Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kiyoomi wakes to the sound of a child's voice echoing laughter from a distant room.

He rolls over, head feeling like it had been split open, like he was experiencing the worst hangover of his life. 

The child's voice continues to resound from a distant place.

Whose child is that? And why are they in my house?

He peels his eyes open trying to ward off the pounding in his head. Before he has a chance to register his surroundings, a small weight lands itself onto Kiyoomi's body. He responds with an oof pushed out of his lungs.

"Daddy, wake up!" A shrill voice cries out at him, "I'm boreeeeeddd." Damn, it was way too early in the morning to be dealing with this. 

Kiyoomi moves to his back and opens his eyes to see a small girl sprawled across his stomach. She looks barely five and has curly black hair, in perfect adorable ringlets, dark eyes lit up in the early morning light, and a small mole placed next to her eye. She looks almost exactly like Kiyoomi and he splutters trying to figure out who she is.

"Who are you?"

She laughs, "do you need your special morning juice, Daddy?" Her voice drops conspiratorially, "Papa says you're really mean before coffee." She glances pointedly to her side.

Half hidden by the bed sheet, Kiyoomi sees a mop of blonde hair, disheveled and painfully familiar. 

Fuck, he thinks, Did I get blackout drunk and cheat on Ushijima? And spontaneously spawn a child? 

As if in response the disembodied blonde makes a groan. 

"Atsu-chan," the man says with a groggy voice still laced with sleep, "you're being too loud"

"But papa ," she whines, "Kiyoshi and Hitomi won't let me play with them."

The blonde finally pushes the covers from his face and looks at the girl with unabashed affection. 

Oh fuck . 

Despite Kiyoomi recognizing that hair and voice anywhere, he’s completely unprepared to see his ex laying in the bed beside him.

Atsumu.

The man he thought he left in an airport ten years previously, and had not seen since. 

❋❋❋

Kiyoomi had been a fresh college graduate, offered the opportunity of a lifetime. An internship in Paris for a company he had dreamed of working with for his entire undergrad education.

But he hadn’t been sure how to break the news to his boyfriend.

He loved Atsumu. Had met him in college volleyball, and had been dating him for two years. 

They had broken up in the wake of the news that Kiyoomi was leaving. Atsumu had been recruited for a professional volleyball team, and Kiyoomi was so proud he was pursuing his dreams. But Kiyoomi’s own dreams led him to France.

They decided to separate but remain in contact. 

That was until Atsumu showed up at the airport, ruddy and tearful. He had begged Kiyoomi to stay with a desperation Kiyoomi had never witnessed in the man. He hesitated. But he left.

And he hadn’t seen or spoken to Atsumu since, who had promptly blocked him on all social media platforms and other means of communication. 

That was fine with Kiyoomi, nursing a heartbreak in radio silence was easier. He threw himself into his work, arrived at the office earliest, stayed the latest. He was offered a position after his internship, and extended his stint in Paris for another year. He was quickly promoted. Offered another position back in the Tokyo branch. 

In the time that had passed, he hadn’t really forgotten Atsumu. He embarrassingly checked on the professional volleyball scene in Japan, and was a bit perplexed at Atsumu’s absence. He didn’t allow himself to look into it. Maybe Atsumu had changed in the years since Kiyoomi left and his presence wasn’t quite so loud that Kiyoomi could hear him all the way in France. It didn’t seem like him, though.

When he returned to Japan, he was a bit nervous he’d run into Atsumu again. The fear was quickly dashed when the more rational part of his brain remembered Tokyo was huge, and there was no evidence to suggest Atsumu had even stayed in the city. It wasn’t like he had talked to him. And he met Ushijima. It wasn’t love at first sight, and Kiyoomi’s cousin, Motoya, would argue that it wasn’t love at all. But Kiyoomi liked that Ushijima made him feel secure and stable. He liked that Ushijima was as driven at work as he was. That he was as successful at work as Kiyoomi was. They were something of a power couple. And they did refined adult things together: attending the ballet, hosting dinner parties, and perusing art galleries.

“Do you like this one, Kiyoomi?” Ushijima’s ever unflinching voice asks as Kiyoomi pours over the overpriced art hanging on the walls. They’re searching for decorations. In the way that their privileged echelon of society does. 

Kiyoomi looks at the mess of abstract colors, “No, let’s keep looking.”

They wander, accompanied by soft jazz music and flutes of champagne. 

A painting catches Kiyoomi’s attention. 

It was a landscape of a traditional Shinto temple; the torii gate a bright burst of red against the green of the foliage. 

The artist had paid attention to details, it looks like every individual leaf had been painstakingly brushed onto canvas. 

He glances at the lower right corner, where a gold foil character reads Miya . Temple. He’s not sure if that’s the artist’s name or simply telling him what he was looking at. He looks to the information plaque, but there is only a price, no artist information.

“This doesn’t look like your typical taste,” Ushijima says, reappearing at his side. 

This was true, Kiyoomi had refined tastes, and while there was clearly skill evident in the piece, it was homey and domestic. It didn’t fit in with the image he had carefully crafted of himself. 

“It’s not,” Kiyoomi confirms, he threads his arm through Ushijima’s and pulls him along to look at the other pieces. The temple long forgotten. 

❋❋❋

“Long time no see, Kiyoomi!” Motoya says in a voice way too cheery for Kiyoomi’s permanently dour mood. 

Kiyoomi enters Motoya’s apartment, and slides his shoes off, “I saw you last week, ‘Toya.”

“Yeah, and it’s been awhile,” Motoya pouts, “I am allowed to miss my cousin, alright?”

They fall into a comfortable, well worn routine. Sipping on craft beer and eating Chinese takeout. It feels like a breath of fresh air in the drab routine of his normal life. He feels his hard edges becoming softened and fuzzy, he felt himself wanting to voice something laid dormant in his brain. 

“I think I want to propose to Ushijima.”

Motoya sputters and chokes on his beer, “What?!”

Kiyoomi scowls, “You heard me.”

“I did, but I wanted to give you the opportunity to really consider what you just said.”

“I’ve thought about it for awhile,” Kiyoomi confesses between elongated drags of beer, “I mean we’ve been dating for over a year now, it’s the natural next step.”

“Kiyo,” Motoya says with uncharacteristic seriousness, “you want to live like this for the rest of your life ?”

Kiyoomi thinks about his life. Sterile but comfortable. His successful high paying job, his equally successful boyfriend, his Bentley, his expensive designer suits. It was perfect on paper. Kiyoomi couldn’t deny that something felt like it was missing, but it didn’t solve anything to dwell on it. On what could’ve been. 

Motoya takes his silence as an answer, “Kiyo, please , reconsider.”

“You just don’t like Ushijima.”

“I like Ushijima fine,” Motoya rolls his eyes, “I just don’t like him for you . You’re not happy Kiyoomi. I don’t think you’ve really been happy since—”

“Stop.” Kiyoomi’s voice is stern, unwavering, and just a touch angry. 

Motoya shuts his mouth at Kiyoomi’s aggressive stare. 

“I’ll consider what you said,” Kiyoomi stands to leave, making his way to the entrance. 

“Wait, Kiyo, you don’t have to leave,” Motoya scrambles after him. 

“I have a lot on my mind,” Kiyoomi puts his shoes back on and opens the front door, “And I want to be alone.”

Kiyoomi slams the door at Motoya’s protest.

❋❋❋

The night is quiet and the air stills around Kiyoomi, like the whole world is holding its breath waiting for Kiyoomi to make a decision. 

He finds himself on a bench in a darkened park, distant sounds of the city providing some semblance of distraction. He isn’t quite sure how he made it here or why he stopped.

“Do you want a cookie?” A voice pulls him out of a spiral of self doubt. He looks up to see a short man with a flash of orange hair, fluorescent even in the darkness, like it was its own source of light. 

“What?”

The man shakes a tupperware in front of Kiyoomi’s face, cookies jostling around inside, “White chocolate chip.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Hinata,” he says, voice vibrant and loud in the night. Like that really answered Kiyoomi’s question. 

He sits down next to Kiyoomi on the bench. Kiyoomi pauses, taking in the sight of the man, tupperware and all. 

Kiyoomi thinks to himself that this man must be insane, and he moves to stand up and get away as fast as possible. 

“Sit, Kiyoomi,” Hinata says. “You’re gonna have a lot of questions, so sit your bony ass down and take a cookie.”

Something in his voice makes Kiyoomi obey. Like a reflex. 

“How do you know my name?”

“Tell me what you did today, Kiyoomi,” he commands.

Kiyoomi laughs before noticing Hinata’s determined stare. “Wait, you’re serious.”

“It’s pretty legit, yeah.”

“God, I don’t know,” Kiyoomi racks his brain, “I woke up at six, ran for an hour. Got breakfast with Ushijima. Fired Konoha. Went to a board meeting, worked on a presentation. Went to Motoya’s for dinner, got heckled by Motoya. Oh, and then I got annoyed by a stranger,” Kiyoomi huffed. “Is there like a suggestion box or something for dealing with you?”

“You want a suggestion box for interacting with strangers?”

“Kind of.”

“Adorable,” Hinata laughs, and it’s a sunny bright thing, “but focus, who were you reminded of today?”

Kiyoomi’s brain supplies the image of Atsumu, like it hadn’t been ten years, like the memory hadn’t faded at all in that time. His mouth falls open, crumbs of the cookie falling out onto his lap.

“Attractive.” Hinata cocks an eyebrow. 

“What does he have to do with anything?”

“He has to do with everything .” Hinata clicks his tongue, “You’re pretty dense aren’t ya?”

Kiyoomi fixes Hinata with a blank stare, which doesn’t really improve his situation, confusing and dizzying as it is. 

“Listen, I’m gonna be straight with you, buddy,” Hinata stares at Kiyoomi with startling intensity, “I’m here to offer you a second chance at something. I just figured the cookies would be a good precursor before I just shove you in. Maybe it’ll dull the shock.”

“Shove me in where?” 

“Your new life, silly,” Hinata says in a tone reminiscent of how people speak to young children. 

“I have a life,” Kiyoomi explains. “A good, successful life. I am two months from another promotion. I am about to propose. I just bought a penthouse apartment—”

“You’re also an asshole,” Hinata interrupts. “Don’t look at me like that, close your mouth. Eat your damn cookie.”

Kiyoomi clenches his jaw, letting the cloying flavor of the cookie seep into his mouth. 

“You know,” Hinata sighes. “You’d think people would be grateful but no . Second chances don’t come everyday. Especially to people like you. And let’s face it, you fucked up. Badly. You weren’t supposed to get on that flight, you were supposed to stay.”

“You can’t be talking about Atsumu,” Kiyoomi’s brain is running into overdrive trying to process the whole conversation.

Hinata leans in closer. “Haven’t you ever wondered what your life would be like if you had stayed? If you hadn’t gotten on that flight? Come on. You threw it all away.”

“It was ten years ago,” Kiyoomi retorts.

“You think about it all the time.” 

“This is fucking insane.”

Hinata leans back and folds his hands in his lap. “I’ll just give you a glance. Let you get your feet wet. When it’s time to come back, you will. You can thank me later.” Hinata stands suddenly.

“ What? This is ridiculous—”

A noise of an animal rummaging in a nearby trashcan steals Kiyoomi’s attention for a few precious seconds as he turns to look at the source of the sound. When he wheels his gaze back to the man in front of him, he’s gone. Kiyoomi is alone in a darkened park, confused and a little cold. 

He somehow finds his way back to his apartment, not really remembering how he got there. He keeps replaying the conversation like its meaning will somehow reveal itself. 

He throws himself into a cold and empty king bed. He dreams of the man with orange hair.

❋❋❋

“Atsu-chan, you’re being too loud.” Kiyoomi looks on with horror at the familiar face lying in bed next to him. 

“But papa,” She whines from her perch on Kiyoomi’s torso, “Kiyoshi and Hitomi won’t let me play with them.”

Atsumu’s eyes are soft and brimming with affection for the girl. His eyes flick to Kiyoomi, and Kiyoomi is worried he’ll realize he’s not supposed to be here.

“It’s your turn, Omi,” he smiles, “I dealt with them last time.” He rolls over, face once again obscured by the comforter. 

The girl, Atsu-chan , bounces on Kiyoomi’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. “ Please , make them play with me.” 

He’s shell shocked. He’s confused. He lets himself be pulled up out of bed by the tiny version of himself. She tugs his hand down the hall, and he hears the voices of two boys arguing in another room. 

The girl, black ringlets bouncing with each step, throws a door open triumphantly, and reveals two identical boys smashing Lego cars into one another.

“I brought daddy and he’ll make you play with me,” she says with confidence.

“Atsuko, go away,” one of them groans. They look about eight or nine, and have the same honeyed gold eyes of Atsumu. They sport dark brown hair that Kiyoomi recognizes from the natural hair left in Atsumu’s undercut. 

Atsuko pushes at Kiyoomi’s leg, “Daddy, tell them they have to play with me.”

Kiyoomi stands, completely and utterly lost, as two sets of gold eyes stare at him, startlingly familiar and new at the same time. “Uh,” he begins, “you two have to play with…” he looks at the girl with hair like his, eyes like his, and a name like Atsumu’s, “Atsuko.”

Atsuko crosses her arms and looks down with a shit eating grin at the two boys. 

“Ugh, Dad, seriously?” one of them complains, “Kiyoshi and I were just getting to the good part.”

Kiyoshi and Hitomi, he recalls from Atsuko’s complaints this morning. Hair like Atsumu’s, eyes like Atsumu’s, and names like Kiyoomi. What the fuck is going on here?

Are these their kids? Oh shit , he thinks, I really fucked up somehow. He needed coffee like an hour ago. He needs a stiff drink. 

“Daddy said so, so you have to let me play.”

“Fine,” the other one begins, Kiyoshi , Kiyoomi’s brain supplies, “but you can’t make the cars marry each other this time.”

Atsuko bounces up with glee, “Okay, okay, I promise!”

Kiyoomi takes this as his opportunity to leave. Maybe he can flee. He can find his way back to the penthouse, apologize to Ushijima for this momentary lapse in judgement, and beg for him to take him back. 

He stalks down the hall, guided by the sudden smell of coffee, and moves down the stairs. The walls are covered with photos. Kiyoomi is in many of them, a smile splitting his face in a way he has never seen before. Has he ever been so happy? He wouldn’t believe it if there wasn’t proof in front of them. There’s one of the five of them at the beach, the kids look about two years younger than they are now. They’re squished in together, and Kiyoomi has his mouth pressed to Atsumu’s temple. 

I’ll just give you a glance. Let you get your feet wet. When it’s time to come back, you will. 

He remembers his conversation from the previous night, with the strange man. Was this all some elaborate joke? It was pretty convincing. But how was he supposed to get back to his life? His successful life. Where he was woken up by the drone of his phone alarm, not a screaming child. First things first: coffee. 

He finds the kitchen easily. It smells divine, filled with the rich scent of coffee brewing and the melody that is the drip of the coffee pot. He hears music playing from a distant place, soft and the words mostly inaudible. He figures that in the time between convincing the twins to play with Atsuko, Atsumu must have gotten up, brewed coffee, and was listening to music. Kiyoomi had to admire his efficiency, but perhaps this was a well practiced routine, one that Atsumu could’ve done with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back. 

He pours himself a cup of coffee and follows the sound of music seeping in from another room. As he continues to explore the house, he realizes his apartment is probably bigger. But he likes how cozy the house feels, how it feels lived in and warm. 

He finds the source of music in a room toward the back of the house, the walls almost entirely made of glass, giving a view of the small backyard with a little plastic playground.

The music is coming from a Bluetooth speaker, and it sounds like soft indie alternative, hazy vocals and gentle guitar picking. His focus is drawn immediately to where Atsumu sits on a stool in front of a wide canvas. His back is turned to Kiyoomi, and he allows himself a brief moment to admire the slope of his shoulder.

He peels his eyes from the way Atsumu's back muscles move beneath a thin t-shirt to take in the rest of the room. Canvas paintings litter the entire room, varying in size and subject. A few are hanging from the wall. He spots a series of smaller portraits, four in total, one of Kiyoomi and three of the kids. They look beautiful, like a softened photograph. 

He looks at the bigger paintings, many of them of traditional Japanese temples. He recognizes with a start the gold foil character sitting in the corner of each painting. It says Miya. Kiyoomi realizes the painting he saw with Ushijima, in another life, was Atsumu's. 

"I didn't know you were an artist." He doesn't have enough caffeine in his system yet to keep the words down.

"Did you hit your head, babe?" Atsumu laughs, swirling a paint brush on a glass palette. "I've been painting for ten years."

Kiyoomi struggles to put the pieces together. Ten years ago was when he broke up with Atsumu. Or, he supposes, didn't break up with Atsumu, considering his current predicament. But Atsumu had been signed to a Division I volleyball team, and as far as he knew at the time, had never picked up a paint brush in his life. When did he have time to become this talented? 

"It really helped after the injury." Atsumu says almost to himself.

Kiyoomi pauses, his whole world coming to a stop. "Injury?"

Atsumu now turns to look at him fully, "Did you seriously hit your head? Do you need to go to the doctor?"

Kiyoomi shakes his head, "No, my brain is just struggling to boot up this morning or something."

Atsumu looks hardly convinced, "Well, as you remember, I was going to play for MSBY. My knee had been hurting for a bit before tryouts, but I ignored it. I was twenty-one, I thought I was invincible. During tryouts, I landed weird, and something pulled." Atsumu laughs. "And I couldn't play anymore." 

Kiyoomi's brain is pounding in his head. He remembers in college how passionate Atsumu had been about volleyball, how it was his very life force. He had always admired that about Atsumu, how volleyball drove him to success, to push his boundaries and improve. Kiyoomi had never known anyone in his whole life who was as passionate about anything as Atsumu was about volleyball. 

 But he also remembers Atsumu trying out for MSBY. It had been after they decided to separate in the wake of Kiyoomi's move. It had been right before his flight to Paris. Memories flood in, of Atsumu begging him to stay, of his awkward pained stance in the terminal. Why hadn't he said anything?

"I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't stayed." Atsumu's hand reaches out to hold Kiyoomi's. Oh, Atsumu, he thinks. Afraid and alone, his dreams forcibly ripped from him. Only to have Kiyoomi look him in the eyes and abandon him when Atsumu needed someone.

"What made me stay?" He asks, voice quiet and weak.

Atsumu laughs, "I'm sure you know better than me. I just remember asking you to stay, I think I was crying a lot—

Atsumu stands in front of Kiyoomi, fat tears falling down his reddened face. Kiyoomi has his hand on his carryon, passport in his other hand as he prepares to head through security.

"Please, Omi," he cries, "please stay."

Kiyoomi was unfamiliar with Atsumu begging, sad and fragile. It was incongruous with his loud and boisterous presence. Something was wrong, Kiyoomi noted vaguely. 

"Atsumu," he begins, "this internship could change my life."

"I-I know," he's hiccuping and shivering now, "I feel so shitty asking you to stay, but please , I really need you to stay."

Kiyoomi thinks of poetry. Two paths diverge in a yellow wood. He looks down one path, the one with Atsumu. He knew he loved Atsumu, but there was no guarantee they'd stay that way. Who's to say they'd stay together another month? Another year? The path was thorny and uncharted and scary. He cranes his head and looks down the other path, it cleaves through the underbrush in a distinct clean line. This path promises success, it's almost certain. Kiyoomi has control over this path, success dependent on nothing but his own work ethic. It's steadfast and safe. But it means he can never go down the other path. He aches, thinking he'll never see what lies at the end of the other path. But Kiyoomi is not a risk taker. Not with his heart. Not with his future. His hand tightens around his suitcase and he decides on his path. 

He turns and walks away from Atsumu and the uncertain future that waits with him. He doesn't turn around because he knows he wouldn't be able to leave if he did. He allows himself to cry on the airplane, but when he walks into the Parisian air, he is reborn. 

"And I don't know, I guess I was sad and pathetic enough to convince you to stay," Atsumu laughs. 

"Why didn't you mention the injury at the airport?" 

Atsumu looks contemplative, "I didn't want to feel like I had forced you to stay because my life was falling apart. I wanted to know you chose to stay without the extra guilt of my shitty knee." He looks up with eyes aflame in sunlight, "why are you dredging up the past, Omi? Feeling nostalgic?"

"Something like that." 

Atsumu glanced at his watch. "Oh shit, Omi you're gonna be late for work!"

Work? Surely he didn't have the same high paying job as before. That was earned as a result of the internship, which he had ostensibly skipped out on. 

"Keiji-kun is gonna rip you a new one if you're late again," Atsumu unties the smock he had been wearing, smeared with an astonishing amount of color.

Keiji-kun?  

❋❋❋

Well, his fucking Bentley was gone. That car was fucking gorgeous. Expensive but worth it. He let Atsumu lead him out of the front door. Apparently they only had one car between the two of them. And it was a fucking minivan .

He was not getting in that thing.

Atsumu cranks the car, "Omi c'mon!" He honks the car horn for emphasis. "Me and Stevie Ray Van ain't gonna wait here forever!"

Stevie Ray Van? 

Kiyoomi sits in the front seat, feeling a pout overcoming him. He missed his expensive car. It didn't make that weird noise when he drove it. 

"Why do you look like a cat someone poured water on?"

"Stevie Ray Van."

Atsumu lets out a loud laugh that does not make Kiyoomi feel any better. "You named it, Omi-Omi. In fact, you insisted , since the first song you played in here was Pride and Joy by Stevie Ray Vaughn. I couldn't dissuade you after that."

Omi's pout deepens. There's no way he'd name this piece of junk such a stupid name. 

Atsumu hums along to the song playing from the radio, and taps his fingers along the steering wheel. Kiyoomi notices red and blue pigment smeared on his fingers, etched into the deep creases between fingernail and skin. He thinks of the painting he was working on this morning, a vibrant sky alive with color.

"What were you painting this morning?"

"The sunset from our last night in Okinawa when we went a few years ago with the kids, Osamu, Keiji, and Hikari." Atsumu says happily, "I already have a buyer which is really exciting."

Kiyoomi thinks of the painting hanging in the fancy expensive gallery Ushijima had taken him to. In those ten years that had passed Atsumu had created a whole new version of himself. He had his dreams of volleyball ripped from him without warning, and instead of drowning in the pain and loss, he let himself change. He let his dreams change. Kiyoomi stares at the hands spotted with paint, he thinks they're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Here ya go, right on time," Atsumu says, pulling to a stop in front of a nondescript small bookstore, trapped in between the grey buildings of the city. 

Kiyoomi mechanically opens the door, and watches as Atsumu peels away from the curb.

He isn't sure where he worked, but Atsumu had pointedly left him in front of a bookstore. So that was where he decides to start. 

The soft jingle of the bell resounds through overstuffed shelves as he enters the bookstore. 

"Sakusa-san," a voice calls out to him from where the register is. The man is tall, and has a solid build, his head topped with two toned hair spiked upwards with gel. "Akaashi-san is in the back office." 

Kiyoomi is grateful the stranger points in the general direction of the back office because he'd be lost otherwise. He finds a door that says employees only and pushes open.

Inside are two rich wooden desks pushed up against a wall under a window, and adjacent are two wingback chairs. Everything is covered in stacks of books. It's chaotic. It warms Kiyoomi up from the inside out. He takes in the room and notices a man sitting in one of the wingback chairs, coffee cup in hand and a book angled precariously between long graceful fingers. The man looks up at Kiyoomi as he enters.

"Finally," the man sets down his book on another stack of books being used as a makeshift side table. "I have Bokuto-san doing inventory so we have a few moments of peace this morning. I wanted to give you another book of poetry."

"Oh, ok." Kiyoomi manages.

"Coffee?" the other man asks, but he's already pouring another cup from a coffee maker hidden among the stacks that looks like it had seen better days. 

He hands Kiyoomi the coffee cup, black like Kiyoomi likes it, but doesn't have to ask. His eyes dart to the desks. On top of each is a simple desktop computer, keyboard and mouse, but Kiyoomi hones in on the picture frames. On one desk is a familiar sight of Kiyoomi and Atsumu and their children on a beach. He still doesn't understand how he has ever looked that happy. The pictures on the other desk are of the man in the office with another person who looked exactly like Atsumu, but without the blonde hair. Between them in the frame was a small girl, who appears to be about Atsuko's age.

The man hands him a coffee cup, "you look startled, rough morning?"

"Something like that."

"Wanna talk about it?" 

Kiyoomi gives the man a quick once over. He had pretty blue eyes, angled in an elegant shape, shiny black hair that curled ever so slightly at the ends. From the pictures, and his own memories of dating Atsumu in college (and therefore knowing he had a twin), he assumed this man was his brother-in-law. Or something like that.

"Tell me about the poetry first," Kiyoomi says, and the man gazes at Kiyoomi in a way that unsettles him. 

"Okay," he agrees, pulling the book he had been reading earlier. "I know you don't care for the Romantics, but I really liked this piece by Percy Shelley." He opens the book to a specific page and hands it to Kiyoomi. "I really like the line look upon my works ye mighty and despair"

Kiyoomi glances at the title Ozymandias scans the verse, looking for the line in question. ' My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away.

Kiyoomi thinks of his old life. The works he had spent ten years carefully constructing to give him the perfect image of happiness. But round the decay of that colossal wreck, he realizes that there’s no substance there. The thought is a little depressing, so Kiyoomi simply pushes it aside and thinks of his sports car. God he misses that car. 

"Do you like it?" a voice pulls him from reverie. 

"I do." 

"Do you want to talk about your rough morning now?" 

Kiyoomi lets out a sigh and decides on a lie. “I’ve just had a bad headache all morning. It started when I woke up and won’t go away.”

Keiji pours him another cup of coffee. “You need it.” 

They sip their coffee in comfortable silence. 

“I heard Atsumu already has a buyer for the Okinawa piece,” Keiji remarks. 

This is information that Kiyoomi has, thankfully, “Yeah, he told me this morning. It’s impressive how quickly they go.”

"He's very talented," Keiji says and Kiyoomi can’t help but agree. He was still shocked to learn of Atsumu's new career, since he had shown no interest or predilection for the arts when they dated in college.

"He is." 

Kiyoomi thinks back to the paint stained hands thumbing along to the radio in the car. He understands why this version of himself chose to stay with him. 

“You need to bring your family over for dinner again sometime soon,” Keiji says rubbing a thumb along his mug, “I think Hikari misses Atsuko, it’s probably lonely being an only child.”

Kiyoomi looks at Keiji’s picture frame, at the small girl squeezed between Osamu and Keiji. Hikari, he places the name with the face. 

“Of course,” Kiyoomi agrees, “Atsuko gets so frustrated with the twins, I think it’s good for her to have a friend her own age.” 

Bokuto pokes his head in a few moments later and hands Keiji a small binder.

"Inventory is done," he smiles, and it's a million watt thing. "I'm heading to the front desk now."

"Thank you, Bokuto-san," Keiji says, setting the binder down next to the computer. "Time to get to work, Kiyoomi."

Kiyoomi follows Keiji to the two desks and sits down at the one with photos of him. His smile, as his arm is wrapped around his kids, could rival Bokuto's. He picks up the frame and rubs a finger over Atsumu's face, and it looks like it's producing its own light. 

Keiji reaches over and starts the computer for Kiyoomi who's too distracted by the photo. He mumbles a thanks as the computer whirrs to life.

Keiji instructs him to open Excel and Kiyoomi feels himself settle into a kind of familiarity. He feels comfortable in the neat uniform squares of the spreadsheet, entering numbers and running formulas. Keiji sits next to him, entering in similar numbers, both of them working quickly, and in the span of a few hours they had completed storing Bokuto’s inventory data into the computer and run the appropriate analyses. 

Keiji reaches his arms above his head and leans back into a stretch, rolling his neck and groaning as he loosens his joints. “I am gonna go grab us some lunch from the ramen place down the street, you want your usual?”

“Tonkotsu ramen?”

“Yep.” Keiji throws on a jacket and shoves his wallet into a pocket. “I’ll be back in a few.”

He leaves the office and a few moments later Kiyoomi hears the familiar  jingle of the front door opening. He leans back in the chair and sighs. He hates the feeling welling up inside, a comfortable feeling curling around his heart and making a home there. He glances around the room, taking note of the truly astounding number of books surrounding them. Kiyoomi notices it's primarily prose, a few books of poetry scattered between the stacks. 

He hears the jingle from the front door ring distantly again as he continues to stretch tense muscles. 

A few minutes later Bokuto pokes his head into the office. "Someone is here to see you."

"Who?"

Bokuto shrugs, "Said his name is Hinata, but I've never seen him before." 

Kiyoomi's heart races at the name. "Let him in."

Bokuto nods and a second later a recognizable head of orange hair enters the overcrowded office. 

"Sheesh, this place is kind of messy, huh?" 

"Care to explain how the fuck I ended up here?" Kiyoomi is seething.

Hinata grins, "I am simply giving you a taste of your life if you had stayed with Atsumu all those years ago."

"Okay, well you said I could go back when I'm ready."

"I did, and I still stand by that." Hinata picks up a book, thumbing through it haphazardly.

"Okay?" Kiyoomi says and pauses. "I'm ready to go back."

"No, you're not." Hinata tosses the book back onto it's stack. "I decide when you're ready and trust me when I say you are far from ready."

"What will make me ready? I'm sick of this life. I miss my apartment, my car, my boyfriend ."

"That's the problem," Hinata fixes him with a stare that quiets Kiyoomi with its intensity. "You've created this life for yourself, but it's not you , Kiyoomi. It's all about image, what others think of you, but that hasn't made you happy. And it won't ever make you happy. Haven't you heard the phrase 'money can't buy happiness'?"

"Yeah, but it can buy a nice sports car and that's basically the same thing."

Hinata shakes his head disappointed, "You still have so much to learn."

"I'm sorry but if you think living this life is gonna make me happy then you're wrong. I don't particularly enjoy being woken up before my alarm by a screaming child."

" Your screaming child," Hinata amends. "And you're lying to yourself if you don't think your little family of five isn't cute."

Kiyoomi clamps his mouth shut, eyes flicking the framed picture of them at the beach. Kiyoomi's grin staring at him like a visual rebuttal to the lie that waits on his tongue.

“I don’t even know these people,” It’s half a lie.

“Well, let me fill you in.” Hinata leans back in the chair. “Kiyoshi, Hitomi, and Atsuko are your and Atsumu’s kids. As I’m sure you’ve figured out. You run this bookstore with Keiji. Osamu owns an onigiri restaurant down the block. Oh, and you’re happy.”

Kiyoomi scowls. “That’s just a matter of opinion. Because, right now, I’m pretty fucking miserable.” 

“Give it time,” Hinata smiles. “You’ll sink into this life faster than you’d like to admit. Just embrace it. You know you want to.”

Kiyoomi wants to argue, but instead settles for what he hopes is a convincing glare. 

"Exactly," Hinata says and Kiyoomi glares at him, who appears completely unaffected by it. “Listen, Kiyoomi, when you’re ready, I promise I’ll send you back, and your life will be waiting for you just as it is. Cold, unfeeling thing that it is.”

Kiyoomi wants to protest this, but can’t form the words. 

Hinata stands up, “Well, time for me to get going.”

“What? Have other lives to completely uproot?”

“Yeah, actually,” Hinata laughs, “Contrary to popular belief, the world does not revolve around you.”

Kiyoomi scoffs.

“I’ll see you soon, Kiyoomi, don’t have too much fun!”

And with that Hinata sweeps out of Kiyoomi’s alternate life and quickly as he entered it. 

Fifteen minutes later Keiji returns with ramen, and they eat in silence, punctuated by the slurping of noodles. The rest of the day passes in the kind of routine that Kiyoomi finds solace in. The work is familiar despite its novelty, and Kiyoomi can’t help the budding affection welling in his chest at the cute little bookstore he and Keiji run. It’s quaint, and according to a quick Google search, a local favorite. 

Keiji offers for Kiyoomi to ride with him and Osamu back home. “It’s no trouble at all.”

In the car, Osamu and Keiji devolve into a conversation full of unfamiliar people, places and things that Kiyoomi can’t keep up. He lets their conversation and the deep laughter of Osamu become white noise as he stares out at the city he lives in. He recognizes a few places, and determines that it’s a suburb of Tokyo. He could find his way back to his old life, but he doubts the space for him exists in the tall high rise he used to call home. And he doubts Ushijima even knows who he is. He’ll just have to trust Hinata that his other life will wait for him, the ring that sits in his bedside table waiting for Ushijima. He can do this. 

He enters the house and it smells so comforting, Kiyoomi lets his shoulders sag and the feeling of home envelop him. He barely has time to process this phenomenon before the front door is slamming and Atsuko barrels in with a grim expression and a pink miniature backpack. 

She flings the backpack off her shoulders in aggressive, angry motions. Kiyoomi thinks whatever her anger stems from isn’t really his problem. But he feels inexplicably protective of her. Damn it. 

“Atsuko, what’s wrong?” He asks and he wishes he could just ignore the head of curls with a furious scowl.

“I hate school.” She says resolutely, “I miss staying home and watching Papa paint all day. Kindergarten is the worst. ”

She’s pouting now, and no wonder Atsumu called Kiyoomi’s pout cute when they dated in college, because Atsuko’s face is so similar to his and, fuck it, if her lower lip sticking out with determination isn’t the cutest thing Kiyoomi has ever seen.

“I know you and Papa said I have to go to school, like Kiyoshi and Hitomi, but why can’t I just stay home like I used to?” She whines and Kiyoomi smiles despite himself. “I am smart already, I don’t need to learn anything new.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t really know how to deal with children and racks his brain on how to placate her. “Well, first of all it’s illegal if you don’t go. They’ll throw me in jail.”

Her pout melts into something unrecognizable as she stares at him with a serious gaze. “I’ll visit you.”

Kiyoomi lets out a full bellied laugh, originating from deep within him. Atsuko is Atsumu’s daughter through and through. “But won’t that make Papa sad?” He tries a new tactic. 

Atsuko looks nervous now, “I don’t want to make Papa sad,” she confesses. 

“Neither do I, so let’s go to school, okay?” He reaches out his hand to shake with hers, “You can come complain to me after school everyday, and if you make it til summer vacation, I’ll buy you ice cream.”

Her eyes light up for a moment, before her expression turns serious again and she places a much smaller hand into Kiyoomi’s palm. “Deal. But I am doing this for Papa, not the ice cream.”

“Oh? So you don’t want me to buy you ice cream?”

“I didn’t say that!” she adds quickly, “I just want you to know that I am doing it for Papa. Not the ice cream.”

Kiyoomi laughs again, “Okay, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? Why had he said that? Atsuko looks completely unaffected like she had heard him call her that a thousand times before. Kiyoomi flinches as the term of endearment that slipped out so casually before he could process it.

Damn this little girl for being so darn cute. It was messing with his brain. 

The twins come barreling in the front door a few seconds later. Arguing, and Kiyoomi was beginning to think that’s all they ever did. His heart sends a silent note of sympathy to Atsumu’s parents. 

“I can definitely beat you at Rainbow Road, Hitomi!” Kiyoshi says with a definitive air of confidence, flinging his backpack haphazardly onto the floor. 

“Yeah, right. I am way better at Mario Kart.” Hitomi responds, following his brother to a seated position on the living room floor in front of the TV.

“You two playing Mario Kart?” Kiyoomi begins, and he’s not sure why. Part of it is probably envy. His siblings were significantly older than him so he was virtually an only child and never had anyone to play with. 

They look back at him, “You wanna play with us?”

And dammit, Kiyoomi really does. 

Fifteen minutes later and Kiyoomi has his ass resolutely handed to him by two eight year olds.

Hitomi laughs, “You’re supposed to stay on the road, dad”

Kiyoomi grumbles, shoulders hunched in concentration as he drives Koopa Troopa off the road for the nth time. “I know that.”

Kiyoshi bites his lip in frustration, “I bet you like having him play, because he’s so bad it makes you look good, Hitomi.”

Kiyoomi wants to argue with him, but all he can do is laugh. He had never really played video games growing up, but sitting between his two sons and being the butt end of their jokes, he’s beginning to understand the appeal. 

Hitomi wins at Rainbow Road. Much to Kiyoshi’s disappointment. Kiyoomi just laughs and in an uncharacteristic display of affection, slings an arm around each one and pulls them in close.

“You’re all winners in my heart.” He says with false sweetness.

“Gross, dad, you’re being all sappy.” Kiyoshi pushes at his side. 

“Don’t you all have homework?” a familiar voice says from behind them. They all turn around to see Atsumu standing, a small smile on his face.

Hitomi groans, and pushes into Kiyoomi like he’ll protect him. “But I hate math.”

“How are you going to become a video game designer if you can’t do math?” Atsumu counters, and this spurs the twins into action. Grabbing their backpacks and arguing their way up the stairs.

“I bet I can do math better than you!” Kiyoshi says.

“No way! I’m way smarter than you!” Hitomi replies, chasing his brother up the stairs.

Kiyoomi stands up and approaches Atsumu, who places a chaste kiss on his cheek. “How was work, Omi?”

Kiyoomi thinks something is wrong with his brain. Because he wants to stay in the warmth that Atsumu offers. He wraps his arms around his waist, ignoring the way it feels right , just letting himself sink into the moment and recharge. “It was fine.”

“You wanna see what I worked on today?” Kiyoomi nods, and let’s him be pulled along to the backroom with windows and paint. 

The wide canvas looks much more complete than when Kiyoomi had seen it this morning. The shapes and colors have coalesced into a recognizable scene of the beach at sunset. The reds fade into blues and clouds are painted in hazy pink. Everything is mirrored in messy strokes on the waves of the ocean. It looks beautiful. And Kiyoomi says as much.

“You always are my best supporter.” Atsumu says and pulls Kiyoomi’s face down for a kiss. Kiyoomi can’t find it within himself to pull away, not when Atsumu is so warm. Not when he smells like—

“What is that smell?” Atsumu smells like the rot of a forest, the natural decay of a dead tree fallen over and succumbed to nature.

Atsumu laughs, “Oh, sorry, Kiyoomi. I ran out of Gamsol and had to use my backup Turpentine instead.” 

“I don’t understand what that has to do with the smell.”

“They’re paint thinners.” Atsumu explains, handing him an empty plastic bottle that reads Gamsol. “You can’t use water to thin oil paints like you can with watercolor and acrylic; oil and water don’t mix. So you have to use paint thinners. Gamsol is my preferred thinner, since it’s odorless. But I ran out. Turpentine is the old school thinner, but it smells like hell.” 

Kiyoomi glances around the room, allowing himself to study it in a way he didn’t in the morning, when he had been too deep in shock. He notices a shelf full of foreign looking bottles. He reads the names: Galkyd, Linseed oil, Safflower oil, solvent free gel. 

“What are those?”

“Mediums,” Atsumu says following Kiyoomi’s line of sight, “They change how the oil behaves on canvas. Like galkyd gives it a glossy shine when it dries. And it helps it dry faster which is a blessing since oil takes days to dry.” 

The whole room smells like Turpentine, but it fades to the background, like an afterthought. Kiyoomi loves that the smell gives way to Atsumu’s paintings. 

Atsumu rolls his shoulders, stretching sore muscles, and Kiyoomi looks at the stool. “Have you thought about getting a chair with a backrest?”

“Ugh, not this again,” Atsumu whines, “You already insisted I get a chair when my knees started hurting, you know, I kind of miss painting standing up.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t remember doing that, but it sounds like him. Protective over Atsumu’s once injured knee. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’ll look into it. I’m going to go shower, the heat will help my shoulders,” Atsumu says, and then eyes Kiyoomi with a pointed look. “You can come join me.”

❋❋❋

Kiyoomi falls into a kind of routine. He wakes up, arms around Atsumu, his daughter jumping on them to complain about the twins. He reads poetry with Keiji and understands how they came to own a bookstore together, their friendship is easy and comfortable. 

He doesn’t get any better at Mario Kart, but his sons don’t mind, too preoccupied with their own competition. He lets Atsuko complain about school, who is still insistent that she doesn’t really need to go. He watches Atsumu’s painting of the sunset come to life. He replaces the Turpentine with a new bottle of Gamsol, and the smell of natural decay is replaced with something softer. It smells almost like cooking oil but more flowery. Atsumu tells him it’s the Linseed oil. Kiyoomi doesn’t really care what it is, so long as he keeps getting to smell it on Atsumu’s skin. 

A week passes in this other universe, and Kiyoomi almost forgets to miss his Bentley when he drives Stevie Ray Van to work. 

He wakes up one morning, sunny warmth of Atsumu at his side, and realizes he wants to stay here. 

Which is a scary realization. 

Because he’s not even sure if this is real. 

He presses a kiss into Atsumu’s forehead who mumbles in his sleep. It feels real, though. And it feels good. He never thought his life could be this full of everyday simple pleasures that bubble into a bone deep feeling of contentment that seeps into his very being, it writes itself into his DNA. He’s happy .

It’s a weekend morning, slow moving like molasses and just as sweet. Atsuko stays asleep in her room, and Kiyoomi is left to sink back into unconsciousness, cradling Atsumu like it’s the only thing he wants to do. Because, truthfully, it is. 

❋❋❋

Monday morning rolls around, and Kiyoomi almost looks forward to work. That’s a foreign feeling. He smiles when he sees Keiji, in his usual spot in the office chair. He gives Kiyoomi another poem. Kiyoomi responds with literary analysis. They go through the usual routines of running a bookstore, menial in their tasks, but the companionship of having his friend with him makes the day go by faster. And there's the ever lingering knowledge that he gets to go home to his family. To see Atsumu’s paint covered hands and taste the laughter of losing at Mario Kart. 

Kiyoomi wanders the bookshelves of his store, looking for a book that Keiji asked for. Bokuto calls out to him, loud voice resonating through the building.

“Hey, boss,” he calls out, “Hinata is here for you again.”

Kiyoomi walks back to the front register, feeling the tiniest touch of dread at the orange hair he has come to recognize. 

“Kiyoomi,” he says with a smile. It's almost sad.

"No," Kiyoomi whispers, but Hinata hears it. His eyes soften in a kind of pity and Kiyoomi hates it. 

"Let's go on a walk."

❋❋❋

Kiyoomi sits on a bench in a park next to Hinata and it's so familiar to their first meeting. Except this time, Kiyoomi's confusion is replaced with white hot anger and panic.

"Don't do this."

"This guilt trip is giving me major whiplash." Hinata's life operated on one simple rule. It was golden and sacred and buried in centuries old wisdom and rooted deep in experience. This rule grounded him.

He could not, under any circumstances, get attached. 

No tugged heartstrings or affectionate mothering. It was forbidden . Stick to the plan, fulfill the purpose and complete the task. And Hinata had been the perfect businessman about it.

But damn, Sakusa Kiyoomi was making this tough.

His eyes smoldered, actually smoldered. It’s a 2-in-1 combo of agony and grief. And it makes Hinata squirm. Something about his face, Hinata had underestimated how potent those sad eyes would be, had underestimated their impact.

"Kiyoo—"

"No. You can't. I don't want it back. I don't want any of it back."

"You have no say. It's not your choice to make," Hinata stitches his eyes to the ground.

A muscle in his jaw twitches, and Kiyoomi suddenly stands up and plants himself, tall and intimidating, in front of Hinata.

" When? " His voice is steely and broken.

Hinata gulps down guilt, "This is your last night." 

The bench rocks with the force of his kick, and Hinata steadies himself with hands clutching at the end of the bench. His face remains smooth and placid. Worse reactions had happened.

Kiyoomi's fists are tight and whitened at his sides. "I can't believe youre doing this to me." He's shaking.

"You have to understand—" 

"This is bullshit "

"I can see why you're upset, but what you fail to grasp—"

" Upset? " Kiyoomi runs a shaking hand through his hair, "Why would I be upset? It's not like you're tearing me out of a life I've finally grown into. It's not like you're pulling me away from a man I've fallen in love with. From three kids I've come to love as my own. Hell, they are my own. This is my life! And I refuse to give it up because you decided it's time. It's immoral. You can't be interrupting lives like this, Hinata, it isn't right."

Hinata stills as he listens to Kiyoomi rants, waiting for him to pause. "You're forgetting something important, Kiyoomi. This isn't your life. It's an illusion. A glimpse. It isn't your reality."

"It's fucking real to me." 

"Well, that's the beauty of the situation." 

Kiyoomi sneers, "I don't understand how you can be this cruel after everything. You encouraged me to embrace it all, you set me up , and now you're sitting there with a wrecking ball. How do you live with yourself?"

"Practice," Hinata examines his fingernails and avoids eye contact. It's easier when he does.

"Hinata."

There’s a desperate, quiet edge in his voice; Hinata lifts his gaze and instantly regrets it. Kiyoomi's face is so unbearably hopeful that an overwhelming ache fills his chest, slow and needle sharp.

"Please." His eyes look glassy.

Hinata swallows hard and fails to keep the tremor out of his voice, "I'm so sorry." 

❋❋❋

Kiyoomi arrives home and his heart hurts. Atsumu is sitting on the couch watching TV and mumbles a quick “Welcome home, babe.”

Kiyoomi falls onto the couch next to Atsumu and his face searches for the safe space found in the crook of Atsumu’s neck, cuddling in close to the man. He smells like his oil mediums. Kiyoomi wants to drown in it. 

“Everything ok?”

“Rough day,” Kiyoomi grumbles, hot breath tickling Atsumu’s neck, “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

Atsumu rubs circles into Kiyoomi’s back as he let’s Atsumu’s warmth seep into the bone deep dread he feels. 

They stay quiet for a while, Atsumu dropping kisses into Kiyoomi’s curls, and it’s so perfect and loving that Kiyoomi fears the night even more. 

Eventually, Atsumu gets up to heat up leftovers for everyone to eat. It’s a chaotic affair, like it usually is, but Kiyoomi can’t find himself lavishing in it like he wants to. He just feels the loss. He thinks of the quiet meals he shares with Ushijima, he thinks of the solitary dinners he used to think we're normal.

He aches for their absence. From the loud arguments of the twins and the louder laughter of Atsuko. Of his husband, his hand ever seeking out Kiyoomi's, like waves of the ocean coming back to kiss the shoreline no matter how many times they're pulled away. 

"Your turn to tuck the kids in," Atsumu says as the evening winds down, a ticking time bomb counting down the breaking of Kiyoomi's heart. 

Kiyoomi follows Atsumu upstairs, peeling off by himself into the twins' room. They're already in their matching single beds, arguing over who's better at Mario Kart yet again.

"I think we all know that I'm the true master," Kiyoomi says, feigning levity.

They both roll their eyes and Kiyoomi commits it to memory, "Please, Dad, I've never seen anyone fall off Rainbow Road as many times as you did."

"You just didn't give me a chance to warm up," Kiyoomi rebutes. 

"Sure," Hitomi says and it's dripping with sarcasm. "I'm pretty sure I came in first last time we played, so that makes me better than both of you." 

Kiyoshi groans, "That's because you got lucky!"

"Did not!"

"Did to!"

"Did not !"

"Enough," Kiyoomi says, "argue about it in the morning." He hates that he'll miss it, the bickering becoming a fixed constant presence in his morning. As certain as the sun.

"Fine," they say in tandem, placating their father, as if they aren't going to stay up far past their bedtime analyzing the race down to every second.

Kiyoomi bends down to place kisses on each of their foreheads. He tries to memorize their warmth. He wants to say goodbye but knows that won't make sense to them.

Instead he says, "don't stay up too late arguing, boys, you'll be tired at school tomorrow."

They both make noncommittal agreements and Kiyoomi smiles as he closes the door. 

He treads down the hall to Atsuko's room. Checking off each member of his family, tracing their interactions into stone in his mind.

He peaks into Atsuko's room and she's lying on her bed, a stuffed animal in each hand.

"Hey, darling, you ready for bed?"

She nods, uncharacteristically silent. 

When Kiyoomi pulls the lavender quilt up to her chin she says, "are you leaving, daddy?"

Damn child's intuition or whatever.

"No darling, I'll be here in the morning." He isn't sure that's true. He's still a little confused how these parallel timelines work, if a different version of him will wake up tomorrow familiar with all the sights and sounds Kiyoomi has come to love. 

"But you'll be different, won't you?" She sits up in bed, staring at Kiyoomi with unwavering dark eyes. 

"Yeah." Kiyoomi confesses because he doesn't know what else to do.

Atsuko reaches her small arms and circles them around Kiyoomi's neck. "It's okay, you'll see us again." 

Kiyoomi doesn't know how Atsuko understands his situation better than he does himself, but he lets himself sink into his daughter's embrace.

And to an outsider, it's probably a strange sight. A grown man, well over six feet tall, crying into the shoulder of a five year old who pats his head in comfort. Kiyoomi cries until he can't stand it anymore, because letting himself dwell in loss is too painful. He stands up and Atsuko flops back down into her pillow.

Kiyoomi leans down to press a kiss into her forehead. 

As he moves to leave the room she says, "I'll see you soon, daddy." 

Kiyoomi hopes, rather than believes, she's right.

Finally, it's the hardest part of his evening. Getting into bed with a man he left ten years ago and knowing he'll have to leave him again. At least it's against his will this time. Not like that makes the raw feeling any better.

"Omi?" Atsumu says, registering his husband's ruddy wet face. "Are you okay?"

Kiyoomi wipes at his eyes and sits next to Atsumu on the bed. "I just love our kids a lot, and they're growing up so fast." And I won't get to see it , is the crux of the argument that goes unsaid.

Atsumu laughs a little and reaches up to embrace Kiyoomi.

"You've become such a softy since we had kids."

"Motherhood changes a person," he manages to get out, and is rewarded with a huff of laughter from Atsumu. 

"Who knew that scowling, taciturn man I met in college would turn into the softest most loving father I've ever seen."

"Who knew," Kiyoomi agrees.

They fall into a curled embrace under the sheets, Atsumu fitting into Kiyoomi's arms like it was the only thing he was built to do, shaped perfectly for the curve of Kiyoomi’s arms. 

“I am scared of falling asleep,” Kiyoomi whispers. 

“You’ve never been scared before.”

I’ve never lost you before , he thinks. But that’s not entirely true. He had lost Atsumu before. He had chosen to lose Atsumu. But he doesn’t want to do it again. He wants to hold on so violently that not a hurricane could rip him away. 

“Haven’t you read that poem before?” Atsumu continues, “I know you have, that’s all you and Keiji do every day. You know, your brain is gonna rot from all that reading.”

“ And finally, from so little sleeping and so much reading, his brain dried up and he went completely out of his mind. ”

Atsumu laughs, “What’s that from?”

“Don Quijote.” Atsumu hums, hands carding gently through black curls. “What’s the poem though?” Kiyoomi prompts. 

“ Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light. I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. ”

Kiyoomi recognizes it, “The Old Astronomer to His Pupil.”

Atsumu nods, “Whatever you’re dealing with that you can’t tell me, and don’t look at me like that, I know something has been going on with you. Whatever it is, darling, you’ll get through it. You have me. And you have loved me too fondly to be fearful of anything.”

Kiyoomi lets out moonlit sobs, coating his face in an ocean of tears. Atsumu brushes them away and kisses his eyelids. Kiyoomi fights off sleep for as long as he can, afraid of the morning. But eventually it overcomes him. His soul is set in darkness, wrapped in the arms of the man he loves. And it rises in perfect, lonely light. 

Kiyoomi wakes up to an empty king bed. It’s cold. Like he had never felt the embrace of another before. He waits for the practiced routine of Atsuko clambering onto him to complain about the twins. He waits and waits. As if he could will it into existence. But it never comes. 

❋❋❋

Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

But nothing beside him remains. 

Kiyoomi left Atsumu for the promise of a career. Had built himself up to be rich and powerful. Had gotten himself another rich and powerful boyfriend. He thought he had everything.

Yet he lays in bed, boundless and bare, the loneliness permeates every facet of his life. It’s empty , he realizes. He hadn’t realized how empty it had been til he had a taste of how full it could be. He sits up, taking in the familiar setting of his oversized bedroom of his newly purchased penthouse apartment. He looks in vain for pictures of his family at the beach, a smile stretching wide in a way it never had in this life. It’s absent. It’s lonely. 

Kiyoomi places his face in his hands and cries. 

Life falls back too easily to its usual rhythm, like Kiyoomi hadn’t experienced a whole other life. The ring he intended for Ushijima sits in the bedside table like a sick joke, a mockery of his entire existence. 

And dammit, he doesn’t even like driving his Bentley anymore, because it doesn’t have his husband, paint stained fingers, tapping away to the radio on the steering wheel. Because it doesn’t have a stupid nickname. 

His job is as it always has been. Posturing to the higher ups, hoping for a promotion. He misses analyzing poetry with Keiji. He always thought his life was perfectly suited for the corporate work environment, but all he wants now is a bookstore. No promotions, no kissing ass to bosses and CEOs. Just books. And his husband was waiting for him at home after creating masterpieces on canvas. 

Kiyoomi slips into a sort of depression, it’s more akin to mourning but he can’t tell anyone why he is aching for something lost. 

He ends things with Ushijima, who had noticed things were different almost immediately.

“You seem different, Kiyoomi,” he looks completely unaffected by the news of their impending breakup. 

“I feel different,” Kiyoomi concedes. Ushijima had noted the way he sold his Bentley, had sold his expensive abstract art and replaced it with paintings of Shinto temples. Ushijima noticed how Kiyoomi hadn’t been as motivated at work. He felt the shift in the universe telling him the man he had once dated no longer existed. 

“I just want you to be happy,” Ushijima says.

Kiyoomi cries because he feels guilty. He can’t stop thinking of the blonde husband he had in another life, and it felt unfair to string Ushijima along when Kiyoomi was irrevocably in love with another. 

“I want to be happy, too,” Kiyoomi tells Ushijima, and they part on friendlier terms than Kiyoomi expected. 

Kiyoomi finds his bookstore, tucked away in its suburban city block right where he left it.

A familiar head of two toned hair welcomes him. Kiyoomi wants to cry, recognizing someone from a life that was beginning to feel like a dream, a faded photograph. 

But Bokuto looks at him with the same friendly unfamiliarity he had treated every stranger. This Bokuto doesn’t remember Kiyoomi. Which means that this Keiji doesn’t remember Kiyoomi. And then something obvious but left unsaid in his mind rises to the surface and it knocks the breath out of him.

This Atsumu doesn’t know him.

Well, he does know him. Probably hates him. Kiyoomi would prefer strangers, that would be an easier relationship to rectify. 

Kiyoomi buys a book of poetry.

“Good choice,” Bokuto says as he scans the barcode and accepts Kiyoomi’s credit card, “this is one of my boss’s favorites.”

Kiyoomi wants to say that he knows. He knows because he recommended this book to Keiji. But he doesn’t.

“Good to know, I look forward to reading it.”

Kiyoomi looks around the bookstore. It was so strange to see evidence of his previous life in this one. It makes it feel real. It makes the loss more potent. 

But Kiyoomi doesn’t cry. Maybe his tear ducts have dried up and become useless. Maybe he has simply come to stage five of grief and accepted his fate. 

His eyes catch on a poster hanging on the wall behind Bokuto.

Miya Atsumu: Art Show, it says in big flowy letters, describing a date and location. 

Kiyoomi points at it, “What’s that?” He is surprised the words come out solid and smooth. 

Bokuto looks behind him, “Oh, that’s my boss’s brother-in-law! He’s a famous artist but is having a small solo show this weekend. He’s so talented!”

Kiyoomi swallows hard. “Oh. Cool.”

This sends Bokuto on a tirade extolling Atsumu’s many virtues as an artist. Virtues Kiyoomi is already well aware of. 

He leaves the store with some semblance of a plan.

He hopes Atsumu doesn’t hate him the way he hates himself for the mistakes he has made. 

❋❋❋

Kiyoomi half expects to be thrown out of the art show. But he enters without hiccup.

He’s surrounded by paintings of varying size and subject dotting the walls. They’re beautiful. But maybe Kiyoomi is biased. He’d think anything Atsumu created would be beautiful. 

He wanders aimlessly through the throngs of people who have shown up. He’s still a little startled to realize how popular his husband is. Wait. Not husband. Ex-boyfriend. 

He sips on the complimentary wine, praying it smooths his nerves enough to not make a complete fool of himself. He doesn’t even know if Atsumu would make an appearance. Or maybe he’d be too busy to even talk to Kiyoomi.

“Well, if this isn’t a blast from the past.” The voice, sardonic and a touch cruel, is still so familiar to Kiyoomi that his heart aches at it. 

He takes in Atsumu and he looks good . He’s bulked out a bit, hair swept up over his head instead of hanging in front of his face like it had in college. He looks like he did in Kiyoomi’s other life. He looks gorgeous.

“Hi,” Kiyoomi says, and dammit he did not drink enough wine to cure his Atsumu-caused awkwardness.

Atsumu looks surprised and then laughs, “Hi? It’s been ten years and all I get is ‘hi’?” He laughs harder, drawing the attention of nearby passerbys. “I’ll be honest, Sakusa, you’re the last person I expected to see at my art show tonight.”

Kiyoomi pauses at the use of his last name, but he supposes it’s deserved. “I realize this is unexpected, me showing up out of the blue.”

“A little bit, yeah,” Atsumu crosses his arms in front of his chest, suit jacket pulling at his arms. Kiyoomi swallows, focus, dumbass. 

“I know it’s been a long time, but I wanted to see you. I wanted to catch up.” Kiyoomi tries his best to sound confident, even though he feels like collapsing in on himself.

“That’s— wow. ” Atsumu looks genuinely shocked. “I am struggling to understand why . I mean, why now? After all this time?”

“I-I just had to see you. I had to know.” 

“Know what? How I am?” Atsumu’s expression is hardened, detached, and closed off. Kiyoomi hates it. 

“Something like that.” 

Atsumu laughs again, this time it tastes cruel. Kiyoomi winces. “The great Sakusa Kiyoomi coming for closure after all these years.” Atsumu cocks his head, “I am kind of touched. Thank God I wasn’t holding my breath. But you really shouldn’t have. As you can see, I’m fine. More than fine, actually.”

An arm snakes around Atsumu’s neck, looking down at Kiyoomi with a stare of thinly veiled contempt. His face is identical to Atsumu’s. 

“You good, ‘Tsumu?” Osamu says. 

Atsumu looks like he wants to push the arm off, but he glances back at Kiyoomi and lets it rest there. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Osamu’s eyes don’t leave Kiyoomi’s, “There’s a buyer looking for you.” He points to one of the paintings.

“Oh, thanks for letting me know!” He moves to dart off before looking back at Kiyoomi, “Enjoy the show,” he says before leaving Kiyoomi in the crosshairs of an angry, protective brother. 

“You have some fucking nerve showing up here ten years late,” he begins and Kiyoomi settles in for what is probably a well deserved dressing down. 

“I know.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see him.”

“ Why? ”

Kiyoomi elects to be honest, and that’s probably the wrong decision, “I miss him.”

Osamu laughs, it’s so unlike the soft happy laughter he heard in the car with Keiji. It grates on Kiyoomi’s ears. “You miss him? How convenient. Do you even know how much he cried for you? I had to help him pick up the pieces of the mess you made and you think you can just waltz back in here and get a second chance? Are you stupid?”

Kiyoomi stares back at Osamu, unwavering, trying to conjure bravery in himself, “I know I screwed up. I made a huge mistake. I understand that.” Kiyoomi takes in a big breath, “I looked around at my life one day and realized how big and empty it was. The things I bought, the promotions, they were all to cover up a wound I never let heal. I know I don’t deserve a second chance, I'm the last person in the world who deserves one. But I need one.” He feels tears pricking at his eyes, and he feels so pathetic, “I need it . I can’t keep living the way I have, I’m empty, I’m an asshole. And all I can think about is this one decision I made ten years ago that screwed up everything for me. Is it fair that our lives are made by these split second decisions that we don’t even realize the gravity of until it’s too late? I know I left him when he was hurting, and I will always, always , regret it. But if you think it’s possible that I could try one last time, then I will work tirelessly till I can make him happy. I just want a chance, I will not screw it up this time.”

Osamu looks at him with an unmoving face, letting Kiyoomi marinate in anxiety as he waits for him to say something. 

A slightly shorter man appears behind Osamu, and Kiyoomi recognizes his once brother-in-law anywhere. 

“C’mon, Osamu, that was a pretty impassioned speech,” Keiji says, tucking a hand into the crook of Osamu’s elbow. Thank God for Akaashi Keiji , Kiyoomi thinks. 

Osamu huffs, “It’s Atsumu’s decision, not mine. If you can convince him to let you back in, and believe me that’s not going to be an easy task, I won’t stand in your way.” And it’s the closest thing to a victory Kiyoomi could’ve expected from this evening. 

“Thank you.” Kiyoomi says and he feels like crying, but for the first time in weeks, it’s from happiness.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t thank me yet.” Osamu swishes his hand as if warding off Kiyoomi’s appreciation. “I’m serious, though, if I get one whiff you are treating Atsumu in any way less than he deserves, I swear they will not find the body.” 

Kiyoomi smiles. He expected nothing less. “Of course.”

❋❋❋

Atsumu sits at an outdoor table across from his long time friend, for their semi-regular brunches. Which usually just became an excuse for them to get day drunk and then pass out at 1 P.M. 

“So, how are you? How’s moving going?” Atsumu asks between sips of his mimosa. 

“Well, you know,” Suna smiles with a sly lift of the corners of his mouth, “I’m really into procrastination. Besides, I don’t have to have the place cleaned out til the end of the month.”

“That’s in two weeks.”

“Yeah, I know, don’t patronize me,” Suna takes a long sip of his own mimosa. He sets down the glass and gives Atsumu a lopsided grin. “What are you thinking about? You look thoughtful, and while rare, it’s not a good look on you.”

“Shut up,” Atsumu says, laughing. “It’s stupid. And weird .”

“My favorite combination,” Suna replies. 

“Sakusa Kiyoomi came to my art show last night.”

Suna’s mouth falls open.

“Catching flies?” Atsumu laughs, covering the trepidation he feels at the man who appeared like a ghost at his art show. 

“Shut up. Sakusa Kiyoomi? But why?”

Atsumu recounts their interaction from the previous night. “It was really strange.” He runs a hand through his hair, an absentminded nervous habit, “I mean, why now? When everything in my life is, more or less, sorted out. And now I’m supposed to be burdened by all these old memories? And Rin, he was acting way out of the norm.”

“Well, ten years changes a lot of things. How did he look?”

“Broken down and prematurely balding.” Suna raises his knuckles for a fist bump and Atsumu tears away, laughing. “I’m kidding. He looked good. But I’m not gonna dwell on that because it’s not supposed to be dwelled on.”

“Sometimes I imagine that my exes got mauled by bears and now they wander the country all deformed and mangled and definitely not getting any.”

Atsumu stares, “Right. Well, that’s why you’re a bad person.”

Suna grins, “An imaginative person.”

“Call it whatever you want,” Atsumu says, continuing thinking about Kiyoomi, “The thing is, years ago, I couldn’t help myself; I thought about what it would be like to run into him again. I imagined hundreds of different settings and scenarios, and thought I’d be armed with the perfect words to say to him. But even now, it was nothing like that. It’s never how you imagine. Kind of like what E. M. Forster said? You can’t rehearse life.” 

Suna scowls at the literary analysis, “Akaashi rubbing off on you now? At least Osamu didn’t see him, he would’ve ended his life right there.”

“Uh, Osamu kind of talked to him.” 

“Oh, just drop that into the story so delicately,” Suna rolls his eyes. “C’mon, I can’t believe you left homicide till the end of the story.”

“Osamu didn’t kill him.”

“Damn shame,” Suna shrugs. “Would’ve been a more interesting story than this nostalgic bullshit you’re currently doing.”

“You’re a horrible friend.”

Suna raises his glass to that, “And yet, you keep coming back.” He sips his drink, “So what did Osamu do? Besides not murder.”

“I’m not sure,” Atsumu sighes, “I had to leave to go talk to a buyer. I think they talked for a while. I asked Osamu about it later but he was evasive.”

Suna looks contemplative. “Then it’s probably nothing. Maybe he’s just really into your art.”

“Maybe.”

❋❋❋

Atsumu ends brunch with Suna far tipsier than he intended. He accidentally puts in the address for Keiji’s bookstore into the rideshare app instead of his brother’s restaurant. But by the time he notices, he’s already in the car, and too lazy to change it. It’s only an extra block, and he could use that time to clear his head.

Because all of his thoughts kept circulating around one particularly annoying ex. 

Dammit, he really did look good last night. Atsumu wants to whine about how truly unfair the universe is to let Kiyoomi keep looking like that . 

He stumbles out of the car with a lot less grace than he’d care to admit. He stares at the storefront of Keiji’s bookstore. He thinks Kiyoomi would’ve liked this place, he was always kind of a bookworm. He wonders if he still is.

Atsumu curses his luck because he thinks he thought the man in question into existence. Because Kiyoomi comes wandering out of the bookstore with a book tucked under his arm. 

“Atsumu,” he says, and he looks as surprised as Atsumu is to see him. 

“Hello, Omi,” he says, the several mimosas slurring his brain and letting him forget that he should refer to him as Sakusa. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Kiyoomi holds up the book, “Shopping.”

Atsumu nods, “Always the bookworm, huh?”

Kiyoomi smiles and Atsumu wishes he wouldn’t because, God help him, he’s missed that smile so much. “Something like that. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Osamu.”

“Isn’t his restaurant down another block?”

Atsumu narrows his eyes, “How do you know that? Are you stalking me now?”

Kiyoomi clears his throat, “No, uh, Akaashi told me.”

Atsumu seethes and glares at the bookstore as if it were Keiji. “Judas.”

“Hey, uhm, Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you go to dinner with me?”

Atsumu looks at him, “Is this to discuss art? I noticed you bought a piece.”

“...Yes.”

Atsumu’s brain takes a back seat as the alcohol guides his decision making. “Fine. Give me your number. I’ll text you the details.” 

Kiyoomi looks like he’s won a prize as he hands his phone to Atsumu.

❋❋❋

Atsumu wants to cancel. 

Being a twin instilled him with some truly superior fight or flight instincts. Normally, they’re fight. But right now, all he wants to do is flee. 

The dinner is at one of Atsumu’s favorite restaurants. He hopes the familiarity will help settle the anxiety building in his stomach. 

Kiyoomi looks good. Damn him. His hair is coiffed and curled to perfection and he’s wearing a white button down with a navy blazer. He smiles when his eyes land on Atsumu, already seated at their table. Damn. Him. 

The dinner is surprisingly pleasant. Atsumu guides the conversation to safe, neutral topics, ranging from art and literature to Kiyoomi’s job. 

“It sucks,” he confesses.

“You could always quit?” Atsumu says, and he really means it as a joke, because he knows how committed Kiyoomi is to his career.

“I am considering it.” 

Atsumu almost drops his fork, “ You . Are considering. Quitting.”

Kiyoomi laughs, “Yeah, I haven’t really found any sort of happiness in it. So I think it’s time I move on.” 

“What are you going to do instead?”

Kiyoomi shrugs, “Haven’t thought that far yet. I have some money saved up, so I think I might take some time off, figure things out.”

Atsumu can’t even pretend to hide his surprise. “That. Is so unlike you. But it sounds good, I hope you figure things out.”

“Me, too.” And those eyes that Atsumu fell for ten years before are gazing back at him with the same look Atsumu used to adore. He forgot how intoxicating it was to have Kiyoomi’s undivided attention all on him. He misses getting drunk off it. 

“Atsumu,” he begins, but then pauses.

“Yeah?” Atsumu replies, encouraging him.

Kiyoomi looks off to the side for a moment, clearly mulling over his words. His jaw tenses, “Do you ever think about what might have happened? Between us, I mean.”

Atsumu tries to smooth his expression. He had been half expecting this, after all. “It was a really long time ago.”

“But do you?”

“It’s getting pretty late,” he says, waving over a server and motioning for the check. 

“Atsumu.”

“Of course, I did.” He sighs, resigning himself to having this conversation. “But it’s not like you would’ve wanted me to wait for you. Your internship turned into a permanent position. I am surprised you even came back to Japan.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted. I was stupid.” He looks almost ashamed.

Atsumu shrugs. “We both turned out fine. Things work out the way they do for a reason, Omi.”

“I hate that.” He mutters. “It’s so final, you know? Everything happens for a reason. It’s like justifying your mistakes. Like saying that everything is out of your control.”

Atsumu sighs. “What is it that you want, Omi? A cure for your conscience? Because I’m fine. I really am. I’m happy .”

“But you weren’t.”

“What?” 

Kiyoomi avoids eye contact, and Atsumu puts the pieces together.

“Oh my God . That’s why. That’s what all this is about. You found out about my knee.”

“Then it’s true.”

“Omi—”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He sounds angry, and Atsumu thinks that he doesn’t really have a right to be angry. “How could you have not said anything?

“It worked out, didn’t it?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “So it doesn’t even matter.”

“I can’t believe you. I never would’ve gotten on that plane.”

“Well, you did!” He almost yells, his voice is strained and his throat hurts from holding back tears. Atsumu hates all the feelings building up and threatening to overcome him. He feels the prick of tears in his eyes. “This is stupid, I never should’ve come.” He wipes his eyes. 

“ Atsumu —” He reaches for Atsumu’s hand.

“Don’t touch me. Just don’t. I don’t need this right now.”

“I would have—”

“Please shut up .” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Shut up. It didn’t work out.”

“You don’t even understand.” He continues relentlessly. “I blew it. I know I did. I was immature and young and stupid and I didn’t understand what was important.” He brushes a hand across Atsumu’s cheek and Atsumu looks up, eyes bright and wet. “Look, I wish I could make you understand what I’m saying but I can’t . You didn’t see what I saw. Even if it was some wild, trauma induced dream. Atsumu, I’ve seen—”

“No.” Atsumu stands up. “Kiyoomi. I won’t let you do this.”

“Do what?”

“Come back into my life and fuck everything up! ”

He storms out of the restaurant and suddenly the whole place is still and silent around Kiyoomi. He wishes he could feel some sort of shame for causing a scene, but all he can think about is the look that was on Atsumu’s face. 

❋❋❋

Saturday night was destined to be awkward.

Atsumu discovered that Kiyoomi and Keiji were now friends. They had bonded over books or something. Absolutely traitorous. 

Then he discovers that his best friend, someone who was supposed to have his back no matter what , was dating Kiyoomi’s cousin, and they decided to have a “get together” which was code for a party. And, of course, that meant Kiyoomi was invited. Atsumu’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with all these backstabbers surrounding him. Is this what Julius Caesar felt like? 

He looks to where Suna has an arm around Komori’s waist and a stupid happy grin on his face. Et tu, Brute? 

And of course, Kiyoomi, ever the instigator of awkwardness, deigns to approach Atsumu.

“Hey.” He says, and continues in Atsumu’s very resolute silent treatment, “Are you going to bite my head off?” 

“No.” Fuck , his silent treatment! Damn Kiyoomi and his dark puppy dog eyes. Atsumu can’t deny him a thing, even after all these years. 

“Ok, cool.” 

They stand next to each other in thick silence, periodically sipping their respective beers. 

“Crazy party, huh—”

“Is this how it’s gonna be?” Atsumu asks and Kiyoomi looks puzzled, “Awkward, forced friendships because of siblings and best friends?”

Kiyoomi nods, “I’ll take what I can get.”

Atsumu snorts into his beer. “I guess we make sacrifices for the ones we love.” He takes a sip. “By the way, thanks for clogging my voicemail.”

“You’re welcome.” Kiyoomi takes his own swig. “Listen, I’m sorry. For the dinner. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Atsumu waves him off, “It’s okay, it’s partially my fault for getting emotional. You’d think after all these years I’d be over you.”

“So, you admit you still have feelings for me, then?” Kiyoomi cocks an eyebrow.

“That is not what I said.”

“It’s fine, I’ll admit it first then.” Kiyoomi says, “I still have feelings for you.”

“You never give up, do you?”

Kiyoomi looks almost sad. “When you’ve made a mistake as big as I have, you have to go to the ends of the Earth to fix it.” 

Atsumu sighes. He hates to admit that Kiyoomi has wormed his way back into the forefront of Atsumu’s thoughts with astounding speed. The hold this man still has over him, after all this time, it's gonna be the death of him. 

“I like you, and I want a second chance.” Kiyoomi begins, dark eyes pinning Atsumu to the spot. “I know I don’t deserve it. Believe me, I tell myself every day how I don’t deserve this, or you, or anything. But I keep trying, because the alternative, giving up on the only thing that has made me truly happy, is too much to bear. And unless you tell me outright, with no room for confusion that you don’t want me and will never want me, I won’t give up. Not on you, Atsumu. I can’t do it again.”

Atsumu wants to tell him that he doesn’t want him and will never want him. But it’s a lie. And Atsumu has never been a skilled liar. 

“I miss you so much and I don’t know what to do,” Kiyoomi confesses. 

Atsumu, almost against his will and definitely against his better judgement, brings a hand to tuck a stray curl behind Kiyoomi’s ear. Kiyoomi’s eyes light up with hope, and Atsumu wants to laugh.

“I can’t promise you anything,” Atsumu says, “give me time, my trust in you is still pretty damaged, and it’ll take a lot of time and work to repair.”

“I can wait,” Kiyoomi responds. “I know it won’t be easy to regain your trust, but I promise I will work tirelessly until it’s built back up. I won’t let you go again.” 

❋❋❋

Their first date is at a coffee shop. It’s a bit cliched, but Kiyoomi doesn’t mind. He’s still high off the realization that Atsumu is giving him a chance. 

“I’ll take a latte with oat milk, please.” Atsumu says, and looks back at Kiyoomi.

“Iced Americano, please.”

Kiyoomi pays and they settle into a small table, conversation between them easy and natural, like it has always been. 

Someone calls Kiyoomi’s name, and he stands to go grab their coffee.

He comes face to face with Hinata, who is sliding him their cups. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I work here!” He responds cheerily. Too happy for someone working a customer service job. “Plus, I’m here to collect.”

“Collect what?”

“I told you when we first met that you could thank me later.”

“You expect me to thank you?” Kiyoomi says, incredulous. 

“I mean, I am the reason you’re currently on a date with the love of your life.” 

Kiyoomi looks back to where Atsumu sits at their table, texting someone on his phone. 

“Fine.” Kiyoomi grumbles. “Thank you.”

Hinata beams. “Now was that so hard?” He slides him a small paper pastry bag as well, “and a cookie for your troubles. White chocolate chip.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and pulls the coffee towards him. He turns to rejoin Atsumu, but pauses. He wants to tell Hinata off again, still a little angry and hurt at the way he had been ripped from his other life. But when he turns around the telltale orange hair is nowhere in sight. 

❋❋❋

“Kiyoshi! Hitomi!” Atsumu yells at the three year old twins that ran off with way too many of the cookies Atsumu had just pulled from the oven. 

Kiyoomi laughs from his place at the dining table, sipping at his coffee. Black, like he likes it. Made by Atsumu who doesn’t have to ask how he wants it. 

“They’re absolute hellraisers,” Atsumu runs a hand through his hair, “I am gonna call my mom and apologize.”

“You already did that the day they were born.”

“And I need to do it again!” Atsumu slumps into the chair across from Kiyoomi. “I can’t believe I put her through this and somehow made it to adulthood alive.” 

“You were a really cute kid, that probably helped,” Kiyoomi smiles at his husband. 

Atsumu looks to where the twins had run off to. “They’re pretty cute, too,” he pauses. “Hey, Omi.”

“Mhmm?”

“I think I want another baby.” 

Truthfully, Kiyoomi had been expecting this. He knew their family was missing one last piece, and he was anxious for her arrival. 

“I want your DNA with the egg donor this time,” Atsumu sips his own coffee, looking at Kiyoomi with a kind of nervousness. 

“I think I’d like that,” Kiyoomi says.

Atsumu’s face breaks into a smile that Kiyoomi will spend the rest of his life working to make appear, day after day. 

“I think her name should be Atsuko,” Kiyoomi adds, and Atsumu eyes him with suspicion. “I mean, the boys both have names taken from mine. I want her to have a piece of you.”

“How do you know it’ll be a girl?”

“Intuition.”

Atsumu laughs, “That’s what you said last time when you were certain we’d have twins. And I guess you were right, so,” Atsumu looks at him and Kiyoomi falls in love all over again, “let’s have a daughter.”

❋❋❋

The first time Kiyoomi holds Atsuko in his arms, he swears the newborn’s eyes light up in recognition. But maybe he just imagined that.

The first night they bring her home from the hospital, they all pile into Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s bed. Atsumu’s face pressed into Kiyoomi’s neck, their children sandwiched between them. Atsumu holding the newborn like she was made of glass.

When Kiyoomi thinks they’re all asleep, he lets a few tears escape his eyes because he’s so happy . 

“I’m so sorry it took me so long.”

Atsumu presses a kiss into his jaw. “It’s okay, we forgive you. We forgave you a long time ago.”