. There were too many people, too many people talking, and all those camera flashes on me, I don't know, I get overwhelmed easily, I guess." Kiyoomi had confided in him so naturally, it felt kind of scary.

"Really?" Atsumu had asked, still crouching down, still a strong and reassuring grip on Kiyoomi's knee. "But ya did play plenty of games with people and photographers and all the attentions on you, didn't ya?" It did seem as if he genuinely wanted to understand.

"It's different. The court, the bleachers, it's wide broad, it doesn't feel as if everything is collapsing on me. And I actually don't think about it that much, not when I play. So, it doesn't feel stifling, not at all." Kiyoomi explained, the rhythm of his heartbeat slowing down the more he talked. "But I'm fine now, for real."

"Those people trying to get a picture of you, a statement at all costs and somethin' like that upset ya?" Atsumu was searching for Kiyoomi's eyes, Kiyoomi who happened to let his eyes be found at some point. They were looking at each other. Their gazes had never intertwined before. Those were nice, Atsumu's eyes. They were less darker than his own, Atsumu's eyes felt a lot like light. They seemed bright and less cryptic, lively and calming at once. Sakusa almost thought of them as windows, weirdly oval windows, radiating and reflecting the afterglow of something unknown which had its origin somewhere deep along the lines of the man's soul. He had never paid attention enough to admire the complexity of those shades before. A pity.

"Yeah, I think the unease came from their insistence too. That's it."

Atsumu had looked at him one last time, patted his knee and then got himself standing again. Kiyoomi's eyes followed him moving. "Well, if that bothers ya that much, it's not gonna happen again. I assure ya." He had said with absurd confidence. "And now that ya signed, it's over." Then he gave a look at the watch on his wrist before he could add: "Welcome to the team, Omi-kun. Can't wait to see ya at practice next week."

"You're different." Kiyoomi had said before even realizing it. He had voiced out loud what was torturing the stability of the idea of Atsumu he had built over the years. He seemed different, under the cold neon lights illuminating the hallway.

"What? Y're serious?" His fingers running through his own hair. "I got an undercut. Did ya notice? The guys in the team didn't. Still can't believe that."

"The undercut? No, it's not the undercut." Sakusa clarified, even if his brain had clearly noticed that too. "You're different, not your appearance, it's you. You're different. It's weird."

"Am I?" Atsumu rhetorically asked. "Or is it that yer eyes are looking at me differently?"

"What are you even saying?" Sakusa said suddenly defensive. Atsumu laughed at his reaction, then he continued: "I don't know, maybe I matured." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, even if that's hard to believe." Kiyoomi muttered.

"Hey! I can hear ya!"

"I know."

Looking at him differently? How could he?

"Anyway, gotta go now. See ya, Omi!"

"I always tell you: don't call me that." Sakusa told him.

"But you never mean it." Atsumu chanted amused, and he walked away and disappeared out of sight.

"Kiyoomi?" He heard someone call him. His manager showed up unprompted, walking to him. "It's alright. Again, congratulations. You're officially, full-fledged, a part of the team." And just like that, the sense of restlessness, the past agitation, the curious meeting he had had previously, everything seemed to fade away at the rich and intense joy which was overgrowing into him right now.

He was part of the team.

But, actually, he wasn't.

Or at least, it didn't feel quite like he was.

On the paper, yes, he was a fresh new player for the monstrous team so called MSBYs, but when he had to face the reality of it, he wasn't that sure. He could not lie: it had been hard. Difficult, he would have said. He had never been the type of guy who easily and naturally and spontaneously befriended someone, and even when he did, it tended to take time. Lots of it. It was not as if he couldn't understand human beings or as if he despised them for no reason, or as if he found particularly tough to get along with them. Simply, he had never felt the urge to surround himself with hundreds of people, not even ten people. His whole life had always worked with his two friends and a half. That half did include all those acquaintances he had the chance to get to know during the years. Sakusa had always been fine with that, feeling no need at all to go and search for new and sensational interpersonal relationships. And his approach and strategy to social life had seemed to work.

It worked, in high school, when Komori was beside him, always taking the initiative for both of them. It did work, in college, when he was attracting people like a magnet because of the whole athlete and valid student aura he was carrying with himself. It had always been okay, that had never left him bittersweet nor disappointed. But it wasn't working there, it wasn't working in the MSBYs. His very first day hadn't been bad, not bad at all. A morning training had been organized, their coach had personally reached to him through the phone. Foster was his name. They had talked, the timer almost hitting an hour. He cared to explain and illustrate every single thing about the team and their play to Sakusa, in advance, in order to let him adapt and adjust to the others' dynamic more quickly and with less doubts.

Kiyoomi had appreciated, he had truly appreciated his coach's effort put into welcoming him properly, helping him trying to prevent difficulties to come up. Coach Foster had given him a good impression, such a good impression he had almost thought that it would have been easy. Professional, Sakusa would have described him as the perfect picture and definition of professionalism. Proficiency had always been what he secretly craved the most when thinking about his life in a not amateur world. Being surrounded by dependable and determined personalities, serious about their job, passionate, but resolute enough to not let that fascinating fervency ignite itself leading to the destruction of the outcomes of their ardent dedication. But when he had stepped inside the MSBY's sports hall he knew his expectations were going to be resized and reshaped completely from the core.

A ball had almost hit him. Not even one foot inside the gymnasium, a ball had already tried to break his nose and send him to the hospital. He had intercepted it and blocked it, with more facility shown than truly experienced. An unknown man, the assistant coach he would have learnt later on, had apologized, complimenting Sakusa for his quick reflexes in the process. "Wait." He did hesitate after giving him a more attentive look. "You're Sakusa, right? You're our new addition, you're here for practice?"

Kiyoomi simply nodded, busy staring at what was happening behind the man's back. Mostly adult men, some older than others, noisily practising their serves before the actual practice start. He stared, interested even, as his ears were perceiving laughters, screams, giggles, questionable jokes in terms of basic morality cracked out loud as if no one could hear those, undetectable squealing sounds, total chaos. Kiyoomi was staring at allegedly grownups being the vocabulary formula for disarray. Every single one of them, for the behaviour they were putting on display, could have easily passed as nothing more than a way too energetic high schooler. At first glance, it didn't look like the oasis of maturity and competence Kiyoomi had so naively dreamt of. Not even his college team had looked so extremely haywire, not even his high school one. He blinked. Maybe he had stepped into the wrong gym?

"Atsumu-san! I don't think this is gonna work! My head kinda hurts!"

"It's 'cause of the blood! It's going straight to yer brain, Shouyou-kun."

"Is it gonna come out too? His blood? Should I cover my eyes? I don't like horror movies."

"No! No Bokkun, I swear! No blood, just the water. It's one hundred percent proofed. I always used to do this with 'Samu every time my ears got plugged after shower. It's safe!"

On there were laying Kiyoomi's eyes. On those three people who, in a brief span of seconds, had made him feel like he had jumped inside of a time machine, setting said machine on adolescence days my future self would never live again. Miya Atsumu was there, holding an upside down Hinata Shouyou by his ankles, shaking him as if trying to get fleas to come off a dog. And there he was Bokuto Koutaro, he remembered, looking at the two in manifest confusion.

All around them, their teammates, some of them laughing, some of them joking, some of them staring entertained as they walked by the comedy show those three had put on. It should have given him a sense of relief. Seeing faces he knew in a considerably new environment should have given Sakusa a comforting sense of relief. He knew those three, more or less. He knew some of those guys, so fitting in with the team should have been a much more accessible route.

Still, he had never actually fraternized with those people back in high school, not to the point he could entail himself with the privilege of mindlessly saying: it's going to be fine. As he stared at those three explosively energetic and spry boys, as if each of them had been made of pure and strong caffeine, he felt scared. Maybe that stupid later forcefully removed comment on that pretty interesting forum website hadn't been so stupid after all. Was Sakusa going to make it out alive? He felt terrified.

"Omi-kun?" A sonorous sound of something heavy hitting the floor had echoed through the whole gym when Atsumu had dropped, just like that, an innocent Hinata, letting the scalp of the latter noisily crash against the well refined parquet. "Good morning! Y're here!" He had said smiling, a surprise pervading his voice as if he had no clue Kiyoomi had been recently announced as part of the team.

"Tsum Tsum! You broke Hinata's head!" Bokuto had almost gasped.

"What?" Atsumu had turned around to check on his collapsed on the ground friend. "Shouyou, are ya alright?" Concern pouring out as he spoke.

Hinata wasn't responding. Was calling an ambulance due? Subsequently, all of a sudden, with an athletic gesture worthy of the most legendary parkour master, the weirdly orange haired guy had risen himself up. "It's out!" He had screamed, the entirety of the gymnasium's audience staring at him. "The water's out! Out of my ears! I'm never using the jet shower to clean them again!" Hinata had declared, proud of the conclusion he had come to. Then, his expression lit up as a more interesting prey entered his visual range. "Sakusa? Sakusa Kiyoomi? The Itachiyama's Sakusa Kiyoomi?"

"Sakusa? Oh my God, are you here to challenge me? We're finally going to settle who's the best between us! We're duelling for sure!" That choice of words had been Bokuto's lovely and warming welcome.

"Sakusa?" A man Kiyoomi hadn't noticed before had stepped in. "Our new player! It's so nice to finally meet you! My name's Shugo Meian and I'm the captain in charge of this team. We're extremely happy to have you here. Welcome to the Black Jackals." His reassuring tone was mature enough that it would have convinced Kiyoomi to think that things could have worked right from the start. "Guys, let's greet the newbie!" But after that, something made Kiyoomi realize that no, things weren't going to be fine right from the start, and yes, professionals did seem more like idiotic high schoolers stuck in the huge bodies of giants. A raspberry. The egregious and noble sound of someone faking a fart. The gym went painfully silent, then someone spoke.

"Adriah just farted in front of the new guy!"

"Inunaki, what the f*ck? That's not true! You just did that sound with your mouth! Did you see him, guys? Right? It wasn't me."

Kiyoomi had stared, simply stared, unable to react. Disconcerted by the above the lines interaction.

"I don't know, man. Ya could be lyin'. I heard ya had way too much cream on yer iced coffee this morning. Can't take a side." Atsumu had teased when it was crystal clear how things had gone previously.

"Okay, enough! Who thinks I farted? Raise your hand!" Professionals. Sakusa had to remind himself he was in the company of professionals. "And what do you think new guy? Did I fart?"

Too many pairs of eyes were looking at him, expecting an answer. Kiyoomi blinked, this wasn't happening.

"Let him be, for the gods' sake! You're scaring him!" Meian, the proclaimed captain, had scolded his reckless players. "Sakusa, you can go change, practice starts in five. I apologize for their behaviour. They're really nice guys, a little... all over the places, sometimes." He had added, now addressing his words to just Sakusa. "We're glad you're here, really." He had said, at last, trying to comfort Kiyoomi, noticing how his eyes were darkening in worry while observing the chaos generated by a childish raspberry. Meian had patted his back, gave him an encouraging smile, showed him the way to the locker room and then he had walked back to the team.

"Anyway, Adriah, you definitely did fart." Sakusa had heard him say as he approached the other guys again. First day, not so promising. He turned, one last time before finally go and get changed. He looked at them. He had no idea how to do this. And as he looked, he found Atsumu raising his head and looking at him back, at some point. "You'll be fine." Atsumu had mouthed, a grin following and then a foolish wink. Kiyoomi replied by simply staring, his concern already showing. "Trust me." He had mouthed again.

First practice actually did go fine. The ones which followed? Well, that had to be discussed. It was not like Kiyoomi was having issues adjusting with the MSBY's guys on court. Court had been probably the only safe space for him, where he could easily communicate and where even those guys spoke his same language. And it was fun, even nice, to be there and play with athletes whose value was inescapable and indisputable, athletes whose abilities were absolutely irrefutable and unquestionable.

They were amazing, and unexpectedly serious when it came to real practice and actual training. But when the clock stroke the end of it and all of them stormed in the locker room? A tragedy. A pure and devastating tragedy. The point was, Kiyoomi had kind of studied them, analysed their behaviour, their habits and the way they joked with each other, how they were used to talk to each other, who in team was closer to whom, who was the absolute favourite of everyone in there (who happened to be Hinata, only fair since his easygoing and bright personality could match literally anyone). By the simple activity of passively observing, Kiyoomi had even been able to understand how fragile Meian's confidence was in terms of authority. He didn't struggle to talk with his players or to get them to listen in ordinary situations, but as soon as divergences and disagreements shown up, it was hard for him to get those men, most of them in their late twenties, to behave.

Three days, for three days Inunaki and Adriah, who Sakusa had been introduced through the childish act those two had going on his first day, had fought, nonstop, affecting even their performance during practice. The reason for them arguing had been stupid, pretty stupid. Sakusa didn't even remember it, he just remembered that, at some point, Adriah had introduced to the locker room a goat, just to bother Inunaki, who, apparently, had developed a curious phobia related to specifically goats.

When Meian had tried to talk them out of their silly fight, he had failed, goat milk spilled on his face. The milk which Adriah had intended to pour on Inunaki's face had dramatically ended up on Meian's one. And, obviously, a man soaked in goat milk was not the best example regarding credibility and authority. After three days, those two's evil dispute had died down, extinguished itself with a level of speed equal to the enthusiasm and the violence Adriah and Inunaki had used to fight against each other. Poor Meian, Kiyoomi had found himself thinking. So, in conclusion, Sakusa had attentively looked at them, carefully comprehended the way their minds worked, the thing was: he had no idea how to interact with them outside of the court, because it didn't matter how he had got the theory, the actual practice of it seemed arduous. Simply, that wasn't him.

Surrounded by people who talked too much, screamed too much, sweared too much and disgustingly ate with their mouth open, that wasn't him. He could have tried acting exactly like them, but there was no point in pretending to be someone else. Not at age twenty two. He didn't feel uncomfortable, he didn't hold grudges on the team because he felt left out, it wasn't as if he couldn't stand them, on the contrary he kind of admired their boisterous energy. He did feel more like a guest. The guest star of a comedy series who lasts for five or ten episodes and then it's gone. Gone with the wind, as the regular characters and the audience quickly forget about them. The inside jokes and the familiarity the players seemed to share, and how Hinata, who had been part of the team four weeks only more than him, was easily assimilating and connecting with them.

Everything kept bugging into Kiyoomi's brain and he wouldn't have cared, he wouldn't have cared that much if that had been school or college or even else, but it was his job and he knew, unfortunately, how fundamental it was to relate and link in volleyball, how essential it was for the locker room to be close, cohesive and unified, to grow better as a team. Kiyoomi knew too well. If only Motoya had been there, his cousin would have been his shield and his stronger weapon in order to break the wall dividing him from the others, but Motoya wasn't there. Sakusa, desperate as he was, had even thought about Atsumu, for a very short moment. He had considered Atsumu to be his new Komori, in a moment of pure weakness.

Atsumu. Atsumu was the only one who actually did know him, as exhausting and disturbing and absurd as it did sound. The only one who knew how to talk to him (or the only one Kiyoomi had been now used to bear with), and the only one whom Kiyoomi knew how to talk to. Everyone else? Basic politeness fitting for the circ*mstances.

Mere good mornings, followed by occasional goodbyes, brief talks about tactics and that was it. They were nice, of course, and they were treating him surely with respect, they were adults, after all, but it did feel way too formal. Sakusa was feeling more like a passenger than a functioning and essential part of the team, and that, on the long run, could have affected their team play, and it wouldn't have been professional at all. He needed to fit in. Kiyoomi didn't even want to make friends out of it, he didn't need people to go and party with, he just needed to insert himself properly in his new work environment. He needed the Black Jackals to think of him as one of them. And that inner sense of need had Sakusa hesitating on Atsumu, starting to think of him as a possible gateway for his teammates' trust and fondness.

Help me, he just had to say, help me to find a way to get these guys to accept me as their equal. Kiyoomi had shivered, the mere thought of seeking help in Atsumu had felt terrifying and humiliating. He had ended up reconsidering. It was tiring, though, it was tiring being the new one and the most discreet and less assertive guy in a room full of socially gifted people. Kiyoomi wanted to be part of the team, he wanted the others to understand that he didn't dislike their presence and their company, he wanted the others to take him into consideration for their nights out, even if Kiyoomi himself didn't intend to take part of them. Kiyoomi wanted the MSBYs to get to know him without him having to act out of character in order to achieve it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sakusa had tried to wrap his head around a solution to his very own problem for what had seemed to be excruciatingly long weeks until it happened, thanks to the annoying man, the miracle.

"Hear me out. I had this batsh*t crazy meeting the other night, y'all can't even imagine."

They were in the locker room, all of them, collecting themselves after an intense practice. Sweaty shirts, awfully stinky shoes, guys who didn't care for the display of nudity. A nightmare Sakusa had come to terms and had learnt how to deal with back in high school. Still, he hated it. Atsumu's speaking had everyone in there curiously listening to him. He had told them, in what had seemed to Sakusa a significantly fictitious narration, about a couple of fans he had met on his way to his apartment a few days ago.

The supporters had looked normal at first, politely asking for a picture and an autograph on a notebook. No one seemed to be around, so Atsumu didn't mind stopping to have a small chat with them. Everything had been totally fine, until those people had started asking about his plans for Halloween. Asking him his plans, for Halloween, in January. "And they gave me this fake dead goldfish made of plastic and an invite to a goth ritual party and asked me to keep 'em updated about my plans. I mean, what was that? I got chills, gotta be honest."

"They probably needed a pumpkin for their Halloween revival and didn't want to miss the chance to get an already emptied one."

It had slipped, so naturally slipped away from his lips that Kiyoomi hadn't even realized he had said it out loud, that he had articulated his mind comment into a voice sounded phrase. And he wouldn't have realized it had happened if the entire room hadn't immediately fallen in a complet silence. Kiyoomi, sitting on a bench, stopped tying the laces of his shoes and he looked up, confused by the sudden lack of noise.

Many pairs of surprised eyes, aggressively blinking, were all over him. He mentally cursed. Had he said it out loud? The answer was obviously predictable. Laughters, deep laughters, high pitched laughters, rowdy laughters, quite laughters. Sakusa Kiyoomi himself, with only a few words, had the entire team on the verge of tears. It wasn't even that funny. Pure bewilderment crept into his soul at his team's impetuous reaction.

"Tsum Tsum! Omi basically just called you a pumpkin head!" Bokuto was holding his stomach from laughing as if Sakusa had really cracked the most hilarious joke he had ever heard. "Omi! High five!"

And there he was, Sakusa facing his ultimate turning point. Bokuto's hand raised high right in front of him who was barely understanding what was all that unexplainable excitement about. His expression anticipating with enthusiasm the high five which would have followed. An interaction, Sakusa was now actively interacting during the usual locker room's talk. He had to do it, he had to take that chance. He wasn't used to it, he didn't like it, but he thought he could have made it, just for once. He was not going to miss this. His final way in. Everyone else around him was holding their breath, waiting for him to take a side, waiting for him to slap Bokuto's hand back or not. Or, at least, that was what Sakusa's brain was projecting on them. A simple high five, one single high five to rule them all.

Clap.

One single and imperceptible clap, hand to hand. The primordial chaos followed. Bokuto fell on his knees, screaming something along the lines of: "I'm never washing this hand!" Even louder crackles, screams, Sakusa could swear he had seen Hinata dramatically falling on Meian as he couldn't contain his laughter. Even Barnes, the old family dad Oliver Barnes, the most respectable man Sakusa had met in there, was chaotically clapping his hands like a seal as he laughed uncontrollably. "And Adriah said you were no fun! You're amazing, Kiyoomi!" Inunaki had said with exuberance.

"I never said that! I never said Kiyoomi was no fun! You did!"

"Shut up, nobody cares, Adriah! This isn't about you!" Inunaki had detracted the attention from the controversy with a certain level of virtuosity. The room was a mess, a huge mess and Sakusa was so confused, but so relieved, he actually didn't know how to feel. He did it, as his teammates were chanting his name as if he had been some hero and making fun of Atsumu, Sakusa knew he did it. Bonding with his peers over clowning Miya Atsumu. Sakusa was living the dream. In the end, after weeks chasing that moment, as an unclear sensation of realization rose inside him, Kiyoomi did feel, once for all, more than a guest.

"Omi? Was it necessary?" He had heard Atsumu complain over the preponderant noise, but Kiyoomi, that day, hadn't spotted how the lines of Atsumu's lips had softly curved up on the sides, after letting out that petulant lament. Nor he hadn't noticed Atsumu's face and the way his expression betrayed tenderness and natural affection. He hadn't noticed Atsumu's eyes lingering on him a bit too much, taking advantage of how nobody was seriously paying attention to him, their concentration all for Kiyoomi. And then, that gaze had disappeared before Kiyoomi could catch it.

"Hey, Sakusa! Do you wanna join and have a drink with us? It's nothing hard-core, just to spend some time together after practice." Adriah had offered him for the very first time.

"I'm kind of busy tonight, I'm sorry." Sakusa had refused, a white lie saving him from the inevitable stress of crowded social events outside gyms.

"Don't worry! That's fine! We will ask you again next time!" Inunaki had replied.

"Yeah! Please, Omi-san! Come and join us some other time!" Hinata had enthusiastically said.

"Will do." Kiyoomi had whispered more to himself rather than the others.

And as everyone started to flow out of the locker room, one by one, Kiyoomi, still on the bench tying the laces of his shoes, finally could feel it.

Kiyoomi was, indeed, part of the team.

Everything was starting to fall into pieces again. Kiyoomi was finally becoming familiar with all of them, and they were finally becoming familiar with him. The atmosphere was friendlier, less uptight when he was around and, most importantly, he was completely free to avoid interactions without having his teammates thinking that he despised them or that he didn't enjoy being there. They knew him, they knew when he simply didn't feel like talking, nothing personal. No fear of his quietness being misunderstood, no fear of his not too many pats and high fives policy being mistaken as antipathy and aversion, no fear of his whole personality being misinterpreted. They were fine with him and Sakusa was fine with them.

He was even beginning to get to know better a few of them, Bokuto and Hinata for example, especially Bokuto and Hinata who seemed to never miss the chance of trying to involve Kiyoomi in their daily bizarre activities. One day it could have been collecting the rain water in bottles and using it to drink. Sakusa had tried to warn them about how dangerous that kind of water could have been for their organism if not cautiously purified, too bad it had been too late.

One other day it could have been finding out who would have been able to spin around himself a hundred times in five minutes, and of course Sakusa had been called and requested as a referee to count their spins and judge. Hinata won, Bokuto had thrown up after twenty three spins. In spite of everything, they were actually nice guys to deal with and Sakusa had learnt to appreciate their spontaneous honesty and their genuine being. There was only one tiny negative aspect: where Bokuto and Hinata were, there was going to be Atsumu too. So, without Kiyoomi understing why that was happening, the time he was spending with the guy prominently increased and their interactions were going further from the simple and detached court talk.

Atsumu actually talked to him or, at least, he tried, always telling Sakusa random and obviously fake facts he had read online or sharing too many details regarding his daily life. Unnecessary details Sakusa had never wanted to know, such as how many times Atsumu had forgotten to wear pants when opening the door to pick up the pizza from the pizza guy. Or, how many times Atsumu had been kicked out of a regular gym because his extraordinary silhouette was too much of a huge distraction for the users. Sakusa was sure that had been a lie, but he didn't express it considering that Hinata and Bokuto were totally buying it.

Spending extra time with Atsumu before and after practice, also did mean, Kiyoomi had found himself learning, free food. Free food which clearly didn't come from his own hands or abilities, but from his extremely skilled brother. Kiyoomi did remember about him, Miya Osamu, both from high school and that peculiar night with Atsumu sleeping on the floor of his college dorm room, still vivid in his mind, but also still absurd because of that heart to heart talk, to the point Kiyoomi had almost convinced himself that night never happened in the first place. Not that it was impossible to convince himself of the unreality of the event, neither Atsumu nor Kiyoomi had ever brought up that way too civil conversation again after all.

However, once or twice a week, Atsumu always showed up at practice with uncountable bags of onigiris and stuff which happened to be, supposedly, left overs from one of those Osamu's shops. At first, Sakusa hadn't intended to accept any of Atsumu's sachets of food, no particular reason, simply he had never been someone to be particularly hungry and greedy. So his plan was to politely refuse, acknowledging the kindness of the thought, but then he had seen it, then he had smelled it. One, just one. One single umeboshi onigiri standing out, excelling between the other forgettable and bland types. Without thinking twice, Kiyoomi had eaten it.

"This is insanely good." He had murmured, his taste buds still enjoying the aftertaste.

"Ya like that one?" Atsumu happened to hear. Kiyoomi had just nodded. "Cool."

After that, somehow, every time Atsumu accompanied himself with food to deliver, there was always this one bag full of umeboshi onigiris. A coincidence, must have been a coincidence.

And then, one day, totally unprompted it came the final showdown.

Kiyoomi had made a mistake. Kiyoomi had committed the irreversible mistake of casually giving Hinata and Bokuto informations which would have lightened up their natural tendency of authentically worrying for someone.

"Thanks guys, but I don't need a Food Wars themed tablecloth specifically for guests. My current apartment is kind of small so I don't even have an actual table, it's more of a larger countertop. That's why I'm looking for a new place, and I never have guests over anyway." He had said when all those two were up to do lately was spamming his phone with weird household articles. His innocent statement, had been received by their absolute not ordinary minds as a cry for help from a desperately lonely Kiyoomi who didn't want to directly admit he needed company.

So, when one night, the doorbell of his disturbingly minuscule three room house did ring, he wasn't that surprised to see two inexplicably excited faces looking at him. "Let's inaugurate this place!" Bokuto had enthusiastically shouted.

"What?" Kiyoomi had asked, his social batteries running out already as he, powerless, looked at them getting in.

"We're having dinner together, Sakusa-san! We brought stuff!" Hinata had announced, the sound of glass bottles jingling inside one of the bags.

Really? He had thought, too tired to try and get them to change their minds to stop that barbaric invasion. "May I?" Kiyoomi turned around only to notice how the doorframe was showing another person to add for the upcoming dinner. Atsumu was there, his relaxed expression glowing as he knocked on an already open door. "Yeah. Come in." Sakusa had thoughtlessly agreed. "Thanks." The other one had bowed before stepping in. Manners? From Atsumu? Quite shocking. And that was how one of the most exhausting yet pleasant dinners of his entire life started.

Good thing: Sakusa wasn't going to wash the dishes that night because Hinata and Bokuto had surprisingly offered themselves for the job. Bad thing: they were not doing the dishes at all. Trying to create the biggest soap bubble with the dishwashing detergent surely didn't count as washing the dishes. "Don't worry Sakusa-san! We got this!" Hinata had proudly claimed and Kiyoomi had been condemned to helplessly watch, sitting on his second-hand couch while sighing defeated.

"I swear to God, Omi-kun, I had tried to stop them from doing this." A voice reached Kiyoomi's ears as Atsumu took place on the couch with him, careful not to sit too close to him. "This what? The dishes?"

"No, I mean coming here. Uninvited. I tried to talk 'em out of it, but none of those two wanted to listen."

"You tried to talk them out?" Sakusa echoed his words, slightly confused.

"Yeah, I thought showing up just like that could have upset ya. Not 'cause ya hate us or somethin', but because ya might have liked more being told about a dinner before said dinner. Y'know, respecting others' space. Stuff like that." Atsumu had said, his tone a little too cautious as his fingers were fidgeting around his car keys.

"Wow, so you're actually able to understand what boundaries are." Sakusa had chuckled as Atsumu was snorting offended. "It wasn't that bad, anyway." He had added before he could realize it. "I think it was kinda fun." The hint of a smile timidly appearing on his face.

Atsumu dramatically winced. "I was almost forgetting about it!" His hand slapping his forehead as he spoke.

"Forgetting what?"

"Wait." Atsumu had interrupted him, his arms reaching for his own backpack behind the couch. "Here!" Then he said, with a bag in his hands. "Take this." He concluded, handing it to Kiyoomi, definitely caught out of guard.

The smell. Kiyoomi would have been able to recognize that smell literally anywhere.

"Are they for me? All of them?" His eyes wide open as he was admiring the enormous quantity of umeboshi onigiris in there.

"Yep, all for ya, Omi-Omi."

Sakusa was astonished. "Why?"

"Ya like 'em, right?" Atsumu said as if it was nothing.

"Yeah, but..."

"We're friends. Ain't we?"

"Friends? Who said that?" Sakusa asked with no filter.

"I did! We have a real friendship going on here between us, Omi. Don't be a liar." He smugly grinned. "I say good morning to ya every morning at practice and ya tell me to f*ck off every morning. Means: ya do always reply. Seems clear that you like me."

"How could that mean that I like you?"

"How could that mean that ya don't?"

Illogical, everything about Atsumu and that statement was purely Illogical.

"You have an insufferable personality, Miya."

And that was true.

"So? You like me anyway, right?"

And that was...

"I am not going to acknowledge this nonsense." Sakusa remarked, suddenly feeling as if he was being cornered by his own thoughts. "I never lie."

"I know, Omi." Atsumu suddenly stood up. "But ya never say the whole truth either."

Kiyoomi would have protested. His mouth was open and ready to complain and he would have ferociously protested if a glass hadn't slipped away from Bokuto's hand, outstandingly breaking itself into pieces on the floor.

"Ah ah! Bokuto-san! I won! I told you that wasn't made of plastic!" And then, Hinata raised his head and his eyes disgracefully met Sakusa's raging ones. "Oh oh." The orange haired face was suddenly dominated by fear. "We're deeply sorry, Sakusa-san!"

Kiyoomi loudly sighed. "Please, just move and let me clean it up."

"We're gonna help you, then!" Hinata jumped with excitement.

"Yes! We're gonna help you! Us! Your friends!" Bokuto lined up with the other.

"See, Omi?" Atsumu was stupidly and annoyingly laughing. "We're friends."

Friends.

Kiyoomi remembered, all of a sudden, how the Internet had once told him that friends are friends when they help picking up the pieces.

Friends.

Kiyoomi could have been okay with them being friends. They were helping him picking up the pieces. But why did they have to break his glass in the first place?

"Fine." Sakusa had agreed. "You can help, but for God's sake don't break anything else."

And just like that, Kiyoomi had found out he had friends. Two friends, at least. Regarding the third one, there was a lot more for him to unpack.

SUN EXPOSURE

Kiyoomi had run away, as fast as he could.

Drained. He felt drained. The Black Jackals had just had practice, an open door training. The start of the championship was considerably getting closer and everything around the team was starting to spin at this irrational speed Kiyoomi knew it was going to get him burned out, sooner or later. That was why he needed to prevent. Preserve himself from the insistent and constant exposure to the spotlights. He had said nothing but a couple of set phrases to the many reporters and the press filling the bleachers of their majestic sports center's gymnasium. He enjoyed being a professional, and he surely enjoyed when the public acknowledged his incredible talent and strength.

Obviously it was satisfying to get recognition for his skills, and he wasn't even that much against talking to the journalists in general, but he hated the way they rushed, all together, at the same time, with their microphones and their cameras and those flashes and the way they literally screamed and pushed to get in the front row and to guarantee an exclusive for themselves. Sakusa had to be polite, he had to show patience and kindness because they were there for him, and he should have been grateful for the attention. He knew. But it did feel exhausting anyway.

So he was walking, at a remarkable quick pace, and he couldn't wait to close the door of his place behind his own back and call it a day. He wondered if his teammates had been able to endure and stay longer than him or if they had left not long after he had. They seemed to like them, the spotlights. Some more than others. Inunaki, for example, liked the spotlights. He always complained when cameramen took fewer pictures of him than usual. Bokuto, Bokuto loved the spotlights. Sakusa wouldn't have called him exactly an exhibitionist because yes, he was, but without those annoying arrogant traits exhibitionism took with itself. He simply shined, for character, more than anybody else, and he was aware of it and he was more than fine with people admiring and cherishing him. He did think he was the best, but he definitely never thought of others as the worsts. It was praiseworthy, the way he acted and the way he was. Bokuto was seriously a good guy. There were times in which Sakusa had wondered if he could have ever been naturally kind and spontaneous just like him.

Meian enjoyed the attentions a little less, he didn't have any issue with the reporters of course, but he had never hidden his general dislike for the whole being a public figure. He never missed the chance to complain when low quality photos of him outside of the court got spread. "Was it necessary to take a picture of me eating an ice cream? And do I really look this bad when eating?" He had said once.

"Dude, nobody would have cared to take a picture if that ice cream hadn't fallen on your shirt and you hadn't licked it anyway from your shirt, in public." Adriah had him notice and Meian had nothing to say to defend himself.

"You're going with the big talk, Adriah, but do I need to remind you when you got your pizza on the floor and you picked it up and ate it nevertheless?" Inunaki had called him out in the locker room that day.

"What? I never did that! You did! And I remember telling you how disgusting that was!"

"No, no, you got it all wrong. That was you. You're the disgusting one."

Sakusa vividly remembered the fierce sound of Adriah's clenched fist landing on Inunaki's face, knocking him down. And he also vividly did remember Inunaki getting himself up from the ground just to attack an out of guard Adriah successfully shoving him against the wall. Kiyoomi, sitting on his usual bench, wondered if that was the case for an intervention. But then, both of them had laughed. They had bursted into uncontrollable and kind of awkward laughters. Weird, Inunaki and Adriah were definitely weird.

"Is it normal that they're always at each other's throat? It seems so violent." Bokuto had asked concerned that day, Sakusa, Hinata, Atsumu and him being the last ones left in the locker room.

"It's the sexual tension. They just need to f*ck it out." Atsumu had claimed so casually.

"Sexual tension? Adriah-san and Wan-san? I've never seen it that way." Hinata was seriously meditating on it. "What do you think, Sakusa-san?"

"I think Adriah and Inunaki are just serial public nuisances and Miya's logic is either dictated by his impracticable and clearly masoch*stic fantasies or non-existent." Sakusa had bluntly judged, no particular inflection in his voice.

"And if? Wanna know more about my fantasies, Omi-kun?"

"Jerk." Sakusa had muttered, which had made Atsumu fastidiously laugh.

Sakusa paused. As he was walking home, he paused, wondering why his brain had done such an unnecessary backflip for him to recollect that particular memory of Atsumu being gross in public. He kept walking, his legs feeling kind of stiff because of the intense training he had before. The sun was high and bright, shining on the streets. No clouds in sight. Such an odd weather for a winter day. He felt glad he had had his hair washed, the thin breeze sweetly caressing his hair.

His hair.

His clean hair.

His clean hair washed at the MSBY's showers.

"sh*t." And Sakusa was forced to turn around and head back to the sports centre when he got reminded by himself the crucial and vital curly hair bottle of shampoo he had carelessly abandoned somewhere as he was hurrying up to finally leave. Walking back, he desperately hoped for all those reports to be gone. He had forgotten his personal shampoo, the tranquil silence of his own apartment had to wait.

Deserted. Completely empty.

As he was travelling again through the hallway which would have led him to the locker room, Kiyoomi had bumped into no one. Not even a soul, except one single sports journalist animatedly talking on the phone outside of the building. He breathed in relief, totally basking in the long craved peace. The locker room door was open and when Sakusa had gone past it, he realized nobody was there. The team must had part ways already. Nice, he thought, he just had to find the shampoo and then go. He looked around, first checking inside his own locker. No trace of the lotion in there. He had to do better, think better. Maybe, while on a rush, he had dropped it on the floor without noticing. Could it be under the bench? He mentally considered. Could it...

Water.

A sudden and violent sound of a jet of water loudly announced itself in the now gone quiet of the room. Kiyoomi wasn't alone and somebody had just started showering. He sighed deeply, not prepared for what would have come next.

"Who's there? Somebody who's here to get rid of me?" Kiyoomi heard in Atsumu's voice.

Of course. Of course the universe did hate him and did hate the idea of him having a calm and serene day for once.

"I wish I could."

"Oh, Omi! Is that ya?"

Sakusa didn't reply, seriously determined to find and rescue his shampoo quickly now that he had come to the knowledge that Atsumu was there too. "I thought ya left."

Sakusa had heard him blabbering while he was examining every inch of that place, in what did seem an infinite search. "Too many reporters, right? It ain't pretty."

It was odd. It didn't matter how hard Sakusa tried to focus on his looking for the infamous object he had lost, it was odd. He could hear, and disgracefully imagine, where the aggressive sound of the water, pressured outside of the jet, softened and mitigated itself against what Sakusa thought must have been the body of the man under the shower. And before he could had even realized he was picturing it. His mind was disturbingly picturing Miya Atsumu, butt naked, under the shower not that far from where Sakusa was standing, dripping water adorning with liquid pearls his breathtaking sculpted body.

Hell, that must have been hell.

"Hey, ya still there?" Atsumu proceeded talking, not aware of Kiyoomi's extreme distress. "'Cause I remembered somethin' I had to tell ya, and- damn." He had interrupted himself by swearing. "Why is to to hard to regulate the temperature of this sh*t."

Everywhere, Sakusa had looked everywhere. No sign of his lotion.

"Omi?"

How frustrating.

"Yeah, Miya, I'm still here." He almost snorted in annoyance.

"Cool. Listen up! First of all: I'm telling ya this to actually do you a favour." He said as his hands were reaching his hair to soap them properly.

"A favour?" Sakusa echoed in perplexity.

"Yep, but ya gotta listen to me until the very end, okay? No interruption, no ya being sarcastic and all."

"I can try." Kiyoomi agreed, as he was digging into his own locker for the fifth time.

"Okay, well. Tomorrow's Meian's birthday, d'ya remember?" Meian's birthday. Of course he didn't remember. "And as you might know, he's very stressed 'cause of his wife's pregnancy and stuff, that's why he doesn't come and drink with us anymore. Oh, wait, ya can't know about him not drinking with us anymore since ya never there 'cause ya never accept to come and drink with us, but, whatever."

"Are you being salty about it?" Sakusa had to tell him.

"Me? I could never." Atsumu replied. "Anyway, he has a free night 'cause his wife's on this pregnant women retreat all week long and so, he's alone on his birthday. How sad that is?"

Was Kiyoomi supposed to answer or was that rhetorical? "So!" Atsumu immediately spoke again. "We wanna celebrate him. Nothing too wild, he's still a dad, I mean, not yet, but still. A bar, a quiet bar with low lighting and stuff. We collectively thought about that. Not a club."

"And you're telling me this because?" Kiyoomi asked.

Then, at some point, the room had stopped echoing the sound of the shower. Sakusa heard the shower curtain moving and, after that, the uncomfortable sound of wet skin in contact with a slippery floor.

"Ya hafta join us this time, Omi-kun. The team's gonna ask ya tomorrow morning. Think about it."

Even with his eyes still set on the inside of his locker, Kiyoomi hadn't failed to notice how Atsumu, heedless and way too comfortably, had just got out of the shower, still dripping in water, with nothing, nothing covering for him. Sakusa suddenly realized he had never seen him naked. Not completely, not in real life. He had seen some of his other teammates naked. It had happened, it wasn't weird. Barnes, for example, had this habit of smoking a cigarette, naked, after shower while strangely focused on looking outside the window. "I'm quitting nicotine." He always said. "For my kids." And he never did. Adriah, Sakusa had seen Adriah fully naked when Inunaki had stolen his dried clothes. Bokuto even, when he had bumped into him taking controversially intimate pictures of himself using the locker room's mirror. "It's for Akaashi!" Bokuto had cheerfully clarified even if Sakusa had never asked. Therefore, Kiyoomi was not new to naked teammates. So, why did he feel as if it was wrong to even be in the same room of Atsumu while the guy was undressed?

"You're naked." He hated it. He hated how his mouth always talked without his brain proofreading it for him. He mentally slapped himself.

"Mh? Does it bother ya?"

"No. Just saying."

"Then why ain't ya looking at me?"

"I had something to eat before coming back here, I don't wanna throw it up, I'm not gonna risk it." He tried to dissimulate his clear embarrassment with one of his mean jokes up on his sleeves.

"Yeah, sure. Prude." Atsumu wasn't buying it. He was getting dressed, Kiyoomi could hear the fabric of his clothes rubbing against Atsumu's skin. Thank God. "Anyway, ya think y're coming or not?"

"I don't know." Kiyoomi then definitely closed his locker. "I must think about it."

"Fine." Atsumu said. "How much does yer lotion cost?"

"Well, it's not like it costs that much, the point is that it is not so easy to find- wait. What?" Sakusa turned around just to find himself watching at Atsumu with his shampoo in his hands. "Ya left it in the shower. I guessed ya were back for it." Then he uncorked the bottle. "What if I spill it all on the floor? Would ya come? Tomorrow? Meian's birthday?"

"Are you threatening me or something?"

"Omi, c'mon! Ya hafta be there! We're gonna take a group picture!"

"Give me the lotion back." Sakusa said to a way too petulant Atsumu.

"Say yes, and I will."

"Fine. Yes."

"No, say: yeah, I'm gonna be at Meian's birthday party tomorrow." Atsumu requested more clarity.

"Miya."

"A little party never killed a man?" Atsumu kept trying while tossing the bottle back to Sakusa. The latter sighed in relief as his hands were catching his precious lotion. "Omi?"

"What bar?" He asked, death in his voice.

"sh*t, are ya coming? For real?"

"Miya, I asked you: what bar?"

And after receiving the right informations about the location, Sakusa incoming headache warned him that it was time to leave.

"Omi, one last thing." Atsumu needed the urge to say as Sakusa was finally reaching the exit door. "Dress nicely." He winked.

"f*ck off."

But he did.

He did dress nicely.

It was unpleasant, but not excessively unpleasant.

His entire team had gasped, some of them had even started singing ambiguous and unclear chants when spotting Kiyoomi reaching them out of the selected place. And seeing all that hustle and bustle coming from them, he would have turned around and walk back to the secluded security of his small apartment if it hadn't been for the extremely grateful look Meian had given to him, truly thankful for him being there with the guys for the very first time on such a personal occasion.

Kiyoomi had gently smiled, behind his mask, then walking in the chosen bar, hoping to not regret it later. It was not crowded and it was actually very spacious and airy. It was also chill and surprisingly laid back, lightnings were, in fact, suffused and low and the general atmosphere was definitely one of the most unruffled ones he had experienced. Miya hadn't lied, Kiyoomi consequentially thought. They headed to this space, a reserved one it seemed to be. More exclusive, isolated from the rest of the place. Brown leather couches, a little table where to supposedly let their drinks rest and the reverberation of the relaxing background songs resounding through the whole bar.

As their first orders were kindly brought by the waiters, casual conversations had also started taking place. Kiyoomi, that lightweight night, had learnt a few more things about his teammates, he had learnt some of them could actually make use of a mature mind, example when Bokuto had started reassuring Meian, telling him how he would have made an extraordinary father to the child who was about to be born; or when Adriah had started ranting about how to recognize the best and the absolute most refined whiskey just by looking at its bottle or when Hinata had opened up about the many recurring difficulties of being a foreigner on the other side of the world out of his two years experience in Brasil.

Even Atsumu had Kiyoomi puzzled in welcome amazement, when he had started explaining to everyone around that table how the economic market worked for the ones who nourished the ambition of launching a small business on their own, just like his brother had done with his shop. Elegant, graceful, normal. Were his chaotic and out of control teammates really like that in public during their free time? Of course not.

Four drinks later, more or less, the tables had turned. Kind of literally, since a tipsy Bokuto, on his way to drunkenness, had thought of physically turning the table just because he didn't want to stretch in order to reach his glass of what Kiyoomi smelled was evaporated vodka on the other side of it, from where he was. At some point, Meian had started crying, his transcendent sense of terror of not being good enough to raise a brand new human being painfully kicking in. Inunaki had started crying too, already drowning in that alcohol alternative reality effect, whining restlessly about how his girlfriend had dumped him three months ago.

Then there was drunk Adriah, sitting by Inunaki's side, heartily listening to all of the complaints as his fingers were mindlessly running through Inunaki's hair in a significantly strange intimacy as the latter vented about his terrible misfortune. But it all got worse when Hinata happened to reveal himself as an even more energetic and ecstatic kind of wasted type. "You cannot cry!" Sakusa had seen him say with enthusiasm to both Meian and Inunaki. "If you cry too much, you'll lose the eighty percent of water in yourself and you'll die! Or worse! You're gonna feel the need to drink water directly from other human beings... which is bad!"

"Aren't those vampires, Hinata? And don't they drink blood? A story Akaashi was revising was about vampires, I think. Maybe water vampires exist?" Bokuto corrected him and then considered.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, I got the story wrong." Hinata recalculated without losing his spirit. "But still! No tears tonight! And we're gonna fix this."

"How?" Adriah had asked, still sitting at Inunaki's bedside. Then Hinata dramatically pointed something not that far with his finger. Everyone's gaze turned towards it: a karaoke set. Hinata was excitedly pointing at the karaoke set the bar had in store. "Let's sing!"

High School Musical. It felt as if Sakusa was watching a typical High School Musical scene and they were even about to sing their hearts out, exactly the High School Musical kids did. Oh well, not that he hadn't seen this kind of turn-up coming. "Aren't you gonna go and sing with the others?" Kiyoomi had almost winced when he heard Barnes' voice coming from right next to him. Barnes, Kiyoomi had almost forgotten about Barnes. He was comfortably sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, his eyelids surrendering little by little

"Not my thing." Sakusa replied. "Aren't you?" Then he asked back.

"Nope, I'm gonna catch some sleep before going home." He had answered nonchalantly, while putting on a cap and hiding his face under its visor.

"You're gonna sleep?" Sakusa had echoed slightly confused.

"Yes, or else, I'll be too tired for taking care of the kids tonight." And just like that, his older and most responsible teammate, Oliver Barnes closed his eyes and fell asleep, his deep snoring considerably audible. Sakusa looked to the other side. Hinata had started singing an unknown portuguese song with powerful vehemence and ardor as the others, completely clueless to the lyrics, were basically emitting primordial and primitive sounds and general yelling, but put in music. Then, Sakusa turned around to look back at Barnes, sleeping on his other side. Then, again, Sakusa looked right in front of himself. A drink, a sad and lonely drink left to its own devices, was desperately calling for Kiyoomi's attention. And he took it, fulfilling the glass' desire to be slowly emptied. A long night, it quite seemed like it was going to be a long night.

A couple of hours had gone by. Kiyoomi had simply stood there, idly studying the vacuum inside his co*cktail glass as he witnessed his alcohol smashed and euphoric teammates revitalising the entire atmosphere. Barnes was gone. The phone alarm he had set before napping had rang, he had woken up, he had cheerfully wished Kiyoomi and then the others a good night and that was it. The adult was gone, Kiyoomi had been left alone, deprived of a more sober company. But it wasn't like he had time to feel actually alone. Between a jamming session and another, his teammates, taking turns, happened to crash on the couch occupying the seat right beside him and, just like that, they started talking to him. Or blabbering, mostly, since Kiyoomi wasn't exactly sure their stories made sense. Hinata wasn't about to get married to this guy Sakusa hadn't quite got the name right, since his friend was talking way too fast, inside his high school gym. Or was he? Kiyoomi couldn't tell.

He checked the hour on his phone. Not even midnight. He couldn't help but inhale deeply.

"So, Omi-kun, ya havin' fun?"

Kiyoomi looked up, letting his eyes leave the dull screen of his cellphone. Atsumu was sitting next to him, just like many others had done before that night. Kiyoomi looked at him, suspicious. He wasn't...

"You're not drunk." He had stated right away.

"I am definitely not." Atsumu welcomed the remark with a smile.

"Why?" Sakusa had asked, considering how the guy had seemed to be having the time of his life at the karaoke and considering also how Sakusa was quite sure he had seen him drinking a few shots. Taking note of his displayed sobriety, those shots hadn't been strong enough, probably.

"Why? Who d'ya think's gonna drive these f*ckers home tonight?" Atsumu had let him guess with impeccable manners in his speech.

"So you're the driver? I would have never thought you could be suitable for the role." Sakusa did say, no mockery in his tone though.

"I'm a very responsible guy, ya'd be surprised."

"Yeah, sure." Sakusa huffed a little.

"What about you? Ya seem pretty sober to me. Thought ya'd have needed the holy favor of alcohol to get through the night." Atsumu told him, his arm casually resting on top of the couch seat back as his body was loosening up a little, giving up on a more disciplined sitting pose. Kiyoomi could not avoid to notice it since, sitting like that, the man felt way closer than before on that couch they shared. Atsumu was wearing a shirt, Kiyoomi mentally pointed out. And a shirt only, since those few undone buttons he had probably unhooked while singing and putting on a show were directly reveling the hinted anatomy of his collarbone under the exposed skin. His collarbone, it seemed solid and firm and so incredibly well defined. Was it odd the feeble desire to touch it? To drop everything and simply... touch it? Just to verify through mere and practical experience how hard Atsumu's collarbone would have felt under his fingers?

Odd, his brain warned him. It was indeed odd.

"I don't necessarily enjoy alcohol when there's too much of it." Kiyoomi then replied, his eyes now looking somewhere else.

"So ya never got drunk?" Atsumu asked sounding impressed.

"I care about being conscious and I care about my liver."

"Boring!" Atsumu started booing him as he had finally decided to sit more properly. "So ya telling me ya don't even know what it feels like. To be wasted."

"Do you know we're athletes, Miya?"

"And do you know we're not gonna be in our twenties forever, Omi?" He said back.

"That's not even a good take. As if getting drunk when we're thirty would be any different." Kiyoomi told him.

"A young organism handles things better though, and ya know I'm right about this." He wasn't giving up.

"Fine, whatever."

"So? Will I ever have the honour of getting drunk with ya, Omi-Omi?" Atsumu, eyes glimmering, suddenly jumped from where he was, now sitting, imperceptibly but effectively, closer to Kiyoomi. There was space left on the couch, Kiyoomi could have moved, to distance himself from Atsumu. He could have. He didn't though.

"No." He replied, dry and annoyed anyway.

"Damn." Atsumu cursed. "I always wonder what kind of drunk person you are."

"Guess you'll never find out." And Sakusa would have added something else, an insult, maybe, if Atsumu hadn't preceeded him, unexpectedly.

"Omi, listen." He had cut his own complaints, changing his tone and the topic so quickly that Sakusa had felt bewildered a bit. "I'm gonna ask ya, about a thing. Obviously you can say no."

Closer, Atsumu had moved, little by little, closer. So close their knees were almost brushing against one another.

"What?" Sakusa had perceived it. The brief tremble and the fleeting uncertainty in his voice which, fortunately, Atsumu hadn't seemed to catch.

"Can I put my hands on ya? Like... on yer thigh?"

Atsumu had asked, simple as that. Unprompted, with such an ease as if he was talking to a customer assistant, asking them when the reprint of the first volume of Dragon Ball would have been available again. Kiyoomi's brain took its time, its few seconds, to process the nature of the request. He blinked. "What kind of demand is that? Are you out of your f*cking mind?" But he didn't sound raging nor deeply offended, his tone shown plain annoyance because of that absurdity.

Then, in such a peculiar way Sakusa didn't know how to describe, Atsumu's face, from a tranquil and blissfully relaxed expression, shifted, all of a sudden, into something else. At first, it was puzzlement, genuine puzzlement, missed comprehension of what his words could also imply. Then there was awkwardness, an open sense of embarrassment rising up. Easy as that, in a matter of seconds, Atsumu had his eyes gaping.

"What? Wait! No! I don't... I'm not..." He was struggling, stumbling upon his own words. "Did ya think that I- No! Hell no, I would never ask that! I mean, not because of ya, y're attractive y'know that, the point is I... Oh sh*t, I wasn't implying that! It's not like I would suggest it to someone in such a lame way. I'm not... y'know, I'm not a loser or somethin'. I wasn't..." For the very first time, Sakusa was observing Atsumu being embarrassed. Completely and painfully embarrassed. It didn't make sense. He was the one who always joked around making use of ambiguous sexually suggestive remarks. How could he be so awkward about that? Kiyoomi wasn't getting it.

"I'm not asking for me." Atsumu had finally been able to say. "It's... more of an experiment."

"An experiment?" Kiyoomi plainly said, ignoring the previous nonsensical blabbering.

"Kinda."

"Kinda?"

"There's this guy." Atsumu suddenly lowered his tone, his voice leaving his lips almost resembling a whisper. "He's standing not that far away from us. Don't turn around, we don't wanna be sketchy, ain't we?"

"Who's we?" Kiyoomi said, not enjoying the way Atsumu had seemed to come to his fastidious self again.

"Just listen, Omi. Would ya?"

Sakusa rolled his eyes, wishing they could get stuck on the side facing his skull, so that he hadn't to see Atsumu's stupid face ever again.

"He's standing there and I need my hand on yer thigh just to prove something?"

"Prove what?"

"Something."

"So? What something?"

"I can't tell ya if that's not true! sh*t'd be embarrassing."

"Why?"

"Okay, I get it. I'm not putting my hand on yer thigh if that bothers ya. As I told ya, I completely understand, yer space's yer space. I get it."

"For God's sake, Miya. Put this f*cking hand on my thigh." Kiyoomi almost lost his cool, tired of trying to guess what Atsumu's dead brain was going to lead up to.

"Omi, Jeez! Fine!" Atsumu reacted, as his eyes were still focused on something beyond Kiyoomi's back. "But I'm gonna do it in a very sexy way. Just warnin' ya. Told ya, it's a test."

Sakusa gave him the deadliest glare he had in store, Atsumu majestically laughed it off. After that, before Sakusa could even realize, his hand was firmly resting on his thigh.

"I was right!" Atsumu happily uttered. "That guy's not slick at all. This sh*t's f*cking funny."

"What? What is funny?" Sakusa felt the exasperation hitting him slowly.

"A guy's checking on ya, Omi-kun." Atsumu claimed, firming his grip as he thoughtlessly started drawing circles with his thumb, dangerously close to Kiyoomi's inner thigh. "He's been staring all night."

"How do you know? How do you know he's staring at me? Couldn't it be you?" Kiyoomi had replied, not quite convinced by Atsumu and fairly distracted by his thumb rubbing against the fabric of his pants.

"I would know if someone was staring right at me, wouldn't I? Anyway, he made a weird ass annoyed face. It was like, five seconds, but I saw him." Atsumu explained. "And he's giving looks this way even now. I think he's tryna understand if y'er booked or somethin'."

It was strange.

It wasn't the first time Sakusa had let Atsumu establish a minimal physical contact, not at all. But, as his skin seemed to tingle under his light touch, Sakusa found himself thinking it felt nice. For the first time ever, Sakusa didn't dislike his touch on him. He looked down at the hand in question, noticing how perfectly Atsumu's hand was able to surround and embrace the surface of his thigh, wondering what it would have felt like to have its fingers pressing and digging right on the skin, feeling the brush of that thumb reaching further, deeper and beyond clothes. Sakusa liked his vein, this particularly visible vein Atsumu had on the back of his hand.

Hypnotised by the circular movement of the other's finger, when it stopped, Kiyoomi almost flinched. "He's coming." Atsumu said, interrupting Kiyoomi's mental annotations. "I guess I'll go." He added quietly laughing.

"What? You can't just go." Kiyoomi had tried to protest.

"I'd be in the way. This guy wanna shoot his shot, Omi-Omi."

"I don't want him to shoot his shot or whatever at me."

"And what d'ya want me to do about it? It's not like I can tell him to back off. Or d'ya want me to? Are ya begging me to save ya? Can't make it on yer own? D'ya need me?" Atsumu was grinning, now standing, about to go back to their drunk teammates.

Sakusa snorted. "I would never need you. Get lost."

"As I thought." He kept grinning. "Good luck rejecting the guy. Try to not be an asshole about it. Even if it might be hard for ya."

"Idiot." Sakusa murmured and then, an insecure hey coming from a guy he didn't know reached his ears.

"Is this seat taken?" Polite, the boy seemed polite. He raised his eyes, looking at Atsumu from afar. A thumb up, Atsumu was giving Kiyoomi an enthusiastic and amused thumb up. He sighed. Then, he looked at the guy again. Why not, he thought. "No. No, it's not taken." The guy gave him a bright smile.

It hadn't been unpleasant, quite the opposite. But he wondered why his skin had been missing Atsumu's touch the entire time. Still, he wasn't going to acknowledge that, not at all.

Kiyoomi knew that being a professional volleyball player in one of the most popular teams in Japan wasn't going to be about volleyball only. He had known that, since his research for a suitable candidate had started during his college days. Famous teams were not there just for the sake of the sport fair and square. Kiyoomi had gotten to know it better as soon as the championship started. When the reporters out of the building increased in number every time they were preparing for a match, when photographers immortalized every step each of them took from the parking lot to the gym. Kiyoomi knew MSBY wasn't all about volleyball when he googled it on the Internet, scrolling through the many fan clubs of each player and the kind of pictures these fans made. Once, Kiyoomi had even found one of himself. Cat ears drawn on his head and many many little hearts surrounding his figure.

Those were the consequences of popularity and fame: edited cat ears on the Internet. So, all considered, Kiyoomi hadn't been shocked nor surprised when the annual call for the photo shoot for the official MSBY's calendar had come. Even before being part of the team, Sakusa had come across the famous calendar visiting book stores and newsstands. Official calendars were the only chance an athlete with no modelling contracts had for finally letting their whole ego and the entirety of their narcissism out. In Sakusa's opinion, though, being part of a calendar was also an enormous risk: being an almost naked man in underwear, flexing biceps, with a red and shiny Christmas hat on for the month of December sounded profoundly terrifying. But Sakusa miraculously got luck that time since Meian and Barnes had been arbitrarily invested with the honour of wearing Santa's deers boxer shorts and Santa's deers boxer shorts only.

No month of December for Sakusa, and he would have celebrated, taking a deep breath in relief, if the second worst month of the year hadn't been granted to him. Sakusa Kiyoomi was August. Extremely short shorts, a too tight tank top, a useless sunvisor and, as the cherry on top, sunglasses. Dark and mysterious sunglasses. With blinding artificial lights numbing his eyes and with huge amounts of synthetic sand filling the photography studio, it didn't feel like summer at all. Might think it couldn't get any worse? Wrong.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was August, but it did not end there. Hinata Shouyou was August too. Bokuto Koutaro was August too. Miya Atsumu was August too. In between shots, Sakusa had been there, all along, to stare at Hinata as he tried to put said synthetic sand inside the others' two boxer shorts. Sakusa had been there, all along, also to witness Bokuto begging them to bury his whole body in sand, except for his head. They did. And when Bokuto's head had heartfeltly asked Kiyoomi to take a picture of their magnificent masterpiece, he hadn't been able to say no. So he took it, a picture of Bokuto's head popping out of synthetic sand. And after that picture, lots of consequential pictures came along. Selfies with Bokuto's bodyless head, re-creations of artistic and mythological events even, especially when Atsumu posed alongside what was visible of Bokuto, lightly and jokingly pulling his hair, pretending to be Perseus holding Medusa's severed head. An entire photo shoot had been made on the set of their actual photo shoot. Every photo religiously taken by Kiyoomi's phone camera.

"Go back! Go back! Zoom on my face!" Hinata was saying, while the three of them were on Kiyoomi's side as he scrolled through the pictures they had made. "This! This is the meme material I was talking about!" The orange haired guy proudly claimed.

"That's not meme material, Shouyou-kun. That's just ya closin' yer eyes again while the picture's being taken." Atsumu had to disagree.

"What? No! Bokuto-san tell him that's totally one hundred percent meme material! I will break the internet!"

All eyes set on Bokuto, waiting for his response. Then he spoke: "Do you think I should get my hair down? I know I'm handsome already, but... maybe?"

"Bokuto-san!" Hinata called exasperated.

"What?" Bokuto replied. "Did you say something?"

Sakusa chuckled. They were loud, too loud, yet, kind of fun.

Hey, Kiyoomi! Are you free this afternoon?

Damn. Sakusa had almost forgotten about it.

"Free this afternoon?" Bokuto was reading the preview of the text which had popped up on the screen out loud. "Who's this?" He had asked, curiosity animating him.

Wanna grab a coffee? I know this very cool place and I thought it might have been nice to meet again!

"Is that a date?" Hinata almost broke down his eardrums by screaming.

"A date?" Bokuto echoed amazed. "Is it true, Omi? Is that a date?"

"Hinata! Bokuto!" The voice of an angel came to save Sakusa from incessant and invasive questions. "The main photographer assistant wants to talk to you. It seems like they want you both for covering May. Hurry up!" Their manager let them know. Hearing that, Hinata and Bokuto temporarily disappeared both from the set and Kiyoomi's list of increasing dangers. He breathed, significantly relieved.

"So..." But Atsumu was still there. "Omi's got a date?" He had asked, sitting on Kiyoomi's same bench.

"I wish not." Kiyoomi sighed, his sorrow obviously there.

"Really? And who's this poor guy?" Atsumu laughed at Kiyoomi's misery, but Kiyoomi didn't intend to give him an answer. "C'mon! Tell me! Tell this friend of yers who's this guy! I'm not telling anyone, I swear."

"The guy." Sakusa muttered.

"The guy? What guy?"

"That guy." Sakusa would had rather kill himself than talk to Atsumu about his idiotic life choice. "The guy from last week. Meian's birthday. You know." He painfully admitted.

"That guy?" Atsumu's screaming was making Sakusa miss Hinata's. "Ya gave yer number to that guy? Did ya two... together, like... I mean! Did ya? Omi-kun?"

"What? No! No way no." Kiyoomi stopped Atsumu's assumptions right there. "We did not."

"Too bad. He seemed quite packed." He smirked, letting Kiyoomi judging him in disgust. "So, how? How did he get yer number?"

"At the end of the night, before leaving the bar, he asked me. He seemed okay, but I didn't really want to see him more than that, so I thought about giving him a fake one. And I did it. I told him the firsts numbers my mind could come up with and then I left." Sakusa had to remind himself, probably, the lowest moment of his entire existence.

"Ya gave him a fake one. Gotcha. So... where did he get the right one?" Atsumu trying to understand.

"He got it..." Sakusa wished he could die on the spot just to spare himself from the embarrassment which would have easily followed. "He got it from me. The firsts random numbers my mind came up with. They were not... random. That was my real number. He got it from me. My number. I gave it to him."

No reply. Maybe Atsumu wasn't going to make fun of him.

Then, laughter. Bursting inside the silence of that room, laughter. Loud, noisy, unstoppable and unrestrainable laughter. Atsumu was uncontrollably laughing, his arms holding his stomach as he tried not to crack up too much but failing. Sakusa didn't stop him. How could he? Miya was right, that had been pretty stupid. He just stared at him, as his face was conquered by irrepressible fun and amusem*nt.

"Can't believe you! Did that, Omi-kun. Could expect that from Bokuto or Hinata or literally everyone else, but ya! sh*t, that's surprising." Sakusa had nothing to defend himself. "Why don't ya tell him?"

"Tell him what?"

"That y'er not interested."

"He was pleasant to talk to." Kiyoomi easily replied.

"Okay, but... D'ya wanna talk to him again?"

"No." Kiyoomi easily replied again.

"Then tell him. Ain't ya the best at being honest, Omi?"

He was. Kind of.

"He's a nice guy." Sakusa had said.

"So what?"

"I don't want to sound rude."

"For real? Ya scared of sounding rude? Since when you care about what others think of ya?" Atsumu asked surprised.

"I've always cared." Sakusa pointed out. "And I happen to care more if the person I'm talking to is a nice one."

"Whatever makes ya sleep at night, Omi-kun."

"I should tell him, shouldn't I?" Sakusa then said, his eyes staring still at the unopened preview.

"Unless ya secretly like the guy." Atsumu suggested.

"No." Sakusa cut him off immediately. "I definitely don't like him."

"Why? He looked chill, he was taller than ya are, not ugly, polite even. Ain't that yer type?"

Atsumu wasn't wrong. Tall, well mannered and calm guys had always been his type. They felt like the safest option out there. He could have given this one an opportunity, a chance. Sakusa hadn't dated anyone in a while now. He could let himself risk it, he could let himself fall, not deeply, just a bit, just for the sake of tickling the surface. Then, Kiyoomi looked up to Atsumu. "I should cut it off. I can't lead him on."

"Good choice." He agreed.

But when Sakusa unlocked his phone in order to type a simple but effective text, his mind went blank. "What?" Atsumu noticed his struggle. "Can't find any words?"

"I think I don't know how to put this without being rude." Sakusa had frankly admitted.

"Ah! Told ya y're naturally an asshole! Don't be ashamed of that, Omi. I think it's a charming quality."

"It's a flaw." Sakusa corrected him.

"Beauty's in the eyes of the beholder, dude."

Still, Kiyoomi had no clue how to word his rejection message in a kind way. A real tragedy.

"Lemme take care of this." And just like that, Atsumu had stolen his phone away from Kiyoomi's hands.

"What are you doing?" Kiyoomi instinctively reacted as he watched Atsumu taking lame pictures of himself with his cellphone. Then he seemed to type something and that was it.

"Look." He had said, shoving the phone to Kiyoomi's face. "What d'ya think of this?"

Kiyoomi blinked, focusing his gaze on the screen of the phone Atsumu was holding. He read it, carefully. He genuinely shuddered.

"What the hell does that even mean?"

A text, fortunately in the draft, saying: Omi's too nice to reject ya right away, but we got stuff going on for a while now, so get in line if ya ever thought about having a piece of that, prick. And a picture of him sticking his tongue out generously attached.

"He knows we're teammates, you were there the other night."

"But! What does he know about our special relationship, Omi-kun?" Atsumu said in a suggestive tone.

"What special relationship? I specifically told him I wasn't seeing you."

"Really?" Atsumu was puzzled. "Specifically?"

"Yes." Kiyoomi updated him. "You put your gross hand on my thigh, he was wondering if something was on and he asked me before even thinking about making a move. People out there are respectful of other spaces and relationships, even if this concept might sound foreign to you."

"What a nice guy." Atsumu sincerely uttered. "Ya sure ya wanna dump him?"

"Are you for real?"

"Okay! I get it! Anyway, I got something up my sleeve." He said before starting to mess with Kiyoomi's phone again. "Here! I'm a genius, I know."

"Genius? For what?" Sakusa bluntly asked.

"Don't ya see? I cropped the picture! The colour of my hair's not visible anymore!"

"Are you going to clear this out for me or should I take guesses on your stupidity?"

"I have a twin brother!" Atsumu explained. "We're the same, Omi. Except for the hair. Ya told the guy we're not a thing, right? But I have a brother. So, this's gonna work either way!"

"Are you impersonating your brother? Are you suggesting I should let him think that I'm seeing your brother for him to take a step back?" Sakusa said in disbelief.

"That's right, man. Thank me later." He said, his finger dangerously close to the send button. That plan was totally dumb. How old was Atsumu? Fifteen?

"Give it back."

A firm grip. A firm grip had followed those three words. Sakusa's hand and fingers were surrounding Atsumu's wrist. The latter had paused. Quite shocked by the sudden contact, still holding the phone. Sakusa did not withdraw nor the confidence on the hold faltered. "Y'er touching me. Unprovoked." Atsumu had said impressed.

"Unprovoked?" Sakusa looked at him mad. Atsumu just laughed it off, then proceeding to raise the arm he had his grip on, forcing him to come closer or simply pull off. Sakusa, however, wasn't pulling off. So he moved closer, to Atsumu's surprise.

"If ya want yer phone back, earn it." Atsumu joked as Sakusa had changed strategy by stretching his arm too in order to get to the fatal object. But Atsumu had no intention to give up as he used all the strength he had to distance his arm from Sakusa's one. "Miya! Come on! What are you? A five years old? And you say you matured!" Kiyoomi spit out as he tried to reach his phone.

"And what about ya? Ain't ya the same as me right now?"

"You're insufferable."

"Ya always say that! Oh! Careful!"

Kiyoomi was almost falling, falling from the bench as he stretched to take what was his back. Kiyoomi would have actually preferred falling. Falling from that bench would have felt less more humiliating than that. Falling from that bench as he was fighting like a kindergartener, at age twenty two, would have been way less humiliating. Atsumu hadn't let it happen. Atsumu hadn't let Kiyoomi reach the ground, but, somehow, Kiyoomi knew, deep down, that he had reached the ground. Atsumu's free arm had come to save him, surrounding his waist, preventing his fall from realizing itself. Kiyoomi had felt it, more than he would have liked to admit, Atsumu's muscles hardening and tensing up around his wasteline. Result? They were closer now. Closer than before. Their chest barely touching and their faces closer than they've ever been. Their arms still up. And worst of all? He was laughing, Atsumu was still enjoying himself. His breathe tickled Kiyoomi's face as he laughed.

"Here it comes yer saviour." Atsumu thought it was a good idea to make fun of him. "Think more about yer balance next time."

"It was your fault." Kiyoomi stated, not even five inches away from him.

"Mine? It's not like I pushed ya." He said, challenging him as he tightened the grip around Kiyoomi's waist. Then, Atsumu had set his eyes on Kiyoomi's face, as if he was studying him and his expression, attentively as if he was looking for any sign of discomfort. There wasn't. There wasn't any. So he didn't let go.

"Miya. Give me my phone back." Sakusa had ordered him, as his heart was wildly pounding against his ribcage, so strong and so intense, his heartbeat was all his ears could perceive, as if it was beating loud and clear, hard against his eardrums, its ferocious sound resonating through his brain, breaking down and scratching the walls of his own mind. Sakusa's heart was beating, so noisy he wanted it to stop, letting him die if necessary.

The almost fall. His heart beating faster was obviously related to the unexpected stress his body had been under because of the almost fall. Yes, that was it, the only possible and reasonable explanation.

"Ya have a mole." Their fight over the phone had stopped, but they were standing still, in that same position. "Ya have this tiny lil' mole I've never noticed before. Next to yer upper lip, Omi. It's impossible to spot if not from this close. D'ya know that?"

"Stop staring at my lips." Sakusa had said, feeling the insane urge to snort.

"It's pretty, though. They're pretty."

Unconsciously, Kiyoomi had perceived it. Without even realizing, Kiyoomi had felt the little pressure he had added around his waist. Without even noticing, Kiyoomi had sensed the way his breath had seemed to pause, be held, in chains, for a moment, a brief and fleeting moment. Kiyoomi, without processing those, had caught glimpses, rare and inexplicable glimpses of hesitation, wavering and reeling anticipation. Atsumu's gaze had lingered, for a very short second, on the curves of Kiyoomi's lips, his arrogant and smug appearance gone, missing from the shades of his eyes.

Sakusa held his breath too.

"Anyway, here ya are." He backed out. Atsumu had backed out. Letting Sakusa and his phone go. And he was normal again. So unbothered, he wondered if he hadn't imagined it all. "Do what ya want. I still think my idea's dope."

"It is not." Sakusa disagreed, finally taking his own phone back.

"Yeah, 'cause y'er boring and unable to appreciate it."

"Guys!" Hinata's voice broke down into the room they were into. "We're doing the group shot for the cover now!"

"Coming, Shouyou-kun!" Atsumu immediately stood up. "Omi?" He then added.

"Yeah, I'm coming. Give me a minute."

"Alright, man."

Kiyoomi unlocked his phone and deleted the deceitful draft Atsumu had made. He had typed something else to the guy met at the bar. Something very generic along the lines of I'm not interested and I swear, it's not you. He had sent it, he had sent his honest reply, not Atsumu's one. But, Kiyoomi had kept it. Somehow he didn't delete it. That stupid selfie of Atsumu with his tongue sticking out. He had decided to keep it.

*

"I'm moving out! Remember when you told us you were looking for a bigger apartment? That's why I thought of telling you right away. Everything's fine in there, very spacious and actually a good catch. Even if the kitchen sink releases a weird smell sometimes, I assume something got stuck in it. Could be rests of food! Or the boiling wax I put in once 'cause Inunaki told me it prevents sink snakes to climb the sink. I don't know about that."

"Sink snakes."

"Yeah, Omi. Sink snakes."

"Do you have those in your sink?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"But they don't exist."

"They don't? Are you telling me the super anti sink snakes repellent wax based Inunaki sold me for thirty thousand yen is not even a thing?"

That morning, Bokuto, thanks to the reached enlightenment promoted by Sakusa, had almost considered to legally prosecute their teammate, suing him for stealing his money through fraud. However, at the end of the day, Bokuto didn't.

Anyway, it was true. Since he had stepped with one foot into Osaka, Sakusa had always been searching for a new house. His current apartment was small, so small there was no difference between his bed and his couch. Yes, he didn't need to go outside to take the trash outside. He just had to open one window and throw said trash out of it since the dumpster happened to be right down the sidewalk his place faced. Extremely convenient, especially for someone like him who would have rather die than getting too close to other people's trash. The hazmat suit he had considered buying could have stayed in his Amazon basket.

For now. Still, the apartment would have turned out to be uninhabitable on the long run. Sakusa needed to move out, but no occasion had seemed to color the horizon of his possibilities to leave that place soon. Until, out of miracle, Bokuto had come to save him. He was officially getting a new apartment. After two loving and endearing years of engagement and after Akaashi Keiji's new employment, in the same city as Bokuto's, the two had finally decided to move in together and to do so, to avoid decisions regarding who was going to move to the house of who, they had fairly settled for a brand new home for the both of them. Meaning: Bokuto's very large and broad apartment, even closer to the MSBY's sports center and nearby a remarkably convenient supermarket was indeed free and up for sale.

"If you want it, Omi, it's yours. You just have to tell me and I'll tell the landlord. You don't have to buy it, I guess it'll be okay to stick with the same kind of lease I had to deal with for the past years. If you're interested in leaving the hell hole where you're staying at now, just let me know." Bokuto had told him, his tone so reliable and convincing, so unusual for someone like him, that Sakusa didn't even need to think it through. He took it, the chance Bokuto had offered him so kindly. He took it, without looking back, glad he could live in a place he could call a proper dwelling. And it didn't take long, in a couple of weeks, Kiyoomi was settling down as Bokuto had his last piece of furniture taken away by the moving company he had entitled. "I'm gonna miss this place." His friend had uttered with such a nostalgic sentiment. "Lots of things happened here."

"And there." He added, after a brief silence. "And there." He said again, pointing at where his kitchen table once was. "And there, definitely lots of things did happen there." Once more, as he set his eyes on a mirror which wasn't there anymore. "And there." One more time, by the wide window in the living room.

Kiyoomi feared. Kiyoomi was terrified at the idea of asking him what he did mean by lots of things, at that point. So, he simply said nothing.

"Anyway, this is yours now. Take care of it." Bokuto had given him a small and light pat on his back. Something Bokuto had been allowed to do only recently, in light of their officially demonstrated friendship. Obviously, without exaggeration and with significant boundaries well defined to always keep in mind.

"Bokkun! Why in the world yer door's open, is somethin' going on, is everything...?"

Bokuto and Kiyoomi both turned around to face the owner of that voice. And just by seeing him, Kiyoomi was able to remember: Bokuto's my neighbour. He had said. He got the apartment near mine. He had specified, more than a year ago now. "Wait. Why are these dudes taking yer hideous carpet away? And... Omi? What is he doing here?"

"I told you, Tsum Tsum! I'm moving out, buying a new home with Akaashi!" Bokuto had to remind him. "And Omi, right here!" He had dramatically pointed at him while saying. "Omi's your new neighbour now!"

Sakusa wished he could back out.

"Oh." Atsumu needed to process. "Well, then, welcome?"

"You don't sound welcoming at all." Kiyoomi tactlessly stated.

"I'm sure it's gonna be fine! For you, Omi, this apartment's gonna feel amazing! And with Tsum Tsum as your boy next door? Fantastic. You have no idea how many times he had fixed my TV. No idea."

"'Cause ya always forgot to plug it in, Bokkun." Atsumu awkwardly smiled.

"True! But you plugged it in for me! And I must thank you for that."

"I'm quite sure I won't need your high-level technical skills." Sakusa assured him.

"Ya never know." Atsumu kept the smile, ignoring Sakusa's clear sarcasm. "Anyway, gotta go. Gotta pump these biceps at the gym a little before the sun goes down."

"You go, Tsum Tsum! Next time we're gonna lift those 220 pounds together!"

"I'm working on that!" He had said before leaving

His biceps were about to grow bigger than his brain, Kiyoomi thought but never said.

After that, in a few days, it was all done. Kiyoomi had his own furniture decorating the place, a new bed, a new sink (since the one Bokuto had left had been irreversibly damaged by that boiling wax) and that was it. Sakusa had a new and airy apartment. He let himself fall on his beautiful and comfortable couch. He closed his eyes, seeing only the dark, his soul searching for harmony. Then, someone yelling had brutally interrupted his moment of inner peace. "The f*ck ya mean with: don't let them burn? I know this sh*t's not supposed to get burnt! I'm asking ya how to brown potatoes, 'Samu! Ya gotta be a lil' more specific than that, Jeez." A nightmare.

"No! No! I can cook! I just can't speak the f*cking chefinism ya fill that trashy mouth of yers with, asshole!"

Walls are thin.

He almost forgot.

Atsumu himself had warned him a while ago.

Walls were thin, they definitely were.

In not even a month of living side by side, sharing more than one wall, Kiyoomi could easily pinpoint details about Miya Atsumu's routine. His day seemed to start with breakfast, like most of the human beings all over the world. Yet, a troubled breakfast. How did he know? The robust and quick sound of ceramic tragically shattering on the ground at a rate of four mornings per week. Kiyoomi always heard that while running the washing machine. After breakfast, Atsumu showered. He could hear it while getting ready for practice, preparing his backpack.

Dangerous, Kiyoomi considered every time, since showering and water could have gotten in the way of the sacral digestive process. Yes, digestion did not start right away after having eaten, but still, he had always judged safer showering before meals and not later than that. A digestive congestion doesn't look pretty, he reminded himself all the time. After shower, Atsumu usually called home, but that didn't happen all the time. One or twice a week, Kiyoomi noticed. And he was able to hear that because Atsumu had the habit of opening the window which was nearer to Kiyoomi's one, to let the fresh air come in, the latter supposed, dialing his home's number and putting it on speaker while he also prepared himself for practice.

Kiyoomi obviously couldn't hear the person talking on the other side of the phone, but he could hear quite well Atsumu's indistinct blabbering while walking frantically through his apartment, tripping on something every once in a while, looking for his bag and his stuff, doing his best in order to not be late for the team's early training.

"Omi-kun! Good morning!" Then he greeted him, every morning when they both found themselves heading in the same direction. Kiyoomi gave him a nod in response, nothing more, nothing less. He had thought about finding a new way to get to the gym, but there wasn't any. He had thought about walking on the opposite sidewalk, but a flower shop constantly surrounded by bees happened to be there. He had even thought about getting a bus, but that wouldn't have made any sense. The building where he lived was so close to his workplace that taking a bus ride would have resulted way more uneconomical in terms of time. In conclusion, he had to bear with walking with Atsumu every single time.

In the morning, at least, considering how they never got back to the apartment block together since Atsumu always joined the other guys for a drink while Kiyoomi canonically didn't. They didn't talk, not that much. Kiyoomi wasn't much of a morning person when it came to conversations and Atsumu had always his earphones on. "I like to listen to music to start my day, to wake up my brain, y'know." He had said the first time.

"I wouldn't say it works." Sakusa had teased, and Atsumu had replied by just pouting offended before starting to play his questionable music.

Then, when the sun set and the night made its appearance, he knew Atsumu usually returned home around ten, because at ten was when Kiyoomi, sitting on his sofa boringly trying to set for a tv channel, perceived the sound of his keys dropping and a light curse escaping his mouth. Then, after ten o'clock, somehow, no other sound was detected until sunrise. And it went on, that way, for over a month. But then, at some point, the predictable certainty of the routine had been broken.

One night, Kiyoomi's ears hadn't been the only ones up to sensing. His nose too had been called to duty. It was nine in the evening when his nostrils couldn't help but perceive it. Burning, something was definitely burning. At first, he had ignored it. Thinking that, maybe, his senses were starting to fail him out of the fatigue caused by the granted physicality his job demanded and included. However, when the smell had become impossible to pass unnoticed, his senses reached a significant state of alert. Where was the smell coming from? What was causing it? It couldn't be his kitchen.

He was in there, at that very moment, heating up the rests of some ramen he had the night before along with a, not so pleasant to the eye, salad Hinata had insisted for him to prepare and have for dinner. "You have no idea how many books I read on food science, Omi-san! If you put these things together in your plate..." And after hearing those words, Kiyoomi stopped listening, usually. But he hadn't had chances to escape when his orange haired friend had specifically texted him, with this extravagant recipe.

So, he took the ingredients he needed and he had tried to replicate and resemble the colorful picture of the dish trapped inside his smartphone. In conclusion, since he was right there, in front of the stove, he could easily realise that no, the intense and worrying burning smell didn't originate there. He left the kitchen, wandering through his own house, sniffing the back of his television, his hair dryer, the lamp he had next to his bed, every single socket in there. Nothing, still nothing. Nothing was burning inside his house, nothing had been set on fire, accidentally or not. He opened his front door, wondering if someone hadn't think of inflaming the landing and then themselves. Clear. Everything out there was clear.

His nose sniffed more, then his ears had caught something.

Kiyoomi looked to his right, and that's when he understood. Five steps and he was standing in front of Atsumu's apartment's front door.

He was screaming while on the phone. The usual, someone would have thought, but Kiyoomi knew that was not Atsumu's usual screaming.

"I don't give a flying f*ck 'bout that, 'Samu!" Kiyoomi heard him, not so sure about knocking on his door now. "No! sh*t, no! Ya know it's not the money. No! I didn't freaking mean that, God!"

He couldn't see his actual face, but to Kiyoomi's ears, Atsumu had never sounded this frustrated on the phone with his brother before. "I told ya! I told ya! I don't need my f*ckin' name on it. Money? I can give ya all the money ya-"

Kiyoomi heard him pausing.

"I don't give a sh*t about ownership! I never did! That's why I don't care and I don't want to sign anything, 'Samu! It's yer shop and ya know I love it, but that's fine." He had raised his voice.

"No. That ain't it. Co-owner my ass. Onigiri Miya's still Onigiri Miya even if I don't put my stupid name on a stupid contract, 'Samu. I invest. I do that. I do it all the time when I buy tons of the good stuff ya and yer staff made and I tell everyone about it. My team, stories on Instagram. I could even pay for that dumb expensive fryer ya need! Ya could even fry me in that fryer, I could be as delicious as freaking fries. That sh*t y'know: tall, blonde, gorgeous? McDonald's almost got on its knees, begging to book me and have my face smashed and edited on one of their fries! But I'm not gonna sign sh*t, place's yers. It doesn't even feel right, I'm never there, not like you since ya do that for a living, f*ck. I told ya already." Deep silence again then he spoke again. "Wh-what? Wait!" He seemed angry, even, now.

"I never said that, you dipsh*t! No! Y'er the f*ckin' worst! And don't f*ckin' yell at me!" Truly angry. "I'm yelling at ya 'cause ya yelling at me, what a f*ck! Y'er the one talking nonsense!" At that point, Sakusa, still standing behind his door without Atsumu knowing, truly considered going back to his own apartment.

"No! Now ya listen to me! Ya listen to me, dickhe*d! It's this persistence of yers which bothers me. I don't-" He had probably been interrupted. "f*ck, 'Samu! I don't wanna be related to it, okay? Is that clear? I don't care! I don't care for sh*t! I don't wanna be part of this. I don't wanna be part of yer f*cking shop, Jeez, let me live!"

But then the burning smell hit his nose again, stronger than ever.

"Fine!"

He had to ring his door bell.

"I'm hanging up on ya, asshole!"

And Sakusa did.

Atsumu had fallen silent in there. Sakusa couldn't hear a thing, he was not frantically walking back and forth as he had been doing for the entire phone call. Then, a few steps. Atsumu was moving towards the door. He was about to open it.

"Omi-kun? Good evening!" He had greeted him, trying to sound as unbothered as possible, and Sakusa would have bought that act if he hadn't heard him screaming for five minutes straight.

Then his senses felt it, what Atsumu, too caught into his family quarrel, hadn't even noticed. The heat, Kiyoomi's skin was sensing the increasing heat.

"Miya, it's getting hot in here." He had said, no inflection in his tone.

"What? Pretty sure ya took that line from a p*rn, Omi. Are ya here to hit on me or something?"

Then, his eyes saw it. The origin of it all.

"I think it's your oven." Sakusa pointed out.

"What?" Atsumu had asked unsettled.

"Something is burning in your oven. There's smoke coming out of it."

"What?" Atsumu said again, his voice uncomfortably high-pitched. He turned around. "f*ck!" He uttered. "Omi, help me!" Atsumu stormed into the kitchen, driven by both fury and fear. "Please!" And before he could realize, Kiyoomi was inside Atsumu's smoked kitchen, a fire extinguisher in his hands, as Atsumu opened the hatch of the oven, making his way through that thick and smoky fog, so that Kiyoomi could get in action with the extinguisher he was holding.

"Omi! Imma open it! On three! Got it?"

Kiyoomi nodded.

"One... Two... Thr-"

Kiyoomi hadn't waited for the three. But he had successfully cooled down the oven. And Atsumu too. Kiyoomi had never used a fire extinguisher his whole life. It had been difficult to control. Atsumu's eyes were wide open, while his entire face was covered in the extinguisher white powder. He comically blinked. "I should kill ya, shouldn't I?"

"I saved your ass, you were setting your own apartment on fire." Sakusa calmly replied.

"I know." Atsumu had acknowledged, a sense of defeat, as he disappeared out of the kitchen in order to restore his poorly ruined face.

He had come back with a towel, rubbing it against his skin to get rid of the remnants of that irritating chemical dust. "Thanks." He had been able to say then. "I could have died." He had added kind of dramatically.

"That would have been your fault, though." Kiyoomi stated.

"Yeah, I got kinda distracted."

"I heard."

"Heard?" Atsumu echoed.

"Walls." Sakusa reminded him. "Walls are thin."

Atsumu's expression suddenly turned pained. "How much have ya heard?"

"It started with flying f*ck." Sakusa openly told him. "And I guess it went downhill from there."

"Well." Atsumu sighed, scratching the back of his neck as he fell on a chair. "If that ain't clear, it was my brother."

"Osamu." Kiyoomi remembered.

"That scumbag, yeah."

"You were... fighting?" He asked, unsure.

"No, no, it wasn't fighting. We always fight, like, every day. That's normal to us, y'know. We were discussing, which is worse."

Kiyoomi would have asked how in the world shouting and yelling could be considered just discussing, but instead he said: "I heard you were talking about money. Does he need help?"

"Money? Oh no, 'Samu does not need my help, not in that sense. Actually, my brotha doesn't need my help at all." Atsumu replied, a bittersweet undertone to his own words.

"So what was all the fuss about?" Sakusa kept trying to understand, but not understanding why he felt so eager to understand Atsumu's situation.

"That idiot wants me to be his partner. Like, officially. He wants me to be co-owner for his onigiri store. Even if I have nothing to deal with it since I don't work in there, the idea was never mine and, truth to be told, I never gave a sh*t about 'Samu doing onigiris or rice cakes or whatever he wanted to make. I just eat, 'cause 'Samu's cooking's fire, and that's it."

"And that bothers you? Is it the financial responsibility that scares you?" Sakusa tried guessing.

"What? No! Omi-kun, no. Y'er talking just like my brotha, I already told him: it's not about the money. Why are y'all so obsessed with finance or somethin'? It's not about the money!"

"Again, what is it about? If not money, what bothers you of your brother offering you a partnership? He wants something in return? Promo? I don't get it."

"He wants nothing from me, as I said, it's like 'Samu doesn't even need my help."

"So, it's just your name on a paper." Kiyoomi concluded.

"Yeah, Onigiri Miya. His shop, but on paper we'd be both owners."

"Like a family business."

"I guess ya could say that."

"And what's your problem? If he doesn't require you full time engagement, money's not such a big deal and you don't have to promote it more than you do on your own already, why don't you-"

"I don't want my name on that, 'kay?" Atsumu earnestly interrupted him. "I don't want my name on that one thing that drew us apart! Is it clear now?" There was not anger in his voice, but frustration, remorse and a soulful shred of disappointment. It didn't matter how much time had gone by, he couldn't let go. He may had adapted to it, got used to it, but he was never going to let go.

"You're wrong." Sakusa told him, honest, candid and straightforward.

"I'm wrong? I don't think y're entitled to tell me how I should-"

"It's his shop for you, right? The thing that made you two split. But it's not the shop for him. It's volleyball. Volleyball had you split."

"What are ya even saying? 'Samu loved to play, we always talked about it. Us two! Against the world." Atsumu strongly disagreed. "He was torn, ya weren't there. I was. When he went for his food related career, he thought about it. It hadn't been easy for him, to just quit. He valued volleyball."

"He did not value volleyball. He did value you. If he is happy now, like you say, that means he made the right choice. It means he chose what he loves the most. But he was torn, and if he was torn, it may have been because of you." Sakusa led Atsumu to reason.

"Me? Are ya telling me it's my fault if-"

"He wants to get you involved, Miya. Don't you understand?" Atsumu, incredibly and miraculously, fell silent. "He's not asking for your money, he's not asking for your presence in there. He doesn't even make you pay for those bags full of stuff that you bring to practice every now and then. He doesn't want you to be co-owner for that, but he wants you to be co-owner to bring you closer. To share something with you, again. After volleyball split you up." Kiyoomi explained, unsettled by the way Atsumu, protagonist of this sequence of events, hadn't been able to read his own brother's true intentions.

"What are ya? A shrink?" The man in question reacted.

"I may be wrong, but this is how I see it." Kiyoomi quietly, but firmly stated.

Atsumu, still sitting on a chair, under the neon lights of his own kitchen, heavily sighed. "He wanna drag me into this. 'Cause he cares 'bout me? And he doesn't want us to grow apart? This's what ya saying here?" Kiyoomi just nodded.

"I said he was an asshole." Atsumu laughed. "I said he was an asshole and then I hanged up on him. He was tryna talk, I hanged up."

"Then, call him. Call him again." Kiyoomi easily suggested.

"Bullsh*t. Ya clearly have no idea of how it all works. I can't call him again after I got mad at him. That'd be humiliating. That'd mean losing to him! Sorry, can't do that."

"You're truly an idiot." Sakusa couldn't believe him. "You called him asshole for no reason and hanged up. What if he dies?" He asked, words incredibly dramatic when compared to the flat tone of his voice.

"Dies? Are ya going nuts? What does that even mean!"

"You almost died." Sakusa stated.

"I did not."

"You were almost blowing up yourself and your apartment. It could have caused you death. What if he dies because he trips over the stairs? What if he falls into a manhole and dies? He dies and the last thing you said to him was: asshole."

"This is madness." Atsumu uttered in disbelief.

"My point is: tell him. If this whole thing gets under your skin this much, tell him why you don't want to sign and figure it out. It's your brother. You told me once you deeply care about him. He's home to you, or is my memory failing me?" Sakusa raised an eyebrow as those last words were being pronounced. He knew his memory wasn't failing him.

Atsumu, tired in his eyes, sighed. Hands on his face, as if they were trying to shake off his own weariness. "I should call him." He came to the same conclusion, in the end. "I should really call him. Ain't it what adulthood's all about, right? Calling yer own dumb brother to sort things out. Ain't it?"

"It may be."

"Then I'm gonna win this to 'Samu. Imma beat him at adulthood. Imma call him and slam in his face how much of a better adult I am!" Atsumu had suddenly seemed to recover his childlike enthusiasm, jumping up from the chair.

"This is not how grown adults talk, though." Sakusa muttered.

"Heard ya!" Atsumu let him know. "I'll go." He then said, determination in his gaze.

"You go."

"And I'll clean this mess." He added, giving a look at whatever kind of food had been burnt inside the oven. "And I'll starve 'cause I got nothing to eat now. But that's fine."

"You don't have anything? At all?" Kiyoomi went confused.

"I eat outside almost every night and today's a Friday night. No, there's nothing in my fridge. Maybe a powder of proteins Bokuto gave me the other day, nothing else."

And Sakusa thought he was the terrible one at organising his weekly eating schedule.

"I have leftovers to spare." Sakusa said. "Knock on my door after you're done with your brother."

"Wow! Omi! That's so friendly of ya!"

He wasn't being friendly, he just couldn't stand people who weren't able to look after themselves.

"Take your time, but don't come over too late." He only stated.

"That's a bit of a contradiction, ain't it?"

"Shut up." Kiyoomi rolled his eyes as he approached Atsumu's front door.

"Hey! Omi." Kiyoomi stopped, his hand on the doorknob. "Again, thanks."

He ignored it, Kiyoomi ignored how his senses almost forgot he was a living and physical being standing in front of a door, he ignored how all he could feel was the sudden sensation of being airless for a brief second. And then his blood starting flowing again as his mind confusingly tried to process the reason why is heart had increased its speed. Could it be a red flag for a stroke?

"Don't thank me, it's lame."

They had dinner together that night. Kiyoomi hated the way Atsumu chewed with his mouth open. They had dinner again, together, at his apartment, two days after their first one. Kiyoomi hated how Atsumu always talked while eating. It felt disgusting.

They had lunch together, a week later. Atsumu had brought food, kindly on his brother's house, at morning practice, to share it with the others. There was too much of it, and giving it away to the team members and the staff didn't seem to resolve much. "Omi, what plans d'ya have for lunch?" Atsumu had said, as they were stretching after training.

"What do you want?" Sakusa spoke with frankness.

"The food left. Too much for one person, but that could work for two. We go back to yer place for lunch, then we come back for the afternoon training. Thoughts?"

Kiyoomi needed to consider the offer. "What about umeboshi?"

"There's always umeboshi, Omi-Omi."

"Deal."

They had dinner together, once again, three days later, and before Kiyoomi could realize, it had turned into a habit. Eating together. They always ate together, especially dinners, when Atsumu didn't feel like going out with their teammates or the friends he had made there in Osaka. At some point, sharing meals with Atsumu had become a quite regular activity. At some point, Kiyoomi didn't despise his company anymore. At some point, in the process Kiyoomi had even started responding to Atsumu's attempts to have an actual conversation.

He talked back, one day, interested in interacting more than the usual. He found himself speaking, telling, narrating. He found himself wanting to get the conversation going, he found himself comfortable in doing go. If Atsumu had noticed his change of attitude, still he didn't say anything about it. Even during those morning walks, both of them heading to the gymnasium, they had started talking. About how the sun had the ability of blinding people, about the increase of the stray cats in the area, about the weird things Hinata wanted the team to try and eat, about Meian and his first born turning into the Black Jackals' new mascot.

About volleyball, about V-League marches, about their practice and about plays. And when Sakusa didn't feel like talking, on those early walks, Atsumu had started sparing him an earphone, suggesting to listen to some music together. Sakusa wasn't a big fan of loud noise first thing in the morning, but he gladly accepted most of the times. They began to watch games in each other company, staying up late, a television or a computer screen projecting images of their shared rivals and enemies. And Sakusa and Atsumu being awake, until a sense of sleep caught them over, discussing, trying to come up with strategies and ideas to crush their opponents over.

Atsumu truly loved volleyball, Sakusa had thought one night, as the boy sitting on his couch was enthusiastically drawing a game plan, a good tactic his vision had prompted him. It didn't matter how hard it could get, Atsumu really did love volleyball. There were times in which he talked about it with such a passion, it could seem the only thing he had. How his expression did glow every time he came up with new moves, to quote him directly. How his spirit seemed to fire up every time he succeeded in something, just to forget about it five seconds later because he was already trying to succeed in a completely different thing.

Feverishly aiming at reaching the new, the unheard of, the unprecedented, the unknown. Always tending towards a mysterious variable not even Atsumu himself was conscious of. The guy lived as he didn't know limits. Jealous. There were times Sakusa felt jealous, but he never showed. Not even once, not even when their known rivalry about service aces had begun. But he did envy his vitality and his energy and the high intelligence he put into playing. That's why, without saying a word about it, he started feeling like he was getting dragged along.

"Miya, would you mind staying after practice? I want to try some spikes." Kiyoomi had asked him once, in the middle of their training. Atsumu looked at him as if he had just confessed his alien descendants. "Fine." He had agreed. "Sure, I don't mind."

Every toss, every spike, every meal they shared, every walk, every laugh, every talk. Sakusa couldn't lie: his affection was growing towards the guy. He still hated him, and he still didn't like him. They still bickered, fair to say they bickered even more now. Because Atsumu was an idiot and Kiyoomi was deeply convinced he was not and sometimes he just couldn't stand at said guy's insufferable idiocy.

The day Atsumu showed up at his apartment with shoes covered in mud, causing unspeakable dirt on his floor, they had a pretty bad fight. Sakusa had almost considered the idea of threatening Atsumu with a restraining order just to prevent him from doing such a thing a second time. They teased each other at practice, more theatrically than they ever did. Kiyoomi wasn't proud of it, since he always wanted to pass for the mature one and give the impression that Atsumu was the only stupidly involved one. Nevertheless, Kiyoomi didn't care and he had to admit that hitting him with a ball hadn't always been an accident. Just like demanding him more accurate tosses hadn't always been what Kiyoomi needed. Atsumu's tosses were great, he just wanted to get a reaction out of him. His reasons? He had none. Sometimes, he just wanted to be a jerk, someone would have said. Sometimes, he just wanted to let himself live things through, even if, to him, living things through translated into snarky comments and absolutely unnecessary ironic insults. Even if that meant...

"Your reaction time's slow. The heartbeat of a damn corpse would go faster, Miya."

Incorrect. Atsumu's reaction time on that defence may had been slower, but not slow.

"What? Say that again, I dare ya!"

"I think you heard, didn't you?"

"f*cking mean." Atsumu told him at any chance given and Kiyoomi should have felt bad about it, and he would have, probably, if Atsumu hadn't always laughed or smiled or smirked. As if he didn't mind, as if he didn't care. As if he enjoyed it, even.

"Adriah! You see these two? They fight more than we do. C'mon! Tell me something to get on my nerves, hurry up!" Inunaki said out loud, Adriah trying to catch his breath in the meantime after a harsh receive.

"Why don't you say something to come off my nerves? I hate you." He then replied tired.

"Do you hate me? What?" Inunaki displayed a fake offended expression. "Nope, it doesn't work. You put zero effort into it. You should have tried with something about my lack of height! That would have clicked for me. Something like: Inunaki! You're short, even for a hobbit! You would have never been able to face Sauron, you would have never reached his eye level!" He said as he was doing a poor impression of Adriah's voice.

The whole team blinked. Crickets would have sung if the gymnasium hadn't properly gone under disinfestation before.

"Me? A short hobbit? You said what Thomas Adriah?" Inunaki didn't lose his spirit.

"I said nothing! You did!"

"You're not fooling anyone! Now run!"

And just like that, Inunaki started chasing Adriah as if his life did depend on it.

"Okay, guys! Let's get back to work!" Meian had proclaimed, willingly ignoring those two running around.

"Omi." Atsumu approached him. "Receives training right after?"

"Yeah. You need it." He was smiling. Kiyoomi had wanted to sound as prickly as possible, but he couldn't. He was smiling.

"I meant together! Wait... what's that smile for?"

"Not a smile. It's a sympathetic reaction to your misery." But he was still smiling.

"I don't think so, Omi-kun." Atsumu's face softened all of a sudden. "I think that's a smile. The most awkward smile I've ever seen, like, have ya ever used those face muscles before? But still, that's most likely a smile."

Kiyoomi gave him his shoulders. "Let's get back to work." He just said.

Atsumu was right. Kiyoomi had smiled. He didn't know why. Lately, he was feeling like he didn't know the reason of many things, but as he kept ignoring those raising new sensations, he would have been just fine.

The only thing he couldn't ignore, though, was the brand new reality he was living in. Every time he opened the door of his apartment to let Atsumu come in, every time they practiced together, every time he put Atsumu's earphone on. For all the times they had sat side by side on the bus for the team's away game. For all the times Kiyoomi had found himself looking for Atsumu's presence during post match interviews, meetings, obligated parties. For all the times Bokuto and Hinata had barged into his house, just to find Atsumu already there, heartfeltly discussing with Kiyoomi about who knew what.

They were having dinner when Sakusa's mind had the epiphany. Atsumu was scrolling his phone. His mouth filled with white rise.

"Miya."

"What?" He had replied, his eyes not leaving the screen.

Sakusa looked at the guy sitting in front of him, at his table, on his chair, inside his own house. He realized.

"We're friends."

Atsumu looked up. Gentle, his eyes seemed gentle. "Yeah, Omi. We're friends."

And they were.

Until.

Chapter 3: Blooming (I)

Chapter Text

Red Falcons versus MSBYs the Black Jackals.

A battle which sports fans and volleyball enthusiasts always looked forward to, with the same ferocious passion that used to ignite the fierce and unstoppable fire of ancient warriors and their fellow soldiers back in time.

Who would have turned out to be the deadliest animal, living and thriving inside the borders of that wild, savage and brutal kingdom the major league happened to be? Which one of the two had what it took? Which one had the potential to viciously assault and cruelly destroy the sovereign, the unobstructed and unquestioned supremacy of the Eagle, flying free among the land, imposing its power? Which one, between the falcon and the black jackal, would have won? Which one would have stolen and firmly put a grip on the second place of the championship? Which one would have caused ruin and devastation? Which one would have led the rebellion against the winged king?

It was just a match, and that match would have made a signficant difference on the V-League rank.

There were flames, and metaphorical blood was about to be spilled, supporters' tears were going to be shed. The reasons behind those tears diametrically opposed, immense joy or great despair, according to which faction they belonged: the winners or the losers. But to determine that, the game had to occur. The court had to establish the master, who had the right to assert their dominance.

Leadership and primacy, the turning point of careers of the many. A second place which would have shaken the entire structure of the major league, crowning the name of the team which would have had a serious chance to take over the Adlers the very next year. However, Kiyoomi was not scared nor agitated. Not at all.

The Tachibana Red Falcons' home was not far, that was what Kiyoomi loved when it came to play against them. They didn't have to pack, they didn't have to take a long trip, they didn't have to stay outside more than it was due and Kiyoomi didn't have to use bathrooms which obviously hadn't been sanitised as they should have been for a five stars hotel.

Although, something had been different that time. The companies had organized a dinner, the day before the match, between the parts, right there in Minō. A fancy restaurant serving an innovative cuisine whose main ingredient was love. Not ironically since they took pride in the variety of animals' cardiovascular muscles, also and commonly known as hearts, they were able to cook.

Disgusting, Kiyoomi had thought, and slightly unethical. The two charmains of the two sports associations simply wanted to celebrate the gladness and the delight of having both teams from Osaka running for the highest spots of the tournament that year. Dinner first, match next day and an after party later. The combination of the three had led the MSBYs' management to put the entire team in hotel rooms to reduce and avoid the transport costs.

Kiyoomi's social batteries were about to combust and explode, but surely he wasn't allowed to refuse such an adventurous and wholesome package. He had complained in the morning, when Atsumu had knocked on his door, a sports bag with him, way too energetic than usual, wearing an Onigiri Miya hat, just backwards.

"We're gonna have fun, Omi!" He had attempted to make Kiyoomi change his mind. "I know it might be a stressing situation for such a peculiar guy like ya, but it'll be fun!" And Kiyoomi would have asked him to withdraw what he had just said, since he was quite sure the adjective peculiar could have also been taken as an allegedly insult, but he had simply let it go.

He had realized that arguing with Atsumu first thing in the morning, before getting on the bus, would have meant dealing with two equally nerve-wracking possibilities.

Possibility number one: Atsumu pouting for the entire ride with his arms crossed not talking to him if not through a prearranged messenger, who usually happened to be Hinata, the only one who found funny reporting to him words from Atsumu Kiyoomi had actually heard, since it didn't matter how bad their fight had gotten, the blond man would have never given up on his seat right next to Sakusa.

Possibility number two: Atsumu thinking Kiyoomi's usual face was a pouting one because of their discussion. That would have led him into desperately trying to cheer him up in ways which would have made Kiyoomi snap at him, if it hadn't been for the way seeing Atsumu putting so much effort into it, risking it all for taking even the fleeting hint of a smile out of him, actually warmed his chest and softened his naturally tensed expression a little. Obviously, Sakusa was never going to let Atsumu know about that. Annoying. It was just utterly annoying.

So, Kiyoomi didn't make any points on specifically Atsumu that morning, but he did let him understand that his extreme bother and the already intense fatigue he felt about those more than twenty-four hours out were definitely there and they were not on their way to disappear that soon.

Taking this into consideration, sitting on the bus, side by side, Atsumu had stopped to consistently try to interact with him and he had just let Kiyoomi close his eyes to sleep a little bit more. Charging and keeping the energy for the pretty busy days which would have followed once they had put their feet on the Red Falcons' territory. Sakusa didn't dream. It was pitched black, the scenery he did see, but it wasn't bad, it wasn't scary. Cradled by the sound of the wheels hitting the asphalt and the constant chattering of his teammates surrounding him, it didn't feel frightful nor fearsome. It did feel comfortable and reassuring. Voices he knew, the smell of the cologne Atsumu definitely bathed in since his nose could have perceived it from miles away, the comforting reality of the match he was about to play tomorrow night. At some point, his sleepy brain realized something his awake self would have not quite caught until later on. At some point, in that unexplored and mysterious land between sleep and wakefulness, something along the lines of his soul tried to speak to his mind, to communicate with it.

The warm familiarity and the cozy atmosphere. He had never been able to let himself fall asleep during daytime, his brain always nervous about what could have happened while asleep. However, somehow, since quite a while now, it just happened. Whenever he felt weary on the bus on their way back to Osaka after a match or whenever he felt like he hadn't had enough sleep in the early morning heading to their opponents' city. He closed his eyes and he fell, in a genuine, carefree and restful sleep.

On their way to Minō, Kiyoomi seemed to surrender a bit to the laws of gravity and as the boy did sleep, his head fell too, finding itself involuntarily resting on the guy's shoulder next to him. If Kiyoomi had been completely awake he would have heard Atsumu suddenly stopping his talk with Hinata, lightly flinching at the unexpected appearance of extra weight on him. If Kiyoomi had been awake, he would have perceived Atsumu's eyes on him, as they widened and unwidened trying to realize what they were focusing on. As they showed, in a few seconds, the unbelievable astonishment its owner was feeling. Kiyoomi would have seen Atsumu, as he closed and then opened his eyes, repeatedly, as if he expected the one thing he was looking at to disappear, evaporate, or simply change.

As if he expected that sight to not be real, but just a realistic projection of something he had never even dared to imagine. If Kiyoomi had been awake, he would have felt it, when Hinata had gone away, back to his seat next to Bokuto.

Kiyoomi would have felt how Atsumu had lowered a bit in his direction, how he had titled his own head letting it lean on and rest for a brief instant on Kiyoomi's one still on his shoulder. Kiyoomi would have sensed the mild touch, the uncertainty and the doubt hidden behind it. He would have noticed Atsumu struggling to breathe in, as his heart seemed to break its ribcage and quickly flowing into his lungs, making it impossible for him to keep living without suffocating in his own hesitation.

But Kiyoomi was mostly asleep and he didn't notice, he didn't see.

"Omi, ya gotta wake up. Trip's over."

He lazily raised his eyelids. The world in front of him seemed strangely horizontal. His view. His view was horizontal. Then he felt it, under his head, the presence of something very human-like. Kiyoomi flinched immediately after the realization. "I... I'm sorry." Apologies had been the first thing his mind had thought of. Atsumu laughed it off.

"Ya slept all the way through." He said while standing up. The bus was emptying as their teammates were getting off one by one.

"You could have moved it. You could have moved it away. I mean, my head." Kiyoomi tried to make sense, while trying not to show his bewilderment at the same time.

"Nah. Yer head wasn't that heavy. Maybe y'er the one who got no brain, Omi-Omi." He teased, right before heading off the bus as fast as possible.

"Take it back!" Sakusa almost yelled at him, his nags too late to reach him since Atsumu had already disappeared beyond the bus doors.

He looked around, one last time. The inside of the vehicle totally deserted now. He really did sleep all the way through. With his backpack on, heading towards the exit, he wondered when exactly his head had fallen on Atsumu's shoulder. He also wondered why Atsumu hadn't moved. His mind tried to picture it, how the scene must have been like seen from the outside. Himself, peacefully resting his eyes, his body completely relaxed and his expression, tranquil and serene, exceptionally displaying the calmness reigning in his sleep. Atsumu, still involved with the usual bus talks, glowing under the pure light of the sun filtering through the windows, his features which didn't seem to be familiar with the definition of being tensed, as he energetically spoke, as he quietly laughed, always careful not to unsettle Kiyoomi, unknowingly leaning on his shoulder. The picture developing inside Sakusa's mind had painted itself, acquiring the warmest varieties of the warmest colors a painter could ever mix on his dearest palette.

The image of them together on that bus before, covering itself in a simple torpor and a natural numbness, assuming the appearance of an old polaroid, long forgotten over time, coffee stains having faded its brilliance, but a kind of photograph which would have always held and crystallised the clear sense of serenity it had captured and immortalized.

It did feel warm, Sakusa found himself thinking.

Safe, he realized as he came down the last step of those bus stairs. Safe, the word kept echoing, hitting the walls of his mind as his feet reached the ground. Was it Atsumu? Was it him? Sakusa wondered. Had it been Atsumu the one who had instilled in him that strange and alien sensation of safety? Or was the confusion, resulting from the nap he had just taken, obfuscating his judgment? Why were his senses not rejecting the idea of that unusual intimacy? Why had it been his first instinct to think of what had happened in such a tender and familiar way? How odd it was that it didn't feel odd at all.

Kiyoomi, backpack on his shoulders, was now facing the Red Falcons shining and brand new sports center. He heard it was so modern and well equipped it even had rooms to host the rival teams, in case these would have not liked to search for hotels nearby. He looked at his right: Atsumu was there, probably telling Bokuto some made up stories about himself to inflate his own ego, considering how filled with amazement Bokuto's face had seemed. Sakusa's gaze couldn't help but focus on his shoulder, the one where his head had unconsciously rested.

His eyes fell on it as his mind frantically tried to process why he had felt so astounded by something so stupid, yet so distressing. He was staring, scrutinising Miya Atsumu, analyzing Miya Atsumu as he unquietly tried to understand why his brain had stagnated itself on the thought of a closeness the asleep Sakusa hadn't even been aware that he was experiencing until he had been woken up. Why was he obsessing over a simple shoulder that much, why was it scaring him the way it didn't feel scary at all.

Kiyoomi swallowed.

He had swallowed back down that raising feeling of slight panic which was creeping inside of him. The feeling of not knowing how to feel, the feeling of not recognizing what it was being felt, the feeling of his stomach being violently punched, the anxiety clawing his organs, the intense urge of ripping them off, with his own bare hands, hoping that could lead Kiyoomi to stop feeling whatever he was feeling. The unspeakable terror of the loss of control. The horror materializing itself as Kiyoomi realized he had no idea what was disturbing him so much.

Picturing it: people could have been seen as balloons. Different types of balloons, in different forms and different colours, but still, all balloons. Kiyoomi was a balloon too, an air balloon. With his balloon like shape rolling on the ground, anchored on earth, something he knew. And he liked it that way, he didn't need to aim higher, other balloons would have found it boring. There were maps and compasses to show him the path, so. Earth was fine to explore too. It didn't matter if said balloon was stuck on his role, if this balloon would have only decorated children birthday parties or criminals' release from prison celebrations. It was fine as long as it was earth. But one day the balloon had been stolen. Found by someone who had robbed the balloon of its beloved air, and all of a sudden, without its consent, helium had replaced the core of it. Then this someone had let the balloon go. Kiyoomi was now an helium balloon and he was levitating at the great winds' mercy. No direction, no control. How many chances of falling out of the atmosphere were there? How many chances of getting stuck on a tree? How many chances of drowning in the ocean? Was he really that helpless?

That couldn't be. He couldn't feel so lost. He needed to think, to get back to earth. To get a grip on himself, not to let his sensation take over the rationality of what he could sense, of what he could understand. Sakusa Kiyoomi was a simple guy, who took pride in how efficiently he had always dealt with every struggle life had had in store for him. Sakusa Kiyoomi was a simple guy, who had always been honest with himself and with others, to the point people often mistaken his straightforwardness as rudeness. Sakusa Kiyoomi was a simple guy, conscious of what he wanted. He just had to apply the principles he knew.

There he stood Atsumu. Following the logic, Atsumu was his friend. Kiyoomi usually wanted to kick him, because he was naturally unpleasant, still Atsumu was his friend. In fact, Kiyoomi had learnt Atsumu wasn't always so unpleasant, that's why he had ended up being his friend. That day, Atsumu had let Kiyoomi use his shoulder as a pillow. Atsumu was his friend and a makeshift pillow. Pillows and friends had in common the way they conveyed a general sense of safety. Keywords: pillow and friend. Thought of it in that way, it wasn't odd, it couldn't be. It was only normal for Kiyoomi to feel safe around a friend. He had acknowledged their friendship a long time ago.

He wasn't lying, Kiyoomi never lied.

But you never say the whole truth.

"Alan!" His stream of consciousness ironically interrupted by the same person who had caused it. "Is that ya? It's been so f*ckin' long!"

Ojiro Alan, the Red Falcons' opposite hitter and Atsumu's historic schoolmate had appeared, to welcome the Black Jackals, most likely. "I've seen ya on tv last week! That talk show? Yer comebacks are always the best!"

Kiyoomi had seen Ojiro Alan before, they had played against each other, but never a word had been shared with him. It looked like him and Atsumu had much to catch up. Kiyoomi would have never wanted to intrude. He looked at his left. Inunaki and Adriah were there, talking to Hinata. He could have joined that conversation. And he would have done that.

"Omi!" If Atsumu hadn't called. Sakusa hated how quickly he had turned around. "Omi-kun, come here! I never personally introduced ya to this living legend!"

Alan had simply smiled, probably used to Atsumu's kind of energy. Kiyoomi, still a bit unfazed, had replied: "Yeah, sure."

The three of them had had a little chat, waiting for the vice chairman of the hosting team to come and greet the MSBYs properly, in sight of the significant dinner they had in plan. Alan, as Kiyoomi had expected, was so nice and soft-spoken, he wondered how in the world he had been able to tolerate Atsumu since they were kids. Astonishing, Kiyoomi considered. Then an assistant had invited the visiting team to come in. The most stressing twenty-four hours of his week were about to start.

"Omi." A way too familiar grip had reached him before he could take a step. Kiyoomi turned towards Atsumu, then his eyes had fallen on the hand surrounding his wrist. Kiyoomi didn't pull it away, there was no need. "Is everything alright? Ya seem a bit off."

Atsumu was a friend. An unexpectedly dear friend. Everything was alright.

"I'm okay. I guess the nap knocked me out a little." Kiyoomi reassured him.

"Fine, whatever ya say. You know I'm always here, just in case."

"In case I wanna get myself a headache." Kiyoomi stated.

"Yeah, that too." Atsumu had smiled at him, letting his wrist go. "C'mon, team's waiting."

Barest than ever it felt, the skin which had been grazed by his touch.

But you never say the whole truth.

Those words had echoed again, but something was about to change. Something was going to change way sooner than expected. Their staying in Minō would have defined many more things than the second place in the tournament.

It all started with that night, that classy event which had as its guests the less classy category of people human society had ever generated: jocks. It didn't matter how elegant and refined the suits they were wearing looked like. How polished the buttons of their shirts actually were. How styled for the occasion and well designed their outfit had been. Not even half an hour into the dinner ties would have been removed, teared away with the grace of a monkey, belts would have been loosened and collars untied.

Nobody could force athletes into the dress code prison, not when sweatpants were the piece of clothing they valued the most. It didn't matter how distinguished a restaurant having them as commensals could be. Their table would have always felt like the counter of a pub during the final of the World Cup: noisy, extremely loud, smelling like beer. While specifically trained waiters were doing their best to flawlessly exhibit and present the many courses of the night, the main discourse between the Black Jackals and the Red Falcons was revolving around one simple thing: which squat routine provided better and quicker results for a rounder ass. Kiyoomi, having the misfortune of being seated between Atsumu and Bokuto, could swear he had heard it all. Bokuto claimed that the answer was exercising while listening to classical music, because: "Muscles are more receptive if stimulated by orchestra instrumentals! I read it on a magazine!" Had been said, and Sakusa didn't try to speak against the matter, even if he was quiet sure that the muscle the magazine was referring to was probably the brain. But who was he to ruin the fun?

Sipping from his glass, Kiyoomi observed his teammates and his opponents bonding over the most futile things. Taking the floor, if necessary, whenever he was able to get a word in.

"I ain't gonna lie: exercise's useless if ya not gifted." Atsumu claimed with pride, collecting a considerable number of confused looks and a strong glare from Sakusa.

"Y'all think I got these thighs 'cause I did a couple of push ups?" He stressed the point sonorously smacking one of them. "Nah. Always been this thick. I'm telling ya." He looked around, expecting some kind of approval. "Alan-kun! You know me, tell 'em. Tell these guys 'bout how I've always been this built."

"Atsumu, you were probably the flattest guy I had ever seen."

Sakusa would have laughed if that didn't mean chocking on the water he was drinking.

"That's a lie!" Atsumu squirmed in embarrassment.

"No, no, that's true." Alan kept affirming as he chuckled. "I think you never actually developed muscles until your first year of high school. Osamu was the naturally built one. His chest especially. His pecs were exceptional for such a young athlete."

"His pecs are exceptional even now! I've run into him, recently. Not by chance, Akaashi is a big fan of his onigiris. And his pectorals? They're huge." Bokuto stated, great respect getting deduced by his solemn expression.

"His chest might have been a big deal already then, but it's not like I was dog sh*t."

"You weren't dog sh*t." Alan assured him. "Just sh*t." He teased.

"Ya walkin' on thin ice, Alan, I swear and..." Suddenly, a phone rang and the show was over.

"Wait. Gotta take this." Alan said while reaching his cellphone inside his pocket. "It might be of your interest too." He had stated, pointing at his childhood friend.

A mouthed: "What d'ya mean?" Had escaped Atsumu's lips.

"Shinsuke!" Alan had said out loud, after having picked up the phone. "So? Are you gonna make it?"

Shinsuke.

Kiyoomi did remember a Shinsuke. The name didn't sound unfamiliar. The old Inarizaki captain? That one guy with superb concentration? He turned to Atsumu, with the plan of asking him. Kiyoomi hadn't prepared himself for what he saw. Pure and authentic panic. His face strained in the most indecipherable expression Kiyoomi had ever seen him painted in. His lips lightly parted, as he was holding himself back from having his jaw completely drop. His hands, holding a tight grip on his legs, and his nails, insistently and unconsciously digging into the fabric of his pants. Kiyoomi looked at his face again: he was holding his breath, painfully staying still. Atsumu was petrified. Frozen and totally stuck, in a state Sakusa had never thought of seeing him.

"Wait, Shinsuke. I can't hear you, there's too much noise, wait a second." Alan had said through the phone. "Excuse me a minute, guys." He had added before standing up and taking a few steps away from the table.

As Alan walked away, most of the guys had already moved their conversations to different topics, not letting the whole chatter die out. Atsumu, on the other hand, seemed still polarized.

"Atsumu-san? What's with your face?" Hinata hadn't failed to notice.

"Hinata's right, Tsum Tsum! Are you okay? You do look like death." Bokuto considered. "Doesn't he?" He then turned to Kiyoomi.

"He does." Kiyoomi agreed indeed. "Miya... Is everything al-"

"Not yet, boys." Atsumu had stopped him midsentence. His gaze fixed on the figure of Alan on the phone a few meters away. "He's coming back."

And Alan came back, the phone conversation presumably still on as he covered the speaker with his free hand. "Atsumu, you're not gonna believe this. Kita's in town. The rice we're eating? It's his. He's the supplier for this restaurant and another one not so far away from here. He told me a few days ago he might had ended up dropping by because of work and it seems like he hadn't left yet. I let him know you're here too. He's downstairs! He's coming to say hi!"

Things been said, Alan went away again, on the purpose of avoiding the table noise in order to end his call and eventually bring Kita in there.

"Oh sh*t." Atsumu muttered. "How can I manage that with such a short notice."

"Manage what?" Bokuto had heard him.

"Reunions with Kita-san are always kinda embarrassing. It's... it's too sudden, damn."

"Embarrassing? Why?" Hinata had asked, but Atsumu wasn't listening, his eyes focused on the exact spot where Kita was supposed to show up by Alan's side.

"What's wrong with you?" Kiyoomi stepped in demanding clarifications.

Human shaped shadows preceeded the appearance of the two men from the flight of stairs. Atsumu jumped from his seat. A few forks had been swept away by the force of his movement, but he didn't seem to notice. "Miya?" Sakusa tried again, completely taken aback by his friend's strange behaviour.

"I used to have crush on the guy back in high school, 'kay?" He finally spit out leaving the three of them in bafflement.

Kiyoomi needed time to process. Miya Atsumu, and not the Miya Atsumu he knew now, but the Miya Atsumu he knew back then. The arrogant, presumptuous and insolent Miya Atsumu, whom Inarizaki High had shaped into a monster of haughtiness and co*ckiness, had a crush. A sweet and innocent high school crush. A crush, Atsumu's words kept echoing inside Sakusa's brain, on Kita Shinsuke. Calm, sensible, polite, nice and courteous Kita Shinsuke. Or, at least, that had been how Sakusa remembered him.

"Are you for real?" Sakusa had said, but his question had been easily overshadowed by the man at issue's epic entrance and approach.

Kiyoomi looked at him, standing in front of the table, beside Alan's impressive and overpowering shape. Kita looked a little bit smaller than Kiyoomi remembered in high school, but still mature, still well-mannered, still kind. "Good evening." He had softly spoken, the hint of a smile painting his lips. "And hello Atsumu. It's nice to see you aga-"

"Good evening Kita-san!"

That would have been an incredibly normal form of greetings. Even the best and the most ordinary form of greetings the mankind had ever created. That formula would have been totally okay, if it hadn't been shouted out loud, even for the chef in the kitchens to hear. The vocabulary definition of awkward, Kiyoomi judged the entire situation when on the entirety of the fellow diners a sudden quiet fell. They were staring at him, plain perplexity haunting their eyes, as they were witnessing an unusual Atsumu, bent in a curtsy, his arms and his whole body rigid resembling a perfectly molded right angle.

If Kiyoomi could have died for second-hand embarrassment, for sure he would have heard the melodic trumpets of the angels of death calling him and claiming on his life already. But the fate and the universe had been kind, and soon enough, just like that, the fleeting and casual chatter had taken over the table again, letting Atsumu free to embarass himself without other people watching.

"Atsumu, I told you already, we're not in high school anymore, you can drop the honorifics if you want to." Kita had scolded him, but with a gentle tone. Kiyoomi could tell the man was also a little ill at ease by the unreasonable strong reaction.

"Sorry." He had corrected himself, now standing straight. "Force of the habit." He said as he scratched the back of his neck.

"You did the same when we met on the New Year's eve." Kita reminded him.

"Also Christmas." Alan added sliding into the conversation.

"You're right! And during Obon too." Kita tagged along with him. "He was talking to me like he talks to my granny. Or that time he met me and my granny! I didn't understand if he was talking to me or not. I couldn't tell the difference!" He had accompanied those words with a warm smile.

"Still here!" Atsumu complained, dramatically pointing at himself to remind them about his presence. He was red, Kiyoomi noticed. Not clearly red, it wasn't like his cheeks had actually been set on fire nor it was like communists had freed his soul from the tyrannical and lethal burden of the evil Capital, as other comrades proudly set and raise their hot red flag on his face. Still, he was red. Silently red, as his skin also lost to an intense and vibrant pink. And he was sweating, Kiyoomi could tell. Trapped inside his suit, Atsumu was imperceptibly pouring sweat.

"Since you're here, what about sitting with the rest of us?" Alan enthusiastically proposed to an hesitant Kita.

"No, I could never intrude this way. I don't quite fit in with all these professional volleyball players in here, don't I? And isn't it a kind of business dinner for you guys? It was nice to meet you two again, but..."

"Me and my team always eat here. We basically promote this place and the owners know us. I'm sure one more seat is not going to ruin anything. I had already warned the guys you could have shown up eventually, you're no stranger to them." Alan insisted and Kiyoomi couldn't fail to trace a certain level of anticipation and eager and hope filling his voice and his mannerisms. Were they close? Sakusa had found easy to wonder.

"I have some free time indeed. I'm not gonna leave until tomorrow." Kita considered.

"Then that's decided. I'm gonna ask for a chair." Alan vibrantly replied and he walked away searching for one right after.

"Wait!" Kita followed. "You don't have to do this for me. I'll ask!" And he was gone too.

"I need strength." Atsumu stammered out as soon as those two had left. "I can't do this. I need strength."

"Miya, you're not making sense."

"Omi." He called, seriousness in his tone. Kiyoomi just stared at him. "Whatever happens..." He inhaled. "Do not record."

"What?"

"Promise me." Atsumu begged. "Do not record."

Kiyoomi had nodded, not quite sure of what he had been asked, but he had nodded.

"They're back. Just act normally."

"You're the one who's acting weird."

"I know, Omi! Now, act normal."

Atsumu didn't though. He didn't act normal. Not by choice, Kiyoomi assumed, that was, unfortunately, just the way he was.

He had made a fool out of himself.

Sakusa wished he could have got that on tape.

Too invested laughters when jokes hadn't been that funny or hadn't been made at all, odd great enthusiasm for the simplest things, like forks being pointy, unusual even for someone like him. Or when Atsumu had insisted on opening that still water bottle for the rest of them when Kita had requested for assistance, only for him to actually be unable to do it. It didn't matter the amount of muscles he had put on recently, he was still having trouble trying to force that cap to surrender. And when Bokuto had stepped in, ready to help him out, it had been embarrassing for Atsumu how easily the cap had come off, without a single effort from the guy.

"That's... That's because I loosened it." He had tried to restore his pride, but failing.

It progressively went worse. Urging to return to the kitchen a dish Hinata had claimed he couldn't eat because of some kind of intolerance, Atsumu had benevolently offered himself to go directly to the waiters and politely ask them for a change. Too bad that, while being so concentrated on that outburst of kindness, Atsumu hadn't payed attention to where he was going and not any more attention he had payed on his steps. Without even taking notice of it, he had miserably bumped into a fairly old lady and dumped, by total accident, the entire content of the plate on her excruciatingly pale yellow dress.

No apologies nor excuses had helped the cause, the elderly woman was mad. Nothing could have spared Atsumu from her completely understandable rage. So, when a glass of sticky red wine had been poured on him and his shirt, he could do nothing but accept his despicable fate. "Atsumu-san! I told you there was no need!" Hinata had said as Atsumu had returned to their table, destroyed and defeated with the empty plate which had detonated the conflict. But Atsumu hadn't lost his spirit and soon enough, after having spent a remarkable amount of time inside the restroom, he had come back, fiercer than ever, ready to perform his last solo.

Just like a majestic and grandiose black swan at its last flicker of life, right before the dawn could smother its imperial darkness. A bottle of champagne. The enemy had borrowed the features of a bottle of champagne. Coach Foster had called when that bubbly liquid had been served for the pleasure of every single one of the guests. A volunteer, a volunteer had been seeked in order to tame the wild corkscrew and open the long overdue fountain of sparkling delight. Kiyoomi had thought of stopping him. Kiyoomi had earnestly considered reaching Atsumu's sleeve, pull it and save him from the umpteenth attempt of self sabotage. But it had been too late. The man in matter had already jumped on the seductive occasion of having eggs on his face.

Glasses had been raised and everyone around the table was eager to celebrate and forge the newly formed friendship between the Red Falcons and the Black Jackals. Even Kita, who could have looked like (and probably was) a bizarre addition to an outer eye, had seemed to be content and stilly cheerful.

Everyone was looking at Atsumu, everyone was waiting for him to open that bottle, every single individual in there had their gaze set on him, the one who would have uncorked that champagne strictly related to the glorification of the teams' filial success. It was colossal, monstrous and prodigious the situation he had got himself into. The cork had almost made him go blind. It had been fast, so fast Sakusa hadn't even seen it properly happening, but the sound of the collision had been so tremendously uproarious, it had been impossible for him and the others to not notice. Long story short: Atsumu hadn't been able to make use of the corkscrew in a safe way and, somehow, said cork had inexorably blown up, in all its gushing and unbridled glory, right on Atsumu's face.

He would have lost an eye, compromising his entire volleyball career, if that cork hadn't miraculously hit him, at full force and speed, on his forehead.

Sakusa wasn't going to lie: it had been funny. The way Atsumu's head had been pushed backwards, like in a cartoon, because of the terrible impact of that small, but dangerous, object had been quiet hilarious. Uncontrollable laughter had overthrown the instead alarming circ*mstance, after having made sure Atsumu was actually fine and his brain hadn't been crushed by the violent hit. Sakusa was still thinking about his head bouncing back and forth. The record would have smashed on YouTube. He seemed to understand Atsumu's previous desperate request now. With everything being said and done, ice on the victim's forehead, words of reassurance by Kita and Alan and words of absolute derision by Inunaki and Adriah, the cursed champagne had been poured and served, and they all had a little sip of it. Not an excessive quantity, they still had a game to play the very next day.

The dinner had been a huge success. All of them were doing great. Atsumu? Kiyoomi couldn't tell. "Bathroom." He had simply stated more than ten minutes earlier, before disappearing. The more the minutes went by the more Kiyoomi asked himself if wasn't it the case to go and check on him, taking the moderately intense night the guy had just had into account.

Considering his currently unstable state, Atsumu could have easily ended up falling into the toilet and, as entertaining as it did sound, Kiyoomi thought it was his duty as a friend to prevent that from happening. Or it would have been like adding insult to injury.

Therefore, just like that, with a dull excuse, Kiyoomi had left the table starting his search for Atsumu. The men restroom would have been his first stop if his eyes hadn't spotted the guy sooner along the way. A wide and broad French window had caught Kiyoomi's attention before reaching the bathroom and even more eye-catching had been the broader balcony the clear glass door led to. It would have been bare, if it hadn't been for a few plants and an old chair forgotten in the middle of it. It certainly did not look like the exterior design one could expect from such an expensive and high quality restaurant.

A waste of space, Kiyoomi had judged, considering how large that balcony was. However, he wasn't there to give opinions on the aesthetic adopted by the place, he was there because his sight had also discerned one man by his back, alone, all by himself, leaning against the parapet. With no dwelling on it, Kiyoomi had wrapped himself tightly in his own jacket and he had challenged the light breeze of the night.

At the sound of the window being opened, Atsumu slightly turn around. "Hey." Then he simply breathed out, his face concentrated again on the view unwinding in front of him beyond the balcony. Kiyoomi reached him on the balustrade, taking Atsumu's example by mindlessly leaning against it. The air wasn't that cold, he noticed, a little stinging, but definitely not cold.

On his way there, Kiyoomi had meditated on how to talk to Atsumu in order to genuinely ask him about his mental and emotional condition after living such a noticeable number of embarrassing moments in a row. He had thought about the kindest approach and the most gentle words to address him. Blank. By then, standing right beside him, his mind had completely gone blank. Still, he wasn't going to turn towards retreat. "Miya, what was that?" He had ended up saying. No tact detected, but considerate concern.

Atsumu had eyed him, for a brief second, a hint of repulsion on his face, as Kiyoomi was bringing up the disastrous night which had occurred. "Please, don't remind me." He had turned around again, observing the lights of the city underneath.

He was regretting it. It was obvious. "From a strictly outer prospective, you acted a bit like..."

"An idiot?" Atsumu had concluded before Kiyoomi could, resentful bitterness impossible not to catch. Kiyoomi just shrugged: "You said it, not me." He had implicitly agreed with Atsumu's behavioural self analysis.

A deep and disconsolate sigh preceeded his words: "I got nervous." He stated, his sight still set on something far from there.

"Nervous, you say." Kiyoomi said back, expecting a wider explanation on the matter, or at least, something that could have explained how in the world he had almost ended up injuring himself with a champagne bottle.

"I wasn't ready, okay? I wasn't prepared. Kita-san is... a good friend of mine, and my brother's. We may not see each other quite every day, but surely every once in a while we do. We all do. Me and the boys. Alan too." Atsumu had talked, a murmured tone. "Still, when it comes to Kita-san? I gotta brace up, I need a couple of hours, I mean."

"You said you had a crush on him. In high school." Kiyoomi had said, rembering Atsumu's last words before the complete chaos. "Is it relevant? For the case of the whole you acting strange?" He had so tried to connect the fewer dots he had.

"Yeah, I guess someone could say so." Atsumu had quietly spoken.

"Did he know?" Kiyoomi had found himself asking for details. An unusual urge to know more about Atsumu's undiscovered experiences and invincible curiosity which had him talk before he could even process the origin of that sudden impulse. The greediness of knowing the terms on where it did rest Atsumu and Kita's present and past relationship.

"If he knew?" Atsumu had chuckled. "Of course he knew. I f*cking told him myself."

"You told him you liked him?" Kiyoomi had asked, his question slipping out of his lips, his voice eagerly surprised, before he could tone it down.

"I told him I loved him." Atsumu had laughed, in a mixture of regret and nostalgia, he had laughed.

Multiple needles. If Sakusa had to try and describe in the most suggestive way how he had felt when those innocent words had reached his ears and the back of his mind, he would have said needles. He had no comprehension of what was going on, but he knew, by all odds, how it did feel like. Needles on his chest, implanted in it, sucking in, stealing the air he was inhaling. Needles swallowing up the oxygen he needed and his last breath, the only breath which had survived, was stuck in his throat, scared of being left out. Soon his chest had felt empty, a painful void replacing both of his lungs. Sharp nails fixed along his larynx, making it hard to breathe. And a little complaint, all of a sudden, an itch on his nose. Could that be allergy? Was he allergic to some of the plants in there? He had no idea.

"It was the graduation day." Atsumu had talked, interrupting his inexplicable mind concerns. "I didn't know back then that I would have seen him again, that frequently also. I don't know, I was like: ride or die. I saw him with his diploma and I couldn't get my head wrapped around that. He was about to be gone. I had to do something." He was narrating, his voice lightly trembling as he spoke. "I rushed out of the gym, even if we had all already said our goodbyes, even shed some tear, y'know. That sh*t ya do when y're a kid and it feels like life's ending there. I rushed out and I reached him before he could leave the courtyard, and I shouted it out loud. Jeez. I'm so glad no one was around and Alan and the other third years were walking ahead." He had stopped, cringing at his own memories.

Kiyoomi had been left speechless and amazed by the insanity and the bravery of the gesture. "And what did he say?" He had asked, more involved in the story than he would have liked to admit.

"He said: take care of yourself, hope to see you soon, Atsumu. And he ruffled my hair. That's it." He recollected. "He basically rejected me, in the kindest way a person could reject another. And I dealt with it. I'm glad he did it. What ain't killing ya makes ya stronger, they been saying, am I right?" Kiyoomi had silently nodded. "I'm saying this now, but back then? It hurt like hell. I had Taylor Swift's songs on shuffle for like weeks."

"Taylor Swift?" Kiyoomi had almost laughed.

"Her pop country sh*t was fire, don't try making me ashamed of that." He proudly claimed. "'Samu made fun of me and my broken heart for months. He was the only one who knew about it. Him, and Suna." He had corrected himself. "God, I hated those two. Y'know I always had to keep in mind that whatever I would have said to that trashcan of my brother, he wouldn't have kept his disgusting mouth shut. Not to Suna, at least."

"What about Alan? Did he know?" Kiyoomi had been inquisitive.

"Not that I'm aware. Maybe Kita told him? I dunno." There was something. Something inside of him had formed as Atsumu spoke. A flame, a weak and feeble flame, so fleeting it could have been easily ignored, a small fire which could have passed unnoticed. But it was growing and it was evolving and it wasn't fire anymore. It was a stake, and the more Atsumu talked, more were the things his soul commanded to burn. Fortresses, prisons and borders. Cages and frontiers and rules and inscriptions of law. The more he talked, the more Kiyoomi couldn't help but feel. The more he talked, the more Kiyoomi couldn't help but yield. The more Atsumu talked, the more everything he had stood for ended up being under attack. A feeling he couldn't quite catch was resonating at such a strong intensity that it was breaking down every single wall Kiyoomi had cautiously built with time, all his life. It was eating him up, voraciously, and he wasn't even able to give that creature a name. The only thing he knew was that he had never felt an emotion as strong as that before.

"Did you?" His lips had wrinkled into words, his mind too busy trying to resolve his emotional emergency to pay attention to what his mouth was saying.

"Did I, what?" Atsumu had said.

"I mean, did you love him? Was it love?" Sakusa had asked, his tone incredibly stable considering his inner turmoil.

Atsumu had softly smiled. "Yeah." He had said. "I guess I did. I'm sure it was."

It was green. It was green the flame which had torched the depth of his own self. And it was new for someone like him who had never had a reason to feel it. It was puerile, like he had never been. It was selfish, like he had always tried to not be. It was heavy and excoriating, and it was unpleasant. Shamefully unpleasant.

Kiyoomi was glad that balcony had been so badly illuminated, almost entirely left in the dark, so Atsumu hadn't been able to see. To see his face and the horror which had been violently painted on it.

He was jealous.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was jealous. And it was not because of the result of a game, nor anything remotely close to it. Kiyoomi was jealous. Kiyoomi was envious.

"In a kid way, though, y'know?" Atsumu had talked again, breaking the scorching silence consuming Kiyoomi in the middle of that terrifying realization. "It was love, I guess, but I think I loved him like a kid loves someone."

Sakusa was still listening. "I was completely obsessed with the guy. He was so different from me. He was different from everyone I knew. Everyone in the team, no matter how quiet they looked like out of court, they were beasts when it came to play. But him? I swear to God, I've never seen him screaming, not even once. Still, he succeeded into resulting the most terrifying when mad. And he was caring in such a peculiar way. I admired him. I admired him so much and he was so discreet that I found myself craving to know more about him. I was doomed and it did feel as if he was unreachable. I ain't no quitter, though. That's why I constantly tried to get him to notice me. I wanted him to look at me. I even staged my own death once."

"You did what?" Kiyoomi couldn't avoid to react at the absurdity.

"Yeah, I'm not particularly proud of that part. I had to give it up when the doctors had called my mom. Anyway, I loved the idea of him and I wanted his attention on me. I loved him that way. Childish, I know. Plus, he was my captain so it was kinda hot." Atsumu had said. "A young love, like the love ya felt for the big Ushiwaka guy, am I wrong?"

Kiyoomi's eyes widened at the memories Atsumu had brought up. "I didn't love him." He immediately debunked.

"Ya did, Omi! You told me! That night? All Japan Training Camp? Doesn't ring any bell?" The apple juice night.

"I didn't tell you anything myself. You assumed it and I didn't deny it." Sakusa cleared it up.

"Ain't it the same?" Atsumu had tried.

"No." Kiyoomi had firmly declared. "By the way, it was true that I liked him. It was the cleanest teenage boy I had ever met, and a volleyball prodigy. It was only fair for me to end up liking him." He explained.

"I was a volleyball prodigy." Atsumu considered. "But ya didn't fall for me. Or did ya?"

Kiyoomi looked at him, unimpressed. Of course he hadn't fallen for Miya Atsumu. High school Sakusa Kiyoomi genuinely despised Miya Atsumu. But what about current days Sakusa Kiyoomi? "Of course not. You stank."

"I'm sorry?" Atsumu exclaimed in disbelief.

"What about now?" Kiyoomi completely ignored the bickering which could have come. "You still have feelings for him?" He asked all of a sudden, his blood boiling in anticipation. "Since you seemed so nervous." He had added for context.

Atsumu frowned a little, not quite expecting a question like that, wondering if that had been the kind of impression he had made. "Feelings for him?" He said. "Oh no. Like, no. It ain't that."

The immediate rush of relief which Kiyoomi had sensed, reviving his spirit, regenerating fibers along his body, the insane liberation and the instant resolution of the chaos which had taken him hostage, this general sense of rebirth as if flowers had just bloomed in a devastated and barren field, this overflowing sensation had him understand. And lots of things had started to make some sort of a sense. The problem had never been about the flames. It had never been about the indomitable fire melting his lungs, crushing his bones, one by one. It had been about the outlines the fire had painted on the walls of his soul. Those dark shapes undiscovering and highlighting the hidden curves of those emotions whose shadows had been projected. Those emotions which had been there, those feelings which had grown, without Kiyoomi realizing it, without him wanting to acknowledge it. But that emerald green fire had him surrender to inevitable conclusions.

His jealousy when Atsumu's lips had pronounced Kita's name with such an earth shaking tenderness, his burning resentment when he had heard Atsumu's voice softening while retracing those memories of devoted infatuation. And earlier that day, even. When his mind had been left in astonishment the moment his heart had felt a kind of reassuring warmth while Kiyoomi's head was peacefully resting on Atsumu's shoulder. A sense of safety, coziness and comfort. All those days they had spent together in each other's company, all those morning walks silently sharing the same pair of earpods, the whole teasing each other but constantly looking forward the other's reaction, the bowls of rice Kiyoomi had handed him every night, the onigiri bags Atsumu had always made sure to bring to him, in secret, sometimes, when there wasn't enough for everybody but still, he would have never left Kiyoomi without his supplies.

The smallest acts of courtesy, the contentment he did feel as Atsumu waited for him out of the locker room, every time, after practice; and the tiniest gestures of genuine affection such as Kiyoomi making sure to always put inside his backpack multiple packs of tissues. Not because he needed all of them for himself, but Atsumu always sneezed when they walked by the flower shop, and since he was not the type to bring extra tissues with him, Kiyoomi did it for him. And the slight tension his body had always perceived when too close to him, the tremble and the trepidation he had been shaken by.

Those moments, everything, it all had meant something.

"I don't have feelings for him, I swear." Atsumu continued. "But I always feel the need to impress him, somehow." He murmured. "And it's not even like I wanna impress him to prove something to him. I... I just wanna let him know that I grew up. That I'm perfectly fine living my life, I got tons of people who like me around and I'm not that kid anymore. I'm not that overdramatic and desperate kid who yelled at him his undying love. I may be the same guy, but I matured, I'm responsible, but this doesn't work. 'Cause I try too hard and I end up looking absurdly pathetic. And maybe I just wanna prove it to myself, not him. Convince myself that I'm thriving here and I'm no more that jerk who couldn't even get his own team to actually like him. Sure, they cared 'bout me. I betcha they loved me and some of them still do! But did they like me?" He had admitted, remorse leading the way. "Damn, I'm just blabbering f*cking nonsense now. I don't even know if it makes sense. I know it's stupid, but..."

"It's not." Sakusa told him. "It's not stupid." He had said, firm and resolute. Atsumu had turned to look at him, a certain level of surprise and light joy accompanying the life in his eyes. "Ya don't sound like yourself." He had stated.

"Don't make me regret it." Sakusa had replied, seemingly annoyed, but the tremor inside his ribcage was probably telling a different story.

"I'll try." And the night could have ended right there, but of course it didn't. The skyline had brightened up, all of a sudden, in front of them, still laying against that parapet. Then a boisterous sound had both of them looking up. "Ain't those... fireworks?" Atsumu asked.

"It seems so." Kiyoomi had said, and those were, indeed, fireworks.

Colorful eruptions of explosive energy were flaring up over them. A rip-roaring pyrotecnical show lighting up the balcony left in obscurity until that moment. "So cool!" Atsumu had uttered as he was catching sight of those spectacular light tricks. "Doesn't seem like they coming from that far, what d'ya think, Omi?" Another thundering blast buried the sound of their voice, revealing the next long and incredibly luminous storm of fireworks hovering above the city. "Wow." Kiyoomi noticed Atsumu mouthing, enraptured by the gunpowder exploding into ecstatic shades of colour.

As light and darkness interchanged, taking turns stealing the spotlight away from each other on the stage of the celestial vault theatre, Kiyoomi looked away. And his gaze immediately found something equally uncanny, if not more.

Atsumu's eyes were lost, looking up, admiring the many traits the sky was unveiling that night. He was smiling, genuinely and inadvertently, but it was different from other times. His smile was naked, uncovered, and there was no trace of smugness nor impertinence. It was neat and authentic, the type of smile Kiyoomi saw him wearing during games. The pure enthusiasm, free from any kind of negative emotions. He was smiling from his lips to his eyes, and the glowing power of those bright fireworks could not compare with the shining dazzle reflecting the light of Atsumu's eyes. "They're beautiful." He had spoken, fascinated by said fireworks.

But Kiyoomi wasn't looking at them. "Yeah. They are." He had murmured, holding his breath as he looked at his friend. It stopped. For one brief second, time had frozen. Just his own heart had been all he could hear as his mind finally unlocked the entire truth.

I like his smile. His inner self had whispered. I like him. He had admitted without faltering. I like Atsumu. I really do. He found himself thinking, no restraints nor useless resistance to such feelings. And suddenly, he wanted to disclose them, he wanted to express it. Kiyoomi was drawn to him and it did feel like he had been feeling it since way before, but only then, in that very moment, he had let himself go. He wanted to reach him. The physical distance he had always been imposing was asphyxiating now. He wanted to touch him and see that smile from closer. His body moved before he could think about it, in urge. In need. And silently his hand reached Atsumu's face, his palm resting on the other's cheek, holding it with gentleness and treasure.

Atsumu didn't jump, nor he did take a step back. He didn't flinch, but his breath had seemed to stop. Even with the pyrotecnical show still going on, the man's attention had been completely stolen by the hand fondly placed on his skin.

"Omi? What is it?" His voice loosing confidence and every kind of certainty, but it wasn't frightened, just extremely surprised. His breathing had gotten heavier and Kiyoomi hadn't failed to notice Atsumu's lips slightly parting, as he let the air in. Had they always been like that? Had those lips always been that red? They were not red, because there was no enough illumination in there to actually recognise their shade. But they surely looked inviting, and tempting, and insanely desirable and he would have liked to know how those lips felt like, their texture, their flavour. He would have loved to embrace, to engulf the tender smile Atsumu had previously on. He would have adored to bite them, taste them, in a way he had never thought about before. He wanted to kiss him. Kiyoomi wanted to kiss Atsumu, and his eyes were hungrily staring at his lips.

There was no other sound than them desperately breathing. Kiyoomi just had to lean closer. Lean closer and forget about any kind of distance. He could have done it. He wanted to do it. "Omi." Atsumu called him. And he didn't know how his brain had processed it as a request to act. Atsumu was waiting. Perhaps he wanted this too? Lean closer, his mind tried to tell him, just cut the distance, but still, his muscles didn't seem to be able to move any further than that. He was torn, but eager. Lean closer, a command. Atsumu had never looked more attractive. Madness, Kiyoomi thought. Lean closer, and he was about to. He had made his choice.

Sakusa closed his eyes.

Or at least, he had tried.

Just like a record player being forced to stop its tune before the end of it, something cut them off. "Guys!" And at the sound of it, Kiyoomi had literally jumped further from Atsumu as he possibly could. "You're here!" Hinata had found them, his small figure showing up at the glass of the window door.

He had woken up, just like that, Kiyoomi had seemed to wake up, and the obfuscating fog he had experienced was fading away, clearing his judgment and his mind. He was waking up from a reality which had resembled the one of a dream. "Cake's at the table! Hurry up if you don't wanna miss it! Wait... is everything alright?" Hinata had seen it. He had perceived the odd atmosphere.

"Of course, Shouyou-kun. Everything's alright." Atsumu had talked before Kiyoomi could. "Cool!" Hinata didn't investigate further. "So? Are you coming or not?"

Atsumu was staring now, and Kiyoomi could sense it. He was staring at him, his eyes burning on the back of his neck, he almost feared of turning around to face him. Probably, Atsumu had questions. Lots of questions and, to be fair? Kiyoomi had questions for himself too. He was starting to feel it now: embarrassment.

So irrational he had been, acting like a fool. It was creeping on him, the shame, the awkwardness, an uncomfortable distress. Atsumu was his friend, what had he done? He wasn't going to deny his own unexpected realization of feelings, but what had he done? Staring at him in complete silence, his hand on his cheek, how awkward could have that seemed seen from the outside? Control. Kiyoomi had totally lost control.

"Yeah, Shouyou, give us a min-"

"We're coming." Kiyoomi had stated firmly, interrupting Atsumu.

"Nice!" Their orange haired friend had uttered with enthusiasm before disappearing along the aisle. Kiyoomi took a few steps ahead, heading to the door, significantly desiring to not spend even one more minute with Atsumu alone. He needed to think. Kiyoomi was in need of time to think.

"Omi?" Once again his name had left Atsumu's lips, a confused tone pervading his voice now. He was still looking at him, his expression confused as well. "C'mon Miya, we don't wanna miss the cake, right?" His voice had come out stable, unlike the inner storm of conflicting emotions haunting him.

Puzzlement had conquered Atsumu's face. Kiyoomi could tell. He was about to speak, he perceived him starting to say something, but then he simply did not. "Right." He had just said.

Once they got back inside, Kiyoomi's brain was suggesting him one essential thing: the team has a game tomorrow, don't mess it up. Beware of any awkwardness. In conclusion: avoid Atsumu.

He did avoid him, as much as the situation had let him. Conversations had been cut short to the minimum, excuses had been made once the dinner had been over. Atsumu had tried to call for him one last time and Kiyoomi had easily escaped claiming he was accusing a bad headache and he just wanted to sleep, in his room, alone, and rest properly before their game the very next day. For the sake of the team, he had added, lack of enthusiasm in his declaration though. Finally by himself, Kiyoomi had taken a deep breath and, using all his power and his strong will, he had convinced himself to close his eyes and take bliss and comfort from the rest he did deserve. No thoughts on Atsumu, no thoughts on what had happened, no thoughts on the implications of his actions and his anew rising feelings. Yes, he had to think about it, but no, there was no time to think about it.

There was a new day to face, a match to win and a second place to earn. The general liking he had developed for his annoying friend? That didn't even share the same level of importance. That had to wait. For that night, for the next day, and forever, maybe, and unconsciously terrified Kiyoomi had considered. His mind had to stop processing and reanalysing, he had to stop in the first place. Only the ceiling on sight, Kiyoomi shut his eyes, and he did sleep, ignoring the ache inside his chest.

The day after, his conduct hadn't been any different. He had succeeded into ignoring the guy in the most subtlest way someone could have ever done. Or maybe not, but he liked to think he had. No talking to Atsumu if not surrounded by at least two more people, no talks with Atsumu about topics which did not include their forthcoming game, no sitting next to Atsumu at lunch, preferring to take the seat in front of him instead, in order to not arouse suspicion. No references to their strictly personal inside jokes, no insults which could have given rise to the necessity for longer interactions.

No eye contact, no staring, no lingering on the man, nothing. Absolute nothing, and that, since they were friends, would have been weird. The caution and the prudence Kiyoomi was minding about that day would have resulted weird during any other day, but they had a match that night. That did mean Kiyoomi could have had his sudden distance pass as extreme concentration with no space for distraction. He could have. And he had kept the act, flawlessly, for the entire day, in front of an Atsumu who had seemed to notice Kiyoomi's curious behaviour, deciding to not bring it up anyway. He had tried to talk to him just once. Just one time, before the game started. "Hey, Omi." And Kiyoomi had almost feared for his life before exiting the changing room, but then, unexpected and harmless words had come: "Backwards. Yer shirt." He had mindlessly said, anticipating Kiyoomi's own exit. "Ya put it the wrong way around. Fix it." A light pat on his back had followed and then Atsumu had left the room.

No other things had been said, no confrontation had been requested. The atmosphere had been tensed, maybe, a little, not that Kiyoomi cared. The game. The game in front of them had to be their main priority. Kiyoomi put on his jersey the right way and he joined his teammates on the court. The bleachers were roaring, chanting the home team players' names. Reporters, cameramen, TV commentators and flashlights. He took a deep breath, he was used to it. He had learnt how to get used to it. Volleyball was the only thing that mattered. He would have always chosen to bear with it just to get a chance to play. "Play the way you all know." Coach Foster had told them, trusting his players fully.

"Atsumu!" Alan had called for his old friend from the other side of the net. "Good luck." He had smiled, challenging him.

"Luck? I don't need that sh*t." Sakusa had heard him replying.

"Fine." Alan had stated. "Won't go easy on you, anyway."

"No need to worry for that, my guys won't go easy on ya either." Atsumu strongly said back. He was smiling, Atsumu was smiling again. Freely, the way he had done the previous night. Heartwarming. Kiyoomi had thought.

"Omi Omi!" Bokuto had shown up out of nowhere. "Are you there? What are you staring at?" Staring. Kiyoomi had found himself staring, again.

"It's nothing." Sakusa had immediately dismissed him, but misfortune must have been on his side since Bokuto's loud voice had inevitably caught Atsumu's attention. He had turned around and for a brief instant their gazes had intertwined to one another. Mad it had felt the instantaneous rush of adrenaline running up his spine. "f*ck." He had whispered to himself, cursing, giving the man his shoulders, while reaching his starting position. He had to free his mind, clear it. In front of him it stood a net, and nothing else mattered. "Let's go boys!" Meian, their captain, had encouraged his team. "Let's destroy these falcons!"

Kiyoomi was about to start from the back line. His serves would have opened the way to the match. He needed to focus. "Omi-kun!" Kiyoomi looked up, catching the ball Atsumu was passing to him. "No service aces before I get the chance to do so." And there it was Atsumu's personal way of wishing Kiyoomi good luck. It was the usual, the same old usual. So why it did not feel the same at all? But Kiyoomi nodded, as he was used to. A few seconds had gone by. Then the well-known whistle had resonated through the whole amphitheatre and game was on.

In the end, the goddess of Victory had spoken in favor of the Black Jackals. Both teams had been on the same page, both strong, even the protagonists of the match had had no clue if they were to pronounce themselves about the proclamation of a winner at first. It had been tied, it had been intense and it had been even fun. And after five harsh sets, the MSBYs had officially declared their status of second best team all around Japan with one big goal to reach: dethrone the Adlers. If not that year, the following one. His team had won and Kiyoomi had also won, succeeding into escaping cameras and interviews, waving a general goodbye to the audience which had been there to support him and quickly having a shower, changing up and leaving the arena before anyone else could notice.

Walking free outside the gym, dreaming about a night of peace before coming back to Osaka, but then, reality had hit him. Reality had hit him so hard that being run over by a giant truck didn't sound equally hideous all of a sudden. It hit him, it had hit him so much that he found that something had physically hit him, actually. And it hadn't been something, but it had been someone. Walking out of the building, thinking of heading straight to the rooms they were staying at, Kiyoomi, clearly not interested in where he was going, had bumped into Adriah. A well dressed up Adriah. "Where's your suit?" His teammate had asked while he was wearing his. "Everybody's changing before we get there." Oh, Sakusa had never craved death that much. He had happened to forget. Totally forget. The after party.

The terrible after party the team had to attend, the whole reason why they weren't leaving for Osaka as the match had ended. A party could have led to elements Kiyoomi wasn't quite much of a fan: crowds and drunk crowds. Crowds and drunk crowds in fancy dresses. Terrifying chills were running rampant through his whole body. "Right." Kiyoomi hadn't expressed any of his extreme annoyance, even remembering the suit he had slided into his own bag a few hours ago, just to forget about it after the game. "I'll change." He had said, no inflection to his voice.

And before he knew, Kiyoomi was there. In the middle of an extraordinary large conference room adorned for the occasion. He was sitting on a sofa, the same way as always when events like this had been in need of his presence, exchanging light conversations, small talks, hoping for whoever was hosting this would have called it a night more sooner than later. Having a drink or two, because alcohol in society was not just alcohol anymore. It had a deeper meaning, it did stand for community and convivial harmony and cohesion.

Witnessing Hinata being the life of the party, Bokuto revocating his most spectacular plays while talking to literally everyone, Inunaki sticking shrimps into Adriah's shirt for no reason at all, Adriah getting mad at Inunaki for having stuck shrimps into his shirt for no reason at all, Meian and Barnes having a mild and tranquil chat with some guys of the Red Falcons about diapers first and coffee machines later.

All the same, all painfully the same. Except for one thing. One tiny, but crucial, little detail. No Atsumu sitting next to him. No Atsumu carrying the conversation with others for him when Kiyoomi simply didn't feel like talking anymore. No Atsumu reminding him with a whisper the names of the people who had joined them too. No Atsumu just being there, being his safe lighthouse for the night.

The reason being that they were still not talking, and, after all, Kiyoomi still didn't want to talk. And Atsumu hadn't pushed him, not at all. So he was there, same gigantic conference room, laughing and having fun, perfectly at ease, with random guys from the other team Kiyoomi wasn't being able to recall, recruiting some of their shared teammates from time to time so they could back him up as he told different stories to always different strangers. Hilarious stories, Kiyoomi judged, by observing his public's common reactions.

Why did it look so easy? Why was Atsumu making look interacting with people he had never met so simple? Why did he seem so comfortable in such a situation and why was he glowing so much? As his head was being softly thrown back because of his laughing, as his eyes naturally sparkled. As his fingers were running so smoothly through his hair, just to fix it better, and Atsumu was not even realizing how breathtaking he did look while doing something so incredibly ordinary. Almost twenty-four hours had gone by. It didn't fade away. It hadn't been a banal miscalculation. A day had passed, Kiyoomi still liked him. Kiyoomi still liked Atsumu.

A death sentence, that was what it did feel like.

"Kiyoomi, right? Can I call you Kiyoomi?" Someone had sleekly taken a seat next to him. Kiyoomi had easily recognized the owner of the voice. "Of course." He had allowed him. "That's my name after all."

The man had slightly smiled at his response. "Yeah, that's true." He said, an empty glass in his hand. "But I had heard no one calling you that." Ojiro Alan was surely right. None of the Black Jackals called him by his first name. That had happened, at their beginning as a team, for the first few months, but when they had taken their acquaintanceship to the next level, none of them had called him Kiyoomi ever since. Omi, Omi-Omi, Omi-san, Omi-kun. Kiyoomi was one hundred percent sure that if he had happened to die and, disgracefully, his team had to take care of his funeral, Sakusa Omi would have been the name caved on his gravestone. "It's Miya's fault." The words had slipped before he could hold them back.

Alan definitely seemed amused. "Atsumu's fault? What has he done?" He had asked, pure curiosity enlivening him.

"He came up with a nickname. Furthermore I suspect he thinks that's my actual birth name." He explained. "And everyone had started calling me that." He had sighed. "Kind of frustrating."

Alan had chuckled coming to know Kiyoomi's heartfelt distress. "They call you something like... Omi?" He had replied, and Kiyoomi had nodded in sorrow. "You don't like the nickname? Why don't you just say it?" Alan genuinely wanted to enlighten him a way out. "I mean, to Atsumu. Why don't you tell him?"

Why? As he was watching Atsumu charmingly interacting with an unknown woman in a red dress from afar, Kiyoomi, for the first time, seriously thought about the mysterious why. It had been known that much was true, Kiyoomi did dislike the nickname with a passion. He remembered how he had attempted to oppose to it, to get Atsumu to change his mind, when they were kids, younger versions of themselves. It had never worked, not even once. So, at some point, he had stopped trying altogether. Afterwards, when they had reunited again at a more mature age, Atsumu hadn't seemed to give up on it. And Kiyoomi had let him, resisting it less and less. "'Cause he likes it." He had voiced out this very simple explanation, even to his own surprise. Atsumu liked the nickname. He truly did.

"I see." Alan had said. No interrogative expression, no ulterior investigations. "He can be a lot to bear with." He had added then. "But he's a nice guy." Kiyoomi would have probably liked to differ a while ago, but things were radically different now, and he found himself nodding in agreement. "By the way, I just wanted to tell you thanks."

Kiyoomi had been caught by confusion all of a sudden. "Thanks? Thanking me?" Why would someone he barely knew wanted to thank him?

"Yeah, I mean, you and those other guys right there." Alan had pointed at Hinata and Bokuto on the other side of the room with a quick nod of the head. "You may not know, but you helped that friend of mine a lot." He told Kiyoomi.

"Miya? How?" He asked, not expecting such a conversation turn. Alan chuckled a bit at Kiyoomi's evident astonishment. "I just don't think he actually liked it at MSBYs before you came along." He did share his considerations. "He's not the same Atsumu he was when we were kids, he grew up a lot, I think he came to learn how to deal and coexist with people in general, so it's not exactly like he wasn't clicking with the team before." Atsumu had been a Black Jackals for years, Kiyoomi did recall. He had been one of the first high schoolers from his year to get scouted by great teams, and one of the few who had stayed in their first team for longer. "But I do believe he wasn't as happy as he claimed he was."

"What do you mean?" Said Kiyoomi, still trying to understand what was the point of the entire discourse. "You're saying he had troubles playing?"

"What? No." Alan had immediately disclaimed. "His issue was not on court, he's the type of guy who could play with literally anyone everywhere. And of course your teammates had always been nice to him. He's a whole clown, who wouldn't take him into consideration for a simple night of fun. He easily finds ways to get along, but he doesn't connect just as easily. He must have felt pretty lonely on his own, I suppose." He continued. "Okay, I'm not actually making assumptions. Atsumu straight up told me once. Around the time Bokuto had signed and they didn't know each other that well."

"Over a year and a half ago." Kiyoomi suggested. He did remember it. He did remember it clearly. He was still a college student reading sports news on the Internet, wishing he could get the headline one day. "That's right! Over a year ago. I called him, I think it had been past noon or something, but I had to know if he happened to be free in a couple of weeks. Me, his brother and the other folks from high school wanted to meet up, so I needed to check on his schedule, if he had extra trainings, friendly matches or whatever." Alan was recalling. "I gotta say: he didn't sound well, on the contrary, he sounded a little disheartened. I was about to believe he just felt physically tired, but then he said something which got me worried."

"He said something like: who knows, in a few weeks I could probably end up being the freest that I've ever been in years. When I asked him what he meant his voice got more serious and he had blabbered something which seemed like a question. Does your mind ever think about quitting? Not because you actually wanna quit, but for something else. And when I asked him if he was thinking about quitting, he said nothing."

"Miya wanted to quit?" Absurde, Kiyoomi thought. Atsumu wanting to leave the volleyball scene must have been a joke. "He doesn't seem the type, right?" Alan scratched the back of his head as he spoke.

"He is not. He is not that kind of person." Kiyoomi conveyed. "I think the same, that's why it did feel like he wasn't feeling much of himself at that time. I remember having given him a call that same day, a few hours later. Just to check on him, you know. When he picked up, that uncertainty he had shown me before wasn't there anymore. I don't think it had faded away just like that, maybe he just wasn't thinking about it. I remember him being in Tokyo for a collegiate match I guess."

A collegiate match? In Tokyo?

"He was a representative for his team, he said he was there to talk to some companies, I can't precisely recall, but anyway. When he picked up, he did sound a little more like himself again. He was on the bleachers watching the game, he seemed very caught up by it, so I felt kind of relieved and I let him be for that night." It must have been that night, there was no chance that was a coincidence. The night Atsumu had shamelessly tried to convince him to join the Black Jackals. How could Sakusa forget? "He never brought it up again. Him wanting to quit, I mean. And it got better, when he got to know Bokuto better, when Hinata tagged along and when you showed up eventually." Alan kept going. "He looks more peaceful, more at ease if you ask me. He was probably going through a slump at that time, and that happens, even to best and most confident players. He's an amazing guy, and friend. Osamu and Atsumu are like brothers to me, so I was kinda worried about him when he seemed so off. Even with that arrogant facade of his still on, which can fool everyone, but not me." Alan claimed, with transparent affection.

"But I find him well now. He told me you're all friends to him. It might seem as if he doesn't care about friends, and approval, and all that kind of stuff, especially when it comes to volleyball, but deep down he does. So, thank you. Thank you for taking care of him. I do appreciate that."

Kiyoomi was hardly trying to elaborate. "Don't tell him I told you." Alan said in conclusion. "Or he'll murder me." He laughed. "Anyway, I'm gonna get a drink, do you want something?" Alan gently asked, as he was standing up from the couch they had been both on. "Oh no, I'm fine."

"Cool, then. See you around!" And as the man walked away, Kiyoomi's brain had started sabotaging him. Thoughts, his mind had been possessed by thoughts.

He vividly remembered that night, when he and Atsumu had met in that supermarket as the guy was stupidly hiding behind bananas. He did remember their talk, he did remember how passionate he had sounded about his experience as a professional, but Kiyoomi also did remember the nostalgia filling his voice as he lively pictured and described home. After that conversation, Kiyoomi had made guesses that Atsumu's breakthrough into the professional world hadn't been smoothly as it did seem on Instagram, but surely he had never thought of himself and Hinata and Bokuto as his very first friends.

Kiyoomi looked up, and he saw Atsumu, still there, still brightly interacting with that woman in the red dress. Observing him, observing his body language and his calm and laid back expression, nobody would have thought of him as someone who could be held back by such insecurities. As he looked at him Sakusa felt something, a strange fondness completely shaking his soul. It felt worse. Worse than the previous day, worse than the moment he had first realized. It felt more intense, real, and concrete. He had feelings he couldn't ignore. He couldn't talk to him the same way he did before, he could not stand beside him suppressing that burning sentiment running wild.

He felt it more, harsh and strong. Persistent, even. He liked Atsumu, as more than a friend, and he couldn't lie to himself nor to him. Could he tell him? Could he confess those feelings of his? What was he supposed to do?

Embarrassing it would have been, humiliating probably and stupid. Also dangerous and unsafe. What if Atsumu didn't feel the same way? Kiyoomi would have ruined it, he would have ruined their relationship in a span of seconds. And for what? He liked him, more than he would have felt comfortable admitting. Asphyxiating the room did feel all of a sudden, Kiyoomi felt the urge to escape. He stood up, his eyes targeting the doors. He was leaving. He needed air, he needed his brain to air out. He had to think, he had to come up with something to hold back and chain those unwanted and insidious feelings. Keeping looking at Atsumu wasn't going to help. He had to leave. Come back to his room, think more, think better, planning his response. He was walking, the doors were close. Almost out, he thought.

He saw him.

"Omi?" Kiyoomi speeded up. "Omi? Are ya leaving? Where to?" Atsumu had called for him the moment he had noticed him impatiently attempting to sneak out of the room. Kiyoomi wasn't going to listen to him, he didn't intend to. No reply from him, hoping Atsumu would have let him go. After all, he had proceeded to avoid him for the entire day. Atsumu must have understood that Sakusa didn't want to talk, at all. Walking pass the entrance, finally getting out of that noisy room, Kiyoomi could breathe as he despairingly loosened the nod of his tie. Nobody would have noticed his absence and Atsumu wasn't going to follow him. Heading back to his room, that was what he had to do first. Or, at least, what he would have done if he had had the chance to. Kiyoomi had been wrong this time. Atsumu had followed him.

"Omi!" He had shouted, the corridor empty if not for them. Atsumu was trying to recover from what had seemed to be a quick run, breathing heavily as he gained back oxygen. Kiyoomi, a few steps ahead long the aisle, had stopped walking. "Jeez, would ya stop? What..." He took a deep breath. "What is going on?"

Kiyoomi had titled his head, looking at him now. Atsumu was standing, a few meters apart, his eyes piercing, set on him. There was no way Kiyoomi could leave without giving him at least a couple of words. "Why are ya leaving all of a sudden?" He said, a strange hint of melancholy in his voice. Kiyoomi didn't know how to explain. "I have a little headache."

"Headache?" Atsumu had spoken, almost disappointed. "Ya know what, Omi? I'm starting to think every time ya say ya have a headache y're just straight up lying." A scent of bitterness was totally perceivable. Atsumu had never talked to him like that, Atsumu had never taken that tone on him. Frustrated. He seemed frustrated and Kiyoomi had no idea how to fix it. What was he supposed to do? Tell him he was leaving because staying too close to him reminded him of feelings he wasn't supposed to have? Feelings he hated because what was even that? A crush? He was an adult. A full grown adult. That was just immensely stupid. "I'm not..." He had whispered, but Atsumu hadn't seemed to hear.

"You've been acting weird." Atsumu started saying. "Since yesterday night. And ya started avoiding me, but that's okay, I didn't tell ya anything 'cause my guy needs space? Imma give him the space he needs. But you had this thing going on for the entire day and I don't even understand why." Dissatisfaction ruling his heart. "I was even asking myself if I had done somethin' wrong, but I swear absolutely nothing was clicking into my mind. I-" He breathed out. "I want ya to know that I care. I care, but I can't read yer mind, even if I had tried 'cause I wanted to find out what's yer real favorite color 'cause no way yers is something as lame and unoriginal as blue. I'm sorry I'm not some kind of psychology genius, but the only way I can get to know what's happening to you is words. I care about you, 'kay?" He stressed on it again. "I wanna know what's going on, especially if that makes ya look so bad. It's okay if you don't wanna talk to me about whatever's bothering ya now, but you can talk to me. I don't think I can give ya the perfect kind of help, but I know how to listen. As I said, not now, I would never force ya into doing anything, but... for the future, I just wanted you to know."

Guilt. Extreme sense of guilt had targeted Kiyoomi at that very moment, and it hurt to see the discouragement all over Atsumu's face. He was doing nothing but being a good friend, and Sakusa was rejecting him, building a distance between the two which shouldn't had been there, breaking those bridges which had let them develop their honest relationship. He had tried to push him away the whole day, he had tried to push away with no explanation someone he considered his friend. It wasn't fair, he thought. Letting the doubt born and grow inside Atsumu's brain about the validity of their bond. Not talking to him was not fair at all. Still, how could Kiyoomi put into words the chaos he had felt in the last twenty-four hours? How could he say it without ruining everything? Without misunderstandings?

"I think Imma go back inside." Atsumu broke the silence which had fallen upon the two, a saddened look on his face. "If ya ever wanna speak to me, you know where to find me." He had said, leaving a sigh before walking away. "I hope yer headache will be gone soon."

He couldn't stand it. Kiyoomi couldn't stand how disheartened Atsumu looked. f*ck it, he thought. He was going to speak. "Miya!" He called him, still staying where he stood. And Atsumu had stopped, slowly turning around to face him once again. Good, he had his attention now. What was next? He was considering progressing slowly, step by step, no rush in order to let the truth be out.

"Omi, I told ya already, ya don't need to tell me now." Atsumu wanted to be clear. "It's okay if you don't feel like it, I was just saying don't bottle up. That was it, for real there's no-"

"I wanted to kiss you." And so Kiyoomi had decided to compltely miss the steps and go straight to the point. A pair of widened eyes filled with upheaval and shock were staring right at Kiyoomi. Atsumu had always been an expressive kind of person. His eyebrows were so high and raised Kiyoomi thought they were about to leave Atsumu's forehead and aim directly for his scalp. No sound had been registered coming from him, even if his jaw had dropped to the point an otolaryngologist wouldn't have faced any problem checking his tonsils.

For all the gods above Kiyoomi wanted to take those words back, but he couldn't, and he didn't intend to. "I wanted to kiss you. Yesterday night, when we were talking on the balcony." He clarified. "But I was aware of how insane that sounded and I immediately recast that feeling as inappropriate. I didn't want to let you know considering I find it slightly uncomfortable, but since looking at you reminded me of said feeling I tried to avoid you." Sakusa was speaking perfectly, but his trembling voice did betray a clear state of agitation. "I want to apologize. That has not been one of my smartest moves. You did nothing wrong, all the blame is on me." A few seconds had gone by and Atsumu had remained silent. Agitation was now turning into a monstrous anxiety. He didn't seem disgusted nor repulsed though. It could have been a good sign.

"What did ya just say?" Atsumu had finally spoken, beginning to walk towards Kiyoomi. "I'm not gonna say it again." The latter had stated, wondering what Atsumu's final response would have been. He reached him, Atsumu was now standing right in front of him. Kiyoomi's heart seemed to fall from its own ribcage. Last time they had been this close, he almost went for it. "What about now?" Something had shifted in his gaze, a different kind of light was now shining in that dimness.

Kiyoomi was honestly puzzled. "What?"

Atsumu leaned in closer. "You said ya wanted to kiss me, have I heard that right?" Of course he had, Kiyoomi was not going to repeat himself. "So, what about now?" And there was something strangely suggestive in the way he was speaking, it was evocative, how he let the words come out, one by one, appealing even. Kiyoomi's eyes were staring at his, and no matter what, he wasn't going to look away. So he noticed, Kiyoomi noticed the way Atsumu's eyes were darkening right in front of him. His previous amazed expression had now left the spot to a more conscious one. At some point in time, Atsumu had started playing with the extremities of Kiyoomi's tie. Sakusa didn't even dare to look there, his sight still lost on the man's face. "Do you feel like kissing me now?" He had asked, his voice so low and hoarse Sakusa almost thought he was imagining it.

"What are you even saying?" Kiyoomi muttered, trying to hide the anticipation he was sensing. "It's fine if ya don't. I could always go back inside." His tone had changed again. "For real, I wouldn't mind. Now that I recall I left this blondie on her own, very rude of me." Atsumu had chuckled as his fingers kept running up and down Kiyoomi's tie. "What d'ya want me to do, Omi-kun?" He raised his gaze, sending him a fierce glance right into his eyes. "Should I go back inside?" He worded as he slowly tightened the nod of said tie, a lascivious gleam in his own eyes.

It was a challenge. That bastard was challenging him. All it took was an instant.

An instant, so brief it couldn't even be considered. An instant in which time hadn't spared Sakusa enough room to think about the consequences of his actions. An instant which had cleared his mind to the point there was no more reason to struggle at all, to fight back that voracious instinct, no reason to hide that sudden insatiable need. So Sakusa leaned down and he decided to drown in it. His hand reached the back of Atsumu's neck and Kiyoomi sharply pulled him closer.

He pressed his lips on Atsumu's ones and it didn't take long for the latter to start reciprocating Kiyoomi's drive. It felt confusing yet exciting, the sensation of his whole body heating up in a rush of violent ecstasy. It felt ravenous and rough, the necessity of letting their breathes merge and melt into one single greedy desire. There was no gentleness in that intimate touch, no trace of suavity.

Eagerness and impetuosity were ruling their spirits and their movements were bold and unapologetic. Kiyoomi himself was loosing sense of reality, immersed into a chaotic research for the real meaning of an hedonistic outburst, intoxicated by the pure adrenaline ordering him to increase his own pleasure. Atsumu was touching him, and Kiyoomi had let him, finally surrendering in front of the impressiveness of his own necessities. Kiyoomi could feel Atsumu's hand insinuating itself under his shirt, climbing his body just to reach his chest.

His skin burning, his muscles were quivering with excitement as Atsumu felt him up with impudence and unexpected hunger. Then, as the sloppy sound of that wet and chaotic kiss went on, without the two of them even realizing, Atsumu's back had roughly hit the wall. The man had let out a muffled and soft moan against Kiyoomi's open mouth, a thread of saliva breaking and then immediately re-forming itself as their tongues kept intertwining with themselves. A moan his ears hadn't failed to hear and his body hadn't failed to perceive.

The sound of it had felt obscene, nasty and holy at the same time. His blood pressure raising and tingling inside his veins and shivers literally running all along his spine. He wanted to ear it again. He needed to hear that exquisite whine again. He pushed his body further, closer to Atsumu as there was no more space between the two. Kiyoomi's lips left Atsumu's ones, leaving warm kisses from the corner of his mouth to his neck, tracing with meticulous precision every inch of his skin. Atsumu instinctively titled his head, letting Kiyoomi access to more space and completely exposing his neck at Kiyoomi's mercy.

At every fair kiss painted on his skin, Kiyoomi's hands frantically travelled down Atsumu's back with one goal in mind. Then his hands reached that long desired promised land, grabbing and holding on Atsumu's ass from over his suit as if his life was depending on it. Atsumu was melting under Kiyoomi's touch, his chest manically moving up and down as a rasping breath got stuck in his throat. And as Sakusa had seemed to find a sensitive spot he sucked on it and he could finally hear it again, a moan louder and filthier than the previous one.

It did feel like drowning. The more Sakusa kissed him the more water his lungs hosted, the more he heard him heavily panting against him the more Sakusa let his body go, irreparably and hopelessly reaching the depth of the sea. And as he drowned, his mind was limpid and clear, as he drowned his muscles relaxed, leaving the tension behind on the surface, as he drowned he felt like dying and he wasn't thinking anymore. It felt wonderful, not to think anymore.

Kiyoomi went for Atsumu's lips again, forcing them to part. He enjoyed their texture, how they felt under his own, their taste. He enjoyed exploring his mouth, sucking on his tongue, feeling Atsumu trembling and faltering and running his fingers through Kiyoomi's curly and jet-black hair. Famished, Kiyoomi found himself desiring for more.

"Wait." Atsumu had softly pushed him back, but Kiyoomi, still drunk and dazed in desire, had unconsciously pushed himself forward, his lips searching Atsumu's ones, suffering from the sudden sense of emptiness, air seeming colder now that they were parted.

"Omi." Atsumu had stopped him, calling his name, making an effort to do so as he stood breathless. Hearing him speak, Kiyoomi seemed to waken. Atsumu was a mess, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned, his face flushed, his lips wet, red and martyrized, and traces of the previous impulse of lust lingering near his Adam's apple. Kiyoomi admired him, in deep silence. "We're in public." Atsumu had stated.

Statement which had Sakusa finally realize. Even if the corridor happened to be empty, they were in public, indeed. "Oh." He simply said, quickly moving his hands away from inappropriate places where they had been resting on the whole time. "You're right." He concluded.

Considering the way Atsumu was staring at him, with that amused grin from ear to ear, Kiyoomi wasn't probably looking any better than him. Seeing how involved he obviously had felt, there was a terrible chance his aspect was even worse than his. Kiyoomi tried to ignore the possibility for the sake of preserving his own dignity and said: "Let's go then." He had suggested, his senses still tingling and his mind too hazy because of what had happened to properly process the implications of what was about to happen. "Let's go?" Atsumu had echoed looking at him in search of clarifications. "Where?"

"You just want me to say it." Kiyoomi complained. The back of his mind somehow realized the absurdity of that moment, still, it wasn't stopping

"Yeah, maybe I wanna hear ya saying it." Atsumu smugly confirmed.

"My room. Let's head to my room." Kiyoomi cleared in defeat. It didn't seem like that smirk could leave Atsumu's face any sooner. "So?" He said. "You're in or not?"

"You have no idea." Atsumu almost laughed as he took one step forward just to sneakily reach for Kiyoomi's shirt and fix some of its buttons. "Omi, ya have no idea." He kept chanting as he buttoned up something which would have been unbuttoned soon.

"Just no idea for how long I hoped for this day to come back in high school."

"Weren't you in love?" Kiyoomi asked, his eyes attentively following Atsumu's fingers. "With someone else?" He had added reminiscing their conversation from the previous night. Atsumu hadn't replied, mindlessly taking care of the last button. He carelessly patted Kiyoomi's chest and then said: "Yeah, I probably was." He clicked his tongue. "But I also had eyes."

After the both of them had made it to his room, Kiyoomi had simply lost track. Track of time, space, reality. All he could recall was the anticipation as they impatiently undressed each other, the sudden rush of adrenaline as Atsumu had dragged Kiyoomi into a hot heated kiss, their bodies pressed against each other pushing for more as if they had been driven by their souls which were trying to escape from their flesh cages and blend into one altogether.

All he could recall was the silence in that room broken by the incessant panting for breath, the sharp noise of skin clacking over skin, the wet sound of lips leaving traces all over. Nails crawling on his back and slightly scratching as Atsumu desperately held on to it. And bites, Kiyoomi recollected light bites being placed between his shoulder and his neck as he was pounding into Atsumu who was attempting to muffle his own moans out of pleasure. He could recall sweat dripping from his curls. He could recall the heat and excitement when Atsumu had pulled on said curls. Kiyoomi could recall the ecstasy when, after the electrifying build up, he had given in the last thrust and open mouthed curses and kisses had heavenly followed. The air filled with groans and an intense stinging smell.

Then, Kiyoomi's body had surrendered and his back had noisily fallen on the mattress, now lying right next to Atsumu. Both of them exhausted, spasmodically trying to catch their breath. Staring at the ceiling, with Atsumu heavily breathing next to him, Kiyoomi, completely spaced out, tried to refocus and think, but his brain didn't seem to cooperate. Empty, no thoughts detected. Laughable, Kiyoomi found it laughable, and he did laugh. Out loud, his arm resting on his eyes as he genuinely laughed.

Atsumu couldn't miss the odd sound. "What?" He said, still short of breath, as he got on his elbow, turning to face Kiyoomi. "Why ya laughing?" He had asked.

Sakusa moved his arm away just to met Atsumu's eyes and then replied: "I don't know." And he kept laughing. "You don't?" Atsumu had echoed his words in puzzlement, but the hint of a smile had started to creep on his softening face by looking at the younger so purely laughing. "I don't, I swear." Kiyoomi had said. "I don't know. Maybe I find it funny." He tried to make sense out of his unexpected reaction.

"Funny?" Atsumu frowned a little. "What is funny?"

"That we hooked up, I guess." He pondered. Atsumu blinked. "Yeah, maybe it's weird." Then he agreed.

But Kiyoomi had else to say: "I said funny." He corrected the man. "Not... weird." Atsumu's face lit up all of a sudden, he couldn't help but smile after havin heard those words.

"What?" It was Kiyoomi's turn to ask. "What did I say?"

"Ya don't think it's weird." Atsumu stated the obvious.

"Nope." Kiyoomi confirmed.

"So..." Atsumu continued speaking. "There's gonna be more of it. Ya clearly enjoyed the free trial now ya ready for the subscription." He concluded with pride.

"I never said there was gonna be more of it." Kiyoomi tried to sound unimpressed. Atsumu dramatically rolled his eyes. "I get it, but! D'ya want it? More of it?" And by now, there was no point in lying anymore.

"Yeah." Kiyoomi answered in the light dark of his room. "Cool." Atsumu exclaimed in victory as he suddenly got up, getting out of the sheets previously covering less than nothing. "Imma shower. Can ya lend me yers?" He shamelessly stood up fully displaying his state of nudity. Kiyoomi, still laying in bed looked at him: it did feel kind of unreal. "Just don't use my soap. And be quick. I need it too." The stickiness was soon starting to feel a little bit unpleasant.

"Gotcha." He said, but before he could disappear he came back. "Or... we could get in the shower toge-" But before he could finish his sentence Kiyoomi had thrown a pillow right on his face. "Hey!" Atsumu had rightfully complained. "It's a no?" He had then asked while pouting. Kiyoomi couldn't believe this guy. "It's a no." He deliberated.

"Fine... prude." Atsumu had called him.

"Again, I'm not a prude!" Sakusa disagreed fervently which had Atsumu grinning as a result. "Yeah, yeah, y'er right. Almost forgot that ya have no shame regarding public sex." Kiyoomi was about to sacrifice his own pillow just to hit him again, but Atsumu, once he had understood Kiyoomi's planes, had hidden himself behind the bathroom's door. Then, from inside said bathroom, he shouted: "For legal reasons I'm joking, alright?" Kiyoomi heard him saying. "But you can't lie to me, ya were about to rail me right on the spot against that wall. Am I right?"

"You're delusional." Kiyoomi told him. The only reply Kiyoomi recieved had been the sound of Atsumu chanting a melody before getting in the shower. Unbelievable, he was unbelievable. Once again, that night, Kiyoomi had found himself laughing. I'm going crazy, he had thought at that time, I'm definitely going crazy.

Still, he was overlooking that simple detail which could have made things easier back then. That small component which could have cleared everything out already. He was totally neglecting it. Completely missing it.

Happiness.

At that time his mind was still ignoring the reason behind his unexplainable laughter. Happiness, that it was.

He was just feeling happy.

Chapter 4: Blooming (II)

Chapter Text

Things had started without the two of them acknowledging things had started. Things had been too easy to even discuss them. After that night in Minō, their dynamic hadn't changed, not even in the slightest. They still fought and laughed at each other while constantly being with each other. Those things hadn't changed, the way they acted, especially in front of their teammates hadn't changed since there was no reason for them to do so. However, something had definitely changed. Or, maybe, a better word could have been developed.

They were closer, even closer than before. Behind the close doors of their apartments it was just them and even if the never ending bickering hadn't stopped, something else had definitely began to be there. Before that night, staying up in front of some volleyball game or some serial killer documentary Atsumu absolutely needed to watch, when the clock used to strike past midnight it had usually gone like this: Kiyoomi pressed pause, he reminded Atsumu about their morning practice, Atsumu gasped in surprise noticing how late it was, then he always mumbled some excuses and generally before two in the morning he was gone. Out of Kiyoomi's apartment, sleeping in his own bed.

After that night, whenever the TV kept them up more than they had considered, Atsumu just stayed and the both of them ended up falling asleep on the couch eventually. It was like this, even if Kiyoomi always complained the day after because of the back pain the sofa had given to him, it was like this. It was always like this. Before that night in Mitō, boundaries had been there, setting those sacred lines entitled to let both parts know that they were friends, nothing more than friends. After that night, boundaries hadn't been there anymore. There was no thing such as Atsumu's place or Kiyoomi's place.

No defined distinction. Atsumu understood that when, one morning he had woken up to Sakusa sticking his head inside his fridge and four bags full of groceries on the kitchen counter. "What the hell are ya doing?" He had greeted him that way as his blurred sight tried to get a grip on what was happening in front of him, fighting the urge to yawn. Sakusa, covered in a mask, sign that he had just come back from the outside world, replied: "It's unbelievably idiotic for your fridge to resemble your brain and be constantly empty." Atsumu had blinked, but then his eyes had seen something he wished he didn't see: "Is that a bag full of tatsoi? I f*cking hate that sh*t Omi! How could you?"

"It's vegetables, it's healthy. You should know." Sakusa flatly said.

"It's slimy, Omi! It's like a worm climbing down my throat for f*ck's sake!"

"Then you go to the supermarket yourself!" Sakusa had counterstriked.

"Then!" Atsumu was about to reply furiously, but then he suddenly was not all that fired up anymore. "Yeah." He said. "I should go." He quietly agreed with Kiyoomi's words. "Wanna go back to the store with me?"

Kiyoomi had heavily sighed, but he had followed him whatsoever. It didn't matter how much junk food Atsumu had tried to slide into the cart, Kiyoomi had been there to stop him. Unless said junk food hadn't been of his own liking too.

"Omi, we forgot these." Atsumu had come back to Kiyoomi after having left the line for the cashier. "Now, we got it all." Kiyoomi's eyes widened hoping no one between those old people going for groceries at nine in the morning had recognized them as the professional players and public figures they were. "Why fruit flavored condoms?" Kiyoomi had kept his voice down, praying no one could eavesdrop their conversation. "Why not?" Atsumu had replied so innocent. Kiyoomi had sighed again, and they had bought them. Those fruit flavored condoms.

Boundaries, boundaries were coming tumbling down, one by one. Kiyoomi started realizing that the day another toothbrush had appeared next to his own. The day a no yellow shampoo materialized itself next to his curly hair shampoo inside the shower. The day the flowers in his apartment he had neglected for so long hadn't been dying anymore as Atsumu religiously watered them when needed. No more boundaries when Atsumu had developed the habit of stealing his t-shirts. No more boundaries when they shared the sheets almost every night. No more of those boundaries when Atsumu swore he would have kissed every single mole on Kiyoomi's body, starting kissing the ones on his forehead that morning and going through with his promise as the daylight had set, gently placing kisses on the ones on his back.

Atsumu was simply everywhere, traces of him everywhere in Kiyoomi's house. Parts of him all over a space which once had been just Kiyoomi's. But it wasn't like that anymore. Walls were being broken.

"Omi!" Atsumu had called for him one day. He was sitting on the floor of Kiyoomi's bathroom. A hand resting on the wall near the sink. And when Kiyoomi had raised an eyebrow he just said: "Remember when I told ya walls are thin? This part of the wall's empty."

"What?" Kiyoomi had sat on the floor right next to him. "What do you mean by empty?"

"It's a wall cavity." Atsumu explained to him as he knocked on it. "I bet this is the wall converging with the one in my bedroom. Must be the reason why I hear the flush so clearly and Bokuto's shower playlist when he lived here."

"A cavity? So this wall isn't supporting any weight?" Kiyoomi genuinely asked.

"Nope!" Atsumu uttered as he was standing up. "Let's experiment something!"

"Miya! Where are you going?" Kiyoomi said puzzled as he watched Atsumu vanish outside of the bathroom. "Don't move, Omi-kun! I wanna see something! Stay there!" Atsumu spoke while Kiyoomi could hear his hand on the doorknob of the front door. Stay there, Atsumu had said, so Kiyoomi hadn't moved. Even if the request had seemed silly, he didn't move. Then a sound of someone knocking got his attention, and a voice followed: "Omi?" Another couple of knocks. "Can ya hear me?" And it was insane how distinctly Atsumu's voice was resonating inside his bathroom. Kiyoomi pressed one of his ear on the wall. "Yeah!" He confirmed strangely excited. "I hear you!"

"I hear ya too!" Atsumu had said filled with enthusiasm.

Kiyoomi couldn't see him, but Atsumu too had his ear pressed on the wall, just like him. And they stayed like that, for a couple of instants, as they could sense each other's breathing loud and clear. Inadvertently, Kiyoomi smiled. It was nice, he thought, spending days with Atsumu. "Hey." The voice of the latter echoed through the empty wall. "Yes?" Kiyoomi replied.

"This wall ain't supporting anything." Atsumu repeated what had been stated already, a curious uncertainty in his tone which could be perceived even without facing him directly. "Y'know, I was thinking..." It seemed as if he was holding himself back.

"What?" Kiyoomi tried to help him by showing him interest. "What were you thinking?"

"If we break it down." Atsumu did continue. "We could break down this wall." He didn't need to say anything more, he knew where this was going, but he let him talk, as Kiyoomi himself was holding his breath in anticipation. "We could break it down and install a door." Atsumu was waiting. On the other side of the wall, Atsumu was anxiously waiting for Kiyoomi to say something.

"I'd like that." His voice was trembling, however his words had never felt more sure.

"Yeah? Really?" Atsumu had asked.

"Yeah." Kiyoomi had said. "It would be cool."

Walls kept being broken down.

There it was this day. This day in which practice had been over quite late. Kiyoomi hadn't minded, thoughtlessly getting into the locker room's shower, changing his clothes to cleaner ones, his only goal being head back to the apartment. Inunaki had asked him to join him and Adriah for some drinking time together, Inunaki had actually asked everyone. Kiyoomi, as usual, had kindly declined the offer. As he was rubbing his wet hair against a less wet towel, Kiyoomi noticed how his teammates had disappeared sooner that time. No one was in there, most of them had probably accepted a simple night of lightheartedness. Atsumu wasn't there either. Kiyoomi wondered if he had eventually decided to tag along. They were not eating together that night, he could have eaten the entire fried rise they had left by himself. Heaven, he thought as he reached the exit, an absolute joy. "Omi? Are ya done?"

The thin breeze of that light night had already been caressing Kiyoomi's fair skin as his attention got stolen by this voice. "Miya?" Kiyoomi had said. "Weren't you..."

"Out drinking?" He read on Kiyoomi's words. "Nah, I would have told ya if I was going, don't ya think?" Atsumu had easily replied. "Got it." Kiyoomi simply worded, even if a certain warmth inside his chest was disclosing itself little by little. And they walked, just like they always do, talking about their plays, about their coach or their teammates, talking about the fried rise Kiyoomi would have been forced to share, lazily bickering about who of the two would have done the dishes this time as their shoulders slightly brushed against each other. Kiyoomi didn't dislike the proximity. On the contrary, he secretly craved it. It all seemed to flow natural. Then, a melody reached their ears, a distant sound, loud enough for them to hear. "Did ya hear?"

And Kiyoomi had nodded, curious about said sound's origin. Atsumu frowned as he stupidly spin around trying to understand where it did come from. None of them had a clue until a few kids in traditional clothes came rushing in front of them, heading towards the main street. "Is it possible that there's a festival?" Sakusa genuinely supposed, following with his eyes those running kids. "Imma ask." Atsumu claimed with determination. "Hey! Yeah, you! Bunch of kids!" He called them so they stopped and turned around.

"What're ya rushing for?" The kids looked at the both of them, expressing suspicion through their faces as they seemed to seriously ponder if answer or answer not to those two unknown adults. One of them, in the end, talked: "We're going to the shrine!" There was in fact a shrine not so far from their apartments. "We're flying lanterns tonight!" And as the one who looked like the older made everyone else sign to go, they were gone, vanished around the corner. Atsumu and Kiyoomi were still standing there, as those kids disappeared from their sight.

Then Atsumu started walking again, heading to the main street now. Kiyoomi quietly followed. Once they had come to their destination, a colourful and lively view came unravelled right in front of them. The way to the shrine was joyously unfolding itself in various and bright stands, more people than they could even think were gleefully crowding the place as a vibrant and twangy music came resonating all around them. An inviting smell coming from a food booth not so far away and the cheerful atmosphere enlivening that fortunate night. Atsumu was quivering, enraptured by the merry spirit. He clearly wanted to explore the place. "It's crowded in here." But he had said instead. He was doing it for him. Atsumu knew how Kiyoomi wasn't a fan of this kind of situations. "Let's go h-"

"We should give a look around. Don't you think?" Kiyoomi wasn't a fan, and that was true, but he could give it a try.

"Yes!" Atsumu seemed excited. "Sure!" He sincerely smiled. "Gimme yer hand." Kiyoomi looked puzzled and said: "What?" All of a sudden, Atsumu seemed to understand what he had actually suggested and he turned red. "I mean, there's lots of people, ya don't wanna get lost, don't ya? I know I'm the most likely to get lost, just as much as I'm the less likely to survive in a cannibals island 'cause everyone would want a piece of that, but... I mean." He kept blabbering nonsense and he looked so embarrassed Kiyoomi truly found it hilarious, and he took it. He took Atsumu's hand. "Just shut up, Miya." Kiyoomi had told him. Atsumu was astonished as his eyes were falling on their hands holding for the very first time.

"Right." He had uttered indistinctly. "Just shut up, Miya." He had repeated talking to himself.

And it felt nice, wandering around with Atsumu by his side. And it was funny even, when Atsumu had to spit out the takoyaki he had claimed he could have easily eaten right away because: "Nothing can possibly be hotter than this fella." Serious about how he was not going to feel any kind of pain since he was a hottie himself. But the burning takoyaki was, indeed, hotter than him.

"Omi, look!" As they had kept looking around, Atsumu had eyed something peculiar. "It's us." Kiyoomi frowned. Us? What did he mean? Then he turned to see what the man was excitedly pointing at. Sakusa found himself staring at two masks, exhibited by a small stand. A fox mask, kitsunes of course, that was understandable, but how...

"How in the world they sell a weasel mask?" Sakusa had exclaimed, profoundly concerned.

"That's pretty insane." Atsumu noticed. And just like that, they were in the middle of the street, staring at those masks.

"By the way, that's not us anymore." Kiyoomi corrected him. High school days were over. Those had been over for years now.

"What d'ya mean that's not us anymore?" Atsumu looked at him, perplexity showing. Kiyoomi didn't wait to give him a reply: "Aren't we supposed to be, like... Jackals? Now?"

"Jackals? 'Cause we're in the Black Jackals?" Atsumu had conveyed.

"Yeah." Kiyoomi simply stated and then, to reinforce his already strong statement, he met Atsumu's eyes and flatly, but heartedly, said: "The Jackals, our mascots, you know? It's like: rawr." He had emulated the wild animal using said onomatopoeia and he accompanied the sound by raising one hand, symbolically depicting a paw and its claws. Atsumu had immediately laughed. "What?" Kiyoomi had reacted. "What's so funny?" And he was looking at him, as his aura sparkled and his laughter resonated, perfectly mixing with the euphony all around them. Then Atsumu's features relaxed, as his laughter quietened and his eyes were fully attentive, gazing at Kiyoomi again. "Y're seriously pretty."

It didn't matter if Atsumu had told him before nor it mattered if their relationship now was much more closer than before and statement of that kind shouldn't had surprised him, not anymore, it still got him. A sense of dryness was pervading his mouth and he felt ache in his chest as his heart seemed to stop, for one second, just to start beating again at a pace even faster than before, causing his blood to rush and run inside his veins creating electricity weakening his already weak body. "Makes me want to kiss ya." He had whispered, almost inaudible if Sakusa hadn't stood so close. And he would have allowed himself to give in, close his eyes and fall, but then he realized.

"We can't." He had said, his reluctant voice not matching his illusory will. Atsumu had frowned. "What if somebody recognizes us?" Kiyoomi had added and he wasn't totally wrong. They were still public figures.

Atsumu seemed to think, pondering the outcomes, then he spoke: "Just got an idea!" And Kiyoomi could do nothing but watch him walk away, all of a sudden, seemingly heading towards the masks stand they were previously looking at. Kiyoomi stood there, as he saw him happily talking to the seller. When the latter handed Atsumu some very specific masks, the curves of a smile crept in. "What are these for?" Kiyoomi incredulous asked as Atsumu was walking back to him, proudly smug about himself.

"They're cool, ain't them?" Atsumu had stated handing Kiyoomi the famous weasel mask. "Cool enough to hide identities, don't ya think?" He raised an eyebrow trying to sound convincing. Kiyoomi gave a look at said mask. "They don't even cover our mouth." He noticed.

"Ain't it for the best?" Atsumu testified in favor of what he had just bought. "We could need to use it." He had said in a flirtatious tone, while putting on his own mask. "Plus, these masks always work for Lady Bug and Chat Noir."

"Are you talking about that kid show? You watched it?" Kiyoomi knew it because of his little cousin mentioning it every now and then.

"Miraculous? A kid show? Please. It's real entertainment for all ages." Atsumu had to correct him and remark. "By the way, yeah. I used to watch it with Barnes' children, y'know. I ended up babysitting them quite a lot at that time. First year at MSBYs. The newbie. I couldn't say no. To anyone." He recollected.

"What a nice guy." Said Kiyoomi ironically and Atsumu replied: "Yeah, I am actually." As he came closer.

Kiyoomi didn't step back, on the contrary, he mindlessly wore the mask the boy had given to him. "So?" Atsumu urged, not leaving out courtesy. "May I kiss ya now?" It was harmless. Nobody was really looking at them. And as his eyes met Atsumu's ones, he felt like he just couldn't say no. He didn't want to say no. "Yes." He had quietly articulated, and it had been gentle. How gently Atsumu's fingers had surrounded his chin, having Kiyoomi (who had always been slightly taller) bend down on him, how softly those fingers had lingered on his lips before Atsumu kissed him. It felt light and kind, the way their lips simply brushed against each other, at first. It felt warm and intimate, the way Atsumu had started placing small and slow kisses, then. "See?" Atsumu had whispered on Kiyoomi's still sensitive lips. "Nobody can tell it's us now."

"Mh." Kiyoomi had been driven by no strength to speak more as he let himself dive into the calm sensation provided by the man's gentle touch. He was letting himself go. Was it too soon? Atsumu had kissed him, one more time.

They had fallen asleep next to each other, as it had become common, that night again. It felt safe. Strangely safe. Was it okay? To feel that safe? Was it ideal to constantly let the guard down? Was it safe to feel safe? Kiyoomi didn't think about it then. Not consciously, at least. But the more the days went on, the more he found himself exposed, vulnerable, armless. The more it happened, the more something kept buzzing deep down, on the back of his mind. And the tranquillity he had found in Atsumu would have turned out to be only ephemeral if that apparently innocent feeling had had the chance to take over. Because Kiyoomi didn't just enjoy the man's company, that was more of it. He wasn't acting out of loneliness, mere liking, nor he was being led by sexual pleasure and detached desire. It run deeper than that. And so he was scared.

One day, as he was wandering alone in his own apartment, Kiyoomi heard the sound of something continuously dragging behind his front door.

"What are you doing?" Kiyoomi had opened the door just to find Atsumu perched on the floor in front of him. Atsumu had looked up. "Wait for it." He had said as he was unrolling something weirdly similar to a doormat. "Here it is." He exclaimed standing up. The thing was, in fact, a doormat. "I noticed ya didn't own one, so I figured it would have been nice to get ya one. Yer apartment isn't gonna look the scariest out here anymore." Atsumu was saying. "Yer door will look more reassuring like that y'know. Our neighbours won't be afraid of knocking on it asking ya for sugar anymore, and I will be able to keep mine. It's a win win situation. Thank me later. What's for dinner?" He had talked so casually as he just as casually walked in. But Kiyoomi was still standing there. His eyes couldn't leave the doormat at his feet.

"What?" Atsumu seemed to notice. "Ya don't like the colour? We can always return it and change it if ya want."

"It says: home sweet home." Kiyoomi read out loud. His voice faltered and he was glad Atsumu hadn't been able to perceive that.

"Yeah! I took with me a very basic one, Omi. I didn't want to get too bold without ya being around."

A very basic one.

A very basic doormat. Nothing more than that.

So why was he having this feeling of something around his throat, creeping in, tightening, strangling him, leaving him just a minuscule space so he could have stayed alive. It was haunting, this feeling growing inside him, terrifying as it played with his guts, like needles on his stomach. Was it fear?

"Omi-kun? You coming in?" Atsumu had called him. "Yeah." He had said, immediately closing the door.

Home sweet home, it was written.

Walls were being smashed by that point. But the last wall standing? It wasn't going to be taken down so easily. Not at all. And so it did come the day. Some of the things which had started were also about to irreparably come to an end.

Atsumu had called him. Kiyoomi was just coming back from a medical routine check, not out of the ordinary for them athletes, when he noticed the incoming call. He had asked him to come home sooner if he had the chance. It was seven pm, Kiyoomi had not so much to do out in the streets, so of course he could have come home right away. Home, that was how Atsumu had started referring to their apartments. And it was absolutely normal, they both lived there, what else would someone call a place to stay, eat and sleep? Home. Home was the right word. It was common to call a place home and it wasn't necessary for it to hide particular layers of meaning behind such a simple word. Kiyoomi couldn't dwell on such a thought, it was useless. He couldn't let himself linger on the sense of unease he did perceive every time he realized how intimate their relationship had grown. It was harmful. He ignored it, that strange feeling which was disturbingly and unreasonably upsetting him during that dim lit evening, so he just walked home.

Silently and quietly, forcing his mind into turning the whole thinking process off. He didn't let his thoughts get in the way as he walked through the streets, nor as he climbed up the stairs which would have led him to his front door. He was fine. It was fine. So what exactly could have been that imperceptible bad feeling? He ignored it. He ignored it as his keys turned inside the door lock, but before he could unlock it by himself, someone must have heard him and proceeded to open the door. Atsumu had been there. Both of them had the keys of each other's apartment after all.

"Ya here!" He welcomed Kiyoomi with that bright attitude of his and for an instant all the things which had him distressed seemed to disappear. Kiyoomi still hated it, he couldn't help himself. He still hated the way the other man kept stealing his breath, every single time, about to leave him in severe asphyxiation. Are my lungs going to fail me? He always wondered.

"Yeah." Kiyoomi let himself get in. "Why did you want me to come back right away?" He asked as he calmly took off his jacket which Atsumu promptly put on the hall stand. He had lately developed this habit of helping Kiyoomi with his jacket whenever he had the chance.

"It saves time." He had justified himself when Kiyoomi had pointed it out. He would have strongly disagreed considering how two or three seconds were not that much of a treasure, especially not over a jacket, but Kiyoomi had let him do it anyway. "D'ya remember that time we passed by that park? And we saw people picnicking everywhere? And ya said ya wanted to do it, but the idea of eating surrounded by potential bugs on the grass grossed ya out?"

"It was two days ago." Kiyoomi told him, since Atsumu had started talking as if that had been a matter of ancient history. "Why nitpicking on anything?" He complained with such a tragedy Kiyoomi smiled at his absurdity. Atsumu noticed. "Anyway." He then continued. "I had these bags full of stuff 'Samu gave me and as ya know I just can't bring them to practice anymore 'cause of Inunaki who kept using rice balls as bullets to shoot at Adriah and then Meian got hit and it wasn't pretty." Unfortunately, the story was true.

"So, I figured we could have had some here and to make it better I arranged an indoor picnic!" He showed Kiyoomi the picnic blanket well stretched on the living room's floor. There was actual food displayed on it. Atsumu seriously had all organized.

"This can't be an idea of yours." Kiyoomi immediately had to state. "You're never this corny."

"What? Corny? This is just common chivalry, what are ya even saying, Omi? Y'er breaking my heart right now, what the hell?" He had tried to sound deeply offended but failed. Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. Atsumu wasn't fooling anyone. "Fine." Atsumu grumbled in the end. "The blanket is Bokuto's. The bio candles ya see also Bokuto's. He wanted to surprise his fiancé then ended up throwing it all away 'cause it seems like they had this huge fight, but Bokuto didn't want to put it in the trash 'cause he wanted to help the less fortunate instead. Breaking news: I am the less fortunate, but I believe it's an excuse and he simply doesn't know if candles go with organic or undifferentiated waste, didn't want to ask Akaashi since they've been fighting and thought of having me to figure it out. Truth to be told: I also have no idea where bio candles go. Food comes seriously from my brother, though." Atsumu efficiently explained.

"Bokuto and Akaashi had a fight?" That was the part of the story which truly surprised Kiyoomi.

"Seems so, but it ain't that serious." Atsumu brushed it off. "Their fights are never serious. Must be 'cause they've been in love for a very long time." He had pondered out loud.

A very long time indeed, Kiyoomi thought. Bokuto and Akaashi have been together for years now, and it seemed like they have been secretly head over hills for each other since their teenage days. Kiyoomi had always found peculiar, even rare, the harmony their dynamic was made of. The aura of balance and peace which heavenly surrounded their relationship and their love, because that was love in Bokuto's eyes every time he got to tell a not requested story about his soon spouse to be.

There was love in Akaashi's voice whenever he addressed him even when he kindly warned him about not drinking too much because: "I can handle it! It tastes like strawberry!" Wasn't going to reduce the high rate of alcohol in his co*cktail. Kiyoomi didn't believe in the weak and constructed concept of perfection, he didn't think that everyone had their other already chosen half walking out there in the world just waiting to be found. He believed, if love did actually exist, that it would have resembled dedication more than careless affection.

Relationships didn't happen to be just perfect, it was impossible to reach such a superior state. Relationships worked when the people involved cared enough to make them work. Falling in love wasn't a choice, he believed, but to love someone, to respect someone, to stay loyal to someone, all of it was a promise. An act of service from mere and imperfect humans. Bokuto and Akaashi's relationship could have been more troubled than it looked like from the outside and none of the two had ever been flawless. Their entire personalities differing and probably clashing most of the times, different energies, opposite reactions. They were not as one, not even in the slightest and there was not such a thing as being perfect for each other. Love meant feeling free to be the most human version of themselves and human meant no perfection. To love meant to keep loving regardless.

As Kiyoomi took a seat on the blanket Atsumu had carefully arranged, waiting for the man to come with some bowls, he stared at the picture of himself the black blank screen of the television was returning him. He had tried, with all his strength, to ignore it. Ignore how something inside of him did feel off.

"Ya wanna the grey bowl or the red one? Just choose." Atsumu was back, he was always shining in a light Kiyoomi still wasn't able to fully understand. "Grey's fine." He worded quietly. Atsumu reached him on the blanket, sitting right in front of him so that Kiyoomi could not look at the pale image of himself inside the switched off television anymore. Kiyoomi had so loosen sight of his own reflection. Atsumu handed him the bowl, then he started filling it with rice. "I could have done it by myself." Kiyoomi let him notice.

"I took care of the preparations for this already prepared picnic, so Imma take care of you too, Omi-kun. Got problems with that?" He said as he added more rice with a spoon.

"If you're not poisoning me." Kiyoomi ironically replied. Atsumu simply chuckled. "I swear, I'm never gonna do it again."

"Again? What do you mean? You've tried before?" Kiyoomi's eyes widened with concern.

"I might have tried to spit in yer plate when we were sixteen." Atsumu shocking admitted. Kiyoomi couldn't believe his ears. "Sorry what?"

"First night and dinner at All Japan? Remember? Before the co*ckroach incident that brought us to a cease-fire. Ya were being kinda annoying. And pretty. It got on my nerves, so I spit." He confessed guiltlessly.

"You didn't."

"I did. But I got the wrong plate." He had said.

"Whose was it?" Kiyoomi asked with curiosity as the former repugnance was being substituted by genuine fun. Atsumu took one deep breath. "Sure you wanna know?" Kiyoomi nodded. "Yer cousin." He spilled. "Man, it's been eight years of remorse. I still feel guilty."

Kiyoomi seemed to recollect something, out of an epiphany, then he spoke: "Motoya did say the salmon tasted particularly stewed that time!" Atsumu dramatically covered his face with both of his hands. "Jeez." He had uttered.

"He never said it tasted bad, though." Kiyoomi added while grabbing his chopsticks. Atsumu frowned.

"What are ya implying?" He said interrogative. "My saliva tastes good? Is that what ya saying here?"

"I just said: he didn't say it was bad." Kiyoomi remarked as he lightly laughed.

"You wanna kiss, don't ya?" Atsumu leaned closer all of a sudden, a captivating inflection in his tone. Kiyoomi, rice filling his cheeks, flicked on his forehead to push him away. "Omi! That hurt!" Atsumu complained.

"Eat." He ordered, not intending to take no as an answer. "Fine!" Atsumu gave up with a snort, kind of resembling the attitude of an angry teenager. Even if they were now eating in silence, Atsumu was still covertly taking quick peeks at him. "What?" Kiyoomi had to ask as he felt glances on him. He didn't feel bothered though, not at all. "Ya got a couple of grains of rice on the corner of yer mouth." Atsumu stated. Kiyoomi instinctively tried to take it off.

"It's the other side." Atsumu hinted him, but Kiyoomi was still failing to intercept it. "Wait, Omi. More on the left." Atsumu kept trying to guide him. "No! Not there!" He exclaimed. And as Kiyoomi finally decided to stand up and use a mirror, his selfie camera or whatever could reflect his face, Atsumu preempted him. He leaned closer, once again, and with one single movement of his index finger swept the grains away. "There it is." Simple as that. "It's all clean now."

"Thanks." Kiyoomi had muttered, unusually flustered by the gesture. Atsumu did not seem to notice, and if he did, he said nothing and it all started flowing smoothly again. Their improvised picnic went on as they talked, took advantage of Osamu's cooking skills and simply enjoyed each other's presence. Kiyoomi did everything in order to not let himself think, not let himself fixate on that one sense of discomfort which was creeping inside him for no absolute good reasons. He rejected it, as much as he could, that feeling of ruin which was disturbingly hovering around him.

The evening was quietly and gracefully about to face its end. Kiyoomi was lying down on the floor, free from all the food they had eaten, as Atsumu was doing Kiyoomi the favour of clearing the blanket they had used a table. As his eyes intensely stared at the lighting fixture on the ceiling and his ears could perceive the running water which Atsumu was using to clean the dishes in the sink, Kiyoomi sensed both peace and a conflict he wasn't even able to properly process. Atsumu was mindlessly singing a tune, Kiyoomi could hear. Tone deaf, totally tone deaf, he judged, but he liked it. Kiyoomi still liked how he did sound. So he closed his eyes as Atsumu barely hit the high note of that unknown song he was chanting. Kiyoomi closed his eyes and he fixed his mind on it. On Atsumu's disgraceful off-key singing.

It was terrible, unpleasant and debatable, but somehow it calmed him down. And as he let himself be cradled by that not even nice sound, he took a deep breath and all of a sudden he felt relieved. Atsumu was there, being the worst singer in the whole world, thank God his dream was volleyball related.

That was when it got him.

Before he could completely relax, that was when it got him. As he was lying down, eyes closed, Atsumu's voice resonating inside his mind, he finally knew what had been haunting him for weeks now. He had a definition, Kiyoomi could name that sensation, that feeling which had him feel his head so empty and light that he didn't mind jumping off a metaphorical cliff and, at the same time, that feeling which had him terrified of smashing to pieces. Terrified as he realized what it was and towards whom it was being directed.

How could it happen? How did he let it happen? How could he fall so unconsciously? When exactly his heart had betrayed his mind? When had his heart aimed for insubordination, sabotaging everything his mind had worked for? Kiyoomi had been caught, way before he could have realized. Something which had grown so naturally over time, gradually, little by little like the premises for a riot when the people silently pile up their unease against the kingdom, that something broke, violently and strong, over a silly thing, over a piece of bread, over Atsumu's bad singing. It hit him, and it hit Kiyoomi, that revolution.

A revolution which didn't suddenly change things, but a revolution which did demand acknowledgment for things which had already changed. And it was overwhelming, totally crushing the realization that it happened. It happened to him, for the first time in his life. Sakusa Kiyoomi had fallen in love. He had always thought that to have him falling, it would have taken the efforts of the entire universe and the arrival of a man so ideal he couldn't exist if not in Plato's world of ideas. But that hadn't been the reality, not even in the slightest. Kiyoomi had fallen for a guy who literally chewed his food with his mouth open. Yet, it had happened. He had fallen for Miya Atsumu, but something was still missing.

And the lack of that something was about to make things worse.

"Are ya sleeping?" Opening his eyes the first thing he saw was Atsumu's face upside-down, as he was crouched down on the floor looking at him with curiosity. Kiyoomi met his gaze, but didn't reply. He just stared at the man's face and he began to touch it, tracing the line of his jaw with his hands. Atsumu might have been confused, yet he didn't stop him.

"What is it?" He had asked nevertheless, responding to his silence. Kiyoomi hadn't answered even then, but rather, with his hands already holding on to Atsumu's face, he had dragged him down and kissed him. Frantically chasing contact, desperately searching for it so his mind could not think, go numb, if necessary. Biting voraciously Atsumu's lower lip, to kiss him deeper, to feel him fully. Seeking that breathless sensation which could have let his thoughts fade in physical pleasure.

"Omi, wait." Atsumu had pulled back himself, looking all flushed already. "I still gotta tidy up a few things-" But he had been interrupted by another erratic kiss. "Omi." He had called him in between.

"I don't care." Kiyoomi had told him, he didn't want to listen to him, nor he did want to heed the raising number of terrifying questions which were crowding his mind, not leaving him space for breathing. Kiyoomi kissed him again, more daring, more eager. Atsumu immediately understood where it would have lead them. "Let's take it elsewhere better than the floor, what d'ya think?" He indulged him following up Kiyoomi's unsaid offer, and the latter, wording out a brief yes, was glad that Atsumu had gotten the hint.

Sakusa seemed to forget, as they were laying on those useless sheets, drowning in nothing but the scent of themselves. He seemed to forget as their fingers laced together and he held on him, tight, hopelessly. Sensing his body, tasting his skin, everything, in a desperate attempt to forget about his curse, about that love he didn't want to feel. The love he wanted to reject, but didn't want to lose. He was trying to escape the rumble of that feeling which had just exploded, but in between ashes he was naively grasping for that one thing which had it detonated in the first place. He was holding onto him, who had caused so much destruction. He kept holding onto him, as he pushed away fear. Just for a moment. To forget his own thoughts, just for a moment. Atsumu probably couldn't even imagine that was the most naked Kiyoomi had ever felt or been.

He was resting his head on Atsumu's bare chest, as the man casually ran his fingers through Kiyoomi's messy hair. It had been silent, in that room. As soon as the both of them had turned exhausted, silence had fallen, surrounding them with its feeble voice. It must have been pretty late, Kiyoomi thought. He looked up, in secret, catching a glimpse of Atsumu's face illuminated by the screen of his phone. His face concentrated on something. Could he love me back? His mind immediately thought. Is it okay for me to love him? How does it work when you love someone? He had no answer. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. Sleep. He should have slept, rest, not think. What should I do with this? He wondered. Sleep. He had to sleep.

"Omi, wanna hear something?"

But Kiyoomi didn't say anything back, eyes still closed. Atsumu would have noticed at some point that the man right in his arms had fallen asleep. Or, at least, had pretended to fall asleep. "I got this call the other day. It was from Serbia." He was whispering, but his voice wasn't faltering, yet it sounded stable, calm and sure. "I wasn't even gonna pick up the phone, thinking it was a call center selling me stuff, but it seemed like my agent was forwarding me that call." He kept talking as he gently played with Kiyoomi's hair. "Turns out there's a team that wants me. They saw my games, my plays. And I was utterly shocked, y'know. I mean, I know I'm good, but the other side of the world? Europe? Serbia?" He genuinely sounded surprised. "When I hanged up I was totally thrilled, knowing they're looking at ya even on a whole other continent feels f*ckin' dope, not gonna lie. And it still feels f*ckin' dope, but I don't even know what language people speak in Serbia. Serbian? I think Serbian is the answer. I mean, it would be awesome for me, I guess, and my career. Going international, the overseas vibe which would make me even more, y'know, interesting and a great candidate for the national team of course. Just think of Tobio! Italy called him. f*cking Italy! And he's like the only completion I have in Japan and he's clearly ahead of me. I act like I do not care at all, but it still burns sometimes." Atsumu rightfully claimed. "But then I was like: man, I'm doing so great here. Osaka's amazing, I got used to the city, the tabloids ain't after me anymore, but still local Internet loves me. Pay's good, like the best in the country, I grew fonder with the team and it's been, what now? Five years? I mean, thinking about it, I could aim for the captain spot. I guess. Once Meian's gone. And Barnes. He's old, he also has the old people privilege, I figure. And Inunaki, 'cause he was here, like, three months before me, but that's not really the point. Still, my point is: I could fly to Serbia and learn new stuff and be better, but I can do that here too." He concluded as he took a breath. "I'm home here. This place kinda feels like home, now."

Home.

"So? What d'ya think? What should I do? I mean... wait." Atsumu must have noticed only then that Kiyoomi's eyes had been closed the whole time he was talking. "What am I? Stupid?" He mumbled to himself. He pressed a soft kiss on the top of Kiyoomi's head and he covered them both in a blanket previously laying at the foot of the bed. Atsumu had fallen asleep, just like that. Slightly snoring, a sound Kiyoomi had gotten used to. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, was wide awake as Atsumu's words were coming alive, all over again, echoing inside the four walls of his brain.

Courage.

That one thing he lacked.

It must have taken Bokuto and Akaashi courage. Courage to agree on absolute destruction. Courage to accept love.

He had fallen asleep too, eventually. A dreamless sleep which had forcefully interrupted his stream of thoughts, but he had woken up, sooner than he expected, as a weak ray of sunshine was being filtered by the windows' curtains, lightly illuminating the scene. It was a Saturday, Kiyoomi recollected as he blinked, no practice on that day. Everything around him was staying still. Still embraced in Atsumu's arms, having fallen asleep on his chest, he realized he was the only one awake. And since there was no way he would have closed his eyes again, he slipped out Atsumu's grip, as careful as he could in order to not wake him up. He lazily got out of bed, took on some clothes and he was standing, in front of his own bedroom's door, looking at the man he had spent the night with. The man he had been spending every night with, and something twisted inside his stomach.

He left the room, noiselessly and quietly, and went straight to the bathroom, hoping refreshing himself could help, but the universe had other plans. Not even having reached the sink, Kiyoomi heard a knock on his door. His front door. Almost eleven in the morning and someone out there was shrilly knocking on his door. Kiyoomi was puzzled. Who could it be? He was one hundred percent sure no one from his team would have actually shown up without notice. Bokuto could have done it, Hinata too, but as the first one was supposedly being busy handling the consequences of a discussion with his fiancé and the other one had told everyone he was going home, in Miyagi, for the weekend, Kiyoomi found serious trouble trying to guess the identity of the person behind his door. He even considered not opening it at all, but then, a perfectly recognisable voice calling for him came to his ears. It couldn't be. He opened the door.

"What are you doing here?" With these very words Kiyoomi welcomed his dear cousin Motoya to Osaka. Komori looked extremely relaxed, and tanned. The first thing Kiyoomi noticed had been his tan. Hiroshima had great beaches, he remembered.

Komori was standing in front of him, a backpack with him, weirdly bright green sunglasses and a suitcase. A large suitcase by his side. "What do you mean what am I doing here?" His cousin replied, incredibly energetic and upbeat, which had Kiyoomi disoriented for a few seconds. They hadn't met each other in months. "We spoke through the phone! Don't you remember?" He had told him, smoothly taking off his glasses to look at him. They spoke through the phone. Of course Kiyoomi remembered. They called each other at least once a week. Still, what was Komori doing there?

"You forgot!" He uttered in disappointment. "It's clear that you forgot."

"I did not!" Kiyoomi had defended himself, even facing certain defeat. It was pointless. So he admitted: "Or maybe I did." Komori had rolled his eyes, but he didn't hesitate clearing the situation for him. "As I said, we spoke through the phone recently and I told you, straight to the point: I'm thinking about visiting you in Osaka. And you said: cool, when that's gonna be? And I told you: next week. And again you said: that's fine by me." He explained, his right hand resting on his hip as he spoke. A conversation like that, on the phone. The sudden epiphany got him.

"But you said next week." Kiyoomi was now reminiscing their talk.

"Kiyo, I called you last week. We talked about it last week. It's now." Motoya helped him understand. "Next week is this week."

Sakusa had completely forgotten about it. His eyes kept bouncing from the suitcase Komori had to Komori's face right in front of him. "Damn." He said. "I could have picked you up at the train station, helped you with the luggage and all the other stuff. I am sorry." Kiyoomi sincerely apologized. And it had been behind the sincerity of those apologies that Komori hadn't failed to detect more regret and remorse than it was allowed. He dropped his suitcase and he looked at him. Komori looked in his cousin's eyes and traced concern. "What is going on?" He had asked, trying to inspect the reasons why Kiyoomi genuinely looked so distressed.

"What do you mean?" The latter had responded immediately.

"Is everything alright?" The boy had insisted. "Did you sleep? You don't look so good." He noticed and now Kiyoomi too was sensing a kind of apprehension in his voice. "Yeah." He replied. "Of course I did sleep, I just..." He almost hesitated. "It's just that I couldn't sleep that well. I figure."

Komori frowned. "Something's bothering you?" He kept investigating as he gave a look inside. "Are you okay?" He tried again, noticing the blanket from the previous night still spread out on the living room's floor. "You never leave stuff out of place. That's... peculiar."

"Miya's with me." Kiyoomi said to reassure him. "I mean. He was with me, yesterday night. And he's here, right now. He's sleeping though."

Komori didn't look stunned, Kiyoomi had told him, a while ago, how things had turned between them. It was no news. Still, a flicker of amazement had seemed to light up his expression. "Atsumu?" He said. "He's sleeping in a lot lately, is that right?" He asked, perfectly conscious of the answer. Kiyoomi couldn't deny it. "Is it going alright? With you two?" Komori was searching, trying to understand what was clicking into his cousin's head.

"It's going well. We are alright." Kiyoomi simply stated, his tongue tingling as something had started getting heavier and heavier inside his chest.

"Is it..." Komori stopped, all of a sudden, as if he was pondering if what he was going to say was appropriate or not. Then, after hesitating a bit, he just talked. "Is it serious? I mean, is this serious? With Atsumu? You sure you feel okay?" And as Kiyoomi's face had twisted into something he wasn't able decipher, Komori knew, from that twist, that it was it. Whatever Kiyoomi was going through, Atsumu might have been the cause.

It was strange. Strange how the clock was still ticking, but time had frozen. Strange how such an innocent and easy question had made Kiyoomi stand still, his brain trying to process words he had never particularly desired to hear. A question he was avoiding to the point he hadn't even been able to be totally honest to himself. Trying to hide and escape, escape from himself and his feelings. His breath trembled before he could word it out. "I feel okay. It's..." A painful knot in his throat was making it hard to speak. "It's fine, but... no. Not so serious." He was lying, shamefully and inexcusably lying. "I'm fine but-"

"What did ya just say?" Atsumu's voice rumbled upon him, echoing all around, severe and grave as funeral bells. Kiyoomi turned around, slowly, his eyes not believing what was standing in front of them.

Astonished and startled as he lied them upon a very much awake Atsumu. He must have heard him. Of course he did. "Was that yer cousin? I mean, Komori? I heard his voice and I heard ya talk and you both sounded vivid enough for me to know that was not a phone call, was it him?" As he asked this question, Kiyoomi lifted his head just to stare at the emptiness the door was framing right behind him. It was Komori, but he wasn't there anymore. So he looked out of the door, to check if he was still there, on the landing, on the stairs. He wasn't anywhere. He must have walked away. Quickly, extremely quickly. He had basically vanished.

"Ehm, yeah." Kiyoomi confirmed, his heartbeat pounding so close to his throat, that he felt like he couldn't breath at all. "It was him." He tried to look at Atsumu's face. He tried to understand and recognize the feelings behind his frowning expression. It was impossible. "I heard him saying something." He brought it up again. "And I heard ya saying something back. Could ya..." Also his eyes were impossible to read. "Could ya say that again? Maybe I heard it wrong. They're just a few words, anyway, you should remember those quite well." He didn't like his tone, Kiyoomi, standing in front of him, didn't like Atsumu's tone.

"If you heard, you heard." Kiyoomi was already putting himself under defence. "What are these questions, it's not like we're playing crosswords." His voice coming out sharper than he had intended it to be.

"Fine." Atsumu conveyed, sounding annoyed now. "Then, what did ya mean? As I know what ya said, and ya know what ya said, what did ya mean?" He asked, more accurately. "What ain't serious, exactly?"

Daggers, daggers of poison were aiming at Kiyoomi's chest. "Our relationship?" Atsumu suggested, his jaw tensed and contracted.

"It's not like we ever talked about it." And Kiyoomi knew that was not what he should have said, but he couldn't help as he was trying, in the meantime, to justify himself with himself first. "Y'er right." Atsumu immediately replied. "We never talked about it. So, since we never actually talked about it, this ain't serious. We're just fooling around, ain't it? This is all stupid. Is that how it is for ya?"

"What's with your attitude?" Kiyoomi snapped. "What are you trying to do? Making me feel guilty? And over what?"

"What?" Atsumu's face darkened all of a sudden. "Me? Tryna make ya feel guilty? Man, that's all over yer face. That's why I'm mad. 'Cause ya know ya said some sh*t and ya ain't even tryna take it back. Ya got guilt painted on you. And I know that, 'cause when ya feel guilty yer nose itches, and ya make that funny face 'cause ya can't scratch it." He had explained.

"What are you even talking about? And why are you reacting like this? It's not like-" But then Atsumu had interrupted him. "So y'er saying to yer cousin this thing between us ain't serious. And that's fine, that's how ya see it, but what does that mean? That it really ain't serious? So what? You go and think: oh yeah, I got this fling with this guy, but it's not serious, so I'm actually available. What should I think? Y'er seeing other people, maybe? This is how it is?" And he was now terrified, as rage and fury flowed out of his words, Kiyoomi could see that Atsumu was terrified, but he was too and when terrified he just couldn't think.

"I'm not seeing other people!" Kiyoomi immediately debunked, his head slightly spinning as nervousness got over him.

"Neither am I!" Atsumu almost screamed hysterically.

"Accidental exclusiveness doesn't equal by default seriousness in a relationship."

And all of a sudden, anger disappeared. The anger Atsumu was desperately holding onto had vanished, evaporated and all that was left was listless exhaustion. "Accidental exclusiveness?" He repeated, bitterness stinging his tongue. "Is it what you did? Back in college? Learning stuff just so ya could come up with these terms? Totally made up terms? Accidental exclusiveness? 'Cause if that's what they taught you, they did great, it's paying off." Resentment spilling at every word. "God, you're such a jerk." He had let out in a huff.

"So this was just fun. We had fun. I mean, it was fun, all the things I did were for fun." Atsumu was daring him, with pure venom, he was daring him. To react, to respond. "Even when I stopped hanging out with my model friends, 'cause every time they tried to set me up with different women, and men. It felt wrong even playing along, I was already seeing ya so I stopped." Kiyoomi didn't even know that. "Or when I painted yer kitchen walls overnight without you knowing, 'cause, yeah, you wanted to do it on yer own, but ya weren't even able to hold a brush and you had told me previously that ya hated the smell of paint. So I did it for ya. But that was just for fun, right?"

"Are you trying to throw things back in my face?" His blood was boiling.

"Oh, no." Atsumu laughed. "That's not it. And look!" He had suddenly pointed at something on the kitchen counter. "Those mugs. Those mugs are f*cking ugly d'ya know why I bought 'em? D'ya wanna know?"

He was tasting iron. Kiyoomi was tasting his own blood as his teeth kept channelling the frustration he was feeling into his lower lip, aggressively biting it. "Those mugs' material. You detest feeling the aftertaste. Like, ya hate the taste of plastic if y're drinking from a plastic cup and we only had plastic cups, so I bought those mugs, pure ceramic, no aftertaste. That's why."

"Nobody asked!" Kiyoomi couldn't hold himself anymore. "Nobody asked you to do that. I certainly did not!"

"I'm not saying ya asked! I'm saying I did it anyway, even if ya didn't ask."

"So what? Do you want me to thank you?" Kiyoomi was starting to raise his voice too at this point, and it rarely happened. "Do you want me to tell you how much of a hero you are? That you saved my life or some sh*t? Or maybe you want me to praise the sacrifices you've made? Bearing with me! Such a boring, difficult and fussy guy, right? It must have been hard, incredibly hard for you. It was so brave of you, deleting all your dating apps. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"I don't want a thank you." He claimed. "I want ya to understand that I do things for a reason. Even the most stupid sh*t I did, I did it for a reason. You don't hafta thank me, but I want ya to acknowledge that."

"And what's this reason? Why do you do that? What is it about? If you don't want a thank you from me, what the hell do you want? Why are you even bringing up all this? I just think you're making no sense and you claim there's this reason, but, again, it's like you're trying to make me feel guilty of something, it's... What even is your point?"

"The point is I'm in love with you, f*cking idiot!" A few words Kiyoomi didn't expect to hear, a few words Atsumu didn't expect to say. He was trembling, Atsumu was trembling. His whole body was shivering, the adrenaline of the moment still flowing inside of him as he tried to put himself together after confessing something like that, after dropping such a destructive bomb. Kiyoomi was still there, standing in shock, his expression had completely changed and his brain was just not working anymore, reporting several errors every time it tried to process what his ears had just perceived. He was speechless.

Then, Atsumu seemed to recover. "I don't even know how this happened, okay? It's... it just did. Like that." He started saying. "Maybe it might have started, I don't know, when ya came here? I'm trying to remember, but it's hard, 'cause I can't even recollect it myself, when I started feeling like this. I knew you as the you from when we were sixteen, I mean, in my mind ya have stayed, for years, that same prick, y'know. That gigantic asshole who didn't even want to deal with me, and it hurt my pride of course. I was kind of a narcissist, so... ya weren't actually good for my ego. That's why ya were interesting to me, but that was it. Then we met again, after years, at yer college game. Lot of stuff had happened in my life, I was a grown up, I was learning how to live by myself and it was confusing and I met ya again, you were there. Still there with that same old look on yer face. That pretentious resting bitch face ya always had."

"That's just my face." Kiyoomi needed to say, which had Atsumu chuckling a bit. "I know. I know now." He smiled with fondness.

"What I mean is: you were there. And you were still you and looking at ya, all of a sudden, it felt like nothing had changed at all. You were there on court and you were playing like always, at yer best, 'cause ya always do things at yer best and I was sixteen again. I wanted to reach out to ya, I needed to talk to you, just to be sure that it was really you, but I was working, in theory, and I had people to talk to and I lost ya in the crowd at some point. I thought that I was never gonna actually exchange a few words with ya, then I went drinking and I lost my keys and I got luck!" Atsumu was recollecting the events in a bittersweet tone. "I got luck 'cause I ran into ya. Inside that supermarket and I couldn't believe my eyes. And when we talked again, I felt it. Ya were reminding me of everything. Why I was there, why I was playing volleyball, what I had and what I was aiming at. It felt like opening a trunk, ya were a treasure to me. I wanted ya." He explained. "I mean, not like I want you now, it was more of a professional wanting, and... I think that's why I basically tried to get ya into the MSBYs. I knew our scouts were after you, they had eyes on you. I guess I just helped. I helped them when I tried to convince you that night. Even if it was also for me, 'cause I felt a connection. I genuinely thought we could have worked in the same team. But when ya actually came here, that was when things got definitely out of hand." Atsumu was telling him, involved in his own story. "Ya were finally here and ya didn't seem quite happy about it. Every day ya tried to escape right after practice, but I didn't like that. I don't know why, but I didn't like the way ya were there, where I was, but distant even so. I wanted ya to feel comfortable with the guys, I wanted ya to feel at ease with them, probably with me too. I was basically begging ya to make fun of me just to interact, at some point, thinking that would click something in you, the team, the universe, I seriously don't know. And when we went past that phase and I got to see you more, when I got to see more of you, it was done. That was it. I thought that was my goal, but it was not. 'Cause the more I spent time with ya, the more I got curious. Y'know, ya had been a mystery my entire teenage years and even later, 'cause it didn't matter what I did, ya never showed any kind of reaction, ya didn't seem to be affected at all by me. And being so close to ya, I just got intrigued and it's insane when I realized, day by day, that ya ain't no mystery. Not at all. It's all there to see. Even yer straightest face ain't actually a straight face. You show everything. When y're mad, when y're disappointed or even disgusted. It's right there, displayed on yer face. The whole stoic Sakusa Kiyoomi reputation is bullsh*t. Ya can't hide things for sh*t, did ya know that? It's not hard to tell when something's on yer mind if one pays attention." He had claimed, a gentle look on his face. "And y're not even a prick. 'Cause no prick would feel so bad for not accepting gifts from fans. I got to understand that it's not like ya don't wanna get those, it's more of a ya don't feel like it. That's why I started getting those for ya, 'cause I didn't want ya to feel bad, and it worked. Ya started smiling a bit more, ya started talking to me a bit more, like, really talking, not just mocking me or similar. And I wasn't even realizing it, but that was it. I fell in love with ya, Omi." He had admitted, tenderness in his voice. "And it is funny, 'cause I fell in love a bunch of times in my life. I tend to fall in love easily. I fall for attentions, praises, looks, for what intrigues me and for whom I respect. I fall for ideas, even the idea of love itself. But I've never fallen like this before. It's always strong, and conflicting and complicated, but now it's easy. I think loving ya comes quite easy. I just love ya 'cause it's you. I don't have a reason, and I don't know if I need one. If I were able to tell ya why, it wouldn't be it, it wouldn't be love. I just wanted ya to get comfortable here, enough for it to feel like home, and before I knew you ended up becoming my home."

"I think you should leave." That certainly was not what Atsumu had thought of hearing Kiyoomi saying. To be fair, it was not what Kiyoomi himself had thought of saying. After the proof of the severity and the sincerity of Atsumu's true feelings, Kiyoomi had felt crushed. Overwhelmed by all the unsaid implications of such a confession. Holding back his tears, fighting that ache inside his ribcage and the devastating fire scratching his guts, he had been able to word nothing more than that, as his head felt heavy incapable to get a grip on its own thoughts.

"What?" Atsumu had been caught totally unprepared, his body still shaking a bit under the consistent burden of the words he had previously spoken. And Kiyoomi was doing the right opposite of what Atsumu had asked him. He wasn't going to acknowledge those words. They were too much of a weight for his still weak heart. "I heard you. When you thought I was sleeping. That Serbia thing." It hurt, as his watered eyes betrayed his perfectly stable voice, and the shivers he was feeling coming down his spine were breaking him, it hurt. He felt like a coward for doing so. Genuinely thinking it was for the best. To reject him. It didn't matter that he felt the same way, that he loved him too. He couldn't accept it, for some reason, he just could not. Atsumu had fallen silent and what it looked like death was taking over his face. "You asked me what I think about it."

Disappointment. Terrible disappointment directed at Kiyoomi as he spoke. "It would be great. For your career." Hands. He felt like hands were strangling him, that strong grip around his neck and his last words coming out weaker than they started. "You should leave."

He hated himself. Staring at Atsumu, who seemed completely broken and astonished, he hated himself. Their eyes met, one last time that day. Anger, grudge, animosity, and unhappiness. It was what Kiyoomi had seen, wondering what his own eyes were telling instead.

"Y're right. I should leave." He took his jacket, his whole body language suggesting the resentment he was feeling. "Take care of yourself, Omi. I think ya might need it."

Kiyoomi stayed still as Atsumu walked past him getting out of the apartment, letting the door close behind his back. It was just him, again, in an empty living room.

it had happened so quickly that his mind was still trying to process it all. He couldn't move, even if he wanted. Even if he had started regretting as soon as the door had shut. He couldn't move, even if he wanted to run. To chase him, climb down the stairs, stop him before he could go anywhere else. He couldn't speak, even if he wanted to talk to him, right away. To tell him he was sorry, that he didn't mean to hurt him, that it wasn't being entirely his choice. That something was holding him back and worst thing he didn't know how to escape it, but he was stuck. Frozen. His eyes already missing the picture of him. He closed his fists, his nails brutally sinking into his own skin and he wasn't feeling any pain nevertheless. What have I done? He asked himself, remorse wrapped around him. Then a knock on his door lit up that small flicker of hope. Was he back? Was Atsumu back? In a rush, he opened the door.

Komori was looking at him. A hat he didn't have before on his head saying: I love Osaka. Kiyoomi didn't have to ask for explanations, Komori was about to tell him already: "I'm sorry if I disappeared just like that." He apologized even if there was no need. "I figured it was about to turn pretty bad and it wasn't my fight, so I decamped. Do you know there's a gift shop down here? It's where I bought this hat! Then, while I was looking through refrigerator magnets, my eyes also caught Atsumu storming out in the streets and his face wasn't suggesting anything good, so... I figured I should come back here." Komori offered him a smile. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Kiyoomi had let him in.

More than an hour had gone by. His cousin's suitcase was casually leaning against one of the walls in his room, while both of them were laying on Kiyoomi's bed, staring at the ceiling in a kind of comfortable silence. They had stayed like that. Kiyoomi had let him in, but hadn't talked yet. Not a single word about what had just happened and Komori, the one who had known him and his antics probably for longer than anyone else, hadn't forced him to let out a thing. "This might sound odd." Then he said, starting a conversation. "But you said Atsumu had spent the night here. And this is your bed. These sheets... are they clean? Right?"

"Of course they are, you saw me changing them." Kiyoomi couldn't believe his cousin was implying he hadn't changed the sheets, accusing him of being such a repulsive individual. "Yeah, yeah." Komori didn't react to Kiyoomi's pure disdain. "I was just asking. One can never be sure."

Another long pause fell on the two, then Komori broke it again. "Do you want to talk?" He tried one more time. "Did you two fight?"

There was nowhere for Sakusa to escape. He had to reply. He inhaled and then he breathed out. "Wasn't it obvious?" He just said, random pieces of his hostile discussion with Atsumu twirling inside his brain.

"What happened?" Komori continued. "What was it about? Was it because of the thing I asked?"

"He told me he's in love with me." Kiyoomi cut short, not wishing to re-experience their entire conversation from the start.

"And that's bad?" His cousin asked, both of them still admiring the nothingness above them. "Kind of bad." Kiyoomi stated.

"'Cause you don't love him?"

It would have been easy, so easy, if simply he hadn't loved him. "'Cause I love him too." Kiyoomi corrected him.

"What?" Komori almost snapped as he raised himself up, going back to a sitting position. His eyes were wide open staring at Kiyoomi in deep amazement. "You're in love with him?" There was no need to say it again. "And why's that bad?" He said. "Seriously, I don't understand. If he confessed to you and you told him you return his feelings, why's that bad?"

"I didn't say anything of the kind. That's the point." Kiyoomi explained. Komori blinked in disbelief. "Alright. You were shocked and you didn't say anything. He left 'cause he thought you not saying anything was a bad sign. So, that's easy! Just call him and let him know how you feel!" He simplified.

"No."

"No?"

"I can't do that."

Komori frowned: "What do you mean you can't do that? You don't have his phone?"

Kiyoomi sonorously sighed: "I can't do that because I don't want to." He finally said. "I don't want to be in love with him."

Perplexed, Komori couldn't help but feel absolutely perplexed. "Is this a joke?" Bewilderment speaking for him. "You're kidding me right? I don't see the problem, I don't see the problem at all. You love him, he loves you, literally where is this huge problem? Kiyo, don't you realize that this is..."

"Do you how it feels like?" Kiyoomi interrupted him.

Komori stared at him in response, waiting for him to keep going. And there it was again, that weight on his chest, crushing him to the bone, breaking his ribs, one by one. "I feel like he could kill me. Like he could stab me and I wouldn't even try to resist it, to defend myself." He admitted, he admitted loud and clear, for the first time. "I feel like I'm vulnerable and defenseless and all those disgusting things people say in stupid love songs. He could seriously push me out of a speeding car and I wouldn't even react, but you know what's worse? Worse is that I believe, deep down I strongly believe that even if he has this great power over me he wouldn't do anything. That he would never do that, that he would never hurt me. And that's wrong. That's wrong Motoya, why don't you understand? This is not how I should feel." Terror, genuine terror had come out of his words.

"It's not wrong." Komori immediately claimed. "There's nothing wrong in feeling like this. You love him and you trust him and you feel safe around him and that's fine!"

"It's not!" Kiyoomi almost laughed at his cousin difficulty to comprehend what it was about. "It really is not, why don't you get it? He says he loves me now, and he cares about me and he's there for me, but what if it changes? What if one day everything falls apart? What if he starts thinking about us differently and there isn't anything I can do about it? It's not okay!"

"Kiyo, that's only normal! You cannot control people." Komori reminded him, but Kiyoomi knew it, he knew it too well. He mentally cursed at how hard it was to explain himself.

"I don't want to control people! I want to control myself!" He let it out. "I don't want to count on someone else! I wanna be the only one, the only one that counts. The only one that really matters. 'Cause this is how I have lived my whole life. This is what I know, this is what I built for myself, the strength I pulled myself up with. I don't want to feel like that. I refuse to feel that helpless, as if that is my only choice. I want stability and that stability must be based on me. And I was doing just fine, seriously I was doing fine before he came here and he ruined it!" Kiyoomi couldn't hold himself anymore. "He ruined everything, he ruined me and he destroyed everything I have achieved so far. All the control I had finally gathered around me. All gone, all wiped out because of him! And if I let him in, if I let him destroy everything, if I let him count that much, the day it's all over, where do I start again? If I lose myself because of him, the day everything falls apart, what do I have left?" One tear fell on the mattress before Kiyoomi could catch it, and another few ones stuck in his eyelashes.

"This is not gonna happen." Komori's tone had changed, it had softened somehow. "You're not gonna lose yourself and nothing's gonna fall apart. For real, this is-"

"What if we drift apart?" Kiyoomi was thinking out loud by this point. "What if, at some point, he doesn't feel the same and he doesn't say anything to me? What then? What if leaves? Simply leaves, just like that? And we drift apart. It happened before."

"What are you talking about, Kiyo?" Komori fell on his back again, laying down again, next to his cousin, looking at him concerned.

"My parents." His voice trembled and his breath seemed to get stuck in his throat.

"They love you." Komori assured him. "If this is about when we were kids, they were just busy..."

"Working, I know that." Kiyoomi took a deep breath trying to exhale whatever was making it hard to even speak. "On a rational note, I know that. I'm so used to do things on my own that I don't know how to act when someone's willing to share the burden. I guess I'm just scared."

"You're human too. It's okay to feel fear. I think when someone lives to the fullest there's always gonna be fear, and that is one thing you can't control, but you can't give up on life. You just have to keep living with the fear. I guess." Komori talked. "Do you love him?"

Kiyoomi just nodded.

"You shouldn't hold yourself back. I'm being serious. Maybe you think that letting him go is actually good for you and you're doing this to preserve that grip on yourself you claim you have, but it doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense making choices which you think will make your hypothetical future better if those same choices make your current present miserable." He calmly considered. "Do you wanna live your life in regret and lose or do you wanna risk it, lose and win?"

"I don't know." Kiyoomi replied, more to himself than to his cousin. He didn't know, but he did feel lighter after finally letting it all out.

And they kept staring at the ceiling, deep silence.

"Are you mad at me?" Kiyoomi asked, completely changing subject.

"Why should I?" Komori absently asked.

"Didn't you have plans to visit the Osaka's castle? You even bought that hat."

"Yeah. I did." He sighed. "But that's fine. I'll be there tomorrow. Suna's tagging along later today. We took different trains. He had stuff to deal with before leaving the city."

"Suna? He's coming here? He's going to stay with you?" Kiyoomi was a little puzzled. He knew they were friends, but never knew they were close enough to take a casual trip together. "That's right. Same hotel. Thing is: he knew I was gonna travel alone, apparently he needed fresh air out of Hiroshima too and he came with me. That's it."

"Is he going to, I mean... is he going to..."

"Meet up with Atsumu? I don't know about it. He didn't tell me anything." He replied.

"Got it."

"Do you wanna hang out with us, though? Later today? It could be nice, getting out of here. Don't you think?" Komori tried to suggest, but Kiyoomi didn't seem quite receptive. "I think I'll pass." He turned the offer down. "Sorry."

"No worries at all, Kiyo. No worries at all."

Komori kept staring at the ceiling with him for a whole other hour and Sakusa realized that even when he was alone, his cousin Motoya had silently been there for him, the entire time. Motoya was family. It was easy.

I should give it a try, he started thinking. The sun went down, being swallowed up by buildings. Since Komori had left, Sakusa had spent the rest of the day on his couch, absently watching what the television was streaming in front him. He had tried, tried to dial Atsumu's number, but always giving it up in the end. Wandering around his own apartment, reaching the bathroom, his eyes fell over the toothbrush Atsumu had left there. Then he remembered and he looked at it, the wall their apartments shared. In a different situation, he would have called himself a delusional idiot, but he didn't back then. His body moved, almost on autopilot, he walked to the wall and, after sitting on the floor, he just knocked. "Miya?" He whispered unsure. It was stupid, he felt stupid, but that didn't stop him. "Are you there?"

No response.

But he was there. What Sakusa didn't know at that time was that Atsumu was there, in his own room, sitting on the floor, leaning on that wall connecting the two and he had heard. Atsumu had heard him, but no reply had come out of him.

That night Kiyoomi fell asleep there, on the floor of his bathroom. That night Atsumu fell asleep there, on the floor of his bedroom.

The final act, though, was about to start.

*

Two days.

Two days had gone by without hearing from each other. Kiyoomi had made use of that time to think, ponder, meditate, and everything had led to one conclusion: confront Atsumu. Confront Atsumu as soon as he had the chance. He knew their last exchange might had hurt him, but he felt confident in saying he could fix it, and if not fix it, he believed he could find a way to explain himself, with the right words, in the right way. He would have taken responsibility for his recent behaviour and he would have reached his goal. Just talk to him, he thought as he walked to the gym for the first practice of the week. Atsumu was going to be there, Kiyoomi was going to be there. There was no way his plan wouldn't turn out successful. It wasn't hopeless, it wasn't lost. What they had wasn't going to fade away. Not without Kiyoomi trying to stop it.

He walked in, waved at the team, followed a little Coach Foster's discourse about the weather, then he reached the locker room, thinking he was going to find Atsumu in there.

The locker room, however, was empty, except for one guy. "Hey." Kiyoomi greeted Inunaki first. Inunaki who was suspiciously trying to open a locker Kiyoomi was quite sure belonged to Adriah. "You're the only one in here?"

Inunaki, even if totally busted, hadn't stopped. On the contrary, still focused on cracking his teammate's locker room, he mindlessly said: "Yeah. Good Morning Sakusa."

That was weird. Inunaki was clearly acting weird, but he had no time for that, so he cut if off: "Where's Miya? I hadn't seen him with the others. Is he here?" Explicit anticipation was coming out as he spoke, but Kiyoomi didn't seem to care that much to try and hide it.

"Atsumu?" Inunaki said, handling a hairpin now. "No, he's not here."

Strange.

"He's not?" Kiyoomi asked with a hint of agitation.

"He's not. He left as soon as he got here. His agent called. And the vice-chairman. It was about an offer. A new offer. Might be about modelling." He supposed. "Or some new team. Last week I heard him talking about some new team over the phone. Or maybe not, I don't know about that."

Sweat. A single drop of sweat started threatening Kiyoomi's skin. "Where is he now?" He didn't even try to conceal how alarmed he felt.

"I don't know, man. He said he was gonna make some coffee for everyone with the new coffee machine he had home, so maybe home? I have no clue why a meeting should take place at his apartment, but I guess... Sakusa?" Inunaki looked around, no one was there. "Good. Now I'm also hallucinating. Adriah is totally gonna fall for a dude who is also hallucinating. What a catch you are Shion, what a catch."

Sakusa was sweating right now.

Running, as if the most evil creature of the other world were chasing him down, about to finally get to him. His legs were moving, his breath fizzling out frantically. He was running, through streets he knew so well he didn't even need to name them, corners which painted in vivid and bright colors every single blurred memory his mind could think of. The old and decadent ramen store at that dangerous crossroad where savage pigeons didn't seem to be able to keep those disgusting products of their digestive system for themselves, proudly shooting for the heads of clueless and innocent bystanders; the huge neon sign for the not so huge supermarket where Sakusa had never found, not even once, the soy milk he certainly didn't like, but he was so used to; the flower shop, constantly infested with bees, on the other side of the sidewalk, he always made sure to avoid on his way home from practice and not because he was scared of the mere insects, but in order to escape from the old lady, owner of the place, who, rumors had it, was apparently selling drugs as a side job so she could get, eventually, those pricey dentures made of pure diamonds she had always dreamt of. And how it all changed.

How those little, almost insignificant, details were just aspects of a newly built daily life, an innovative routine which was growing, each day, into habits, a systematic costume. Familiarity, on top of it all. In that instant, though, all he could sense, all he could perceive, eyes on those exact same places, was painful emptiness. Those spots looked distant now, turned into unreachable postcards of silent and unacknowledged happiness where time froze. And Kiyoomi was stuck in between of an uninterrupted stream of images of calm and serene tenderness which kept hassling his mind, reminding him about everything he had potentially lost. A missing link, that was it. The ultimate hint to solve the enigma; the last note to complete a symphony far from being balanced, but so close to reality; shadows and shades to allow a work of art its final form, 'cause light and colors, as beautiful as they sound, would not stand, would not be, would not impose themselves and simply would not exist without their contrary set in darkness. And so Sakusa's gentle memories were not being able to survive without that thing.

That thing which provided not color, but shadowing, deepness, authenticity. Not harmony, but dissonance and noise. Not the impeccable perfect shot of a last movie scene, but the truth happening after the ending credits. He was running, desperate, and it didn't make any sense, since walking wouldn't have made much of a difference, but he was running, for no reason, like he had never done his whole life. And he was sweating. God, he hated sweating.

He had rushed out of the gym, so fast he hadn't even heard his teammates calling him, Coach Foster asking him where the hell he was running to. Kiyoomi had made a mistake, a huge mistake when the other day he had carelessly told Atsumu to leave, just leave. So he was running, forgetting about practice, forgetting about his duty, forgetting about what made sense and what it didn't. He couldn't wait, he had to talk to him, immediately.

He heard his phone ringing. The screen showing Hinata's contact number. Sakusa let it ring. He kept running, letting it ring. He was close, close to the apartment block, close to Atsumu. He wasn't thinking, finally, he wasn't thinking.

He turned the corner and his eyes saw him. He was standing there on his phone, in front of the main door of the building. He had a suitcase. Kiyoomi didn't think too much, and he screamed: "Stop!"

Atsumu almost jumped, his eyes wide opened, he tried to speak, but Kiyoomi was quicker. "Please!" His run stopped right there. Now in front of Atsumu, he could let himself take a breath and, relieved, he breathed. "Please drop that... suitcase..." He exhaled, clearly exhausted.

"It's a trash bag." Atsumu replied quite shocked. "I'm taking out the trash."

"What?" Kiyoomi asked in disbelief. "Isn't that..." He gave a better look at it. "Oh. You're right. It's just trash." Why was he so worn out? Wasn't he an athlete? He wondered as he kept recollecting his energy.

"What are ya doing here? It's practice today." Atsumu noticed, caution in his tone. But Kiyoomi had a speech. In his mind he had been able to come up with a perfectly respectable and clear speech about his feelings and everything that came with them.

"I needed to talk to you." He uttered. "You weren't there, so I came here."

"And ya skipping practice? Are ya insane? You could have waited and-"

"I don't want you to leave."

f*ck the speech. It was all about improvisation now.

"The other day, when you stormed out of the apartment, I immediately wanted to run after you and apologize, but I couldn't move and it felt so suffocating my brain wasn't even working. I felt like it all blacked out. I..." Not an orator, Kiyoomi could never be an orator. "I told you to leave, but that's not true I don't want you to leave, I don't know why I said such a thing. I mean, you can leave, of course, if you want to take your career to the next level, who am I to stop you and I totally support it, but don't leave because I said so, because I didn't mean to. At practice before, they were saying somebody had called you today. Inunaki mentioned something about a team and I panicked and I came here." He explained himself, already short of breath.

"Omi, calm down." As the nickname slipped out of the boy's Kiyoomi could feel his heart reacting to it. Pathetic, he thought of himself, you're pathetic. "I mean, yeah. They wanted to talk to me about the Serbia thing, but even if I had done more than considering it, it's not like I'm gonna leave in the middle of the season. And it's not even like Imma leave today. It's literally impossible."

And like a truck full of gasoline hitting him, reality blew up on his face. Atsumu was right, there was no need of reacting like that. "Also, I thought about it, and even if I choose to accept, I don't think I'm gonna leave until two years. This season is on going, but I'm already thinking about the next one. Hinata will be with us for his last year and Tobio is flying to Italy. Without him, we could easily subjugate the Adlers and win the championship. Plus, did ya really think I was gonna pack it up and leave because ya told me so?"

"I'm such an idiot." Kiyoomi muttered, but Atsumu hadn't failed to hear him.

"Yeah." He was smiling at him. "Kinda."

After having restrained himself, after having suppressed not just his feelings, but his entire emotional spectrum, after having held his breath for so long, that smile, a simple smile, moved something inside of his soul. "I'm sorry." Kiyoomi left out, before bursting into tears. He never cried, a few tears had been enough in the past, but he was crying now, he was sobbing, copiously and uncontrollably, as if his entire pain were being cried away. His body was shaking, dominated by the intense shivers all over him. "I didn't mean anything of what I said." He told him. "I was just scared."

Atsumu let the trash bag fall to the ground, walked close to him and held him. As his arms surrounded him, Kiyoomi felt warm and the ache he had felt seemed to start mending all of a sudden. He let himself cry, sobbing in between words he desperately tried to pronounce. After his body had stopped shaking so much, Atsumu had talked: "It's okay. Don't worry, Omi. I'm here."

Kiyoomi tried to speak, one last time, but Atsumu stopped him, reassuring him and holding him tighter.

"Seriously, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere, so..." He whispered gently. "Whenever you're ready."

Chapter 5: Epilogue

Chapter Text

It was cold.

January hit different in Europe.

His flight had been nice. He had never travelled that far before, never slept on a plane, never suffered so much from jet lag. And it was cold. The coat he had brought from home totally useless in front of such a merciless weather. He had to buy a new one, he needed to buy to a new one.

The airport was lively, only seven in the morning and people were already crowding it. His luggage felt heavy as he dragged it all around the place looking for the one exit his manager had recommended him to take.

Ausgang. That was the word. He needed to look for some ausgang, too bad there were too many of it.

Then something distracted him from his magical search, his phone did ring. He smiled just by reading the name on the screen.

"Omi-kun!" A vivacious voice came out of his cellphone. "Ya landed? How is it there? Did ya have pretzels already?"

Two years had gone by. In spite of his intense flirt with the Serbian team, Atsumu had never left Osaka, finding seriously alluring the possibility of becoming the number one captain of the Black Jackals. They had been dating, officially dating, since that day, in front of their apartment block and the mutual feeling hadn't faded away, it only evolved. Kiyoomi hadn't left either until his own team had made him an offer: one year on loan in Germany, playing for a sports club which had had his eyes on him since his debut. "The more experience you get, the more it's sure the national team will knock on your door." The MSBYs' president himself had told him.

Kiyoomi had accepted, with everyone's blessing within the team, Kiyoomi had accepted. One year, making a name for himself even in that foreign land Europe was and he would be back. Back home.

"It's 7AM here, where should I get a pretzel?" Kiyoomi responded to his boyfriend naivety.

"I don't know, but 'Samu says they're good, so ya better eat one of those."

"Alright, I'm-"

"Wait!" Atsumu eagerly interrupted him. "Idea! What about ya bring a bunch of those pretzels here when ya come back!"

"I won't come for holidays until March." Kiyoomi reminded him, still searching for the exit with his eyes.

"Right. Then I'll come visit ya sooner." Atsumu put it down easily.

"Don't you even think about it! Season's starting and if you want to defend the title- wait. What was that?" Kiyoomi suddenly asked after a considerable noise had reached his ears. "It's like some building's coming to the ground."

Atsumu remained silent. That's when Kiyoomi knew. "You're doing it! Aren't you?"

"It's been two years, Omi! I know y're not here, but Imma clean up the whole mess myself if necessary! Plus, the workers I called are doing a fantastic job, I assure ya." Atsumu stated with confidence. "Once y're back, it's gonna feel like the door has always been there. No wall, just the door. I'm telling ya."

One year. Kiyoomi wondered what his life would have been like one year far from Osaka.

Osaka, where his home was.

"I love you, Atsumu." Kiyoomi said. It felt simple. Kiyoomi loved simple.

On the other side of the phone, Atsumu couldn't believe his ears. It didn't matter how many times Kiyoomi had actually said the words, it was always going to feel like the very first time. "I love you too." He voiced quietly.

Osaka, where Atsumu was.