Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i. effort

Sakusa Kiyoomi is fourteen years old when he meets Miya Atsumu for the first time.

The bathroom looms over him, and he stands in front of the door; immobile, stagnant, and scowling like its simple existence is a personal offense to Kiyoomi.

Honestly, he was already having a terrible day. Adding up a nasty lost to Shiratorizawa Academy Junior High—in which Kiyoomi barely managed to bump even half of Wakatoshi’s serves—, the uncomfortable itchy feeling from the dry sweat on the back of his neck even after he aggressively rubbed the spot with a dry towel, and the fact the group of boys that just walked out of the bathroom a few seconds ago didn’t seem trustworthy at all in Kiyoomi’s personal judgement, so you can’t really blame him when his usual resting scowl face looks even more unpleasant than usual.

"Oi, are you okay?" The voice brings him back from his inner tantrum. Kiyoomi turns his head to find a pair of eyes staring expectantly at him—the face way too close for comfort.

Kiyoomi takes a hurried step back, putting some distance between them. The boy tilts his head in puzzlement, and Kiyoomi takes the opportunity to assess him properly. 

He quickly bypasses the dark brown hair and honey colored eyes to take in the sweaty uniform, the dirt under his fingernails, and the complete unbothered stance over his own circumstances.

They’re strangers, so Kiyoomi doesn’t bother warning the boy about the dangers of remaining in sweaty clothes too long after working out, that would suggest Kiyoomi actually cares about his well being, which is not the case.

He’s definitely the type of person that doesn’t bother drying his hands after using the bathroom, Kiyoomi decides, pursed lips hidden behind his facemask. Maybe doesn’t even wash them at all.

He shivers.

"It’s none of your business," he says coldly.

The boy blinks, face going from genuine curiosity to cold irritation in a matter of milliseconds.

"You were the one staring at a door like a freak, so I figured I would ask what was wrong with you," he says through gritted teeth.

Kiyoomi scoffs. “Do you even know how many people used this same bathroom today already? The amount of germs piled up there?”

“Well, giving the door the stink eye isn’t gonna make the germs run away,” the boy retorts with sarcasm. “Even though your face does look pretty terrifying.”

Kiyoomi averts his eyes with irritation, wondering what would be the most effective way to end this conversation as soon as possible.

“Wait,” the boy’s stance changes, he brings one hand to his chin, narrows his eyes at Kiyoomi, and—aggravatingly— leans closer in suspicion. “Do I know you from somewhere?"

And now that Kiyoomi is actively paying attention, he can pick up how… strange the boy sounds, the way his tongue rolls differently when he is speaking, a more elongated way of pronouncing the vowels, a softer manner around the consonants. Kansai-ben, his brain infers after some consideration.

A closer inspection to the boy tells Kiyoomi that he does know him, not because they've interacted before, but because that's a face specifically well known in the junior volleyball community for the fact it comes in plural form.

One of the Miya twins, he figures.

They've never played each other, but the brothers do have a reputation, he has already seen pictures and got glimpses of them playing in-between his own matches, and Kiyoomi isn't ignorant enough to deny the fact he has a reputation himself—and that's probably the source for Miya's scrutinizing gaze.

Either way, Kiyoomi is tired, a little bit irritated and not at all inclined to entertain an obnoxious boy who has zero notion of personal space.

"I'm pretty sure we've never met before," he doesn't lie.

The boy hums, looking uncertain, but he drops the matter in place of turning his eyes to the bathroom.

“So what’s your deal? Doesn’t like to get dirty?”

Kiyoomi shrugs.

"People are disgusting and have zero notion of basic hygiene or respect for other people's personal boundaries," he gives Miya a pointed glance, signaling the clear lack of space between them. “I’d rather keep my distance.”

If Miya notices his discomfort, he doesn't do anything about it.

"Hmm, you're a pretty weird guy, aren't you?"

"And you are very annoying," Kiyoomi deadpans. 

Miya opens his mouth to rebut, but a scream coming from the end of the hall hits them before he has the chance.

"Tsumu, where the heck are you?! Haven’t you changed already, you prick? We have a meeting now!"

"Well, that's my cue to leave," he turns to Kiyoomi one last time before walking away. "See you around, weird guy-kun.”

Kiyoomi mumbles a hopefully not under his breath.

Later that day, he runs into Iizuna for the first time when he and Motoya are making their way outside, and any thoughts regarding the Miya twins are completely forgotten.

("I think we should go to Itachiyama," he tells his cousin a few days later.

"Uh?" 

"If we're gonna dedicate so much of our time to volleyball, we might as well do it properly and get somewhere that gives us a good structure to learn and compete against the best. So. I think we should go to Itachiyama."

"Itachiyama is one of the most traditional schools for team sports in the country, it isn't going to be easy to get a recommendation letter to get in."

“If we don't get a recommendation we just have to get in the traditional way."

Motoya stares at him like he has grown a second head. "Speak for yourself,” he cries. “They have the hardest admission exams of Tokyo!"

In the end, both of them get their recommendation letters.)

At some point in the end of elementary school, a good two or three years after Kiyoomi officially started learning volleyball, his cousin approached him after practice, a reprimanding look in his eyes.

“Hey Ki,” he starts, a little hesitantly. “You know you’re, like, an overly judgmental person, right?”

Kiyoomi blinks back at him. “And…?”

Motoya looks pained. “You judge people too quickly and when you decide someone isn’t worth your time it’s almost impossible to change your opinion. And you hardly ever think anyone is worth your time.”

Kiyoomi has enough self discernment to know his cousin is right, but he can’t say he understands why Motoya looks so reproachful of the matter, or why he felt the need to start this conversation at all—he never really saw this characteristic as a flaw.

“Uh. It isn’t like any of my judgements are very far from the truth anyway,” he says drily.

They won all their practice matches that day, but Motoya still looks extra defeated when they walk back home that day.

Either way, Iizuna Tsukasa turns out to be exactly the kind of person Kiyoomi expected him to be, so kudos to Kiyoomi's judgement

As someone who has been familiar to the notion of hypermobility since he was nine—a difficult word to describe a concept he has lived with for longer than he can remember—Kiyoomi is more than aware that his gift is a double sword, several medical appointments and a few fearful researches taught him that, as much as he’s capable of doing remarkable feats on the court, he’s also way more prone to injuries than his colleagues, so he knows better than anyone else that the first step to achieve a goal is taking proper care of yourself.

Objectively speaking, Iizuna is a very charming boy. An easy smile, a good temper, and he holds himself with a sense of responsibility that only attests to the fact he’s the team’s vice captain only by his second year.

Motoya oohs and aahs at Iizuna’s plays during their practices, giddily enumerating to Kiyoomi all of the individual awards the setter has collected to himself through junior high alone.

Kiyoomi can't say he is paying close attention to his cousin's words, but he observes.

Iizuna is always the first one to arrive in practice and, even though Itachiyama’s roster is one of the largest and most competitive in the country, more often than not he ends up being the last one to leave as well. He always helps clean up after practice, despite the fact they have more than enough freshmans available to do the job quickly. He is diligent and attentive in everything he does, in the way he practices, never slacking off, in the way he holds himself, in the way he takes care of the things he cherishes—his uniforms, tracksuits, and even the official practice shirts from their school, all things he wears and tends to with pride.  

Iizuna wields effort like a duty, and he takes this duty as a form of reassurance instead of a burden. In the back of his mind, Kiyoomi thinks that no one could represent what the Itachiyama Institute stands for better than him.

"You were chosen as the best setter in the Olympic Junior Cup, right, Iizuna-senpai?" Motoya asks him when they're cooling down in the middle of practice.

Kiyoomi sits quietly by the sidelines, eyes focused on his water bottle but ears attentive to the conversation.

Iizuna takes a large gulp of his own drink before turning to give Motoya a drowsy smile—there’s a path of sweat making its way down the sides of his face and neck, but he still manages to look charming somehow.

Kiyoomi makes a silent remark of his perfect posture.

"That's right," he says, nodding back at Motoya.

Kiyoomi doesn’t need to raise his eyes to see the eager expression his cousin must be wearing right now.

“So cool!” Motoya says dreamily. “To be able to stand out even in high level matches like that. Are there any tips you can give us?”

Kiyoomi feels his face twisting into a mix of exasperation and amusement at his cousin’s antics, but he turns his head anyway, paying close attention to Iizuna’s next words.

“A tip?” Iizuna tilts his head in consideration, seeming deep in thought. “I think what I can tell you is to always give everything you got in every step of the process. If you try to search for shortcuts now, these will be exactly the moments you will come to regret when push comes to shove. I always try to do things in a way I won’t have regrets later, so... “ 

Iizuna shrugs.

Kiyoomi finds himself nodding slightly in accordance, the words resonate to him, but then a thought crosses his mind, and he stops, frowning. 

“Shouldn’t it be a given, though?” He retorts. “That anyone who gets to the top stages of a competition should be giving it their all?” 

Motoya sends him a warning glance. “Sakusa,” he says through gritted teeths, tone reproachful. 

Iizuna just laughs, nodding agreeably. “I guess you’re right,” he concedes. “Besides, it is kind of a redundant advice to tell the both of you to work hard.” 

The setter regards them with a secretive smile, and Motoya immediately forgets he was supposed to be mad at Kiyoomi to bask on the praise.

“Well, let me see if I can find an advice that will actually be useful for you,” Iizuna starts again, expression pensive. “There’s a couple of things we only get to learn through experience, but if there’s something I can anticipate for you is that when you get on the court, there’s really no place for pride or entitlement, doesn't matter which stage it is or what team we’re up against, we have to make sure we face all of them the same way.”

The cousins stare back at him with a puzzled expression. 

“The same… way?” Motoya parrots.

Iizuna gives them a sympathetic smile, recognizing their confusion. He crouches down to put his water bottle back on the floor before he elaborates. “I mean, of course each game will have a different tactical approach, but I’m talking about the mindset, you know? Each game has a different feeling to it, be it because of the team itself, the stage of the competition, the cheer squad or whatever. I know there are players who thrive when games get more decisive, but I also think it’s amazing when someone can give out consistent performances regardless of the match. I guess It's a matter of focus.”

"So you think the most consistent players are the best ones?" Kiyoomi asks, feeling weirdly satisfied.

“It’s not like there’s an ideal way to go about it, as long as it works for you,” Iizuna shrugs. “But volleyball is dynamic, and it is an emotional game as much as it is a physical one. You can have amazing raw skills and end up crumbling under the pressure of a big game, you can have your own eagerness and drive to success become the reason your decisions turn hasty in the middle of a rally, in the blink of a second your biggest strength can turn into a fatal weakness. In the end, having the emotional intelligence to deal with those situations is just as important as the fundamental skills.”

Kiyoomi nods back at the words, albeit a little stunned. It amazes him how much older and wiser Iizuna sounds sometimes, but he guesses this is just what the experience in dealing with high pressure situations constantly does to you. The setter went straight from a top junior high team to one of the biggest high school powerhouses in Japan. Absentmindedly, Kiyoomi wonders if he will start sounding a little like that after three years in Itachiyama, or if it is something particular from Iizunas’s temper.

“Sakusa is a bit like that,” Motoya says after some time, voice amused. “But I don’t know if I would call it emotional intelligence, detachment is probably a better word to describe it.”

Kiyoomi scowls. “Shut up,” he spats.

Iizuna just chuckles, shaking his head in amusement

The internal competition in Itachiyama is brutal. 

It shouldn't come as a surprise to Kiyoomi, since it was exactly the kind of environment he was looking for when he decided to enroll there, but it’s still shocking to see some of the best players he has ever practiced with not even make it to the competition roster and having to resume to cheering for the team from the stands.

His first Inter High Tournament arrives in a heartbeat, and even though he’s still not a starter for the team, between working as a pinch server and the occasional tactical substitutions, he still gets plenty of opportunities to be on the court. 

("You're very tall for a first year, Sakusa-kun. And your spiking technique goes without saying. I wonder if we could make a 5x1 inversion work in critical moments of the game. Do you think you could play opposite?" Is what his coach asks him a few weeks before he announced the list of players that would be registered in the competition.

"It doesn’t really matter where I am in the court, sir. As long as I practice enough I can make it work," it's his answer.)

Iizuna smiles reassuringly at him every time Kiyoomi gets subbed in his place, and Kiyoomi can’t even find it in himself to get annoyed when the setter softly pats his shoulder on his way out.

His second meeting with the twins happens during the semifinals of the competition. This time he gets a good look at both of them, standing proudly and waving at the stands with their new complementary hair colors. Gone is the boyish expression he remembers from that five minutes meeting back in the Middle School Athletics Tournament, now replaced by the threatening aura of a person that knows their presence alone can make the court feel smaller.

At first, Kiyoomi can’t tell for sure which was the one he had faced that fateful day in junior high, but he recognizes the spark of irritation in his gut when the blonde setter smirks at him from across the court.

“So we meet again,” is what he says when he finds Kiyoomi stretching before the match. “And this time I know who you are,” his smile turns menacing, and his voice drops when he speaks again, taking in a breathy undertone. “Kiyoomi-kun.”

Kiyoomi remains silent, making a conscious effort to avoid his eyes and ignore his presence.

The setter remains unfazed, crouching obnoxiously to be in Kiyoomi’s eye-level. “Heard you weren’t a starter though. Shame, I was looking forward to seeing your famous wrists in action.”

Kiyoomi extends his right arm in the direction of his toes. He touches them with ease, so he pictures an imaginary spot ahead that he’s trying to reach. Closing his eyes, he relieves himself in the familiar pain of the position, feeling the back of his thighs burn.

“Well,” the setter stands up, a glint of irritation in his eyes from the lack of response. “Enjoy the show from the bench, I will make sure you will be looking at me.”

Kiyoomi still doesn’t spare him a glance as he walks back to his side of the court.

“Don’t mind him,” Iizuna’s voice reaches his ears. He raises his head to find his vice captain, also stretching, but staring apprehensively at Kiyoomi. “I heard their setter likes to play mind games, don’t let him get under your skin.”

 Kiyoomi nods quietly. 

“Talk about being drama queens,” Motoya mumbles under his breath when Inarizaki enters the court for their official greeting before the beginning of the match. “Was it necessary to throw the jackets like that? They’re just being a nuisance for their managers.”

Kiyoomi has to hold back a snort. He manages to hold a neutral expression with some difficulty, but he regards his cousin with a pointed side eye, making sure to display his amusement in the glance.

Motoya understands the gesture, and he has to bite back his own laugh before both teams are bowing to each other.

Itachiyama takes the first two sets without major issues, but Inarizaki manages to keep the game balanced throughout most of the third set. The fact makes Kiyoomi’s eyebrows twist in annoyance. Itachiyama is a team that usually starts the game more leisurely and picks their pace throughout the match, when their defensive system gets more effective. The change of rhythm in the third set brings discomfort.

“That’s their fourth point in a row,” the remark is useless, but he feels the need to voice it out anyway.

From the other side of the court, Miya Atsumu—he learned the name during one of their time outs, no longer just “their setter” or “the number 11”, he made himself into enough of a nuisance to earn full name basis from their team—has a grin that looks dangerously close to breaking his face in half, and two fists raised in triumph while his teammates scream in celebration around him after another service ace. He managed to miss all of his serves during the first set, but throughout the second one he adjusted his aim, getting more and more accurate with time, and by the time the third set arrived the apprehension on Itachiyama’s side of the court was almost palpable every time he made his way to the serving area. 

The moment he rotated to the serving position, Itachiyama had a 2 point lead on them. 

Now, after two service aces and two successful blocks from Inarizaki, Kiyoomi stares at the 19 x 17 scoreboard with unease.

“He has been targeting Daisuke-san ever since the set started,” his cousin points out next to him.

Kiyoomi hums. Daisuke is a very effective 1,96 meters spiker with an impressive conversion rate for his attacks, but his performance as a defender is average at best. It seems that Miya Atsumu caught up on the circumstance and he has been taking advantage of that ever since, not even the time-out Itachiyama asked after his first two successful serves was able to throw him off his rhythm.

Delighting himself in the turmoil he is causing, Atsumu starts his routine for his fifth serve in a row.

He slowly raises his hand in the air, before dramatically closing his fingers in a fist to silence  the crowd. (“Is he seriously going to do this shit every time?” A second year mumbles next to Kiyoomi.)

The scene repeats itself almost identically. Atsumu tosses the ball in the air, makes his run-up approach, stops just a few centimeters before the endline of the court, leaps. The ball hits his palm with a resounding smack, travelling through the court at an alarming speed before hitting Daisuke’s outreached forearms and jumping out of bounds with an ugly angle.

Service ace.

“Sakusa,” the coach calls his name before the cheers from their opponents can reach his ears.

He exchanges a glance with Motoya, his cousin giving him a meaningful look before Kiyoomi starts walking away from him.

“You good to go?” The coach asks, face impassive. Kiyoomi nods back at him. “Great, I don’t know what to tell you, just get that ball up, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

He regards Daisuke with a solemn nod while he hands him the substitution board, making sure their hands do not touch during the gesture, but his teammate doesn’t look him in the eye when he’s making his way out of the court.

Kiyoomi spares Atsumu a single glance when he takes the first step within the bounds, it’s enough to see the triumphant smile the setter sends his way.

Kiyoomi usually prides himself in being someone that is capable of leaving any unnecessary feelings away from volleyball, but as he sets himself into his receiving position, he can’t avoid the heavy feeling of irritation in the pit of his stomach when he looks up at the blond setter.

Atsumu smirks at Kiyoomi before starting his serve routine for the sixth time, still holding onto that stance that announces to the world that anything and everything in the court exists only for his personal entertainment—and without a shadow of doubt Kiyoomi knows the ball is coming his way.

Who are you, he thinks, inflated with spite, as he watches Atsumu count his steps. Who are you to think you have the right to act so entitled?

The ball crosses the air, coming his way.

This is my court as much as it is yours , he sends the ball straight into Iizuna’s waiting hands, immediately starting his approach for an attack. I am not here to entertain you.

“Left!”

The request is unnecessary, the ball is already traveling to him in a pretty arc. It strikes his hand with a satisfying smack milliseconds before hitting the opponent’s court.

In the back of his mind, he wonders if that was sufficient to make the setter drop his smile, he turns his back to him before he can check.

Iizuna smiles at him proudly, he doesn’t try to go for a high five, probably taking the hint from the two failed attempts from his teammates that Kiyoomi already dodged, even so, the finality in his voice when he speaks next is almost more grounding than a physical touch.

“Let’s finish this set.”

Kiyoomi glances to the side, inspecting his coach’s reaction for any indication of his intention to undo the substitution now, but he’s just sitting on the bench with a pleased smile while watching over them. 

He turns back to Iizuna, the corners of his lips tugging upward in a small smile of his own.

“Yeah. It has gone on longer than it should have already.”

He doesn't play more than two minutes in the final game. The win doesn't feel real, but he allows himself to be hugged by his grinning cousin without major complaints, and gracefully accepts his medal during the award ceremony.

By the time the Spring Tournament Qualifiers ends, both he and Motoya have earned their places as starters and he is already used to the high pitched way the cheer squad screams his name after a specially nasty kill.

It’s in the second half of november that the coach asks for a few minutes of their time after an afternoon practice.

Kiyoomi and Motoya give each other hesitant glances before approaching him, the rest of the team is already leaving the gym and making their way into the bath rooms. Kiyoomi tries not to scowl at the delay in his routine.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard it, but the All-Japan Youth Training Camp will be happening soon,” the coach starts. “I’ve received a call form Hitaki-san earlier today and it seems the both of you have received elective invitations for it. This is going to be their last open training camp, since next year will be the official summoning for the Asian Championship already. I am going to be very honest with you, there’s very few chances of you two making it to next year’s roster, but this is a sign that you are strong candidates for the next generation’s team and this might be an attempt to ease your transition into it, since Itachiyama is close to the National Training Center, it’s easier for our students to attend.”

The cousins stare back at him in stunned silence. Kiyoomi’s face is impassive, but Motoya was already spotting a delighted smile when the coach was halfway through the explanation.

“I understand if you have reservations, I honestly don’t know what kind of training they will have you do there and we have Nationals around the corner, so I will give you some time to think about it.”

“Komori and I will discuss the matter and give you an answer as soon as possible,” Kiyoomi says.

Later, when they’ve both bathed and made their way back to the dorms, Kiyoomi is starting on his homework when Motoya approaches the subject again.

“Do you think they will make us be ball boys?”

Kiyoomi frowns. “Probably. Maybe not all the time, but at least for some of the activities.”

Motoya hums. He is laying on his bed, eyes focused on the roof while his hands play absently with a volleyball—Kiyoomi has half the mind to scold him for letting the dirty ball touch his sheets, but he knows that would only earn a volleyball targeted at his nape.

“You want to go, don’t you?” He asks instead.

“Of course! You don’t want to?” Motoya sits on the bed to be able to look at his cousin.

Kiyoomi stares unseeingly at the notebook in front of him.

“Is Iizuna-san going to be there?”

“Yep, I am pretty sure he is their first setter,” Motoya says.

“Hm. And Wakatoshi-kun?”

“I have not seen the full list, but Ushiwaka is definitely gonna be there, yeah.”

Kiyoomi pictures it, then. A full week watching Iizuna set for some of the best players of their age range, maybe even hitting some of them himself and having the pleasure of seeing the best liberos in the country—his cousin included—struggle to bump his spikes.

He can invision Wakatoshi’s perfect form across the net, the motion of his left arm as he is about to spike a ball, the mental picture is imposing and daunting, but Kiyoomi can also feel the satisfaction in his gut when he is able to turn that hit into a perfect a pass.

“We should go,” he says, instantly starting to make a mental inventory of the things we will need. He ignores Motoya’s childlike celebratory screams behind him.

Kiyoomi will have to make a trip to the campus laundry room a little earlier than usual this week, he has to make sure he has spare clean sheets to take with him.

“Alright, I will notify the coach of our decision in tomorrow’s practice,” Motoya says.

Kiyoomi just hums in agreement, trying to bring his focus back to his homework, “By the way, are you going back home this weekend?”

“Oh, yes, I will go home friday after practice and sleep there. What about you?”

“My parents are traveling this weekend so I think I will stay here.”

“What about your siblings?”

“Akira will be on duty this whole weekend, and Keizo…” Kiyoomi hesitates. “I am not even sure if he’s in Japan right now, to be honest.”

“Well, you can come with me if you want. We will have to babysit Maru sunday morning though, but my ma said she will be back on time to cook lunch for us.”

There are two certainties in life: death, and the fact his aunt is a better cook than Kiyoomi’s parents will ever be. Kiyoomi leans closer to his desk, trying to hide his smile.

“I will think about it.”

Later, much later, after a week of catching balls, receiving balls and spiking balls, when they're walking to the station to make their way back to Itachiyama, Motoya asks, voice suspiciously nonchalant:

“So, what’s the deal with you and Iizuna-san?”

Kiyoomi stops on his tracks. What is your deal with Iizuna-san, he wants to ask back, because between the two of them, Motoya is the one whose actions are actually on the verge of being fanboy-like. He gives up on it, though, figuring the answer would come out too defensive.

Instead, he considers it for a second.

Sometimes Kiyoomi gets the impression Iizuna Tsukasa is a force of nature—there’s just something so solid about his presence, something unbending, a strength rooted in a sense of security that goes beyond reasoning. It’s kind of silly, but Kiyoomi is fifteen years old, and Iizuna is somehow the incarnation of everything he believes, everything he values, going even further as to take those beliefs and shaping them into the type of person Kiyoomi is pretty sure he would never be able to become, so he allows himself to be just a impressionable young boy for once. There’s nothing wrong in looking up to someone.

As he reflects on the matter, he recognizes a pleasant feeling in his gut; it’s something meek, gentle, doesn’t make his heart palpitate or his hands sweat nervously. It’s just a guileless sense of admiration, respect.

“It’s not like that,” he concludes, starting to walk again.

Motoya hums, following on his tracks immediately. Kiyoomi knows he won’t question his answer, they never felt the need to lie to each other.

“And what about Ushiwaka?” Motoya inquires, peeking at Kiyoomi’s reaction from the corner of his eyes.

Kiyoomi remains silent, purposely avoiding his eyes.

Motoya laughs. “I see. Why don’t you ask him out then?”

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “Would not work out. We’re too similar.”

His cousin squints at him, trying to read his expression. “I don’t know if you’re being reasonable or just making excuses.”

“Either way, it would be a reasonable excuse,” he says, fighting back a sardonic smile before entering the station.

ii. memories

Time is a strange concept. Each day of the Spring Tournament feels like a lifetime, the seconds passing by slowly in between the peaks of adrenaline from each match, but, once the competition is over, second year of high school is there in the blink of an eye. 

Iizuna looks as broad as ever in his new uniform, and Itachiyama manages to grab the Kantou Tournament out of Fukurodani’s hands to crown his first title as a captain.

Summer arrives with an unrelenting heat, and Kiyoomi finds in the sweat—disgusting, sticky, stubborn —his newest enemy, but it is just another thing he has to add to his list of opponents when Inter High begins. 

The team develops with the competition, finding stability, polishing new weapons and discovering the useful tactical variations that work for them in different circumstances of the matches. When Nationals arrive, Kiyoomi watches the results of something he helped build from the start and finds a really good feeling in his gut. This is a strong team.

They’re crossing the venue to get to their next game when Kiyoomi stops on his tracks suddenly, furrowing his brows with annoyance.

Motoya yelps, clumsily dodging him to avoid bumping into Kiyoomi. “What’s wrong?”

“Shiratorizawa lost,” Kiyoomi grunts, watching the panel displaying the brackets with a dark expression.

“Really?” Motoya follows his gaze. “To which team?”

Kiyoomi says nothing, but he can tell the exact moment his cousin catches the “Inarizaki 2 x 1 Shiratorizawa” sign in front of them, the panel highlighting the fact the Hyogo team is proceeding to the quarterfinals.

 “Ah,” Motoya says soberly. 

Ah, Kiyoomi agrees.

“C’mon,” he mutters darkly, getting on the move again. “Our game is about to start.”

Three days later, they find themselves face to face in the central court once again—except this time the fight is directly for title, and the mood around the court is completely different. It isn’t exactly a rematch Kiyoomi has been looking forward to, but he has to admit there’s a whole spectacle atmosphere around the match; starting by the face off between their cheer squads.

During the warm-ups, Itachiyama’s cheering squad chants their anthem behind Kiyoomi. On the opposite side of the court, the Inarizaki marching band showcase their own skills. Together, they fill the venue with unfathomable noise, Kiyoomi makes a conscious effort to tune them off.

“I know it’s pointless to cherry pick adversaries,” Kiyoomi starts, watching their opponent practice their spikes. “But there’s something about these guys that really rubs me off.”

Next to him, Motoya snorts, giving a pointed glance to a group of girls holding what seemed dangerously close to fanmerch with the twins’ face in the audience. “Tell me about it. What’s up with that whole jpop idols vibe? It’s literally just high school volleyball.”

Kiyoomi shakes his head, fighting a smile. “Let’s get this over with.”

Motoya pokes his side jokingly. “Try not to show off too much, alright? Let your cousin have some of the spotlight too.”

It goes like this: 

Inarizaki takes the first set by a nose, a 29 x 27 that finds its conclusion after a minute long rally, the ball dies just a few centimeters away from Iizuna’s reach when their opponents improvise an attack with Atsumu on the right. When the whistle blows signaling the end of the set, Kiyoomi gasps for breath, the exhaustion from running around the court non-stop for the last prolonged seconds finally catching up on him.

Itachiyama starts gaining their rhythm back in the second set, grabbing it with a four point lead.

By the time the third set comes around, Kiyoomi stares in stunned confusion as the other team just… falls apart.

Atsumu watches, with murderous eyes, as his brother’s spike is blocked back into their court. It’s the second time in a row that he is roofed; Atsumu tried to repeat the exact same play to boost his morale, but the outcome was also the same.

A quick glance at the scoreboard shows a 13 x 19 in Itachiyama’s favour so far, and the irritation is almost palpable in Inarizaki’s side of the court.

They’re rushing, Kiyoomi recognizes. 

Iizuna meets his eyes, and Kiyoomi can tell by his expression that he has arrived at the same conclusion as Kiyoomi, but his captain shakes his head at him, eyes determined.

“Nevermind them, let’s focus on our game. We can’t lose our concentration now,” his captain tells the team, and then Iizuna is making his way to serve for the third time.

At first glance, no one would question Inarizaki’s place in the finals, ever since their first official match at the Inter High's semifinal last year it was obvious the Hyogo team had one of the most promising rosters in the country in terms of individual talent, with huge prospects of improving as their first years back then kept gaining experience—the greatest challengers, is what the media affectionately nicknamed them. Still, watching them crumble in front of him, Kiyoomi can’t avoid the feeling of bewilderment. 

How did you get this far, he wonders. If you’re so easy to break.

As if on cue, Inarizaki’s coach calls for a substitution—and as the whole team holds a collective breath when their captain steps inside the court, Kiyoomi finally starts to get it.

In the back of his mind, Kiyoomi can recognize a hint of respect for the guy. His presence alone seems to both reassure his teammates and put them back on track, which speaks volume about his emotional influence on the group, but there’s also a heavy sense of assertiveness in the way he plays, filling in the spaces of the court, easily bumping the balls that Itachiyama would have taken as a granted kill just a few minutes before.

Sadly for him, it’s still not enough and the set ends with a 21 x 25 to Itachiyama.

Things turn around completely in the fourth set though.

“You good?” Kiyoomi asks his cousin after a failed attempt of a dive to save a block out ball. 

Motoya gets up gingerly, fixes his knee pads, and then turns to the scoreboard with a grimace—the panel reads Inarizaki 17 x 11 Itachiyama after that last point. He groans under his breath. “This sport is so traitorous sometimes.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t respond, but he knows Motoya doesn’t really expect him to.

“You’re doing nothing wrong,” the coach tells them after calling for a time out. “They had a few good sequences with their serves early in the set and that’s hurting us now, but you’re not making any mistakes. Their receiving improved a lot, so they’re being extra aggressive with the middle. Don’t panic, stay attentive and try to get at least two blockers in front of their number 10. It might be good to get more aggressive with your serves now, see if you can destabilize their first touch. Even if we can’t comeback in this set, let’s make sure we build a strong rhythm to for the next one ”

The team screams back in accordance, running back to the court when the whistle blows.

The very next play has Ojiro serving the ball straight into the net, Itachiyama's time out successfully managing to break his concentration.

Kiyoomi is up to serve next. He punches the ball over, targeting the back of the court, just a hair away from the sideline. It finds their libero’s forearms. The pass is kinda sloppy, going as far forward as the attack line, but Atsumu still makes a quick set out of it. 

The ball quickly crosses the air until it stops just a few centimeters away from the net, right into the contact point of Suna Rintarou’s hand—and then right into Itachiyama’s middle blocker's awaiting arms, falling back into Inarizaki’s floor with an alarming speed.

The team screams in triumph, followed closely by the celebratory chants from their cheer squad, but Kiyoomi hesitates, pensively retracing Inarizaki’s number 10 form in the air during the spike. Odd.

Across the net, the twins engage themselves in a screaming match at each other for whatever reason. Kiyoomi takes advantage of the distraction to approach Iizuna. “Number 10 is getting lazy,” he points out, lowering his voice.

“They’re starting to lose focus,” Iizuna turns his head discreetly to observe the events happening on the opposite side of the court. Then he turns his eyes back to Kiyoomi. “You good to go?”

Kiyoomi stops for a second, making a quick evaluation of his physical state. The fatigue is a given, considering they’re four sets into the game, but Kiyoomi knows it hasn’t achieved a point where it starts hindering his performance just yet. He thinks back to his last few spikes, his form in the air was still impeccable.

He hums in affirmation. “Send them my way.”

Iizuna smiles back at him.

Kiyoomi turns, starting to make his way back to the serving area when Motoya calls for his attention.

“You need not worry, my baby cousin,” Motoya’s smile is blinding and slightly obnoxious, he regards Kiyoomi with a wink, a clear indication that he was paying attention to his previous conversation with Iizuna, then uses his thumb to point at himself. “I will cover your back.”

Kiyoomi scoffs, not stopping to give him a second thought. “I wasn’t worried.”

Volleyball is, indeed, a very traitorous sport, Kiyoomi thinks to himself as he spikes the ball, making sure to snap his wrist in the way he learned gives it its nastiest spin. It’s hard to keep track of the trajectory after the strength he put on the hit, but everyone in the venue watches expectantly as it hits Kita’s extended arms and twists away from the court with a nasty angle.

Inarizaki’s libero tries to make a run for it but it’s useless, and the ball hits the floor just a few centimeters out of his reach.

Inarizaki 24 x 26  Itachiyama. Game over.

Inarizaki’s players fall to the floor in exhaustion, Itachiyama players jump over each other’s backs in celebration—not Kiyoomi’s, though, his teammates know better than that.

Kiyoomi feels two congratulatory pats on his back. Motoya.

“Not bad,” his cousin says.

“Ugh, I need a bath,” he groans.

“Hold that thought,” Motoya doesn’t try to hide the laugh in his voice. “We still have medals to receive.”

Later, after the whole award ceremony, they’re both sitting down by a bench waiting for the rest of the team to change. Kiyoomi’s own “Best Outside Hitter” award is placed by his right side, Motoya’s “Best Libero” one sits between them.

“You know,” he starts, watching from the other side of the court as Atsumu enthusiastically shows his captain his own “Best Setter” trophy, talking uninterruptedly while the other guy just nods at him with the same stern expression he had during the match—Kiyoomi can’t tell for sure, but he thinks there’s a hint of fondness in the captain’s eyes as well. He is looking intently at the captain when he continues, “It’s amazing how a single person sometimes can have such a huge influence over a team's balance.”

Motoya regards him with a hum in agreement, but his eyes are focused on something in his phone so Kiyoomi doubts he's actually paying attention to what he's saying.

The invitation to the All-Youth Japan Camp doesn’t really come as a surprise, but Kiyoomi still takes the situation with alarming levels of indifference.

It’s hard to remain optimistic over the prospect of another camp filled with new people and their lack of hygiene. New people that are very much not used to Kiyoomi’s idiosyncrasies, and the fact Iizuna and Wakatoshi aren’t going to be there only adds to the issue. The absence feels even heavier when you count the fact Wakatoshi won’t even make it to the Spring Nationals this year.

“C’mon, you should be a little more excited. We will get to play with lots of different people and meet some potential new teammates,” Motoya walks into their dorms animatedly and throws himself in his bed.

Kiyoomi wants to ask him when has he ever gotten excited over the prospect of meeting new people, but he decides to ignore him instead. “My shoulder doesn’t feel right,” he says instead, a frown decorating his forehead while his hand comes up to massage the sore joint.

The memory of a specific spike from the afternoon’s practice flashes through his mind. He traces back his movements, the approach, the jump; he overextended his arm a little bit to try and hit a ball that was a little higher than usual.

Did I overdo it? He holds back the urge to click his tongue.

“You know we follow an intensive training regimen for a very physically demanding sport. It would actually be weirder if you didn’t feel sore every once in a while,” Motoya reasons.

Kiyoomi directs his frown to his cousin. 

"I am not about to neglect a potential sprain just because you’re used to pain,” he says, giving a pointed glance to the dark bruises on Motoya’s arms.

“Alright, alright. If it will make you feel better, just take it easy for a few days, if it still hurts by then we can check with a physiotherapist,” Motoya says, the resignation clear in his voice, but Kiyoomi just disregards the tone and nods in agreement to the words. “By the way, you will have to go on your own. I need to pick up my sister from school before I make it to Ajinomoto. Try not to make many enemies without me.”

Kiyoomi groans.

The whole thing is as bad as he expected. The kick off happens even before he actually steps inside the National Training Center, coming face to face with a dark haired boy wearing a jacket of the team he recognizes as the one that beat Shiratorizawa. The decision to dislike the kid is almost immediate.

And of course, as soon as he walks inside the first thing he spots is a familiar shade of yellow hair. Their eyes meet, and, just as the hint of recognition flashes through the setter’s eyes, he regards Kiyoomi with a condescending sneer.

Kiyoomi isn’t stupid, he knew Miya Atsumu would make it into this camp way before the official list was available, even though the absense of his gray-haired counterpart did come as a surprise to him. He had firsthand knowledge that Miya Atsumu, when in good shape, is the kind of setter that elevates the level of his team by shear force—even so, discernment and logics aside, the weight of his actual presence still brings an uncomfortable feeling to the pit of Kiyoomi’s stomach.

The first day is constituted more by pep talks from the coaches and a few icebreaker exercises so the players can get more used to each other inside the court.

When Kiyoomi’s turn to spike one of Atsumu’s sets comes, he makes his approaches with caution, carefully analyzing the path the ball makes through the air in search for any flaws—the arc, the speed, the height, the distance from the net. He finds none.

The irritation feeds his movements when he swings his arm forward, but the resolute impact of the ball against the floor brings him no relief.

“Kiyoomi-kun, always a delight to see you play,” Atsumu approaches him later, seeming specially pleased with the way Kiyoomi frowns when he speaks his name. “How did you like my sets? Better than your captain’s, right?”

The posture makes it clear it is a rhetorical question; one of Atsumu’s hands sit comfortably on his waist in a dramatised display of nonchalance, but the knowing glint in his eyes and the taunting tilt of his lips make it obvious that—even though he genuinely believes his own claims—he is just trying to piss Kiyoomi off. 

Kiyoomi can feel his eyebrows twist into an ugly mix of disdain and disbelief.

You’re not even half of the player Iizuna is, he wants to say, and I don’t mean only the ability to set. 

“You’re delirious,” is what he settles for.

The next day, it is Kageyama.

The coach just gave his group a break to rest between their matches, and Kiyoomi is intently watching Motoya play in the court nearby when he hears someone approaching him from behind.

“Sakusa-san, what did you think of my sets?”

Kiyoomi closes his eyes, shoulders tensing in exasperation.

How is it possible that, out of all the teams in the world, he gets stuck in the one where the two setters are self-centered narcissists?

He turns around, nastiest glare in display to make it clear he has no intention of feeding the setter’s vanity, but the expression falls the second he makes eye contact with Kageyama.

There’s some awkwardness in the way he stands, looking up at Kiyoomi with an uneasiness that hints he isn’t used to this kind of situation, but it’s the glint in his eyes that makes Kiyoomi falter. There’s determination there, something genuine and earnest. The posture makes Kiyoomi hesitate, he’s not really sure what to make of his disposition, and the uncertainty fills him with a sense of uneasy.

This guy is not fishing for compliments.

“Uh,” he says eloquently, having to actually search back into his memories to be able to give him a genuine answer.

The picture of Kageyama’s tosses paints itself in his mind as he tries to recollect it, visualizing the moment, the shape, the feel, the way he moved in response to it, how his palm made contact with the ball. It’s… pretty great, if he is being honest to himself. Good enough that he didn’t even feel the need to overanalyze his options back in the moment, to second guess his approach, he instinctively knew it was a set that gave him no limitations.

He gives Kageyama another look, finds the guy staring back at him fixedly, and isn’t sure if he would be satisfied with an answer like that, so he tries to fish for something else. “It’s great the way it is when I am coming from the right, but you can put it a little closer to the antenna when I am on the left.”

Kageyama gives him a solemn nod before walking away. Kiyoomi watches his retreating back with distrustful eyes.

When their break is over, he sends him sets exactly the way he asked for.

It gets worse.

“C’mon, I don’t know why you’re so upset. It isn’t like you’re going all out anyway,” Motoya is not even trying to keep the amusement away from his voice.

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows are twisted in that complicated way that puts him dangerously close to a self-induced headache. You haven’t gotten serious yet, right? His brain mockingly echoes the words back at him.

Ugh.

“It doesn’t matter. If he had any kind of expectations that I didn’t fulfil, then it’s his own fault. It’s not like I owe him anything.”

“Alright, alright,” his cousin tries to placate him, schooling his expression back into neutrality, but his eyes are still so clearly laughing. “Say you’re right. The truth is that you were already a little wary of the guy, so you might be taking this a little more personally than necessary—”

He closes the door of the bath room in Motoya’s face.

Kiyoomi finishes his cool down stretches and starts making his way to grab his stuff in the corner of the gym to leave when he notices it.

Atsumu is hovering above Kageyama, exhaling that same poised manner he has everytime he knows he is about to get under someone’s skin. Instinctively, Kiyoomi finds himself directing his attention to their voices, catching a slice of their conversation. “You’re a goody two-shoes, aren’t you?”

Kiyoomi has to hold back a startled laugh, shaking his head in disbelief because, seriously, who does this guy think he is?

He is checking his water bottle and tucking it back into his bag when he notices the familiar presence next to him.

“Did you have your fun messing with the kid?” Kiyoomi asks, voice unimpressed.

Atsumu turns to him, face lighting up in a way that indicates he is delighted by the prospect of having a bigger audience witnessing the moment. “I just said it as it is,” he tries to say with nonchalance, but he's unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice. “He doesn’t have an inch of originality in his body, doubt the kid will even be here by next year.”

Truth be told, Kiyoomi understands where he is coming from. Atsumu, being Atsumu—and being surprisingly unapologetic about it—would obviously disfavour the way Kageyama has approached this camp so far, even though Kiyoomi personally can’t see anything wrong in being unpretentious when dealing with a strange environment for the first time. Not that Kiyoomi himself is a person that cares much about first impressions, but he isn’t going to condemn someone for that. The source of Kiyoomi’s own wariness regarding Kageyama is something different, something he hasn’t fully figured out yet.

“You should be more careful with that one,” is what he says while he closes his bag and stands up to leave. “He’s dangerous.”

When January arrives, he watches the Inarizaki vs. Karasuno match from the second floor of the stand.

“He kinda looks different,” Motoya squints at Kageyama.

“Does he?” Kiyoomi muses. He can’t see Kageyama’s expression clearly from this distance, but he knows what his cousin means.

“He looks… I don’t know, more intense?”

Kiyoomi hums. “We’ve been with him for only five days. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s a little different back with his team”

Motoya looks unsure. “That’s... fair…”

Kiyoomi remains silent, but he observes the setter attentively throughout the game.

When the final block comes, Motoya gasps next to him, but Kiyoomi can’t get himself to utter any sound. He silently scans the court, taking in their reactions.

It always amazes him—how much this moment weighs. There’s a beat of silence, almost like everyone in the venue is collectively holding their breaths, and then, the whistle blows for the last time.

Chaos.

Karasuno roars, Inarizaki falls on their knees. 

It’s such an overwhelming amount of emotional baggage in a moment that is actually so brief. They’re just a bunch of kids throwing a ball side to side for two hours like their lives depend on it, fighting desperately to see who gets to do it again the next day, until—until it’s over.

Kiyoomi huffs. He knows they’re way past logic at this point.

He observes the silhouettes below him. On Karasuno’s side of the court, the whole team gathers around Kageyama and his orange haired companion, celebrating their amazing feat. A glance to the other side, and the atmosphere he finds is completely different, the twins are collapsed on the floor, watching their opponents celebrate with disheartened faces. 

Somehow, the scene feels familiar.

Flew too close to the sun, uh?

He raises his eyes, scanning the cheer squad in front of him. An old acquaintance. So habituated to using sound to command a room, now it stands in gaping silence—this, he has seen before as well.

“You know,” he traces the words on their banner. We don’t need things like memories. “I understand there are, like, a bunch of different approaches to this thing, and they’re all… Uh, valid, I guess,” as much as they don’t make sense to me, he doesn’t add. “I get what their motto is supposed to mean. But sometimes I think they might take it a little bit too far.”

Motoya chuckles. “Why are you being so generous? We both know you hate their motto.”

Kiyoomi shakes his head, face souring. “It just doesn’t make sense to me. They should be a relatively experienced team already, but it just feels like they are repeating similar mistakes all the time. I just think it’s a waste… To put yourself through the experience of a competition only for the sake of not losing instead of learning a thing or two."

There’s a blur of motion in the corner of their vision, both of them look down to find Iizuna waving at them from the floor. When he notices he has the cousins’ attention, he gestures for them to come down to get ready for their own match.

Motoya gets on the move, but there’s still a hint of a smile on his eyes when he speaks next, looking at Kiyoomi over his shoulder. “Can we hold it against them, though? Winning is fun.”

Kiyoomi grunts, obediently following on his tracks. "I don't see how imprudence is gonna help them win anything, this way they will just have to settle for being the greatest challengers forever." 

iii. shelter

It’s like being hit by a bucket of cold water.

One second he is positioned to receive, attentively watching the spiker’s posture from across the net to discern the trajectory of the ball, and then Iizuna is crumbling in front of him.

It’s frightening, if only because in Kiyoomi’s mind Iizuna’s presence was larger than the court, larger than volleyball itself. It’s unnerving to see it collapse in front of his eyes.

Kiyoomi manages to keep the image away from his thoughts through the rest of the game. Iizuna is receiving medical care by the sidelines of the court. Kiyoomi avoids looking at the scene, takes a deep breath, and focuses on the familiarity of the game, finding relief in mechanical movements, immersing himself in the data the court provides him—reading, analyzing, adapting. Rinse and repeat. 

He doesn’t think he played any differently from usual, and behind him he can feel Motoya’s presence as steady as ever, but he knows his teammates are feeling the weight of the situation. Knows it in the botched sets he had to fix, adjust his approach, adjust his height, adjust his timing to. Knows it in the points the opposite team gets out of balls Itachiyama could easily defend a couple rallies beforehand. 

When the loss comes, Kiyoomi doesn’t feel too heavily about it. He hardly ever does when it comes to match results, they’re not a reliable parameter for his sense of contentment. Kiyoomi knows he played a good game—didn't make many mistakes—and so he leaves the court with few sources of regret.

No win is guaranteed. It doesn’t matter how much a team has a better structure, investment or a roster packed with individual talent, in the end, you can’t put these abstract concepts to play for you inside the court, you just use them to build something concrete and hope your hard work can be enough. Sports are maddening just like that. 

It’s obvious it causes a surprise, Itachiyama had a tradition of making it to at least the semifinals of the national high school volleyball tournaments for a considerable amount of time now, so the reaction is inevitable. Even so, Kiyoomi is indifferent to the mutterings around him when he leaves the court, he knows there are plenty of things that could’ve been done differently, that could’ve been done better, but somethings are just out of their control.

Still, Iizuna cries.

Kiyoomi doesn't really understand at first.

You did nothing wrong, he wants to say. There’s nothing to regret.

And shouldn’t this be enough of a consolation? Even more when you take into context Iizuna’s usual attitude towards these matters? 

He doesn’t dare utter the words out loud. Iizuna cries, and Kiyoomi recognizes there are things that are beyond his understanding. He is resigning himself to his own ignorance when Iizuna calls him out.

It’s a little bit unsettling, he has never seen his captain so agitated before. Iizuna is clearly on edge, he leans on the shoulders of his fellow third year companions, and cries, and shouts, unceremoniously going on about anything that crosses his mind in an unhinged manner, probably trying to find ways to distract himself from the pain. Kiyoomi warily fidgets with his wrists, nervous over being targeted by the scrutinizing glare. It must be a testament to Iizuna’s large presence of mind that, even in a situation like that, he still manages to read Kiyoomi perfectly.

“It isn't today, but one day I'll play my last game… And you'd better believe I'm gonna finish that one with a smile!"

These are the words that actually make it.

Iizuna and the rest of his teammates walk away. Next to him, he knows Motoya’s eyes are watering, but Kiyoomi’s remain unfocused.

It hits him then, that between Kiyoomi’s own convictions and boyish admiration, it was too easy to forget Iizuna is also just a boy, and he’s one that is leaving his last high school game in pained tears.

It keeps him awake that night.

Kiyoomi stares at the ceiling, feeling restless. Everytime he tries closing his eyes, the image of the fall flashes back through his mind, it leaves his chest aching with a gravity that makes a part of him wish he had the presence of mind to look away back in the moment, spare himself from witnessing it. Even so, a part of his conscience tells him that, had he not actually seen it, his head would somehow find worse ways to fill the gaps.

Deep down, he knows Iizuna is going to be alright. It’s a common injury in volleyball, and he will probably recover from it in no time. Despite everything, Iizuna has enough devotion for this sport to keep moving forward without a hint of hesitation. And yet, even with Iizuna’s unbending conviction, Kiyoomi can’t fight the dread that threatens to swallow him whole.

Because Iizuna can tell himself whatever he needs today, in this world there’s no way to find any real assurance he will get the outcome that leaves him satisfied in the end.

Kiyoomi looks down at his hands, letting his eyes stare at it unseeingly for a moment. When they focus, he assesses his own wrists, then flexes his fingers, feeling the ghost of a spike in his palm, the satisfactory sting the contact with the ball leaves behind.

Right, he ponders.

Kiyoomi knows he is a pragmatic person; he likes to do things with property, systematically, having total control over its process and, once he finds himself satisfied, its ending. But this… This could be over at any moment.

“The team thinks you should be our captain next year.”

Kiyoomi stops his ministrations, staring unseeingly at the homework he was trying to get done. A part of him is almost amazed that Motoya is able to utter those words in such a casual manner. “Now why would anyone want that?”

There’s no practice today, as it would’ve been the day of the Spring Tournament semifinals for them. The coach gave the team the day off, and while some of the players actually went back to the Metropolitan Gymnasium to watch the day’s matches, Kiyoomi and Motoya stuck around at their dorms, opting to watch the online broadcasts instead. 

The cousins try to stick to any shred of normalcy they can find in their routine now, but with the end of the Spring Tournament, the third year’s graduation looms ahead of them.

Motoya shrugs. “Why not?”

Kiyoomi hesitates. Now that feels like a terrible reasoning to pick a team’s captain on. He thinks back to the massive presence Iizuna has on their team, the sense of security he could bring with his existence alone. Then, he changes the direction of his thoughts, and considers a captain’s formal duties, he doesn't have any specific issues with being the one in charge of communication with the referees, but he’s well aware there’s an uncomfortable amount of handshaking involved in the position.

He flinches.

“I can’t be like Iizuna-san,” he says, with a total of zero inflection.

Motoya snorts.

“Trust me, you don’t have to tell us that.”

Kiyoomi turns around to stare at his cousin—or, more specifically, to target him with his frown. He usually disregards the use of a facemask when they’re alone, but right now he kinda wishes he hadn’t taken it off when they entered the room, he knows he’s way too easy to read, principally when it comes to Motoya.

“Then how come do you think this is a good idea?”

“C’mon, Ki,” Motoya is fighting back a smile when he makes eye contact with Kiyoomi. “No one else could ever be like Iizuna. And that’s not a bad thing. There are different ways to lead, you’re consistent and level-headed—doesn’t crumble under pressure. I think you’re a reliable foundation that we could build a strong team around, and the other second year’s agree with me.”

Kiyoomi’s frown doesn’t give up on him, he purses his lips—pouts—in consideration.

“Listen,” Motoya leans closer, and his voice drops a little, taking on a more softer tone. “I know it is out of your comfort zone, you don’t have to do it if you really don’t want to but,” he hesitates, and the next words come out almost as a whisper, “I think it could be good for you too.”

And that’s… Well, that’s kind of a low blow if Kiyoomi is being honest with himself, because no one knows him better than Komori Motoya and having him there, staring pointedly at him with that look that screams “I trust you with this” in his eyes, makes it a very difficult claim to argue with.

He gets back to his task, if only to turn his eyes away from Motoya’s intense stare and answers, voice small. “If everyone thinks it is what’s the best for the team, I can do it.”

The thing is, Motoya is that kind of presence that has existed for him since—well, always. There are no memories of a pre-Motoya stage of his life, there’s no conscious recollection of actually meeting Motoya for the first time. He is family, and even though they hadn’t been much close before volleyball happened, he’s the only relative Kiyoomi had that was close to his age and lived nearby when they were growing up.

And there has always been something undeniably kind about him.

He was there when Kiyoomi was a kid, awkward and unsociable, gifting him new puzzles even though he knew Kiyoomi prefered to do them alone (“I saw these and figured you would like it so I asked ma to get it. You can do it tonight and show me tomorrow after school,” he would say with a sparkling smile.)

He was there when Kiyoomi started feeling more conscious of germs and illness in general, finding in the meticulous cleansing a defense against other people’s lack of concern over the diseases they’re caring around. Motoya would stare at him strangely, frowning with confusion, but still obediently extend his hands every time Kiyoomi wiggled the disinfectant bottle in his direction.

He was there when Kiyoomi touched a volleyball for the first time.

And, in his own manner, Kiyoomi tried to be there for him too.

They were seven and eight years old the first time they understood loss. The baby chick survived a total of two months, which is forever for a kid’s time perspective. Kiyoomi doesn’t really understand why he feels so heavily—he didn’t even like the damn thing that much—but there was still this weird ache in his chest, a perception of void.

The comprehension that something left to never come back.

Kiyoomi has never been good with words, but he is rather expressive with his own aversions. Usually, Motoya is able to understand him like an open book with a single glance, a little side eye and he could tell all of Kiyoomi’s silences apart. Right now, though, Motoya isn’t looking at him.

“Do you… Want to give it a funeral?” He mumbles awkwardly.

Motoya’s eyes still look empty when he nods.

So they do, and Kiyoomi digs a grave and utters solemn words for a bird he knew for less than eight weeks. He swears he can feel the soil under his nails for weeks later on, but Motoya’s shoulders seem less tense when the whole deal is over than it was when they started.

They cope.

And Kiyoomi doesn’t regret it.

I think it could be good for you too.

“Quit agonizing about it now.”

The Kantou Tournament marks their first official competition as third years, the team followed a relatively comfortable road until the finals, where Itachiyama dropped the first set by a close call—having actually held the lead the whole time up until the 23 points mark, when a botched receive followed by a call for a double hit in Motoya’s attempt for a set gave the opponent team a chance to tie and then turn the set around on them.

Motoya has a distant look in his eyes that indicates he is persistently replaying the moment in his head.

“What?” Motoya blinks back at him.

Kiyoomi keeps his voice neutral. “It’s normal to have regrets after a match, but don’t let them weigh over you while the game is still going. Just focus on what you have to do next. You’ve been in good shape overall so far, so just try to keep that attitude for now. There will be time to reflect on what went wrong later.”

Motoya narrows his eyes, seeming unimpressed. “You speak like it’s so easy,” he says through gritted teeth. “Not everyone can be as apathic as you, you know?”

Kiyoomi exhales heavily.

“I am not saying it is easy. I know it’s not the same for everyone. I am just saying that a strong mindset, just like your physical skills, is something that you achieve with practice. This isn’t the first nor the last time something less than ideal will happen during a game, but it’s a chance you have of leaving this game stronger than you started it.”

There’s a pregnant silence that stands between them for a few heavy seconds, until Motoya’s face crumbles into a smile and he pokes Kiyoomi’s side playfully. “Damn, look at that! What are you? A captain or something?”

The whistles blows, indicating the teams ought to get ready for the second set. Kiyoomi stands up, putting his drink away. “That’s the last time I will try to cheer you up,” he mumbles before walking away.

“That was you trying to cheer me up?!”

“Shut up.”

“Captain.”

Kiyoomi turns his head, finding the figure of a boy squirming a few steps away from him. First year,  can't remember his name.

He is obviously nervous, if the way he anxiously fidgets with his fingers and is struggling to meet Kiyoomi’s eyes are any indication.

Itachiyama is a big team, and they have a strong roster system, so Kiyoomi understands that he might come off as a little unapproachable for the new kids sometimes, even more taking into account the fact he isn’t exactly a very sociable person anyway. 

Even so, this boy seems to have mastered the courage to come talk to him.

“Yes?” Kiyoomi tilts his head at him quizzically. He figures it would be rude to ask for his name now, he will just check with Motoya later.

The acknowledgment seems to calm the boy down a little.

“So, I was wondering,” the boy steps closer. Kiyoomi tenses, they’ve just finished practice and their cool down stretches, and this is usually the time the adrenaline cools off and he starts feeling hyper aware of everything. He dreamily thinks about the facemask inside his bag in the corner of the room. The kid seems to notice his discomfort, because he stops midway, “Uh.”

Kiyoomi hunches a little, sticking his hands deep inside the pockets of his tracksuit, it’s a subtle way of shielding himself, but he nods at the boy in reassurance.

“Go on.”

“So, uh, you’re… You’re a very good player and you’re very reliable too…” He starts again, awkwardly avoiding his eyes. “So I was wondering, how… How do you keep yourself motivated to improve? And, uh, if there’s a secret, or, like, a method to remain focused and be consistent during games.”

Kiyoomi blinks, “Self-fulfilment.”

The kid’s face twitches in confusion, “Eh?”

Kiyoomi stops. Right, that won’t do, let’s try again. He can feel the weight of Motoya’s vigilant stare on his back.

He cleans his throat.

“See, it’s different for everyone, what motivates them, what compels them to be better. A part of being a good player is that personal awareness, I can’t… I can’t tell what’s gonna work for you. It’s probably already a good sign that you took the initiative to come ask me about it. Reflect on yourself, discover what are your strengths and your weaknesses so you know what you have to effectively work on. As for keeping focus and mental stability…” Kiyoomi hesitates, weighting his next words. “I have a few books about it I can lend,” no, he won’t really want them back, “I can give you, if you want.”

The kid nods excitedly, eyes lighten up. “Yes, thank you, Sakusa-senpai.”

He respectfully bows before running away, a new hint of determination on his steps.

Kiyoomi turns around, not bothering to hide his pained expression, and runs face into the shit-eating grin in his cousin's face.

“Don’t ever get started,” Kiyoomi deadpans.

Wrong. His feet haven’t even left the floor yet but he already knows the whole thing is completely off target. He jumps anyway, but the outcome is expected.

From the other side of the net, Hoshiumi smiles wickedly, a single flip of his hand before the ball is ricocheting on Kiyoomi’s extended arm and going out of bounds at an unnerving speed.

Kiyoomi turns his head, watching the ball's trajectory before it hits the wall of the gymnasium with a commanding sound.

When he turns back, Hoshiumi is staring at him with a vicious grin, but it’s toned down by Kiyoomi’s apparent lack of concern. “C’mon, can you at least act a little bit frustrated?”

“I am frustrated, my reaction time was off and I arrived late for the block,” he says in a deadpan. “I figured something like that would happen.”

Hoshiumi’s expression darkens. “I mean getting frustrated at me! Because of my amazing skills!”

Kiyoomi blinks. “That’s a given.”

“WHY DOES IT FEEL INSULTING WHEN YOU SAY IT LIKE THAT.”

The rest of the team snickers around them, most of them used to their antics already. Kiyoomi just turns around, getting into position. “It’s your turn to serve,” he regards Hoshiumi with a poignant glare across the net.

The training camps get easier to endure, the players more familiar with each other (and their boundaries, thankfully) and conversation flows more naturally the more shared experiences they have. Motoya attracts new friends like a moth while Kiyoomi stands to the side quietly, does volleyball diligently and tries to ignore the insistent feeling of dread in his gut.

And for all that is worth, Miya Atsumu remains a nuisance. 

“Kiyoomi-kun! Motoya-kun!” The voice approaches him from behind. Kiyoomi’s face sours, but he maintains his eyes focused on the form of his cousin sitting in front of him, making sure his expression can translate his irritation. Motoya’s face screams exasperated amusement when he raises his eyes, focusing on a point above Kiyoomi’s shoulder.

“Hey, Atsumu-san.”

“Miya, I already told you not to use my given name.”

Atsumu rests his hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder in such an overly familiar way that Kiyoomi finds himself immediately turning his head to send a murderous glance in the setter’s direction, he gets to see Atsumu’s confident smile becoming an obnoxious toothy grin, clearly satisfied he got a reaction. “And I already told you not to call me ‘Miya’, makes me think of my stupid brother.”

Motoya shakes his head with resignation, “And how’s your brother doing, Atsumu-san?”

“That piece of trash? Probably taking advantage of the fact I ain’t there to slack off,” he goes for his usual flippant aggressivity, but there’s an edge of something in his voice that Kiyoomi can’t identify. He doesn’t pry.

“Either way,” he pats Kiyoomi’s shoulder with satisfaction. “Nice practice today, Kiyoomi-kun, your spikes were wicked as always.”

Kiyoomi thinks about his messy blocking and the few botched receivers he made early in that day while he pulls away from Atsumu’s contact. “It was average.”

Atsumu hums, staring at him with amusement. “Eh, you’re not a very passionate guy, are you?"

Kiyoomi tenses.

“Well, at least I’m not the kind of person that lets my own unrestrained excitement affect my judgment,” he tries to keep his voice in his usual deadpan, but it’s hard to avoid the hint of venom in the words.

The setter recoils, his easy smile turning vicious all of sudden. “What are you implying?”

Motoya stands up, laughing nervously. “I think that’s enough. They’re starting to serve dinner, let’s get something to eat.”

They keep a heavy staring contest for a few seconds more, before Atsumu scoffs, giving his back to them and leaving the cousins on their own without uttering another word.

“What’s the deal with you?” Motoya lowers his voice, leaning closer to scold him.

Kiyoomi shrugs, swallowing his discomfort. “He started it.”

“And you kept it going! What are you? Seven?!”

Kiyoomi grunts.

They don’t approach the subject again. The next day, Atsumu sets the ball to Kiyoomi just as he usually does, and regards him with the same triumphant smile he always gives when Kiyoomi turns it into a perfect kill.

Later in the week, the whole team is reunited at one of the resting rooms to watch a live match of the V. League together. Kiyoomi stands a little away from the rest of the group, comfortably leaning closer to the door and watches as the tiny version of Wakatoshi in the television punches another ball home.

“Terrifying, uh?”

He turns his head with surprise, finding coach Hitaki next to him staring cheerfully at the television, arms crossed over a chest stuffed with pride. Kiyoomi nods, unsure of what to answer.

“He’s still unpolished, all of you are, really. But there’s a bright potential ahead,” he keeps going. Kiyoomi just looks back at the television, hiding himself even more into the collar of his jacket. Hitaki apparently understands his personality well enough to not take offense on that. “If I am being honest, I think the two of you are a perfect embodiment of what this next generation has in store for us. You will achieve great things.”

Is this some kind of mental game? Is he trying to keep me motivated or something?

Kiyoomi eyes him out of the corner of his eye, grateful his facemask is hiding the hard set of his lips. The coach simply smiles at him with ease before walking away.

Kiyoomi keeps his eyes locked on the television, but there’s not much watching after that.

The camp ends with lighthearted goodbyes and promises of reencounters at the Spring Tournament.

(“You two better be ready, Inarizaki will beat the pants out of you this time,” Atsumu sing-songs over his shoulders when he is making his way to the station.)

Things remain the same for about two more weeks before Motoya finally confronts him.

They’re back in their dorm, a laptop open to a stream of the Intercollegiate Volleyball Championship sits in front of them. I will be a starter in today’s game, was the message Iizuna sent them earlier today, and so they organized their schedules to be able to watch it together.

“Oh, Bokuto is starting the game too!” Motoya watches excitedly as the commentator introduces both teams and their available benches, a nostalgic smile in his face. “It’s weird to see them face each other again from a screen instead of from the court.”

Kiyoomi nods quietly, eyes focused on the laptop.

It takes a total of two sets before Motoya finally caves.

“What’s the deal with you?” He turns to Kiyoomi, eyes serious. “You’ve been weirdly quiet for a while now, at first I figured it wasn’t anything that serious since you always end up finding some new thing or another to worry about, but it has only gotten worse ever since we came back from the camp. Did something happen?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t take his eyes away from the screen, even if he struggles to actually pay attention to the game. “Have you got any offers yet?” He asks instead.

Motoya observes him carefully, probably finding it strange that Kiyoomi decided to approach this subject now of all times, when they have never talked about it before.

Because I’ve been consciously avoiding it, Kiyoomi muses.

“Hm, yeah, a few. The Red Falcons and the Railway Warriors got in touch with me, but I think I will end up signing with EJP Raijin. What about you?”

“The Falcons got in touch with me too, also the Black Jackals… And the Adlers,” he mumbles.

“Woah. Really? That’s so neat!” Motoya turns excitedly to give Kiyoomi his full attention, “I heard the Adlers approached Hoshiumi too, they’re really going for a power roster...”

Kiyoomi hunches in discomfort.

“Motoya, how did you know you wanted to keep playing volleyball? Like, professionally?"

His cousin falters, staring at Kiyoomi in stunned silence before the realization hits his eyes.

“Uh, there was nothing else for me, I think,” his voice is softer now.

Kiyoomi nods unseeingly.

“Don’t you… Like volleyball?” Motoya asks hesitantly.

He shrugs. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’s... satisfying. I never gave it much thought before. I started playing so I committed myself to do it properly and then I just… I… It never felt like I achieved any type of closure so I just kept going. And I got pretty good. So now I’ve just been thinking about it,” he looks down at his own hands. “What would the ideal closure be like? I never made an actual decision but it seems like everyone just kind of expects me to keep going now.”

Motoya looks at him pointedly. “You don’t care for what people think.”

“No, I don’t.”

They remain in silence for a few more minutes, both pretending to pay attention to the game but actually lost inside their heads. Motoya keeps giving him sideway glances, posture reluctant, like he feels the need to say something else but isn’t sure what.

“It’s just,” Kiyoomi starts again later. “I am just... not sure of what I think either? If I were to answer — do I want to quit volleyball today? — I would probably say no, I am not fully satisfied with where I am right now, but… It’s different, from the way it is to you, I think.”

You’re not a very passionate guy, are you? He can hear Atsumu’s voice mocking him again.

“I’ve been thinking about this ever since last year’s Spring Tournament. If I decide to keep going now and end up getting a career ending injury... I wonder if that outcome would make me even more frustrated than I’d be if I stopped it now. I know we all are susceptible to stuff like that, but whatever it is that makes you so adamant in pursuing this despite the risks… I don’t think I have it. I don’t think I have what it takes to just ignore these possibilities and keep going. I could pursue something else, something that gives me… Stability? Where I wouldn't feel like my life was relying on a stroke of luck, and I believe it could make me feel satisfied as well, but… I don’t want to regret leaving this behind.”

Motoya considers his words, looking pensive. When he looks up again to meet Kiyoomi’s eyes, his expression is tender. “You’re afraid,” he says softly. 

Kiyoomi smiles sadly, it’s not really a question but he answers anyway. “Yeah, I think I am.”

Motoya hums. “That’s fair,” he nods softly. “Listen, I know it must be difficult because everyone around you seems to have everything figured out already, but I don’t think you have to hurry.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Motoya shrugs. “Well, I am pretty sure you must’ve received plenty of college proposals as well, right? Just because you got an offer from a good team, it doesn’t mean you’re obliged to make a life decision now. Keep your options open, the Intercollegiate Championship is very competitive, I am sure you will be able to develop as a player just fine there, and you can just go ahead and get yourself a degree too. If there’s someone I know who can afford to do both properly, it is you. And then, when it’s over, you can reevaluate if you feel like you’re done with volleyball or if you’ve found a good enough of a reason to stay.”

“You’re telling me I should postpone my decision,” Kiyoomi purses his lips.

“I mean, who knows? You might be a completely different person in four years.”

Kiyoomi stares at him for a few seconds, pondering his words, and then he nods. “Yeah, alright.”

Motoya smiles brightly in response. And then he kicks Kiyoomi’s shin.

“Ouch! What was that for?!” Kiyoomi exclaims.

“Quit moping around for almost one year when there’s something bothering you, alright?” Motoya scolds him. “Just talk about it, damnit.”

“I wasn't moping around, I was reflecting!”

“Reflecting my ass. Now shut up and pay attention to the game.”

The rematch against Inarizaki happens in the semifinals of the Spring Tournament. Atsumu’s overconfident smile greets Kiyoomi when the setter approaches him to perform their official greetings, his own captain badge standing out proudly in his uniform.

“Kiyoomi-kun, let’s have a nice game,” he singsongs happily, wiggling the fingers of his extended hand in an uninviting manner.

Kiyoomi gingerly completes the handshake, ending the contact as soon as it deems acceptable. “Good luck.”

Atsumu leans closer, his smile turning almost maniacal. He drops his voice to speak next, but the edge of challenge is definite in the words. “This time, we will come out as winners.”

Got it, he thinks as the ball leaves his palm, brushing the fingers of the middle blocker in front of him and twisting with an ugly angle to the side—except that, before it can hit the floor, Inarizaki’s libero appears under the ball in a motion that has the audience around them roaring.

Before he can even register the unlikely save, Atsumu already has his hands on the ball, sending it decisively into Osamu’s waiting palm before it hits Itachiyama’s court with a thunderous sound.

Damn their stupid quick sets—honestly, it's all Karasuno's fault.

Kiyoomi looks over his shoulder discreetly, half expecting Atsumu to be looking at him with that self-satisfied smirk he had been sending his way every time Inarizaki managed to punch a specifically mean one on their faces, but finds him staring softly at his brother instead, the set of his smile taking into a shape that looks almost like sorrow.

Kiyoomi frowns, turning back to the scoreboard. 23 x 20 to Itachiyama. It’s the fourth set of the match, Inarizaki managed to take the first one once again, but Itachiyama finished the following two ahead. Two more points to them and it is game over, but—

“Sorry, I took too long to react,” Motoya raises a hand apologetically.

“Don’t mind it, there was no getting that one,” he shakes his head. “But it definitely gave them a confidence boost, so let’s stay focused and make the next one count.”

The sound of the whistle cuts through the air, they turn around and find Miya Atsumu staring at them from the serving spot with a — yeah, there it is — mean smirk targeted their way.

The silence around them is heavy with expectation, Kiyoomi takes a deep breath before crouching down into his serve receiving form.

It takes less than a second for the ball to cross the court after leaving Atsumu’s hands, but he doesn’t target Kiyoomi this time. Instead, the whole venue watches as it hits Itachiyama’s opposite hitter — Sato Hayato, a second year kid — in the shoulder in such a powerful manner that pushes the boy to the floor and goes up again with a high arc, losing itself in the stands behind them.

The crowd hollers, Inarizaki’s marching band starts playing once again while the rest of the cheer squad scream their chants. Atsumu’s smile is triumphant. 

“Are you alright?” He turns to the second year, Motoya is extending his hands to help him up.

“Y-yeah, I am sorry,” he mutters.

“Don’t worry about it,” Motoya gives him a reassuring smile. “I will increase my coverage area, but If he keeps targeting you with the same serve, try and take a step back from the initial formation, give yourself a little more room to breath.”

Atsumu gets the ball once again, and counts six steps from the end line. Another spike server.

Kiyoomi grimaces, he gets himself into position anyway, but he knows the ball isn’t coming for him.

This time, he aims it a little bit more to the middle of the court, the kid manages to move his arms fast enough to intercept the ball’s path, but that’s all he can do. 

The ball doesn’t gain any height, splashing into the net and starting its fall. Their setter tries to react, but he barely has the time to make one step before the ball is hitting the floor.

23 x 22.

Kiyoomi turns to their coach to gauge his reaction. He is sitting by the bench, body tense and face pained, but he makes no mention to move. They’ve used both their time outs already. The whole team is holding their breaths. Their reserve players sharing unnerved looks in silence. There’s not a single player that could step inside cold and get that ball up on the spot right now.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“You’re panicking,” Kiyoomi turns to their opposite hitter, the kid stares back at him shakily.

“Uh?”

“You’re picturing a failed receive in your head before the ball even reaches you. There’s no need for that, you’ve already bumped plenty of his serves today.”

Atsumu starts walking his way back to the server position.

“Just clear your mind and get the ball up. It doesn't need to be perfect, we will deal with the rest.”

The third serve is more similar to the first one, coming straight into his direction with frightening speed and power. The bump isn’t pretty, far from it, the ball’s trajectory being a good 2 meters away from the attack line, but it is high, and Motoya is under it in no time.

Kiyoomi doesn’t need to say a word, he knows the ball is coming to him.

He gets ready and watches as his cousin sends the ball his way with an overhand set. Motoya makes a respectable job, but It’s still a difficult set to spike, it’s hard for Kiyoomi to track the ball and adapt his approach since it is coming from behind his head, more so if you consider there’s a triple block ready to jump in front of him, yet he has no other choice but to make it count.

He punches it down, the ball hits Osamu’s arms and slides to the floor in a waterfall.

The referee whistles, signaling Itachiyama’s point. The team screams around him with a mix of enthusiasm and relief. At the other side of the court, Atsumu’s face promises murder.

Kiyoomi grimaces, all his preservation instincts screaming ‘danger’ back at him. At that moment, he was pretty sure Atsumu would smash his wrists between his hands if he could. But he ignores the will to recoil. Now, Itachiyama rotates, and Kiyoomi is up to serve.

There’s no ceremony on his part, he tosses the ball up and sends it over as soon as the referee hits the whistle.

The ball touches the tape of the net teasingly, losing most of its momentum before slowly falling into Inarizaki’s court.

The whole gymnasium holds its breath.

Atsumu manages to throw himself to the ball, getting an fist under it, but it doesn’t get much height. Their libero follows up with an impressive dive, sending the ball over the net back to Itachiyama’s side.

Motoya follows the ball’s path with his eyes, watching as it hits the floor.

Out of bounds.

Game over.

They end up not winning the whole thing this time, but Kiyoomi finds himself with very little regrets when he hears the whistle that signals his very last high school game.

Hoshiumi is loud, throwing himself at his captain the moment the game ends, screaming with a war cry. By the time they’ve calmed down and gotten in position for the final greetings, his chest is so puffed he looks almost five centimeters taller.

Later, when everything is done and over with, he approaches Kiyoomi while holding his ‘Best Outside Hitter’ award and points to its counterpart in Kiyoomi’s hands.

“Let’s try to make this an habit” is what he says.

Kiyoomi huffs softly, and he finds himself fighting back a smile when he nods in agreement.

“I think that seals the deal for now,” the coach officially shuts down their meeting.

They’re back at Itachiyama, standing in a semicircle around their coaches while making the final needed settlements for the team before their graduations. Kiyoomi stands to the right, with Motoya and the rest of the third years next to him.

“Unless your captain has anything else to add?” 

The whole team turns to stare at Kiyoomi expectantly, who simply frowns in discomfort at the sudden attention.

Ans Kiyoomi, well, Kiyoomi is kind of screwed, he didn't have anything ready to add.

“Ah.” Motoya snickers behind his hand, not even trying to mask his amusement. The asshole.

His cousin elbows him gently, muttering under his breath. “Take off the mask.” 

Kiyoomi obliges, turning to the first and second years while sliding his mask under his chin.

They all stare at him with wide-eyed expectancy, he decides to inspect a specific point of the wall behind them instead.

“Well… All things considered, I think this was a good year to us. Aside from the medals we conquered to show for it, I believe we’ve managed to achieve things that go way beyond our results. I’ll be leaving with no regrets,” he hesitates, searching for the right words. “I've learned a lot this year, and I thank you all for that. As for my last words as a captain, there’s not much to it, I only hope that throughout this year, we’ve managed to help you believe —  no, not believe, to know —  that this is a strong team regardless of who is in that court. And I hope you keep that in mind as well when we’re not here next year.”

He risks a glance in their direction. “Oh god, please don’t cry.”

The kids are staring at him with teary eyes, some with quivering lips. Kiyoomi feels his eyebrows twisting in discomfort, turning to his cousin in search of help—only to find Motoya’s eyes looking suspiciously watery as well.

What the hell.

“Please, stop crying. Let’s finish cleaning up and leave before it gets dark. Komori will treat you to rice cakes.”

“What the—why me?!” Motoya sputters beside him.

“You’re the one who will be getting a steady income from now on,” his answer is dry.

“You little—Your parents literally gave you a Tokyo apartment as a graduation gift!”

“They just thought I needed a place closer to college. It’s a necessity!”

"That's not the point! You're loaded! Treat your kouhais!"

The rest of the team watches their interaction with a mix of amusement and nostalgia in their eyes.

“This feels weird.”

They’ve just finished cleaning off their dorm, bags huddled next to the door. Motoya stops his patrol to check if they forgot anything behind to send Kiyoomi an inquiring look.

He shrugs. “Seeing this place so bare. Leaving it behind. Knowing that what comes next will be an experience completely different than anything we’ve done so far.” Saying goodbye to you, he doesn’t say it out loud, but his cousin picks up on it anyway.

“C’mon, Ki. I will just be a few hours away from here anyway, you know I will come visit all the time, right? ” He laughs.

Kiyoomi can feel his mouth twisting in displeasure. it’s not the same .

“Also, I will call you everyday! Two times a day! You won’t even have the time to miss me.”

Kiyoomi grimaces, now that’s a little bit extreme. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Of course it is necessary! I will need someone to gossip about my new team! Also, you better go create some good stories in college, understand? Don’t waste it being all holed up in your room, create some memories!”

Kiyoomi groans. “What? And share all my embarrassing stories with you so you can have blackmail footage on me? No, thanks.”

“Kiyoomi,” Motoya turns to him seriously, eyes looking somber. “I already have a life’s worth of blackmail footage from you, don’t let this hold you back.”

Kiyoomi’s expression darkens, but he accepts defeat.

After Motoya finishes his last check up, they grab their bags and make their way out. Kiyoomi looks back, staring at the room one last time before leaving.

“Hey, Motoya.” His cousin hums beside him. “Thank you. For everything.”

Chapter Text

iv. trust

Kiyoomi turns eighteen on the day of his high school graduation, and then he’s off to a completely new stage of his life.

There’s some relief in the fact Kiyoomi can be in a place that provides him with a good education and a competitive team not so far away from home. Even before he actually got their offer he knew the Waseda University was the logical choice for him, he knows Tokyo like the back of his hands, it has everything he could ever come to need, and Kiyoomi is glad he gets to remain in his home city to make the whole experience a little less foreign.

Even so, that's as far as his luck goes on this matter. 

“So, you’re the Sakusa Kiyoomi,” a few of the older players gather around him after the team's official introductions. Their actual captain specifically, Yuji Miyaura, watches him with intent.

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow. The Sakusa Kiyoomi? 

"And what is that supposed to mean?" He asks drily.

Miyaura doesn’t avert his eyes from him. “Well, you are kind of a big deal, aren’t you? Star player of Itachiyama, part of the Youth Team…”

"Didn’t he make it to the cover of the Monthly Volleyball magazine once?” An indistinguishable voice mumbles.

“I am pretty sure he did.” Someone says back.

The captain ignores the chatter behind him, face remaining unaltered. “We knew you would be getting an offer, but most of us just assumed you’d go straight into the V. League like most of your friends did anyway. So.” He says pointedly. “What are you doing here?”

Kiyoomi tenses, his mask working well enough to cover the annoyed twist of his mouth, but he knows his eyes are expressive enough to give away his discomfort anyway. He remains quiet at first, but Miyaura raises his eyebrows at him expectantly, hurrying him on.

“I wanted to complete my studies,” is what he settles for.

Miyaura gives him a solemn nod. “Very well then. I did hear you could be very…” He hesitates, giving Kiyoomi a very obvious once over, taking in the way he shrinks himself inside his tracksuit, hands deep inside its pockets, up to the face mask covering his face and his unsympathetic eyes. “Peculiar. But I trust we won’t have any problems here,” he says it with a diplomatic smile, but there’s a hint of a threat underneath the words.

Kiyoomi’s expression hardens. “And why would we have any problems?” His voice comes out slightly strangled. “I am just here to play volleyball, like everyone else.”

Miyaura stares back at him, face unreadable. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

As promised, Motoya calls.

“—and there’s a really expensive weight room as well, the liberos don’t spend as much time there as the rest because we have to watch over our weights, but it’s still so cool!” Motoya's voice animatedly recounts through the speaker, Kiyoomi listens attentively, making sure to say the “ah”s and “uhum”s in the proper moments, but not having the presence of mind to come up with anything more complex in response. “And what about you? How are things going with the new team?”

“Ah...” Kiyoomi says, a little reluctant.

“What was that supposed to mean?” There’s a laugh in Motoya’s voice. “Don’t tell me you’re being bullied already? Or, wait, please tell me you're not the one bullying them...”

Kiyoomi scowls. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not anything like that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs cluelessly, even though his cousin can’t actually see him. “They just seem to be wary of me for some reason.”

“Hmmmmm,” if Motoya had any intention of coming out as unassuming in the first place, he failed miserably—the sound comes out heavy with the weight of unspoken words. 

“What.”

Motoya chuckles knowingly. “It’s just... All your life you had me by your side to explain to the people around you that ‘he’s not that bad!’, you know? But now that you’re on your own for the first time, I think it’s time you start working on convincing them for yourself.”

“Eh…” Kiyoomi grumbles.

“I mean, I am not saying you aren’t bad,” Motoya reiterates. “Because you are. Pretty terrible. But you still manage to sell yourself even shorter somehow. So. Get to work.” There’s the sound of a muffled voice saying something unintelligible in Motoya’s end of the call. Kiyoomi waits, and then his cousin is turning back to speak to him again. “Well, I have to go now. Good luck with your thing, just make sure your teammates know you don’t hate them and you’ll be fine.”

Kiyoomi groans, Motoya laughs.

“Whatever,” he mutters.

He doesn’t see, but he knows Motoya is shaking his head on the other end of the call. “I will call you again later, and try to visit soon.”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi's voice comes out quieter than the usual. “Take care.”

“Always do!”

The thing is, Kiyoomi didn’t expect college to be easy—he isn’t an idiot—but he’s hardworking and disciplined, so he figured things couldn’t be that complicated. 

Silly old him.

It just hit him then, that all his life he has been hardworking and disciplined over things he liked to do. Volleyball is rewarding and, in the right circumstances, can even be fun. At this point, cleaning comes to him almost as naturally as breathing or eating, it is a necessity. He can’t say studying is a joyful experience, but there’s a very specific kind of satisfaction that comes when you fulfill a duty and knows that you have obtained something out of it. So it’s difficult to accept that building functional relationships is something that’s going to demand effort as well.

Still, Kiyoomi gets to work. If I am to become a completely different person in four years, I might as well start now.

He tries to join in the team’s outings every once in a while (it’s not that bad), and even show up in a few of the parties of the campus (these are dreadful). He finds out college students have terribly low standards for alcohol, and are much more prone to bad life decisions. Sometimes, he even lets cute boys approach him, entertaining them in the rare occasion they’re not revolting, nothing too lasting or meaningful though, and even goes out with a few girls that wind up the nerves to reach out to him, only if it is to make sure it’s really not his thing (it’s not, which is a shame, since they tend to be much neater).

Volleyball is harder, everyone is bigger and broader than they were back in high school, but Kiyoomi welcomes the challenge. Motoya keeps calling, it gets less frequent as the months proceed and his practices get more intense, but he keeps up on his promise to visit him during his breaks. His parents tell him the Waseda colours fit him when he sends them a picture with the official uniform, but he’s not sure if they would be able to give him an unbiased opinion.

Overall, the experience teaches Kiyoomi that college kind of sucks, but some people aren’t so bad.

When summer arrives, and he finds himself once again staring at the Ajinomoto Training Center facade, he doesn’t really think he’s much different as a person than he was six months ago, but he somehow feels sixty years older.

"Hey you!" His cousin greets him when he arrives at the volleyball facilities.

He regards him with a short nod. "Hey, when did you get here?"

"I took a morning shinkansen!" Motoya says, way too cheerfully for someone who has taken a morning shinkansen.

Kiyoomi looks around, accessing the people in the gym. There's a little less people than usual this time, since it’s the first time they’re being actually summoned as members of the Under 19 National Team instead of just as prospective players. Whoever made the cut is now a part of the official roster that will compete in the 2014 Asian Youth Championship. They're scheduled to spend two weeks training here before embarking to Sri Lanka for the tournament.

"Everyone here already?" Kiyoomi asks.

Motoya shrugs. "I don't know. I haven't seen Kageyama and Hoshiumi yet. Wanna go pick a dorm?"

"Sure."

They get settled and come back to the initial meeting with the coach when everyone finally arrives. Kiyoomi glances around quickly, assessing the people in the room. He recognizes all the faces he already expected to be here. Kageyama and Atsumu are side by side in the first row, listening intently to the coach's instructions, both of them looking broader than Kiyoomi remembered. A little to their side, Hoshiumi stands with the same fiery eyes, spotting a new haircut that makes him a little shorter than Kiyoomi remembered, but also more mature.

"We will go to the meeting room to discuss strategies and watch a couple reference videos later, but for now I will have you get straight into playing together to ease you back into each other's skills. You can split up in two teams, don’t think too much about it, aside from setter and libero I’ll be switching up the rosters a lot. Let’s get to work.”

The team screams in agreement and everyone is immediately on the move.

Kiyoomi watches Kageyama work with a bit of anxious wonder, actually surprised with how much the kid has improved in less than two years. His technical skills have never been up to questionment, tosses still precise as always, but he holds himself with a new kind of confidence now, a quiet and secure sense of dignity. Kageyama doesn't really come out as outgoing, he’s usually quiet and unobtrusive, but it’s clear now that he’s the type of person whose presence on the court is imposing

Two years ago, Kiyoomi looked at him and felt a twinge of discomfort in his guts, the type of uneasiness you feel when dealing with a type of strength you can't recognize. Now, he looks at Kageyama and just feels the hint of careful apprehension he always gets when facing someone that is inherently strong. 

"Nice kill," Kageyama regards him after a specially nasty line shot. He then sends the opposite team a quick glance before he speaks again. "They're starting to pick up on our timing, do you want to try hitting some faster attacks? I can bring the ball to you."

There's that too, the setter is way more comfortable in his own communication skills now, approaching his colleagues with more naturality. He's not exactly a flourished speaker, but Kageyama himself doesn't seem personally bothered by it and Kiyoomi actually appreciates the frank manners.

Kiyoomi rotates his wrists absently to ease the tension in them while he considers. "Hm, just try to send them with a little higher arc for now," give me more time to pick a target, he doesn't say, but he can picture the fingers of the blockers in front of him offering themselves to be tooled in his mind. "I want to test their blockers. We can try messing up with different tempos later."

"Alright," Kageyama nods, moving back to his position. The coach nods at them with satisfaction from the sidelines.

The ball cuts through the air above their heads, making its way into Motoya's waiting arms on the other side of the net. It goes up again in a pretty arc, a perfect A-pass into Atsumu's waiting hands.

A middle blocker starts his approach, the ball leaves Atsumu's hands, Kiyoomi jumps.

Wrong, he watches the spiker's position in the air. Their timing is a little off. Kiyoomi sees the moment the middle blocker changes the swing of his arm, taking the speed out of the motion as he tries to adapt and go for a tip instead.

Kiyoomi waits a beat until the ball is about to cover him, stretching his body a little more in the air, extending his shoulders until his fingers get a decent grasp on the ball before snapping his wrist down. The ball hits the middle blocker's shoulder and falls to the floor almost at the same time Kiyoomi lands on his feet.

"Nice!" Hoshiumi laughs behind him.

"Someone could have followed up on that," the coach reproaches. 

"You missed a step in your approach!" Atsumu growls at the middle blocker, teeth bared and eyebrows twisted.

The boy flinches and apologizes quietly.

Kiyoomi observes Atsumu from the corner of his eyes. He's not sure if it's just an impression but it seems like he has been more… on edge than usual today. At first, he seemed to give out the same confidence as always, he has always been demanding with the people around him, but he's also someone who usually radiates careless joy when he's playing volleyball—watching him on the court now, it almost feels like there's something weighing him down.

Motoya looks at him expectantly from behind Atsumu, waiting for Kiyoomi to make eye contact before sagging his shoulders with exasperation. Kiyoomi gives him a poignant shake of his head in response.

The practice ends a few hours later, with Kiyoomi, now on the opposite side of the net, making a block out so powerful that Hoshiumi's expression instantly turns sour in front of him. Atsumu sends him a feral grin, clearly pleased with the move.

"That's it for now, kids. Go clean up and eat something, see you in the meeting room later."

They barely make two steps after filling their trays before Hoshiumi is waving at them from the other side of the dining room. "Sakusa! Komori! Come sit with us."

Kageyama and Atsumu look up from the table to follow Hoshiumi’s gaze, while the cousins share a glance—Kiyoomi's is pained, but Motoya just shrugs, face unbothered, and walks in the group’s direction.

Kiyoomi follows with a reluctant stance, settling down next to his cousin.

It seems they're in the middle of an animated conversation, that Motoya gracefully joins in, but Kiyoomi just stays quiet while picking up his personal chopsticks from his bag, cleaning them with a napkin.

He feels a heavy look on him, and glances to the side in time to see Atsumu turning his face away.

"—so yeah, I got into a few exhibition games already, but I didn't get to start any yet," Hoshiumi talks enthusiastically. In the back of his mind, Kiyoomi takes note on how he used to think Hoshiumi was more of a quiet type of person when he first met him back in their first camp together, but it seems he's just a little shy with new people. He looks pretty at ease now. "I will keep on working hard, Ushiwaka managed to get into the top 5 scorers ranking in his first V. League season even though he didn't start every game either, so I can't lose to him."

Kiyoomi picks on his asparagus quietly. So he still calls him Ushiwaka even after months of being teammates , he muses to himself 

Motoya starts sharing a few of his experiences with the EJP Raijin, going off again about the facilities with lively enthusiasm, and the conversation follows lightly until they turn to Atsumu:

"What about you, Atsumu-san? You didn't get to play much yet, right? I know the MSBY has three setters in the roster right now, must be hard to get a chance to play being a rookie," the question is innocent, said with lightheartedness and nonchalance, but Kiyoomi sees from his peripheral vision as Atsumu flinches.

Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows in curiosity, observing him out of the corner of his eyes with a newfound interest. 

Atsumu gives a forced smile, laughing awkwardly. "Yeah," he says, before sticking a bunch of rice into his mouth and making an exaggerated show of chewing.

Ah. Disgusting .

Either he notices Atsumu's discomfort or not, Hoshiumi shrugs and keeps going. "It's whatever, from what I heard one of the setters is retiring next season anyway, so you will probably get more play time then. Also, I've seen you getting subbed to serve a few times, they're still very inconvenient."

Atsumu nods weakly, mouth still full.

Hoshiumi then turns to Kageyama, who has been mostly quiet during the conversation aside from a few stunned remarks for Hoshiumi and Motoya’s descriptions, but in his case the silence wasn't really unexpected. "What about you, Kageyama? I heard you got an offer too, are you joining us next year?"

Kageyama remains quiet for a while, Kiyoomi can't tell if he's contemplating something or just focusing on chewing his food. "Yeah," he swallows, then nods, "probably."

Hoshiumi's face brightens, and he starts babbling about Tokyo and the Adlers' living arrangements. Kiyoomi tunes him off.

On the other side of the table, Atsumu stares attentively at his food.

"What's the deal with you, Miya?" Kiyoomi manages to restrain himself for a total of two days before approaching the subject.

It's not that he cares, it's just that it's been ticking him off to see the setter act so uptight when careless confidence is kind of his whole personality.

Atsumu stops his ministrations—he was currently in the process of getting himself some free coffee from their resting room's coffee station—to stare confusedly at Kiyoomi. "What?"

Kiyoomi doesn't look back at him, he's leaning against the wall and watching his teammates around the room, most of them are crouched around Motoya's shoulders while he watches some compilation video on his phone. Kiyoomi wisely decided to stay away.

"You've been acting weird," Kiyoomi can feel the tense set of his mouth under his mask, but he purposely tries to keep his eyebrows impassive.

Atsumu stares at him for a few seconds before his face slowly twists into a sly smirk. "Aw, are you worried about me, Kiyoomi-kun?"

Kiyoomi glares at him, giving up on any pretenses of impassiveness. This pretentious little prick. "If you don't want to talk about it just say so, no need to digress."

Atsumu turns away, focusing back on his coffee. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure, if you say so," He decides to try a different approach. "And how's your brother doing?"

Atsumu tenses, hands hovering on a stop above his coffee cup.

Ah, hit a nerve.

A few meters in front of them, Motoya "woah"s loudly at something on his phone.

"He's fine," Atsumu’s voice is strained. "He's in business school right now, getting ready to work with some food service or whatever."

Kiyoomi falters, feeling his eyebrows getting dangerously close to his hairline.

"What?"

"He says he wants to do something he's actually passionate about or something," Atsumu says with petulance. 

"So he's not playing volleyball anymore?"

Atsumu shakes his head. "No."

Kiyoomi considers it for a second, throughout all of their encounters in official tournaments or even in the few practice games they had during high school, it was unquestionably that Miya Osamu was a really good player, not only he had the physical abilities and skills to back him off, he was the kind of player that was clever and had the resourcefulness necessary in moments where a bit of well placed malice could turn a game around.  

It's difficult to imagine a person that has so much aptitude for something dropping it in the blink of an eye like that, fixed on the prospect of following another aspiration. Somewhere deep in his chest Kiyoomi encounters a newfound respect for him

"Hm,” Kiyoomi muses out loud. “In fact, I didn’t hear anything about him signing off anywhere, but part of me just assumed I would meet him at the Intercollegiate Championship later.”

"Yeah, guess he didn't like volleyball that much," and this time his voice comes out smaller, almost reluctant. Kiyoomi has beaten Atsumu plenty of times throughout their high school record, but never had he heard the setter actually sounding defeated. He finds him dangerously close to that right now.

Kiyoomi traces back to his high school days once again, picking apart the memories. Atsumu smirking, Atsumu smiling obnoxiously, Atsumu triumphant grin after a successful serve, Atsumu vicious one sided smile after a setter dump and even that one rare occurrence back in their third year, that soft smile he aimed at his brother—which makes a lot of sense now that Kiyoomi knows that was probably their last official game together. 

I don't think I've ever seen your brother smiling for real, he realizes. 

Kiyoomi risks a glance to the side, assessing Atsumu's posture with his eyes. But I am not telling you that.

It hits him that Atsumu is just another person that jumped into a completely new stage of his life on his own straight out of high school. And for someone who was used to having someone by his side his whole life, the experience must be especially difficult—or at least complicated enough to be affecting volleyball.

So he decides to do some field research.

"Does it change how you feel about it?" He asks.

Atsumu turns to look at him, eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. So Kiyoomi elaborates, "Not having your brother playing with you anymore, does it change how you feel about volleyball?"

"What? No!" He says with loud surprise, and then again, softer, "No."

"Then what's the deal?" He asks again.

"It's just…" Atsumu hesitates, looking up with vacant eyes, seeming to get lost in his head for a heavy minute. Kiyoomi starts to figure he won't be getting any answers after all, and tries to come up with the least awkward way to leave this conversation before Atsumu starts speaking again. 

"When I played with Samu, there was… this drive, to compete, to beat each other, to always be on the edge of something. I never really had to second guess stuff, or to wonder if I was on the right track because as long as I was on the same track as him I’d be having fun. The love I have for volleyball is still here all the same, it's just that feeling that I don't know If I—" He stops, shaking his head slightly before giving up on this train of thought. When he speaks again, the hint of vulnerability is gone from his voice, and he raises his nose in a display of dignity instead. "I am just not exactly where I want to be yet, that's all."

Kiyoomi frowns, he twists his brain around as he tries to make sense of the words somehow, but he can’t say he actually understands what Atsumu is going on about.

"Well, quit burning yourself out while you're at it," he deadpans. "You will get your chance soon, and you will probably make it count."

He disregards the surprised glance the setter sends his way, keeping his stance nonchalant.

"Also, whatever it is that you're so adamantly searching for," he looks at the group in front of them, Kageyama is standing over Motoya's shoulder, discerning eyes and nose scrunching at whatever is being shown on his cousin's screen, while Hoshiumi laughs at it with delight from the other shoulder. A bunch of other kids are gathered around them as well, giggling happily and offering off-handed comments and jokes. "I don't think you're on your own."

Kiyooomi purposely keeps his eyes locked in the scene, ignoring the weight of Atsumu’s glare on him.

The travel to Sri Lanka happens on a Thursday night, those kinds of late night travels that come cheaper on the pocket of the delegation. Kiyoomi is peeved even before stepping inside the airplane, since it already ruined his sleep schedule and he’s certain he won't be able to rest properly through the flight either.

Motoya raises an eyebrow questioningly at him after sitting down.

Kiyoomi glances around with narrowed eyes. "Do you think we can convince the people in the exit row to exchange with us?"

"Kiyoomi," his tone is reproachful.

Kiyoomi sighs, letting his shoulders drop  "Alright, you can sit by the window, just let me as close as possible to the exit."

His cousin shakes his head exasperatedly while moving seats, and they have just enough time to settle down with their seatbelts before they hear Kageyama's voice a few rows ahead.

"Miya-san, you're kinda green. Are you sure you're gonna be okay?"

Kiyoomi raises his head like he has been electrocuted. Atsumu is standing in the corridor, leaning heavily on the back of one of the airplane's seats, drowning himself in his own cold sweat.

"Miya, if you puke, I will kill you," Kiyoomi threatens. "I will literally throw you out of this airplane."

Hoshiumi stands up from the seat in front of him, turning around to stare at Kiyoomi with raised eyebrows. "If you try to throw him out while we're in the air, I am pretty sure we all would die."

Kiyoomi regards Atsumu coldly. "It would be worth the risk."

The setter shakes his head. "How the hell are you so chill? Aren't you supposed to be the super paranoid freak here?"

He grits his teeth, but decides to ignore the jab. "I am not chill , Miya. But I know these things are actually the safest way to travel. And they're fast. So I sit here and hope for time to pass as quickly as possible until it’s over, which will not happen with you on the verge of throwing up at any moment in front of me."

Atsumu grimaces, like the simple mention of the word 'throw up' makes him feel sicker. "Give me a break, okay? This is my first time in an airplane."

Kiyoomi stares at him silently for a few seconds, and then he sighs in resignation. "Do you want some medicine for motion sickness?"

Atsumu's eyes light up for a whole second, before squinting at Kiyoomi. "Wait, can I?" He asks with suspicion.

He's already getting up to grab his bag in the compartment above his head. He throws the box of dramamine in Atsumu's direction when he finds it, consciously opting to ignore the fact Atsumu genuinely thinks Kiyoomi would dope him out of a continental tournament. 

"Of course you can, I checked all my remedies and vitamins with the medical staff before. It will probably knock you out for good, though."

Atsumu smiles brilliantly at the box in his hands. "Perfect!" 

Kiyoomi shakes his head when Atsumu makes to give back the box after swallowing the pill. "You can keep it."

Atsumu is passed out next to Kageyama less than fifteen minutes later.

Afterwards, when they're already settled in their hotel, Kiyoomi is passing by one of its shared spaces with available Wi-Fi when he hears a familiar chatter.

"So how was the flight?" Osamu's voice comes with a little static through the phone.

Kiyoomi pauses, watching silently while Atsumu shrugs and explains how he doesn't remember much from it. 

He doesn't try to hold back his frown as he makes a beeline for the coffee station in the corner of the room, because of course Miya Atsumu would be the kind of person who's unable to use earphones when talking in public spaces.

Kiyoomi stares mistrustfully at the drinks options in front of him, he usually tries to avoid consuming stuff from places he doesn’t already trust—and usually he's more of a tea guy—but he really could use some caffeine right now. Behind him, he listens as Osamu goes on about his day and plans for their game a few days from now. "—and I've had to reschedule a group meeting to watch so you better kick Turkmenistan’s ass. Also, please don’t do that dramatic fist thing in your serve routine, no one knows you there so you will just embarrass yourself. We have the same face so it's really hard to deal with the second hand embarrassment when you do some dumb shit."

Kiyoomi snorts loudly, and from the corner of his eyes he can see Atsumu sending him a dirty glance before turning back to his brother with an impressive range of curses.

"Anyway, I have to go now, tell mom I love her, bye."

"Call her yourself, you dipshi—”

The call is over for barely a second before Atsumu is turning to Kiyoomi, grin obnoxious as always. "So, Kiyoomi-kun, I never took you for a snoop."

"That's your own fault for exposing your conversation to anyone with working ears in the same space as you," he deadpans. “Why don’t you use some earphones? Or, I don’t know, call him somewhere private?”

“Uh?” Atsumu screams indignantly. “Have you seen how expensive international calls are around here? I gotta use the Wi-Fi! And if I must have people listening to me while we talk then they will hear Osamu as well, can’t have anyone thinking I am the stupid one in this relationship.”

Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow at him, a pointed look in his eyes.

Atsumu conveniently decides to ignore his expression, immediately changing the subject. "So, are you anxious for our games?"

"Not really," Kiyoomi shrugs, trying to take a sip of his coffee. It's disgusting , he grimaces, throwing the plastic cup away immediately. Atsumu crackles at him, because Kiyoomi's misfortunes are clearly his number one source of entertainment. Kiyoomi shakes his head. "What about you? Nervous?"

The setter stops for a second, contemplating the words before he sends Kiyoomi a brilliant smile, one of the rare ones that don't feel like they have any second intentions. "I am actually really really excited."

They win their first game with a comfortable three sets to zero. Kageyama played for most of it, even though Atsumu warranted at least three ticks in the rotation to himself every set with the setter-opposite inversions ("We have two highly competent serves in this roster, so we will be alternating the starters a lot in these first few games and evaluate how the team behaves," is what coach Hitaki told them in one of the first meetings before the official game. "Though I can guarantee both of you will have a chance in playing every game, ideally through tactical substitutions, but the amount of time you'll remain on the court is gonna depend on your performance.")

The next day, the team is spread around their training court waiting for new instructions from the coach—they have another game later tonight, so it's improbable they will be doing any heavy training today, only light conditioning and recovery exercises.

Kageyama is sitting by himself on the corner, sketching leisurely. Kiyoomi approaches him, shoulders rigid, hands sunk inside the pockets of his coat, mask on his face, eyebrows properly twisted in dissatisfaction.

"Hey," he says. Kageyama raises his head, looking up at him with expectation. "Is there any reason why you sent me less tosses than usual yesterday?"

Kageyama stares at him blankly for a few seconds, blinking slowly once, twice, before his forehead twitches in confusion. "Uh?"

Kiyoomi has to hold back the need to let out a frustrated sigh, he knows Kageyama isn't exactly the most transparent person in their team, but he has never been cynical either, which means the boy truly has no idea of what he is talking about.

Kiyoomi knows he is not a vain person, he never really cared about other people's perceptions of him or his abilities, but he's also very pragmatic. He's objectively aware he received less sets than the other wing spikers in the team yesterday—he even made a point to watch the replay after the game just so he could make sure—and Kageyama is an accomplished setter, so it's hard to believe that wasn't a deliberated move on him.

"Your distribution of the ball," he clarifies. "You sent me way less sets than you did to the other hitters."

And saying it out loud makes him sound really petty, he feels his impatience increasing the more words leave his mouth.

Kageyama stares at him stupidly. "But Sakusa-san, you were one of the top scorers of the game, only Hoshiumi-san scored more than you. And you had the best conversion rate in the team, even better than our middle blockers."

Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow at him. So?

"I think our attack is more effective when I start leaning more on you in the second half of the game," is what he settles for after realizing Kiyoomi was still not convinced. "I know a lot of hitters need to be attacking frequently to keep their focus, but you're not like that, Sakusa-san. Regardless of the game state I know you will be equally reliable when you make your approach, so I just send you the balls when I believe you have the highest chance of scoring, but the actual amount will depend on the circumstances of the game."

Kiyoomi feels the fight leaving his body as he slowly makes sense of the words. For a few comical seconds, the both of them just blink at each other with blank expressions.

He's not sure if he actually agrees with Kageyama's reasoning yet, it is something he will have to reflect on later, but he can appreciate the honesty.

'I am not really worried about your self esteem, I am just setting in the way I believe is the most convenient for the team' , is basically what he's trying to say and the concept is strangely reassuring.

"Ah," Kiyoomi says awkwardly.

"But, uh, if you think..." Kageyama speaks through gritted teeth, seeming to actually struggle through his words for the first time in this conversation. "If you think I am doing something wrong, you can… Tell me about it. Or something."

Kiyoomi looks down at him, finding himself having to fight against his own amusement. "Alright then. You know, at first I thought you would be more guarded, but you're pretty upfront about stuff, aren't you?"

Kageyama tilts his head in confusion. "What?"

Kiyoomi can feel the corner of his lips twisting up. Yeah, he kinda reminds me of Wakatoshi-kun.

"I mean that you're very genuine. As in, it never feels like you have any ulterior motives or second intentions when you're saying something."

"... I don't," he hesitates for a second, face twisted in a troubled scowl—he's pouting. "People that don't mean what they say confuse me."

And now Kiyoomi is thoroughly entertained, eyebrows going up in delight because that's a feeling he can understand. He's suddenly taken back to his second year of high school, watching from afar while Atsumu hovers above Kageyama to give him ominous remarks on the boy's setting style.

"Well, aren't you the total opposite of your senior," he says lightly, turning to find the other setter in question talking animatedly with one of their middle blockers on the other side of the room, totally clueless to Kiyoomi's attention.

Kageyama follows his line of sight, before turning back to look up at Kiyoomi. "You must know Miya-san very well."

Kiyoomi's face sours.

"The exact opposite actually, I think the more I know of him the less I understand."

Kageyama ponders over it for a moment, seemingly trying to decide if he wanted to comment on it or not. 

He avoids Kiyoomi's eyes when he starts talking.

"You know, I… Back in middle school, I used to have this senpai," he hesitates for a second, eyes suddenly turning distant. "It's… I guess it might be because we both were immature back then, but the point is that we weren't really good for each other. I felt like I couldn't step out of his shadow, no matter how hard I tried, and I am pretty sure he saw me as some kind of threat. I did… kind of look up to him sometimes, but every time we played each other there was this heavy weight above us, like we both had something to prove, a burden that went beyond volleyball."

Kiyoomi watches him with silent surprise, he can't say he actually gets what Kageyama is trying to convey here, but he is pretty sure he has never seen the setter talk so much at once before.

Kageyama shrugs, sensing his confusion. "What I am trying to say is, this is normal too, right? You can have people that bring out the best or worst in you for some mysterious reason, and the way you're gonna react to it depends on yourself. But, see, I don't think Miya-san is like that. He enters the court fully determined to have fun, and there's nothing that could ever prevent him from giving it all he got. I think he's genuine too, in that regard."

Kiyoomi frowns slightly, once again turning to look at Atsumu from afar—he's still talking, feigning a spiking movement with his arm that probably complements the story he's trying to tell, a bright smile stretched across his lips.

He hums.

"I see," he turns back to Kageyama, the lighthearted twist on his mouth visible to him without his mask. "It seems to me you are the one who knows him very well."

Kageyama shakes his head vigorously. "No, no. It's just… just with volleyball. And I can't even say that for sure, it's just my impression."

"You admire him," Kiyoomi points out the obvious.

Kageyama doesn't meet his eyes, looking distracted again, like his mind is suddenly somewhere else. "I guess? It's good to be surrounded by strong people. A good opponent is what makes volleyball fun."

Kiyoomi is taken back to the memory of meeting Wakatoshi for the first time, standing in front of him across the court, and he thinks he understands what Kageyama is talking about.

He watches Kageyama go back to his stretches, the silence sitting comfortably between them as Kiyoomi reflects on these last few minutes.

That was probably the longest conversation they ever had, and he is now coming to the realization that he probably had the wrong impression about Kageyama. It's probably a consequence of never making any effort to actually get to know him before, but it isn't like this is something out of character for Kiyoomi ("Because you're a judgmental asshole," Motoya's voice helpfully pops up in his mind). Evaluating the circumstances now, he realizes he doesn't mind Kageyama that much.

He's unassuming and respectful, probably someone you could ask questions and get straightforward answers without having to worry about an intrusive inquiry later.

Kiyoomi idly considers it, but ends up disregarding the idea after just a few seconds of contemplation. He doubts there's anything similar about their experiences with the sport, Kageyama seems like the type of person who takes to volleyball like it's just another fundamental part of his life, like eating or sleeping, he always comes back to volleyball naturally. Kiyoomi doesn't think the setter would be able to give him an objective answer on why he does it or what keeps him going, so that would probably be a pointless conversation for his own circumstances.

Instead, he asks, "Want some help stretching?"

Kageyama looks at him distrustfully. "Are you still mad at me?"

Kiyoomi shakes his head with dry amusement, already positioning himself behind his back.

"I just don't want you to end up hurting yourself because you're not stretching your shoulders properly."

He assesses the situation for a second, trying to make sure to reduce the possibilities of any skin to skin contact—he obviously made sure to check that he was wearing a long sleeved shirt when he offered—before placing his hands on Kageyama's back.

"Oh, by the way, that senpai of yours, what is he up to now?" Kiyoomi asks, pressing his hands forward.

"Humf," Kageyama huffs painfully when Kiyoomi pushes, it takes a few seconds before he's able to answer. "Oh, him? I think he's playing in some overseas league right now."

"Hm. Cool."

The setter alternation remains for all the games in the first rounds, but as soon as the playoffs start Kageyama establishes himself as their starter. Atsumu fails to hide his distaste for the situation, acting even more sucky and whiney than usual, but it doesn't seem like the coach is especially bothered by that.

Kiyoomi mulls over it for a while, taking in the fact Atsumu seems even more determined to prove his worth when he gets a moment on the court now. It makes sense somehow, no coach would ever be satisfied with a player that resigns himself nicely to the fact they're second string.

They fight their way to the final game, meeting Iran at the end of the line in a merciless battle.

Both teams remain neck to neck for most of the initial stage of the game. Japan conquers the first set by an inch, but, though they keep fighting to the very end, their opponents snatch the second set out of their hands after the scoreboard reached the thirties. For the third set, Hoshiumi manages a stunning block wipe to earn them the lead.

By the time the fourth set arrives, everything seems to collapse. They struggle to find a rhythm in the beginning and Iran starts putting a gap on them that feels almost unattainable.

When the score hits 16 x 7, Kiyoomi sees his number being displayed on the substitution board.

"We will need you at full percent on the last set, Sakusa-kun. Rest for a while," Coach Hitaki regards him when he steps out of the court. Kiyoomi quietly nods back at him and goes to sit down.

He gets to see the rest of the set from the sidelines, trying to breath through the exhaustion in his body.

He watches from the bench, completely stunned as a set they've considered as good as dropped takes an unexpected turn after a successful passage of Kageyama as a server earns them six break points in a row.

Suddenly, the levels of tension on the court rise dangerously, a new wave of expectation taking over the atmosphere.

Atsumu gets subbed in to serve when the game is 23 x 20 for Iran.

Kiyoomi observes attentively from the bench, assessing his hold on the ball, his steps, the way he stands.

He tosses the ball to the air with a decisive flip of his arm.

Kiyoomi frowns.

It takes less than two seconds between the moment Atsumu jumps, and the moment the ball hits the middle of the net with a disappointing sound.

The expectant energy comes down with a halt.

Atsumu is out immediately, throwing himself in the seat beside Kiyoomi. He stands stock-still for a moment, eyes vacant, and then the spell breaks and he curls into himself, hands grabbing into his hair and letting out a frustrated screech.

Kiyoomi keeps his eyes focused on the game ahead of him, diligently watching what might be the last rally of the set.

"There's no point in trying to punch it through when you know the serve toss got away from you," his voice is emotionless when he decides to regard the setter. "And I know you're aware of this already. The fact we desperately need the point doesn't change the reality."

Atsumu's eyes seem deranged when he turns to him, but Kiyoomi can't tell for sure—he's not looking back. "Seriously?! You gotta have the worst timing ever, like I know you enjoy messing with me but—"

Kiyoomi turns to him violently.

"I am not messing with you ," he spats the words out almost venomously. "I am just saying it now because I know the coach trusts you and will sub you in again for the next set, and this team will need you to actually have you head straight by then if you want to help us win."

Atsumu gapes at him, blinking stupidly at his outburst. The shock somehow seems to help make his angry energy come down, and then he is taking a heavy breath before he speaks again, voice small, "You're right, sorry."

"Don't apologize," he grumbles just as they lose the set. "You never do, it's weird."

The coach turns to them almost instantly. "Sakusa?" 

Kiyoomi gets up, joining the rest of the team as they gather around to hear the instructions for the last set. Atsumu follows on his tracks.

"I'm good to go."

They end up winning the game 3 x 2.

Kiyoomi stares at the gold of his medal contrasting with the red of his jersey for a while and figures he wouldn't mind having more of this.

Hoshiumi Kourai @Hoshiumi_Kourai

Champions of Asia! The world better be prepared for us. 

[picture of the Japan Under 19 National Team posing with their golden medals. Kageyama, Kiyoomi and Hoshiumi specifically also hold onto their own individual awards] 

v. wisdom

They return to Japan in no time, and Kiyoomi finds himself having to juggle between volleyball and the overwhelming amount of missed classes he must keep track of.

The rest of the Waseda team 'ooh's and 'aah's at his medal when he gets back to practice, Kiyoomi shows it off from a safe distance and with a satisfied smile in his lips.

"Damn, champions of Asia, uh?" Someone playfully quotes back at him. "You're not getting a big head on us now, right, Sakusa-kun? 

Miyaura shakes his head with equal amounts resignation and amusement. "So you guys are classified to the Under 19 World Championship, right?"

"Uh-hum," Kiyoomi nods in confirmation. "Probably gonna be sometime in August next year. Argentina, if I am not mistaken."

"Argentina! Isn't that, like, on the other side of the world…?"

Kiyoomi grimaces. "Yeah, flying is gonna be a bitch."

Miyaura gets up then, clapping his hands in encouragement. "Alright, guys! Back to practice now, hopefully this won't be Sakusa's only achievement of the season."

The All Japan Intercollegiate Volleyball Championship is there in the blink of an eye, and it’s gone even faster. Kiyoomi plays diligently, finding solace in the familiar gymnasium.

Motoya calls him the very next day. “Hey! Congratulations! Sorry I couldn’t call earlier.”

Kiyoomi checks the clock in his phone, finding it to be 10 am—his cousin is probably using his break time from practice to call him. It’s hard to imagine any other appropriate time for a phone call, but Motoya's mind works in a completely different wavelength to his.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. Thanks, though. Nice game yesterday too, I didn’t have time to watch it yet but I’ve seen the highlights. Shame about the results, but Ojiro-san was on a roll.”

“You tell me, I will have the bruises to remind me of it for all the holidays.”

“Speaking of, you coming home for new years?”

“Yeah, I think so. As soon as the Emperor's Cup is over we will go on a break until January."

Kiyoomi pauses for a second, making the mental estimation of when his midterms will be over. “You can come stay with me for a few days if you want to, and then we can go and see our parents later. I am not sure if my siblings will be able to come over for new years, but my parents will probably want to have a family dinner or something.”

“Oh, a sleepover? Neat! We can even visit a shrine together on the first day of the year too!”

He grimaces. “We will see about that.”

KomoriMotoya_

Tokyo, Japan

[picture of Komori and Sakusa standing near the stairs leading to a shrine. Komori smiles cheerfully at the camera while Sakusa, most of his face hidden under a facemask and a scarf, regards it with a distressed look. The selfie is a close shot of their faces but you can still see pieces of clothes and locks of hair of the people around them, indicating the place is pretty crowded.]

KomoriMotoya_: ✨ Happy new years! ✨ Excited to see what 2015 has in store for us.

(18 years old and he still makes the same face as he did when he was a kid and didn't want to go out @SakusaKiyoomi)

Liked by miya.atsumu , hoshiumi_kourai and 3k others

@IizunaOfficial: I am pretty sure he does this exact same face when he actually want to go somewhere as well lol

"Kiyoomi-kun!" The first pass is off, so Atsumu has to run all the way to the sidelines in order to set a ball to Kiyoomi on the left.

Approach. Jump. Spike. The ball hits a wall of hands and drops to death next to Kiyoomi's feet.

The fall happens in the semifinals, they manage to get just one set against Poland before that block sealed their loss.

Kiyoomi gasps for breath, staring at the floor for a while. When he raises his head, there's Motoya approaching him with a sympathetic face. Behind his cousin, Atsumu stares at the net with unseeing eyes and an unreadable expression—something half crushed and half rage—, the vision brings a different kind of discomfort to Kiyoomi's chest, so he turns away.

It isn't like the loss itself is what unsettles him. It is annoying for sure, and Kiyoomi does have that competitive streak in his body that will always make him want to beat a strong opponent, but he can't really say the notion of winning is what keeps him going for volleyball. Still, it's always a different kind of blow, being the one to deliver the last hit before it strikes right back in their faces. 

It feels almost personal.

There's no point in dwelling on the feeling though, it's just another one of those irrational things about volleyball that Kiyoomi was never able to make sense of—it's stupid to seek individual accountability in a collective sport. He just tries to reason his way around it, it's an unpleasant feeling, so he must keep working harder to avoid dealing with it again in the future.

The team finishes their meeting a couple minutes before dinner time. They still don't know who will be their opponent for the third place match, but the coaching staff still gathered them together to pass on a few earlier instructions.

Atsumu seems to have recovered from their loss already, if the predatory glint in his eyes when he approaches Kiyoomi later is anything to go by.

"You know," Atsumu starts, and Kiyoomi turns to stare back at him, face a calculated display of disinterest. "Your name is a bit of a mouthful."

Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow. "That wouldn't be an issue if you just called me Sakusa like I've been telling you to do for years."

"Nah," he shakes his head, expression filled with mirth. "I was thinking more that it was about time we got you a nickname, don't you think?"

Kiyoomi's eye twitches. He can feel his expression souring, eyebrows complicatedly twisting in a way he can't hold back—he would if he could, because Atsumu's delighted smile is more than enough indication that he is getting exactly the response he was hoping for.

"What do you think? Kiyo-kun? Or Omi-kun? Oh, I actually like that last one, sounds really cute."

Motoya, who had been doing a manageable job at pretending he wasn't paying attention to the conversation so far, hides his snort behind his hand.

"I will kill you," the words come out unfeeling, but he's pretty sure his eyes promise enough murder to get his point across.

Atsumu laughs gleefully, giving Kiyoomi two playful pats in the shoulder before walking away.

"I am glad you liked it," he speaks in a singsong over his shoulder.

Kiyoomi is walking his way back to the hotel room when the whir of familiar voices makes him stop on his tracks.

He narrows his eyes, slowly approaching the common area of their floor once he identifies it as the source of the noise. When he gets close enough, he can also recognize the noise of a television in the background of the conversation. 

"What are you guys doing?” The inquiry comes as soon as he reaches the room's entrance. “We have a game tomorrow, shouldn’t you be getting ready to rest?”

Looming by the door, he carefully assesses the people present in the room, counting the heads of his teammates present. Aside from the two extra familiar locks of hair—as in Motoya and Hoshiumi—there are three other guys he never really interacted much with before. He tries to search his brain around for names, and after a few seconds of consideration he comes up with the most likely guesses: Mochida, Kondo and Chigaya. He isn’t going to risk his luck saying any of these out loud though. 

All three of them simultaneously flinch when submitted to Kiyoomi’s glare.

Motoya regards him with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. We’re just watching the other semi. It's almost over though, so we will be going back to our rooms soon."

"You're gonna get yourselves all anxious and have trouble sleeping," Kiyoomi mumbles reproachfully, but he takes a step inside the room to take a look at the transmission as well.

The little panel in the corner of the frame displays a Argentina 12 x Russia 9 so far for the fifth set of the game. Kiyoomi turns his gaze to the small human shaped figures moving around the screen just as Argentina's middle blocker smashes a first tempo ball to the floor.

"And score! Once again, Argentina uses their middle to bring another point home! Russia was managing to keep the game balanced until the instant Argentina hit the double digits, but now it seems like the home team is getting away with the momentum. Russia is running out of time to start working on a comeback here…”

Momentum . Kiyoomi grimaces.

He's well aware that volleyball can, annoyingly, be a very emotional affair—it's incredible how much a simple factor like confidence can have such a huge influence on the way someone performs—but even so, it's stupid to treat your own emotional state as an independent element to the game, like it is something uncontrollable and wild that conveniently decides to pick a side to aid.

Kiyoomi worked hard to reach a point where his fleeting perceptions of the circumstances or of himself should barely have any direct effect on his performance. You control your thought process to remain objective regardless of the situation, be it at the last point of the game or moments after you made a mistake, you condition your body into believing every ball is within your reach and gets on the move before your brain can second guess this belief and make you hesitate.

He practices, obsessively even, repeats it dozens, hundreds, thousands of times, engraving the feeling of the motion into his body until it becomes natural, the repetition isn't only a fixation, but it's also the foundation of his confidence—if he managed to successful achieve something a thousand times back in the practice room, he knows he can make the one thousand and one attempt work in an official match. None of this requires mind-blowing abilities, just discipline.

So it's difficult to accept people giving such importance to an abstract concept like 'momentum', your opponent makes a handful of good plays and suddenly you're unable to successfully carry on a move that you could perform just fine a few minutes earlier? There's no need to give such a fancy label to something that comes down to a very basic concept: lack of focus.

"This is dumb," Hoshiumi complains, the space between his eyes wrinkling with dissatisfaction. "This momentum stuff, it's stupid. If your opponent manages to score on you a bunch of times, you either stop them or not, and that depends solely on your own ability to do so. This is a world level competition, if you collapse just because a strong team is displaying their own power, then you can't blame it on anything other than your lack of mental strength." 

Hoshiumi turns to them, wide eyes assessing the reactions of the people in the room, as if challenging them to disagree with him.

Kiyoomi feels a huff of air leave his nose in an amused exhale under his facemask, nodding agreeably.

The game ends just a few minutes later with Argentina beating Russia by 15 to 11.

Kiyoomi watches as the referee gives the final blow of the whistle before letting out a thoughtful hum. "So we're playing Russia."

Motoya gets up, nodding. "Yeah, gonna be a tough one. Don't they have the highest height average in the tournament?"

Hoshiumi perks up at the information, eyes glinting with challenge. "Oh, bring it on."

Kiyoomi shakes his head. "Let's get some sleep first." 

The sting of the ball on his arms burns. Russia's opposite hitter somehow managed to leave their blockers to dust. Kiyoomi is able to put himself in the spike's trajectory on time, but the achievement doesn't bring any relief to the pain. He tries to use his body to kill most of the ball's momentum before sending it back to Kageyama.

Too high , he reprimands himself internally, Kageyama can probably still set it, but no way for a back row attack.

He steps ahead for a possible block coverage instead, watching his setter's form attentively. Kageyama stretches his right arm to the ball, the opponent blockers watching his movements with caution. Hoshiumi presents himself from the left, but before he can even start his approach, Kageyama changes the motion of his wrist, slapping the ball down instead of putting it up—capriciously aiming it right in the space between the awaiting blockers. 

They read the movement, trying to jump for it, but their reaction is still too late and the ball falls to their feet with a decisive smack.

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath, urging the air to get into his lungs. The rallies have been getting longer and longer as the set nears its end, both teams getting sharper as the game seems to be reaching a climax. 

One single look at the scoreboard after Kageyama's dump shows a 24 x 23 for Japan. It's their match point.

Kiyoomi chances a glance to their coach on the sidelines. Coach Hitaki has refrained from doing any substitutions in this set so far, so—and there he is. Atsumu stands in the substitution zone, proudly displaying the number of the middle blocker that would be rotating into the serve position now on the board in his hands.

They exchange places, Atsumu makes a show of smirking condescendingly at their opponents through the net before making his way around the court, fist bumping and high fiving teammates on the way. He stops for a second to whisper something in Kageyama's ear ( probably telling him to stand back as a spiker if necessary , Kiyoomi figures), and lastly turns to Kiyoomi.

"Missed me?" His smile is cocky.

Kiyoomi fixes a blank stare at his raised hand, an open invitation for a high five, and turns away. 

"Make sure the ball is within the bounds," he says drily.

The whistle blows, Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and keeps his eyes focused straight ahead. He doesn't see anything from Atsumu's routine to the technicalities of the serve, but he can hear the sound of the setter's feet kicking the floor, and then the contact of the ball against his palm less than a second later.

The ball travels through the air with a violent speed, aiming for just the endline of the court. The Russian libero manages a dive before it touches the floor, but it goes up in an ugly arc, not more than a few meters to the right instead of to the front. The setter is under it nevertheless, sending the ball in the hands of their opposite hitter.

There's a triple block in his way, but the spiker still manages a block out that has the ball going up and fast all the way to the back of their free zone. Kiyoomi starts to run, but Atsumu is already there, not as much as diving for it as actually throwing himself at the ball instead. He hits one of the sponsor boards on his fall, but the ball is up again and travelling back to the court, trajectory just a few steps behind Kiyoomi's current position.

Can't afford to give them a free ball now. A quick glance to the side to access the situation. Kageyama is too far away, no libero in court right now, front row spikers are—

( Of fucking course, two setters inside the bounds and the ball just has to come straight to me.)

His body is moving even before the thought can settle, a blink of an eye and he's under the ball, a swing of his arms and he's setting it to the left side of the net.

"Hoshiumi-kun!"

There's a millisecond after the ball leaves his arms where he looks back quickly, Atsumu getting up, not hurt, and then he's running forward again to cover for a block.

Kiyoomi can't see Hoshiumi's expression from where he is positioned, but he can recognize the sense of pride in his stance as he makes the run up for the spike.

A triple block hovers around Hoshiumi, and Kiyoomi is pretty sure he must be thinking something on the likes of " now I will show you how it's done. "

He spikes the ball against the arm of the outside blocker, and it twists angrily to the side—way out of the bounds—until it settles itself in the hands of one of the spectators in the first floor.

The whistle blows, and everything bursts to life at the same time. Hoshiumi lets out a triumphant scream, jumping on Kageyama's back in a motion that feels oddly familiar, the setter just tries to keep the both them stable, a stunned expression in face, while the rest of the team makes the run to embrace Hoshiumi as well.

Kiyoomi manages to dodge most of his teammates' sweaty and drunk in enthusiasm attempts for a hug before throwing himself to the floor. He allows himself to bask in the atmosphere for a second—the sound of his team celebrating, the crowd screaming. His chest feels full, and he tries to make the feeling last as long as possible.

He doesn't know how long he sits there until—

"Omi-kun." 

—his blissful bubble abruptly bursts.

Kiyoomi opens his eyes, fighting against the frown that desperately wants to make its way into his forehead after hearing the stupid nickname and regards Atsumu with a tired glance.

The setter is blocking the lights, so he hovers above Kiyoomi more like an obnoxious silhouette than anything else, standing proud with both hands on his waist and a small tilt to the hips. With some effort, Kiyoomi can make out the shape of his self-satisfied grin and a hair that seems a little more disheveled than his last recordation of it, like someone rubbed their hands through it a couple of times—he did make the miraculous save that allowed them their winning point, so that wouldn't be such an improbable scenario.

Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow questioningly.

"That last set," Atsumu says. "You could've gone overhand with it, you know?"

Kiyoomi hums, looking back down as he thinks for a moment. He fixes his posture a little, assessing his shoes and making a show of slowly retying the laces before getting up with a nod.

"I did consider it for a second back then, but I figured it wasn't worth the risk of getting called out for a double hit at this point of the game."

"Ah, you shouldn't let the fear keep you from taking some risks every once in a while, Omi-kun."

Kiyoomi grits his teeth. "I wasn't afraid , I just did a quick risk assessment of the situation, which can be very useful before making a decision. You should try every once in a while," he looks at Atsumu pointedly. "Besides, I trust Hoshiumi to hold his ground against a triple just fine."

They both look sideways. Hoshiumi, from under a pile of bodies squeezed in celebration (from which Kiyoomi is pretty sure his cousin is lost in one of the layers) turns to them with a glorious smile and, when he realizes they're looking back, directs them a proud thumbs up.

Kiyoomi snorts softly, feeling the corners of his lips sliding up against his command.

Atsumu stares at him strangely for a second, before falling back into his trademark smirk, "Either way, if you want someone to teach you how to actually set properly, I am at your disposal, Omi-kun!"

Kiyoomi grimaces.

"I think I will have to skip on that."

The buzzing of the tv works as background noise while he drinks his tea, lazily scrolling through his emails.

The fall weather is welcoming in its non-overbearing way, it makes his daily runs feel a little less aggravating. Kiyoomi is actually finishing his breakfast and preparing himself to go out when the news coverage starts talking about the last round of the V. League. His eyes are still locked on the phone screen, but he turns up the volume, listening more intently.

"And Kageyama Tobio made a brilliant debut for the Schweiden Adlers yesterday. Not only has he shown absolute control, consistency and resourcefulness in his sets, he also arrived with some very menacing serves as well."

"Right? He already had an amazing performance at the U19 World Championship this year, earning himself the best setter award and helping Japan achieve a bronze medal. If he keeps this up now, I don't think it would be a surprise to see him in the World League next year."

"And who knows? Maybe he can even find himself a ride for Rio."

His fingers slowly slide down the screen. A new research project is looking for volunteers, his Calculus II professor will have to cancel this week's office hours because of a seminar, a feedback from an assignment he sent in two weeks ago—he bookmarks this one—, an unmissable amazing groundbreaking once-in-a-lifetime course opportunity with an special discount for students—he marks as spam.

"—not only that, but with Hoshiumi establishing his place as starter this year, and Japan's so called southpaw cannon Ushijima Wakatoshi, the Adlers officially established themselves as the team with the youngest age average starters in the V. League, and they're coming as strong contenders for the competition just like that. We did discuss here previously if it was a smart move from them to invest so much in this new generation of athletes, but it seems like it's paying off pretty nicely for them."

"Speaking of this new generation, setter Miya Atsumu also delivered a masterclass against the Red Falcons last night—" 

Kiyoomi raises his head. The transmission showcases a fancy studio, the two commentators sitting behind a balcony with a huge digital signage looming in the background. Right now, the screen displays the logo of the MSBY Black Jackal, a full body picture of Atsumu from his pre-season photoshoot next to it, hands on his waist and a smooth smirk decorating his face.

"He has been getting more and more play time ever since the ending of last year's season, and his performances have been remarkable so far. I don't see anyone taking him away from that starting spot anytime soon. If this is a sign of what this young generation has in store for us, I think our volleyball is set for a very bright future."

"Stay tuned for tonight as well, we will have another match that seems very promising, the Japan Railway Rockets will take on—"

Kiyoomi turns off the television, moving to wash the dishes from his breakfast before going out on his run.

Four months later, when the Adlers beat the Red Falcons for the V. League win, Kiyoomi wakes up the following day with a new notification on his phone. 

It's a selfie from Hoshiumi.

In the middle of it, Hoshiumi smiles proudly while hugging the V. League trophy to his chest, Kageyama and Wakatoshi stand behind him, staring at the camera with awkward expressions. Kageyama looks almost confused, mouth twisted to the side in his trademark pout, but the glint in his eyes gives away his satisfaction. Wakatoshi's lips are stretched up in the sides in an attempt of a smile, but it looks more pained than anything.

Kiyoomi scoffs, disregarding the tug of fondness in his chest before sending him a congratulatory text back.

It's almost ironic, how life finds a way to bring you down exactly when you feel like you're reaching a level of stability.

It's not like Kiyoomi has found any new strong resolve or inspiration to keep going, but volleyball brings relief in its own kind of way. He's aware a decision awaits him ahead, but he allowed himself to ignore his doubts for almost a year now, basking in the sense of safety his methodical routine brings him.

And then, he crumbles.

It takes less than two seconds to happen, Waseda is playing a practice match against a neighboring team and one second Kiyoomi is going up to complete a double block, and the next he is landing, except he falls on something unstable and feels his right ankle give away under him.

It's stupid, and frustrating, he barely has time to process what happened—or the commotion of worried people around him—before he is staring at his throbbing ankle in betrayal.

He remembers the moment Iizuna fell in front of him that day back in his second year of high school with astonishing clarity. He's not sure if it is because it happened in the middle of an official tournament, or because he watched it from an outside perspective, but he could replay the scene in slow motion behind his eyelids if he wanted to, which just makes it even more frustrating that by the time they get him to the hospital he can't even recall what exactly happened between the moment he was jumping and the moment his ass dropped to the floor.

Motoya calls him a few hours later, voice rushed. "Hey, sorry! I was in practice until now, just heard about it. How bad is it?"

Kiyoomi stares at the splint in his right foot with blank eyes. "Not so bad, apparently. The doctor said it seemed like a moderated sprain, we're waiting for the results of some exams just to make sure it didn't screw up any ligaments, but if he's right then it should be just a few weeks until I can get the splint out. With some physiotherapy I will probably be good as new."

"Oh, that's good to hear! Let me know when the exams are out too."

"Sure. My sister said she wanted to give it a look as well, so I will just email it to the both of you when it's out."

The confusion is clear on Motoya's voice when he speaks again. "Isn't your sister a cardiologist?"

"Yes," Kiyoomi deadpans.

Motoya crackles. "Fair enough. You are the baby of the family after all."

Kiyoomi grunts indignantly in response.

"Hey," Motoya hesitates, voice suddenly getting more sober, a little bit softer as well. The background noise on his side of the call dims a little, like he got himself into a more private space to keep the conversation going. "Are you sure you're okay? Like… in general?"

Kiyoomi understands what he's asking about, because Motoya knows him better than anyone else, he knows exactly what would be crossing his mind right now.

He shakes his head, even though his cousin can't see it. "This is barely a grade 2 sprain, not career ending at all. It's almost impossible to get into this sport without spraining your ankle at least once, I have always been aware of that, so it's not like I wasn't ready for something like that to happen sooner or later. It's just… a nasty reminder, that's all."

Motoya hums from the other side of the call, a sound filled with uneasy. "I see. Listen, I can't make it back to Tokyo to see you now, but I will probably get a day off this sunday, so I will try to catch an early train to spend the day with you, okay?"

He frowns. "You should spend your day off resting instead. You will have to leave by sunday night to go back in time to monday practice, you will just end up wearying yourself out."

"Well, better than to spend the day worrying about you, uh? Also, it isn't like you don't miss me, right?" 

Kiyoomi remains quiet.

"Ha! See? If you didn't want me to come you would've definitely said so. I will arrive sometime before lunch, make sure you have those chips I like stoked."

"Don't use me as an excuse to skip on your diet, I don't want your nutritionist to think I am a bad influence on you," Kiyoomi retorts.

"Whatever you say." 

By the time the call ends, there are a bunch of new notifications on Kiyoomi's cell phone. Mostly from his family and teammates, but one specific sender has Kiyoomi squinting in bewilderment.

From: Miya (A)

Hey, are you alright?

Kiyoomi wasn't even aware he had Atsumu's number saved. He supposes it probably happened at some point back in their training camps, when they created a bunch of group chats for the team, but this piece of information still doesn't explain the reason behind the random text.

Kiyoomi looks at his sprained ankle.

To: Miya (A)

Not really.

From: Miya (A)

Ah

Sorry, stupid question

How's your ankle?

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow.

To: Miya (A)

Just a moderate sprain

I will be back to action in no time

How did you know about it?

From: Miya (A)

Oh that's good to hear

or read? i guess

Anyways, Suna told me 

Kiyoomi huffs. Motoya and his massive loose tongue.

He is pondering on what would be a reasonable reply to that, until two knocks at his room's door takes his attention away from his phone.

He finds himself staring back at a pair of fierce green colored eyes.

"Hey," Hoshiumi squirms under Kiyoomi's stare, wide eyes blinking back at him. "Can I come in?"

Kiyoomi nods in stunned silence, awkwardly gesturing to the chair beside his bed for Hoshiumi to sit down. "What are you doing here?"

"Sorry, I heard about it and figured since I was running some errands close by I could show up to see how you're doing."

"You didn't have to bother coming all the way here," Kiyoomi frowns.

"Bullshit. It was no bother. I am sure Kageyama and Ushijima-san would've come too if they could," he shrugs, then directs a grimace to Kiyoomi's ankle. "How is it?"

"Not so bad, it seems," Kiyoomi shakes his head. He wills himself not to get bothered by the amount of times he answered that question already in the last minutes, aware that he probably will be repeating those words many other times in the next few days. "If I am careful enough, I will probably be good as new in a couple of weeks." 

Hoshiumi throws himself at the chair, looking satisfied with the answer. "Then you will be alright. You're probably the most reliable person in the world when it comes to taking proper care of something, I bet you will be back on your feet earlier than— Oh! That's a really fancy room, you even got your own TV!"

Kiyoomi watches with quiet amusement while Hoshiumi gushes around the hospital room—a single cold stare is enough to keep him from reaching for the remote control, but it doesn't stop him from happily remarking on every single detail and available button in the space.

I am sure Kageyama and Ushijima-san would've come too if they could , he said, and its meaning hits Kiyoomi with a little bit of a delay, because right now Kageyama and Wakatoshi are in a training camp in the other side of the world for the upcoming Olympics, meanwhile Hoshiumi is here complimenting the structure of his hospital room, even though he finished the season with some of the best stats the V. League has ever recorded.

It's hard to keep the irritation at bay, realizing once again how unfair this sport could be.

"You know, I considered bringing you flowers or something like that to wish you a fast recovery," Hoshiumi muses loudly. "But I wasn't sure if you would just find it messy, or, like, maybe you could be allergic or something like that?"

Kiyoomi hums distractedly, eyes fixed on the splint in his foot. "I appreciate the sentiment. If you were to gift me a plant I'd prefer if it was alive though."

Hoshiumi snorts. "Oh well, that's somehow both surprising and predictable coming from you."

"Isn't it a bit frustrating?" He mutters cautiously, avoiding Hoshiumi’s eyes. If he was a more tactful person he might have had the presence of mind to brush aside the matter completely, but Kiyoomi is anything but tactful. "To work so hard for something that relies so heavily on things that are completely out of your control?"

Hoshiumi stares at him with confusion, which is understandable given how Kiyoomi abruptly changed the subject. "Uh?"

Kiyoomi shakes his head, pursing his lips with hesitation. 

Well, this is gonna sound rich coming from me but since I already got started...

"You're probably one of the most skilled players I know, and you're a reference for your team just as much as Kageyama and Wakatoshi-kun are,” he starts, carefully picking his words. “But right now, they're getting ready to play for the Olympics while you barely even had a chance to play in a friendly game for the senior team yet, only because you lack height." He looks down at his hands, pensive. "You can work as hard as you can but in the end it feels like it all just comes down to uncontrollable circumstances, like a biological advantage, or an accident that can turn all your efforts into dust. It just seems to me that, all in all, volleyball can be very unfair."

A heavy moment of silence settles over them before Hoshiumi breaks it.

"Yeah, I kind of get what you're trying to say, but I think that’s stupid."

Kiyoomi looks up at him in shock, finding Hoshiumi’s wide eyes staring back at him with intensity. There’s a new sense of dignity in the way he holds himself now, chest puffed with pride when he opens in mouth to elaborate:

"I mean, yeah, volleyball is a pretty unfair sport, but I also think that, even if at different rates, it is kind of unfair for everyone. I know I have a disadvantage, but I know there are plenty of times where circumstances have helped me out too. I was lucky I found volleyball early on, I was lucky I got into a strong school back in junior high, even if I didn’t have many chances to play, because the experience helped me learn and improve the way I did, I was lucky to have the teammates and the coach I had in high school that made it possible for me to conquer Nationals. I may be short but I also know there are plenty of players that are twice my size and don’t have half of my achievements, and we could go on for hours non stop about the stuff that we can or can’t control, but that, regardless of circumstance or chance, is something I made happen . And just because I haven't gotten into the senior team yet ," he makes sure to highlight the word, "it doesn't mean volleyball has failed me."

It's almost like a slap in the face, Hoshiumi goes at it with such intensity that it feels like his presence in the room suddenly got three times bigger. 

Kiyoomi blinks at him stupidly, shrinking with shame. “Sorry,” he mumbles, because he gets the feeling that he has offended Hoshiumi somehow. “But twice your size is kind of a reach.”

“It’s a figure of speech!” Hoshiumi yells with exasperation, and then he seems to register Kiyoomi’s dumbfounded expression, because he deflates a little.

"Listen, I am not saying it isn't annoying. Trust me, I have cried about it plenty when I was a kid. And I get why it might frustrate you so much, since you're all, like," he makes a vague gesture with his hands in Kiyoomi's direction. "Pragmatic. Or a control freak. Whatever you think suits you the best. So it makes sense that you get frustrated over the prospect of things not going your way. But… that’s life, okay? Things won’t always have a satisfying ending. But we just keep going in hopes that they do. I am proud of the athlete I am today, I wouldn’t have it any other way if I had a chance,” Hoshiumi shrugs unapologetically. “When it comes to the things we cannot control, I think all that we can do is be grateful for the instances of luck we’re graced with, and when we have to deal with circumstances that we can’t work around…” Hoshiumi hesitates, struggling to find the words. “Well, it sucks! But life goes on!”

It takes a couple seconds before Kiyoomi is able to have a conscious thought after they resume back to silence. He feels cornered somehow, unsure of what kind of reaction Hoshiumi must be expecting from him after that discourse.

He squints at Hoshiumi. "Are you… done?"

Hoshiumi stares at him suspiciously for a moment, before he apparently finds something in Kiyoomi's face that makes him relax. "Yeah."

Kiyoomi grabs the remote control, turning on the TV. "Do you want to watch something?"

"You got a reprise from any of my games there?" Hoshiumi asks with nonchalance. 

Kiyoomi hums pensively.

"We can check for something on YouTube."

"It's a Smart TV as well?! Are you kidding me?"

They settle on a reprise of the V. League Semifinals that Kiyoomi finds online, a pleasant silence sitting between them as Hoshiumi makes himself comfortable in the visitor's chair.

Kiyoomi takes advantage of the stillness of the atmosphere to actually ponder on Hoshiumi’s words. It isn’t really life changing; he can’t say all the doubts that have been looming over him have all been sorted under the pretenses of “life goes on!”, but it does bring him some kind of relief.

For as much as he is a cynical person, he isn't ignorant. Kiyoomi knows that, although he tends to worry a lot, he has been nothing but extremely privileged so far, and having Hoshiumi, someone who has dealt with some very imposing disadvantageous circumstances his whole life and does a marvelous work of managing them, speak to him like that somehow takes a part of weight off his chest,

It’s stupid to resent the things you can’t control, is what he’s telling him.

Kiyoomi looks down at his ankle splint, which feels almost silly after the terrible career ending scenarios he had been picturing in his mind a few minutes ago, and he huffs.

Let’s just focus on getting better for now.

Hoshiumi remains with him until the doctor comes back with his final exams, announcing that his injury didn't include any issues bigger than the first evaluation indicated.

When Hoshiumi is walking away from the room, Kiyoomi watches him nearing the door with a thoughtful expression. 

"Hey," he calls out. Hoshiumi turns back at him with inquiring eyes. "Thanks for coming to see me, Kourai-kun."

Kiyoomi watches as his eyes perk up, smile spreading across his face with ease.

“Don’t mention it, I already told you it was no bother.”

Later, when he is being discharged from the hospital and getting ready to go back to his apartment, he finds his forgotten phone thrown in the hospital bed. There's eight news notifications.

From: Miya (A)

Look

[image attached]

It's an ankle brace

A lot of pro players use it

To avoid getting hurt

[image attached]

There's one for defensive specialists too

So they don't lose mobility

Kiyoomk raises his eyebrows at the texts. He is pretty sure Atsumu doesn't use ankle braces at all, but he bookmarks the messages to search about it later.

To: Miya (A)

I will give it a look

Thank you.

vi. irresistible force

Schweiden Adlers Volleyball Club @Schweiden_Adlers

Congratulations to our monster trio, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Hoshiumi Kourai and Kageyama Tobio for making it into the Japanese National Team! They will represent Japan in the 2017 Asian Championship and World League. We will be rooting for you! 

To: Motoya

Hey, just saw the summoning list

You made it! Congratulations! 

Good luck with the senior team

I will be watching out for you

From: Motoya   

Thanks, Ki!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Good luck in the U23 World Championship too

Kick some ass (ง •̀_•́)ง

To: Motoya

… I will do my best.

The U23 team experience is something completely foreign to Kiyoomi. It's his first time dealing with that kind of scenario without the comfort of his cousin's company with him, and, even though they somehow managed to get a decent result in the continental tournament and qualify for the World Championship, the team is nothing but a shadow of what Kiyoomi got himself used to. 

A different coach to begin with, added to the fact that half of his previous teammates have either split between the U21 and senior team or gone completely under the radar throughout the year, opening spots for new faces. Some of these faces are familiar, people he has faced in matches for the Intercollegiate Championship or seen in the television before, and some are totally unknown to him.

And yet, among all these changes, one factor remains familiar.

"Omi-kun," Atsumu greets him with his trademark smirk.

"Miya," Kiyoomi nods as a greeting, then squints. "You look… blonder."

And a little bit... unwinded as well. Kiyoomi has accepted a long time ago that the whole obnoxious overconfident thing was Atsumu's natural vibe, but it seems a little subdued, the pleased twist on the corner of his lips looking more soft than feral now. He still seems as cocksure as always, but where he previously would purposely try to expand his presence and come out as overbearing, he seems more centered now.

He still draws attention to himself just fine though, even more now that he's regarded as the actual star player of this team.

"Well, thank you. I figured I needed a visual change. Glad you liked it, Omi-kun."

Kiyoomi scowls. "I never said I like—"

"I like your new haircut as well," Atsumu doesn't pay attention to the interruption.

Kiyoomi falters. "It was getting too troublesome to take care of, so I figured I should just keep it short anyways," he grumbles, avoiding his eyes.

Atsumu steps closer, leaning into Kiyoomi's face with an assessing look. There's a knowing glint in his eyes when he notices Kiyoomi tensing, but he winds up just patting his shoulder twice and says: "It fits you" before walking away.

"What's your issue with people's personal space?" He says to Atsumu's retreating back.

All things considered, the practice routine doesn't change much. He keeps spiking Atsumu's tosses like they're second nature, the setter does send a few ugly glances to some of the new players after a botched play, but the balance between the two remains the same even with the new team dynamics.

The day before their flight to Cairo, Kiyoomi finds himself sitting alone in one of Ajinomoto's resting rooms, flipping through his college books (because he actually is trying to take his graduation seriously and all this traveling around isn't helping his case). They have been discharged from practice a few hours earlier than usual today, and Kiyoomi, having already everything he needed for the trip solved, tries to use the extra time in a productive way. Behind him, the TV displays the warmups to Japan's next match in the Asian Championship.

Atsumu steps into the room and stops on his tracks when he faces the television. "The three of them are starters?" He asks with wonder, and then narrows his eyes in contempt. "Stupid Adlers."

Kiyoomi turns around to face the television screen, assessing what got the reaction from Atsumu. The line-up for Japan's starting team for the game is being introduced to the audience, and the Adlers trio stare at him from the graphic the transmission prepared to illustrate it to the public, all of them wearing their imposing red jerseys.

"Ah," he turns back to his book. Gotta try to finish this chapter before the game begins. "Yeah, that's some champions' privilege for you," he mutters absent-mindedly.

Atsumu turns away from the television, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like " stupid champions " under his breath. It lands like some lighthearted banter—even if there is a hint of real resentment in his voice—, so Kiyoomi just wills himself to hold back the snort at Atsumu's childish antics.

Kiyoomi ignores the feeling in his gut that sensed something almost sorrowful underneath Atsumu's voice.

The senior team ends up winning the Asian Championship, whereas they end up only in the top 8 of the U23 World Championship.

It doesn't come as a big surprise, Kiyoomi was aware this team lacked a lot of things—experience, practice, a sense of harmony to even begin with—but it's still a very anticlimactic affair given his previous experiences. 

Their coach remains cheerful through the whole thing, constantly telling them they've made a great job.

He doesn't say it, but Kiyoomi is pretty sure he's surprised they even made it so far as to the knockout stages.

At least the hotel isn't so bad , he figures. The clean up staff is rather thorough with their work, so the whole thing is a little less unpleasant than it could've been.

The window of his room is turned to the other tower of the hotel, with a good view to the shared leisure space in the ground between them, a few outdoors benches surrounding a cosy little garden and a small playground for kids with a couple of average toys that Kiyoomi hadn't really bothered coming near during their stay here so far.

He watches the shape sitting gingerly by the swing, there's not much to disclose from this distance, except for the tuft of familiar blond hair. 

Kiyoomi doesn't know how long Atsumu has been standing there for, when he first spotted the setter the sky was still painted orange while the sun was making its leave through the horizon. A part of him even figured the scene must be feeding Atsumu's dramatic streak—a melancholic moment of lonely reflection by the sunset—so he was adamant on not meddling at first.

Kiyoomi isn't sure about the specificities, but it is dark now, Cairo's night sky is cloudless, giving them a striking display of the moon, and Atsumu is still motionlessly sitting in the playground below him. 

He sighs, and it almost feels like another defeat when he starts making his way downstairs.

The moment he leaves the comfort of the hotel's air conditioner, Kiyoomi is reminded once again why he avoided going outside at all costs. The wind is stuffy and the air is disgustingly humid, he barely takes a step outside and there's already a gross layer of sweat accumulating under his nose and behind his neck.

"Ugh, how can you stand staying outside for so long? Even at night the weather here is disgusting," he complains as soon as he gets near Atsumu's hearing range.

The setter simply looks up quietly, regarding him with a distant smile.

Kiyoomi hesitates, evaluating the space carefully before giving up and sitting by the swing beside Atsumu with a grimace. These clothes are going straight into the washing machine anyway.

The silence sets down between them, one Kiyoomi struggles to figure out if it's heavy or comfortable. Atsumu doesn't seem to mind his company, but it isn't like he's particularly concerned about his presence either.

He looks down at his feet, scolding himself internally when he realizes he's not even sure what he came here to do after all.

"Hey, Omi-kun," Atsumu doesn't turn to look at him, eyes focused on the sky above them. "Have we been left behind?"

Kiyoomi hums, following Atsumu's gaze to look up at the moon as well.

He figured this is what had been troubling Atsumu for some time now, but it's still weird to see him approaching the subject in such an honest and vulnerable manner. It might be because of the nature of their relationship, but Atsumu's presence always hit him with an intensity that was almost aggressive, even in the instances where he wasn't at his brightest moments he never came out as soft-spoken.

Kiyoomi knew his chances of making the main national team anytime soon would dim the day he made the decision to focus on his studies and play an amateur competition, so he can't say he's particularly bothered by his current situation. Honesty, he isn't even sure if getting there is one of his goals—so far all his experiences with the youth teams have flowed almost naturally, but making the final step to the senior team feels like a much more deliberated move than anything he has done so far.

You can't really expect to be in a national team when you don't even consider yourself a professional athlete yet.

It's different for Atsumu though, he knows it. He's pretty sure the setter had some high hopes on actually making it this time before the official summoning list was disclosed, he had a bunch of impressive stats and a very consistent performance in the last few seasons to back him off.

Objectively, if raw skills were the only factor to take into consideration when making the decision, Kiyoomi knows Atsumu deserved the spot.

Still, a part of him also understands the reasoning behind the decision to cut him off. 

The National Team is going through a renovation process right now, and Kageyama Tobio, in his quick ascension to establish himself as the team's indisputable star setter, for all of his remarkable skills, game awareness and consistency in court, is still, first and foremost, a kid. A barely twenty something someone who holds the responsibility of leading his team at the world stage. It is no surprise that Hibarida would opt to have a more mature setter in the roster as an assurance.

"You shouldn't take it as a personal offense for your skills," is what Kiyoomi says out loud. "They just opted for prioritizing someone more experienced this time."

Atsumu scoffs. "You really suck at this. I don't feel better at all."

Kiyoomi shakes his head, the smile under his mask is resigned.

"The reality isn't there to comfort anyone. It just is what it is."

At least his bluntness seems to entertain Atsumu for a second, even though his huff seems a little more amused at Kiyoomi's total lack of tact than as a reaction to the words itself.

But the strained way he holds himself is still evident, so Kiyoomi sighs, his own shoulders dropping in defeat.

"Well, if you really want to be consoled, I guess I can say I don't think it's gonna take much longer for you. And that's the realist in me speaking."

He can feel the weight of Atsumu's curious glance on him, but he purposely avoids looking back.

Atsumu hums quietly then, seeming a little bit more content with the effort. A small kick of his feet put his swing into motion, the movement is small, his feet don't even leave the floor while his body moves back and forth slowly. It isn't a huge change, but the gloomy bubble around him seems to burst somehow.

"What about you, Omi-kun? Don't you ever get upset over it?" 

Kiyoomi shakes his head, his face is still turned to the moon, but his eyes are distant. 

"I am not in a hurry."

Atsumu sends him a puzzled look from the corner of his eyes, but he ends up letting the subject drop.

The silence returns, but this time Kiyoomi is pretty sure it's the comfortable kind. Atsumu is still swinging quietly by his side, whereas Kiyoomi remains stiff in his own swing, and they allow themselves to quietly bask in each other's presence.

Thinking back at it, it's easy to understand Atsumu's frustration. Making it to the National Team must be one of the main goals for any high level athlete; some of them achieve it and manage to remain there for most of their careers, others get a single chance and try to make the most of it, but the bottom line is that this is a goal they all follow blindly. 

Volleyball doesn't give solid deadlines to work with, these players just keep running forward, trying to improve and take care of themselves the best way they can in the process, and you might not even know if you missed your big chance until you're way past it.

He considers this for a second, glancing at Atsumu from the corner of his eyes. This is probably the most intimate moment they have shared so far, and Atsumu seems unarmed, swinging peacefully in the kid's playground of a foreign country, none of that usual sneering attitude he tends to armor himself with.

So Kiyoomi tries his luck. "Can I ask you something?"

Atsumu looks at Kiyoomi questioningly, eyes lighting up in expectancy.

He hesitates for a second, struggling to find the best way to word it—how to make it sound as impersonal as possible.

"If you had to quit volleyball today, how would you feel?"

Atsumu makes an indignant sound, mouth and eyes widening in shock. "What?" He chokes.

Kiyoomi shakes his head. "This is just an hypothetical situation, Miya. Don't fret."

Atsumu squints at him with suspicion for a moment, but then he deflates, face turning pensive instead. "Ah, I guess I would have to feel happy that I gave it my all."

Kiyoomi tilts his head.

"Uh?"

"What." Atsumu snaps defensively.

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at him. "That doesn't sound like you at all."

"What is that supposed to mean?!" Atsumu's voice gets higher as his frustration grows, accent getting unconsciously heavier as well.

Kiyoomi just keeps targeting him with the same unimpressive glare, until Atsumu surrenders, deciding to elaborate.

"I mean, yeah, obviously I'd be devastated," he laughs darkly, eyes turning cloudy. " God, I would be devastated ," he repeats with more emphasis. "But still, I would be devastated if I had to quit today, I will be devastated if I have to quit twenty years from now because my body can't keep up with it anymore, it doesn't matter how it goes, there's no way I won't die a little when I have to step away, you know?" He turns to look at Kiyoomi, expression suddenly twisting into something almost tender. "But at the end of the day, it would hurt exactly because I love it so much. I know this isn't eternal, standing on the court, playing good volleyball, having fun, this is all just an experience we get to borrow for a short while, and I don't wanna put a single moment of it to waste."

Oh. Oh.

Kiyoomi stares dumbly, watching as Atsumu's face turns adoring halfway through his speech. There's a warm feeling settling down in his chest and he exhales a heavy breath away, feeling himself get lighter.

"I see."

It's strange, the whole time he has been pondering over this it never crossed Kiyoomi's mind that he could have a model career for all it is worth, without any major upsets or traumatic circumstances, and even so he might still leave without feeling completely satisfied.

It's the kind of knowledge that puts things in perspective. What is it to be satisfied anyway? Kiyoomi feels satisfied every time he gets to prove himself inside a court, volleyball is challenging, and rewarding in a way that goes way beyond just a match result, so he would be lying to himself if he said he wanted to end things now.

As for the final outcome of it, Kiyoomi looks down at his wrists, thinks back to all the people he was fortunate enough to share a court with, and he decides that luck has been really kind with him so far, so he wouldn't mind leaving something else in its hands.

It went like this: when Motoya first introduced him to this sport, Kiyoomi took to volleyball the same way he did to most things in his life.

He enjoyed the mechanical work, the unbending logic of the whole affair: learn the steps, practice it, repetitively, diligently and then enjoy the satisfaction of being able to reproduce it properly during a real match as the result. Like a good puzzle you’ve worked on alone, following a reasoning and logic that’s personally crafted by you, and then being able to look at the finished peace knowing you had control of every part of the process.

There was just something comforting in knowing you’ve worked yourself through every step to the point of being able to make a successful play in the middle of a match, and that when something fails it’s because some part of the process was lacking—which is something very easy to resolve.

Kiyoomi knew there was much more to volleyball than just that, but these factors never really interfered with his path to self-satisfaction. Volleyball is a collective game, and he understood the mechanisms of mutual dependence and connection within a team, but still, the achievements that he valued and the road followed to get to them were things that felt extremely individual.

The feeling of making the correct spiking motion was more satisfying than the point itself. Knowing he had gotten the right timing to a jump felt more worth than the actual block. Being able to include that special wrist snap that he spent weeks perfecting into his movements gave him a bigger feeling of contentment than the disbelief in the face of his opponents when they thought they had the dig granted.

And that’s how, for a long time, Kiyoomi managed to make of volleyball an individual pastime.

That lasted until the day he met Wakatoshi.

That day Kiyoomi understood a part of volleyball—and of life itself—that never really made sense to him until then.

There’s a goal I need to achieve, he thought while staring wide-eyed at the boy on the other side of the net, and I only will be able to make it if I share this moment with you.

The feeling is completely alien, and it comes with a little of discomfort—knowing there was something in his life that didn’t fit any of his previous molds of logic, that happened in a way he couldn’t easily understand or explain—but still, Kiyoomi finds it can also bring him a whole new level of gratification.

Things don't have to make sense to feel good.

Throughout junior high, Ushijima Wakatoshi enabled two types of awakenings—one of them he was able to recover from at some point in his third year of high school.

As for the second, it remains evolving through the years—to this day, Kiyoomi still finds new things about volleyball, and about himself, that are a surprise to him, but the unknown doesn't feel so distressing anymore.

Still, looking at Wakatoshi’s form sitting in front of him, eyebrows furrowed with severity while he evaluates the menu in his hands, Kiyoomi can’t help but welcome the warm feeling of gratefulness in his chest.

Thanks for being my starting line.

"Have you picked something already, S Kiyoomi-kun?"

Wakatoshi gets a low affirmative hum as an answer. Kiyoomi didn't even had to bother checking the menu, he has frequented this place since his first year of college—it's actually the only place near campus he has ever bothered coming back to, reason why he actually asked their meeting to be here. It has survived all of Kiyoomi's scrutinizing surveying process, going from online ratings and pictorial analysis to evaluating their work method and cleaning procedures from up close, and after establishing everything fit his standards he found out, with great relief, that the food was pretty good too.

Everyone in the staff knows him and his idiosyncrasies already, even going as far as muttering noncommittal "tables five and seven have just been cleaned" after Kiyoomi finishes paying—he always ends up cleaning it again with his own disinfectant for good measure, but he appreciates the sentiment and they don't seem particularly offended by the action.

"You seem a little better off than the last time I saw you," Wakatoshi turns to him conversationally (at least as much as he's able to) once their orders were made.

Kiyoomi's eyebrows twist in disdain. "Yeah, that's what writing a thesis does to you."

Wakatoshi nods, face blank. "So I'm assuming you're done with your college assignments already?"

"Pretty much."

Kiyoomi sends the waitress an acknowledging nod when she arrives with their orders.

A comfortable silence sits between them while they work on sweetening their drinks, neither of them were big conversationalists to begin with so this situation wasn't really rare between the two. Kiyoomi knows Wakatoshi doesn't have many friends in Tokyo aside from his team, so he does try to make sure they meet every once in a while to catch up. It's never anything too eventful, but overall they're able to enjoy each other's presence.

("We're too similar," he thinks back to the words he once said to his cousin back in high school.)

"So," Wakatoshi starts again. "Have you decided where you are going next?"

Kiyoomi folds his mask carefully inside its case, taking a moment to have a sip of his tea before shrugging.

"I did receive a few offers," he says.

That's an understatement, even before actually making up his mind about playing volleyball Kiyoomi knew he would be well-off when the time for the teams to approach him with their contract proposals arrived, he has managed to keep himself consistent and a big asset to his team throughout all of his universitary years, but this last season especially was an outlier. Waseda grabbed the Intercollegiate Championship with relative ease, totally unbeaten and with just a single set lost through the whole ordeal, Kiyoomi's performance alone earned him three individual awards at once, a personal record for him. 

He never really cared about external validation, but these awards have always felt weirdly gratifying to him, like an objective way of regarding his efforts, so he allows himself to feel smug about it.

"I am just waiting for some last words from my advisor to settle things out, but I will probably book a trip to Osaka to check out the MSBY Black Jackal's facilities and do a medical check up soon."

For any other person, Wakatoshi's expression would seem as unfeeling as always, but Kiyoomi can recognize the tense set between his eyebrows. Disapproval.

"You do know the Adlers have their doors open for you," it is phrased like a question, but the words come out without any inflection.

Kiyoomi feels one of the corners of his lips moving up. "Oh, yeah, their offer has been very… generous. Just doesn't really fit the criteria I am looking for."

"I am just saying, I know how much you value consistency in a team so I believe you would be satisfied with us. I know you get along with Kageyama and Hoshiumi as well, and I can guarantee our older players are very reliable," Wakatoshi argues.

Kiyoomi hums. "I understand where you're coming from, I really do." He pauses for a second, regarding Wakatoshi with a serious look. "But everybody knows you've been negotiating with Nicholas Romero for the next season, and I have no intention of signing a contract just to become a luxury reserve player."

Wakatoshi narrows his eyes.

"I just don't want you to rush into a decision you might come to regret later."

Kiyoomi huffs under his breath, the act filled with amusement.

"The Black Jackal is a good team, so I don't think you have to worry about that. Also, you know I am not the kind of person that makes rushed decisions."

They sustain an intense staring contest for a few seconds. Kiyoomi breaks it off first, but there's still a heavy sense of satisfaction—and petulance—in the way he holds his tea when he goes to take another sip.

"Well, I hope you're ready to lose again then," Wakatoshi says, a clear reference to last year's Kurowashiki Tournament results.

Kiyoomi raises his eyes, the hint of challenge evident in his face.

"We will see about that."

("Also, what's with all this talk about consistency? We all know Kageyama is going to Italy next year. I definitely wouldn't enjoy signing into a team only to have my star setter leaving after just a single season."

Wakatoshi just regards him with a glare, but there's no retort.)

One week later, Kiyoomi finds himself stepping out of the Osaka Station, observing the surroundings of the new city with analytical eyes.

The Black Jackal's training center is a mere three blocks from the train station, so he figured it would be better to just walk his way there instead of hiring some kind of riding service that would put him inside a stranger's car.

He's halfway there when the familiar voice hits him.

"Omi-kun?"

Kiyoomi tenses. If the stupid nickname wasn't enough of a tell, the voice itself was unmistakable.

Some part of him genuinely hoped this specific part of the ordeal could've been delayed a little more, but, well, luck couldn't always be on his side.

He turns slowly, coming face to face with Atsumu's startled expression.

"What are you doing here?" Atsumu asks.

Kiyoomi regards him slowly, taking in his appearance—a sports bag on his shoulder, Nike shoes, training shorts, a casual shirt. He's probably still gonna change, but it's crystal clear he's on his way to practice.

He sighs, there's really no point in avoiding this when they're clearly heading to the same place.

"I am heading to the Black Jackal's training center to meet the place."

Atsumu's face lights up, a boyish smile on his face. "You're joining us?"

Kiyoomi turns away, the gleeful expression on Atsumu's face making him strangely uncomfortable, and resumes his walk.

"Maybe," he concedes. 

Atsumu is by his side in no time, keeping up with Kiyoomi's steps while he starts babbling happily. "Oh, the mighty MVP of the Intercollegiate Tournament joining our humble team… Who would've imagined? I heard you got a server award as well, but yeah, the competition there was pretty bland too, right? You're gonna have to put a little bit more effort in the V. League, Omi-kun."

The smugness in his tone is so palpable it almost feels like a physical weight sitting by Kiyoomi's shoulders.

Kiyoomj ignores him, keeping his face impassive and eyes focused straight ahead.

"I think you're gonna like the place, Omi-kun. Aiko-san, the head of the cleaning department, is really strict, she keeps everyone on their toes. She's terrible. I bet you're gonna love her. And! They clean the common areas at least three times a day."

Kiyoomi knows, he knows , that when dealing with Miya Atsumu, ignoring and tuning him out instead of entertaining his attempts of getting a reaction is always the smartest move, but he still can't help himself.

"I told you already, there's nothing official yet. I am just here to assess the place," Kiyoomi mumbles.

"As if you would've come all the way here if you hadn't made your mind yet," Atsumu laughs.

Kiyoomi remains silent.

"Oh, and by the way, if you don't really like the dorms, I can tell you the housing price around here ain't that high. Even more if compared to your crazy Tokyo standards."

Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow. "You got a place here?"

Atsumu stops in his tracks, turning back to the direction they've come from before raising his arms, fingers pointing to a building in the horizon. "That's me." 

Kiyoomi considers the shape of the structure for a second, taking into its appearance—It doesn't look particularly luxurious, but it seems cozy and relatively new.

"Hm."

Atsumu shrugs, then turns back to the direction they were heading before. "I just figured, you know? 'Samu is here building his own stuff, my parents live a forty minutes drive away, I really like the team. I ain't going anywhere any time soon, so might as well get comfortable, right?"

"If you say so," Kiyoomi says with nonchalance.

The walk ends with an abrupt stop when the sight of the training center's entry door looms ahead of them. For a second, neither of them move.

They share a look. Atsumu blinks at him questioningly. Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow.

Atsumu huffs, the sound a mix of amusement and disbelief, and then he reaches for the handle, taking a step inside and holding the door open behind him.

Kiyoomi enters the place silently, looking around the entrance hall with a blank face. Beside him, Atsumu mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "ungrateful son of a bitch" under his breath.

The lady behind the desk perks up at their arrival, turning to Kiyoomi instantly. "Sakusa-senshu! I am glad you arrived safely, we've been waiting for you. Come on in."

He nods silently, sending a final glance in Atsumu's direction—and regretting it instantly, because he finds the setter smiling cheekily at him, wiggling his fingers in cutesy a 'bye bye' motion.

"Have fun out there, Omi-kun. See you around."

The receptionist turns back to stare at them with a strange look.

Kiyoomi just grunts an undeciprable sound and follows the lady without looking back.

He signs the deal by the end of the week. It's a one year contract, he makes sure to keep it short in case he has much of an issue to adapt, but he's hopeful.

(The cleaning is actually pretty respectful.)

Chapter Text

vii. hunger

Hinata Shoyo arrives in his life like a thunderstorm.

The meeting happens in the later half of March, officially the first day of practice for MSBY Black Jackal with its new roster for the season.

Earlier that month, Kiyoomi graduated and almost immediately arranged everything that had to be done for his move to Osaka. He spent his twenty second birthday unpacking, answering the congratulatory phone calls from family members in the moments in-between, but at the end of the day he managed to get everything done on his own.

He finished settling down two days ago, and made sure to spend the remaining time before the official schedule started avoiding any unnecessary social contact—nothing wrong with avoiding the avoidable, right?

Now, work begins, and he has to face this new stage of his life.

It’s still early in the morning, and as the hall is filled with people scattered around catching off from their breaks, Kiyoomi ignores the comfortable chatter around him and makes his way straight to the locker room when Bokuto, who was a few steps ahead, comes to an abrupt stop in front of him.

Kiyoomi frowns in confusion, immediately stopping on his tracks to avoid a collision. He opens his mouth to complain, but, before he can say anything, Bokuto—well, Bokuto hollers :

"HINATA!"

Kiyoomi flinches at the loudness, watching with an apprehensive expression as a kid with orange hair that was already waiting inside the locker room perks up at the name, jumping in excitement when he spots Bokuto. "Bokuto-San!"

"Hinata!" Bokuto screams back.

"Bokuto-San!"

"Hinata!"

There's the beginning of a headache spreading through Kiyoomi's skull.

"Omi-kun, you're blocking the door, did something hap—" Atsumu sticks his head into his field of view, tilting his body so he can see past Kiyoomi, then he gasps. "Shoyo-kun?"

He dodges Kiyoomi to get inside the room and join the pair into a heated—and very loud—conversation.

Kiyoomi remains paralyzed for a few seconds longer, then he shakes his head, steps inside the locker room and heads to the corner farthest from the three to pick a locker and drop his things.

He tries to tune off the conversation, but neither of its participants seem to understand the concept of an indoor voice, so he ends up catching some words inadvertently; something about beach volleyball , and Brazil and did you make it in the open tryouts?

“Argh, I should have volunteered to set at the tryouts!” Atsumu exclaims with frustration. “I would love to see the coach's reaction to you.”

“Bet he was amazed by my disciple!” Bokuto laughs, clapping ginger boy’s back proudly.

There's a sense of dread filling Kiyoomi while he changes. He knew Bokuto's personality well enough from all their high school contests, and he was pretty confident he could deal with Atsumu's terrible character traits just fine after everything they’ve experienced together in the youth teams—and he knows the sets are actually worth the moments of inconvenience. It would be a handful, but he prepared himself psychologically for that before signing the deal.

He's not sure he's prepared to deal with whoever that kid is though.

There's also this weird sensation of familiarity to the name. Hinata Shoyo, he ponders, trying to figure out where he knows him from.

It comes to him later, when the coach pulls both of them to the side to officially introduce the two new assets to the team and the kid proudly mentions being a Karasuno alumnus between tells of his adventures on the other side of the world.

It's the kid that collapsed from a fever the day Iizuna hurt his ankle.

The dread fully settles out now, spreads out comfortably, fills the corners of his ribs, makes a home in his chest. He knows there are plenty of tragic instances in volleyball that are out of his control, but letting yourself crumble with a fever the day of a big competition is nothing but the consequence of one's own irresponsibility. There's nothing Kiyoomi values more than self maintenance—he can deal with a teammate that is overbearing, but not one that is careless.

He makes sure to bluntly present his judgement as soon as they're paired together for the stretches before practice begins.

Hinata blinks at him, but he doesn't seem offended. "You don't have to worry about that! I learned from what happened. I am way better about it."

Kiyoomi regards him carefully. There's definitely a display of genuineness in his eyes, he seems untroubled by Kiyoomi's reservations, but, "I don't really know you well enough to take your word for it, so you'll have to bear with my apprehension."

Hinata tilts his head, expression puzzled. Kiyoomi brings his focus back to his exercises.

Nevertheless, Hinata manages to build a solid argument for his point just a few minutes later, when the team gathers around to take the measurements that will be officially submitted to the professional tournaments and used to update their profiles on the team’s website later.

Kiyoomi watches, eyes narrowed in distrust while Hinata prepares himself and takes the distance necessary for his approach.

He kicks off, and it's a matter of seconds before he's in the air.

A few wolf whistles can be heard around the court, from the back of his mind he registers someone muttering "we're giving Hoshiumi-san a run for his money this season ", but Kiyoomi remains focused on the motion developing in front of him, eyes analytical.

He already knew the boy could jump, it was something he had acknowledged back in his second year of high school watching that match against Inarizaki. It was obviously way higher now, but he still forces himself into avoiding any shock-induced distractions to remain objective in his analysis.

The assertive pattern in his approach, the careful manner he positioned his body to center momentum before kicking himself up, his balance in the air.

I don’t think a careless person would be able to pull that off.

Atsumu makes a choked whimper next to him. Kiyoomi glances to the side, finding the setter watching the jump with a delighted look in his eyes, mouth twisted in a predatory manner. The look is pretty much maniacal.

"What is wrong with you?" Kiyoomi sneers under his breath.

The words are heavily weighted with judgment, but Atsumu deliberately ignores it, proudly raising a vindictive fist in the air.

"This is it, Omi-kun! Our time has finally come. This season, we're making Tobio-kun cry."

Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow, sending him a very pointed glare. He makes sure to give Atsumu's face an evident once over before letting out a mocking scoff. "The only person close to tears here is you."

Atsumu gapes at him, indignantly stuttering a bunch of incoherent sounds until his brain is able to articulate something comprehensible—which just happens to be a very wounded "Omi-kun!"

He's clearly at the early stages of a tantrum, but he's cut off before it can evolve into full scale.

"Atsumu," the coach stares at him reproachfully, voice harsh. "You're next."

Atsumu gulps, but still sends Kiyoomi a resentful glance when he starts walking. "Coming, coach."

Kiyoomi follows his movements with the corner of his eyes, forcing his face back into a neutral expression. He can feel the weight of Meian's attentive stare on his back.

Later, when practice is over and he is back to his dorm, he finds three new notifications in his phone.

The first one is from his cousin, predictable.

From: Motoya

Let me know how was your first day

Will try to call you later

Kiyoomi stares at it for half a second, before quickly typing a reply and hitting send.

To: Motoya

Everyone is very loud.

The other two notifications make Kiyoomi falter. Staring suspiciously at his phone, the names "Kourai-kun" and "Wakatoshi-kun" mockingly look back at him from the screen.

Kiyoomi sighs, opting to click the one with Kourai's messages first.

They don't really text each other frequently, but the chat isn't completely empty either—there's a couple of exchanges through the years, mostly initiated by Kourai and being mildly entertained back by Kiyoomi.

A few selfies, article screenshots, some really bad memes and even a quick inquiry about cleaning products are what their chat history is mostly composed of. The most recent message is dated from three hours ago, and it makes Kiyoomi raise his eyebrows.

From: Kourai-kun

KIYOOMI

IS HINATA SHOYO ON YOUR TEAM?

To: Kourai-kun

?

Yes.

The next messages come just a few seconds later.

From: Kourai-kun

👁👁

Good.

Kiyoomi frowns, but in the end decides it is for the best (of his own peace of mind) not to pry.

He opens the other notification.

From: Wakatoshi-kun

Did Hinata Shoyo pass the tryouts for the MSBY Black Jackal?

And now Kiyoomi has to scoff, because seriously, what's the deal with that guy?

To: Wakatoshi-kun

Yes.

The answer comes two hours later.

From: Wakatoshi-kun

Okay.

MSBY Black Jackal Volleyball Club @BlackJackal_Official

You’ve heard the rumors, but now it’s official! The MVP of the Intercollegiate Tournament, Sakusa Kiyoomi, together with the opposite Hinata Shoyo are the newest members of the team! To learn more, check our website: blackjackals.jp/team

[two pictures attached, including Sakusa and Hinata in front of a neutral background wearing their Black Jackal’s jersey. Sakusa is in the left picture, spotting a blank expression, and on the right picture Hinata smiles happily to the camera]

"Omi-kun!" Atsumu calls as soon as the ball leaves his hands.

Kiyoomi starts his approach, eyes focused on the ball's path. Left, right, left, up . There's a wall of three people in front of him, closing off the line shot—unsurprisingly, since that's where he purposely angled his body for.

The ball hits his hand, a decisive snap of his wrist sending it in a cross to the opposite court.

Hinata is somehow under it in time, but the ball touches his outstretched arms and angrily twirls to the side.

Atsumu giggles next to him. "Nice kill."

"Heh," he chuckles quietly.

From the other side of the net, Meian grimaces, but turns a placating hand in Hinata's direction. "Don't mind it, nice job reacting in time."

Hinata nods to the captain, but his expression remains troubled—a stark contrast to his usual cheerful nature.

He’s actually way quieter than I expected, Kiyoomi considers, moving back to serve.

A few ticks of the rotation catches them in a similar position once again. Kiyoomi jumps, this time there's only two blockers on the move, giving him the line shot, so he takes on the invitation.

The arm swing felt really good.

He knew that spike was particularly powerful the moment the ball grasped his palm, but the thunderous sound that echoes through the gym when it makes contact with Hinata's arm is still impressive.

Once again the ball deflects to the side with aggression, coach Foster has to react quickly to avoid being caught in its trajectory. Even so, Kiyoomi is still a little bit insulted that Hinata managed to react to that, he's not sure even Motoya could get under that on the first try.

Hinata tilts his head in puzzlement, but Atsumu is already addressing him before the opposite hitter can say anything out loud.

"Disgusting, right?" His face is gleeful. "It's the wrist," he raises one arm, making a flamboyant movement with his hand to point out the motion of the joint extension. "They're absolutely freaky."

Kiyoomi sighs.

"You do have a way of making anything sound unpleasant," he deadpans, but turns to Hinata anyway, stretching his right wrist to illustrate the point.

Hinata gapes at the sight in awe. "That's so cool!"

Bokuto parrots the sentiment next to him, Kiyoomi smiles sardonically.

The coach clears his throat in a very deliberate manner, calling the team's attention back to him.

"I think that's enough for today. Tomorrow, 8 am, your schedule is in the weight room. Our athletic trainer has already emailed all of you with the initial directions, but he and all our physiotherapists will be there to instruct you through your exercises as always. We will come back to the court in the afternoon. You're dismissed."

Kiyoomi is crouched down in the corner of the gym, focusing on collecting his stuff and double-checking everything to ensure nothing has been swapped by accident, when he regards Atsumu absentmindedly. "You know you don't have to call everytime you set to me, right? I am on the ball anyway."

"Oh, really?" Atsumu feigns ignorance, taking a sip of his drink before turning to Kiyoomi with a foxy grin. "My bad, must be a habit of mine."

Kiyoomi scowls, having enough experience playing with and against Atsumu to know that's a barefaced lie .

"You just want an excuse to call me that stupid nickname," Kiyoomi mumbles.

"You love the nickname, Omi-kun!"

Next to them, Bokuto perks up. "Oooh, Omi?! Is that how they called you back in the youth team?"

"No," Kiyoomi deadpans.

"It's so cool! Isn't it cool, Hinata?" Bokuto says, ignoring Kiyoomi's denial and turning to the boy in question to request his consensus.

Hinata nods with enthusiasm. "Yes! So cool!"

"Should we call him that too?"

"Ooooh, should we, Bokuto-san?"

Kiyoomi’s expression darkens, directing a murderous glance in Atsumu’s direction. The setter just smiles back at him with overflowing joy.

After the exchange, it takes less than two weeks before the whole team is aware of the stupid nickname, three weeks and the whole technical staff knows about it as well, by the one month mark, even Aiko-san from the cleaning department has heard about it already. The real adults are sensible enough to keep away from it, but it's hard to convince the impressionable ones to do the same.

"Omi-san!" Hinata approaches him at some point of April.

Kiyoomi glances down at him, face impassive.

"Can you stay and hit some spikes for me? I wanna practice my digs."

Kiyoomi blinks.

"No."

Hinata's face falls, and Kiyoomi has to fight the traitorous feeling in his gut that seems dangerously similar to guilt .

It's nonsensical, there's no valid reason to feel bad—he thought this through before answering, his morning was spent in the weight room doing his shoulder and arms workout routine and, even though there's no concerning pain just yet, his muscles feel stiff in that way that scream 'you're definitely going to feel that tomorrow'. Not to mention the familiar soreness that makes itself known in his right wrist.

Kiyoomi purses his lips in discomfort.

It would be imprudent to accept the request right now, even more so when he is aware of the level of intensity Hinata inputs into everything he does.

Still, he looks at Hinata's pleading eyes and finds himself stopping to reconsider the situation.

He sighs. "I can arrive a little bit earlier next friday to practice with you if you want."

Hinata brightens, screaming in agreement before running off to talk with Bokuto.

Kiyoomi glances to the side discreetly, finding Atsumu with his back turned to him, established in one of his power poses—one arm akimbo, hip slightly tilted to the side in a petulant manner—as he drinks his water and pretends he wasn't paying attention to the conversation.

He glares at the expanse of Atsumu’s back until the setter turns sideways, and Kiyoomi somehow finds himself getting caught in the movement of his throat as he gulps down the water.

Kiyoomi blinks, then grimaces, and starts making his way to the showers.

Atsumu finds him later in the locker room, fresh out of the shower as well if the wet hair is any indication. They’re the first ones there, so when he spots Kiyoomi alone in the corner of the room Atsumu targets him with a lopsided smirk.

"Damn, Omi-kun, you almost broke Shoyo-kun's poor heart back there," he says, voice laced with mirth.

Kiyoomi grunts, bringing his left hand to absentmindedly massage his right wrist.

"I think that what happened to Hinata made him very aware of his own physical boundaries, but he's not as familiar with other people's limits."

Atsumu's expression sombers, eyebrows lowering in concern. "Is your wrist alright?"

A beat of consideration, and then, "Yeah. It will be fine."

Kiyoomi has already finished changing, and he doesn’t see the point in trying to prolong this conversation any longer, so he grabs his stuff and makes his way out of the room without looking back, a nonchalant "see you tomorrow" leaving his lips as he walks through the door.

"Wait!" Atsumu exclaims, rushing to clumsily throw his things inside his bag before running after Kiyoomi until he can match his steps. "What are you doing right now?"

Kiyoomi hesitates, squinting suspiciously at Atsumu from the corner of his eyes. Anyone else and the question would feel innocent enough, but Atsumu somehow makes it sound like a trap.

"I'm probably getting something to eat," Kiyoomi tilts his head in contemplation. "I should go to the dining room, but I need to buy a few supplies so I think I might step by a konbini somewhere."

Atsumu perks up. "You should come with me to Samu's shop! You can get your stuff on the way."

Kiyoomi stops, turning to face Atsumu with a pained look. The expression alone would have served as enough of an answer if he was talking to a more reasonable person.

"Eh?"

Atsumu stares back at him, eyes twisting into a weird shape that looks dangerously close to pleading. 

"C'mon," he whines. "Everyone loves my brother's onigiris. You're the only one in the team that hasn't tried them yet."

Kiyoomi grimaces. Yeah, and that was a deliberate choice. 

"I have a weak stomach," he says instead, discreetly trying to start moving again to get away from the conversation, but Atsumu keeps up with his steps naturally.

"Really?" Atsumu blinks at him in surprise.

"Yeah, I get sick easily. That's why I avoid eating out in places I don't trust."

Atsumu ponders over the words for a second. "And how do you start trusting a place?"

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes.

"A very thorough evaluation process," he says with a strained expression.

Atsumu smiles, bright, obnoxiously, and proudly turns a thumb to point at his own chest.

"And how many steps of the process can we skip with the testimony of a trustworthy customer?"

"If it is you?” Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow. “That's probably two steps back."

Atsumu’s stance falls.

"Come on, Omi-Omi!” He insists, and Kiyoomi flinches. “I've been bragging to Osamu for days that you're one of my hitters now, I can't wait to see his face when you walk inside his shop."

Kiyoomi's face sours. "What did you just call me?"

Atsumu's smile turns sheepish. "Sorry?" He doesn't sound apologetic. "It doesn't feel the same now that Bokkun and Shoyo-kun took a liking to the nickname so I figured I had to step up my game. Besides, nicknames with a syllable repetition are cute."

"You're technically repeating two syllables."

"That's not the point here! Are you coming with me or not?"

"I'm coming if you promise to never call me that in front of anyone," he says with obvious reluctance.

"Done!" Atsumu exclaims cheerfully. Kiyoomi doesn’t believe him.

"And I am not eating anything someone put his bare hands on." 

Atsumu rolls his eyes, but he grabs his phone to type something anyway. "So prickly, Omi-Omi. But alright, I will tell him to have some ochazuke ready for you."

"And I will need to stop by my room to get my wallet."

Atsumu hums, face still stuck on his phone. "Alright. I will go with you."

Kiyoomi stops on his tracks, turning to glare at Atsumu with impassive eyes.

Atsumu raises his head, blinking innocently back at him. “What?”

“You’re not going inside my room.”

Atsumu widens his eyes. “What?! But why—” Kiyoomi doesn’t budge, eyes remaining ice cold. “Ugh, fine. I will wait by the door.”

And that's how Kiyoomi finds himself in a staring contest with one Miya Osamu.

The corners of Osamu’s lip stretch up minimally at Kiyoomi, his smile is less overbearing than his brother's, but there's still something inherently smug about it, something unsettling—like he knows a joke you're unaware about.

"Sakusa-san," he regards Kiyoomi with a nod.

"Osamu-san." Kiyoomi returns the motion.

Atsumu gapes. "How come he gets the first name treatment?"

"Well, I already call you 'Miya', wouldn't want to cause any confusion," Kiyoomi says, voice void of inflection, but he has to make a conscious effort to hold back the smirk that risks taking over his face to make sure the jab lands correctly.

Atsumu huffs indignantly, brattily stomping his foot against the floor while he walks to a room on the corner of the shop, closing the door behind him with aggressivity.

"I can't believe you two!" He screams through the door.

Kiyoomi and Osamu watch his outburst with unimpressed faces.

"Did he actually want to use the bathroom or he just wanted to make a scene?" Kiyoomi muses out loud.

"Probably both," Osamu turns to Kiyoomi. "You have my condolences, having to deal with that everyday."

Kiyoomi hums with indifference, eyes assessing the balcony and the benches in front of him with wariness. He considers if he should take off the bottle of disinfectant in his pocket to clean it off before getting properly settled.

Osamu turns around, stepping inside his kitchen. His next words come out muffled, but he raises his voice to make sure they reach Kiyoomi. "But I guess it's good for him—you can wipe out whatever you want, by the way, I ain't gonna be offended,” He interrupts his own train of thought to remark. “But I guess it is good for him, to have someone that puts him back in his place like that. Keeps him from getting a big head."

Kiyoomi deems the seat clean enough to sit on, but starts meticulously wiping on the balcony. "Like you did to him back in high school?"

Osamu returns holding a tray, he gives him an inriquiring look before settling it down on the freshly cleaned balcony after receiving a permissive nod from Kiyoomi, then his expression twists into a sheepish grimace. 

"I will admit he was better at rilling me up than I was at grounding him," he says, and then he stops, seemingly to reconsider something. The corners of his lips slowly crawl into a smile, like he's suddenly hit by a pleasurable memory. “But I did get to punch some sense into him sometimes. Quite literally.”

Kiyoomi huffs a short laugh. He uses the moment of quietness that follows to actually assess the shop around him before reaching for the food.

The place isn't so big, but it feels cozy and cared for in a neat manner. It’s past working hours, so they're the only customers present, but Kiyoomi could picture the space filled with loyal patrons.

He turns back to face Osamu. He looks at ease, smiling comfortably like he belongs here.

Atsumu chooses this moment to walk out of the bathroom, stopping to squint at them suspiciously. "What are you two talking about?"

Kiyoomi reaches for the ochazuke in the tray, not stopping to give Atsumu a second glance. "We're making fun of you."

Atsumu grunts, taking his place in the seat next to Kiyoomi. "Your guys are not funny."

“Not a joke,” Kiyoomi tries to say, but it falls to deaf ears as Atsumu spots the onigiris in front of him, face theatrically perking up before grabbing one.

"Tuna Mayo?" He asks happily. Osamu answers with a single wave of his head, smile knowing.

Kiyoomi watches from the corner of his eyes as Atsumu takes a bite of his rice ball, cheeks rising as he chomps contentedly. Every once in a while, he takes a break to report to his brother all the important occurrences of their past practice days—he speaks with a full mouth, Kiyoomi notes with horror—giving special detail to the progress he's making with his quick set with Hinata.

Osamu nods at his brother with amusement, making the fitting commentaries when necessary to complement the dialogue, but Atsumu's enthusiasm alone provides enough words to fill the room for a long time.

Kiyoomi eats his ochazuke silently, content in just watching the twins interact in their natural habitat.

Their first V. League match arrives at some point of November, and it's gone in the blink of an eye.

It's almost ironic to think that all these lengthy months of practice culminate in just a couple of hours inside the court, in how much you can show of your worth in the short moments of real competition.

It's exhausting, but every second on the court is also a reminder of why Kiyoomi chose to be here in the first place. They're facing some of the best players in Japan, every successful kill, every service ace, every precise save he's able to place into Atsumu's hands—that’s when he allows the contentment to settle into his chest, to rejoice in the feeling of a skill hard-won.

And just like that, every shot of his that gets digged, every single one of his passes that feel too short or too low, and Kiyoomi is reminded once again that he's not anywhere near close to being done with volleyball.

Overall, it’s a moment of truth, despite the fact it’s just the first match—and that they certainly still have a lot to develop through the competition—this is the moment they get to find out if all their efforts until now will develop into something tangible inside the court.

It does, even though Kiyoomi is pretty sure having Hinata as an element of surprise influenced a lot on that.

When the final whistle blows, Kiyoomi drops to the floor in exhaustion. Hinata is by his side almost instantly.

"Omi-san! Are you okay?" He asks with concern.

Kiyoomi grunts.

"That last rally was so cool, wasn't it? Have you seen my foot save? You know back in Brazil we used to—"

Something else catches Hinata's attention, and Kiyoomi guiltily allows himself to feel relieved by the silence.

It doesn't last long though, Atsumu's voice reaches him less than fifteen seconds later.

"Omi-kun, did you die?"

Close enough, he thinks tiredly.

Kiyoomi raises himself, he doesn't get up on his feet just yet, but at least lifts enough of his torso so that he doesn't have to strain his neck to look up at Atsumu.

"My cross shots were shit today," he says, voice flat.

Atsumu's lips twist into a lopsided smirk. "You’re exaggerating,” then he stops, tilting his head in consideration. “But I guess that’s just your modus operandi.” 

Kiyoomi tries to scowl at him, but he doesn't have enough energy to move the muscles of his face. “What's with the five-dollars word? Doesn't fit you,” he mumbles, the lack of emotion in his voice more a consequence of his exhaustion than an act of petulance.

Atsumu just huffs in amusement, extending an arm to help Kiyoomi up. "But really, they weren't that bad. It's just that your tools were so good today everything else kinda paled in comparison."

He stares hesitantly at the offered hand in front of his face, then raises his eyes once again to look up at Atsumu—who expectantly raises his eyebrows at him.

He takes the hand, and Atsumu helps him to his feet before sending him off with two slaps to his shoulder. "C'mon, you big sea urchin, cool down stretches and then we will get you in the shower."

"Don't speak to me like that," he grumbles, lethargically trying to dodge the slaps.

“Let’s go, if we’re quick enough we can get out of here before someone from the media gets to us.”

If Kiyoomi was a little bit more functional he would’ve found the statement odd; Atsumu has never been the kind of person to avoid any chances of being in the spotlight, but all he can do in his actual state of mind is grunt. “Hopefully they will get sidetracked by Hinata.”

“Oh, I am sure Shoyo-kun will love the attention,” Atsumu chuckles with delight.

Later, after everyone showered and Kiyoomi had eaten enough protein bars to feel human again, he hears Atsumu approaching Hinata.

"Shoyo-kun, you're joining us for our first win celebration, right?"

Hinata's face is apologetic. "Sorry, Atsumu-san, I already promised I was going out to dinner with some of my high school friends today. Maybe next time!"

The refusal doesn’t seem to shake Atsumu’s high spirits, his smile remains unwavered when he speaks next. "Aw, at least promise me you will enjoy yourself! Have a drink to celebrate, don’t be boring like Omi-kun. And make sure to rub it in Tobio-kun's face if he's with you."

From the corner of the room, Kiyoomi frowns. "Who said I don't drink?"

Everyone in the room turns to him in shock.

"Wait, you do?" Atsumu practically chokes the question out.

Kiyoomi considers. "I mean, probably none of the cheap stuff you must enjoy, but of course I do. I made it through four years of college. You really think I would've survived without alcohol?"

Atsumu squints at him. "Was that... a joke?"

"No," Kiyoomi deadpans.

Atsumu snorts. "Well, it's weird to see you actually having a sense of humor. The match must've put you in a real good mood. Does it mean you're coming with us?"

Kiyoomi grimaces. Oh, I put myself right into that didn't I?

He just really wants his bed.

"Ah…" He starts, tone reluctant. "No, I don't think so."

"Let's go, we promise not to make fun of whatever weird expensive drink you pick," Atsumu insists.

"I really don't feel like it."

"C'mon, Omi-kun, it's just one drink."

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. "Of course it's just one drink, how much are you planning to drink? The season has just begun."

Atsumu disregards his concern with a wave of his hand, expression still untroubled.

"Does it mean you're coming with us?" 

Kiyoomi hesitates for a long second, but ends up surrendering. "If the place you pick has bad air circulation I will leave without setting a foot inside, understood?"

Truth be told, they really do stop at just one drink, but it doesn’t change much of the outcome of the night as Kiyoomi realizes his team doesn’t really need to be wasted to be extra loud and touch-felly. 

It proves to be the right decision though, when they board back into their bus first thing in the morning to return to Osaka the next day.

Kiyoomi picks a place somewhere in the middle of the bus, quickly putting his handbag in the seat next to him to get his point clear. Bokuto and Hinata sit together in the row in front of him.

A couple of hours into the trip, Kiyoomi finds himself sleepily scrolling through his phone, trying to find a different playlist when a blur of color in the corner of his vision makes him raise his eyes.

Atsumu is standing in the hall, leaning against the seat at his side and animatedly waving a hand in front of Kiyoomi’s face to draw his attention. He stops the motion when Kiyoomi blinks up at him, grinning obnoxiously, and Kiyoomi lets out an exasperated sigh as he takes off his earphones.

“What."

“Omi-kun, we need your help to settle down a critical matter between us,” Atsumu says, gesturing to the side. Kiyoomi follows the motion to find Bokuto and Hinata also staring back at him with expectant expressions.

There’s a feeling of dread emerging in Kiyoomi’s chest. “Eh…”

“So,” Atsumu speaks again with gravity, calling Kiyoomi’s attention back to him. “You must break this tie for us,” he pauses, filling the moment with extra dramatise before elaborating: “Who had the best banner in high school?”

Kiyoomi blinks, once, twice. He stares at Atsumu’s expression for a long beat, then darts his eyes to the side, finding Bokuto directing an eager grin in his direction, smile almost splitting his face in half. Hinata is right next to him, face neutral at first, until he chances a glance to the side and catches Bokuto’s expression, then he is immediately turning back to Kiyoomi with a mirrored version of the smile on his own face.

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow, and turns back to face Atsumu.

“Itachiyama,” he says without a second thought.

The three faces comically fall at the same time.

“What?!” Atsumu screams, earning himself a dirty look from Meian a few seats ahead. “I mean, yeah, okay,” he takes a deep breath, trying to keep the irritation at bay with obvious difficulty. “It makes sense that you would be a little biased, even though your high school banner was, like, super lame. “ He says the last sentence under his breath, expression charged with petulance.

Kiyoomi gives him an unimpressed look.

“But!” Atsumu keeps going. “If you were to be objective! And pick, like a second best for you, which one would it be?”

Kiyoomi makes a show of repeating his earlier actions, slowly sliding his eyes between the three of them—this time, Atsumu also mimics Bokuto’s overexcited grin.

He has to hold back a smirk before answering.

“Kamomedai."

“What the hell, Omi-kun?! It’s obviously Inarizaki, what’s wrong with you?” Atsumu yells again. Kiyoomi registers Bokuto and Hinata letting out similar complaints, but he fixes his attention on Atsumu.

“Miya,” he starts, voice pointed. Atsumu raises his eyebrows at him, and Kiyoomi feels some twisted kind of vindication at his next words. “Your banner sucked.”

Atsumu lets out a strangled gasp, jaw dropping and a hand coming up to lay defensively against his chest almost simultaneously. “What— You— WHAT?!” 

Bokuto and Hinata turn to settle back down on their seats immediately, probably figuring they wouldn’t want to be involved in the scene when Atsumu inevitably gets scolded.

“How— How dare you, Omi-kun?” Atsumu keeps going. “It’s the best motto, it’s— It’s about not settling down in a comfort zone! And challenging yourself!”

Kiyoomi remains stoical. “It's stupid, doesn't make sense."

“Oh, c’mon! Don’t you enjoy a challenge?”

He raises one eyebrow. “We just faced a champion team that is filled with at least five national team players, don’t you find that challenging enough? We would never be able to beat them without the years of practice and experience we have, so I would rather keep my memories, thank you very much.”

Atsumu's mouth twists comically as he tries to come up with an argument. “I— You— I mean, yes! But you are twisting it, like, argh! That’s not the point! It’s about always trying out new things! And—And like, not being complacent.”

Truth be told, Kiyoomi could understand Atsumu’s point with some effort, but the part of him that is petty and stubborn tends to stand out when he is dealing with Atsumu.

He can understand the point of not settling down, not letting a sense of satisfaction with yourself lead you into not seeking constant evolution—if Kiyoomi wasn’t like that, he wouldn’t have chosen this career. But he never took it particularly as a challenge, it’s just a part of his personality.

There are moments when Kiyoomi feels challenged though, like when he is dealing with a strong server, or being trusted with the ball of the match point in a critical game, or having to deal with the psychological pressure when your setter and captain leaves a game in the middle due to an injury.

For him it’s mostly about adaptation, but he knows it’s different for Atsumu—his constant search for a challenge is something more defiant. And self-induced.

In the end, it’s all a matter of different perspectives, but Kiyoomi is aware Atsumu has used the motto as a pretext to be imprudent plenty of times when they were younger, so he feels justified in his distaste.

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath. “I work and practice hard to make sure I will be able to perform accordingly when I am inside the court, regardless of it being an old or new move.” It doesn’t mean it will always work out, but even when he makes mistakes at least this approach never makes him doubt his capacity to pull it off. “It just doesn’t make sense to me that you would need to forget something in order to not be complacent.”

“But—”

“And," Kiyoomi keeps going. "I feel no satisfaction when I achieve something through a fluke,” he finalizes, regarding Atsumu with a pointed glare.

Atsumu freezes, mouth opened in the middle of his sentence. The pose lasts for a couple of seconds longer, but when he finally gathers himself enough to speak again, it is Meian’s voice reaches them:

“Enough, you two! There are people trying to sleep here. Atsumu, go back to your place."

Atsumu grunts in resignation, but points an accusatory finger in Kiyoomi’s direction before walking away. “We’re not done here yet!”

Kiyoomi stares disdainfully at Atsumu’s finger, but nonchalantly brings his earphones back to his ears once he turns his back to him.

A deep breath. Kiyoomi wills the oxygen to reach his lungs and keep the fatigue from clouding his decisions. 

It's only the second set of the game, but the rallies are already getting longer and longer. The Railway Warriors aren't known for their astonishing offensive power, but they have the best blocking statistics in the league and they've been on top of their game today, not letting any of their hits pass for free.

The MSBY Black Jackal managed to narrowly take the first set by subbing in Hinata in Barns' place halfway through it, but the game is still completely open, each point having to be hard-earned, each score bringing in more relief than pure joy. 

It's the kind of stressful situation that keeps on piling on them, raising the levels of stress and anxiety on everyone standing on the court, but most of all on—

"Omi-Omi!"

Kiyoomi is halfway through his first step when it hits him, too fast, won't be able to make a full approach.

He jumps, but the height is off, keeping him from adjusting his form for an ideal spike. A quick glance tells him the possibilities of a successful wipe are slim ( damn these blockers and their perfect positioning in the air ), so he adapts—a light tap on the ball sending it to the other side in a dink.

The ball falls to the floor slowly, almost mockingly, just a few centimeters away from the three players that dived for it.

Kiyoomi turns to his teammates, they scream in celebration but don’t try to approach him, already used to his boundaries.

The Railway Warriors' players call for someone to come clean the sweat from their court's floor, so Kiyoomi takes advantage of the quick break. Atsumu has his back to him, clapping to the rest of the team in an encouraging manner and exchanging a few directions with Thomas.

Kiyoomi gives two resolute steps, tapping Atsumu's shoulder to draw his attention. "You're hurrying," he says flatly.

Atsumu looks up at him in wide eyed shock, from the corner of his eyes he can register their teammates staring at them with bewilderment as well.

"What?" Atsumu chokes out.

Kiyoomi grunts. "You know I don't mind when you accelerate the ball to me on the sides, but don't do it on whim. Either follow my lead or let me know beforehand so I can adjust."

He gives Atsumu a pointed look, one that says 'we've been playing together since we were sixteen, I know your signs' and turns away to return to his position.

The whistle resonates through the court, and Hinata is serving into their opponent's side of the net. It's a matter of seconds until the ball is coming back to them, right into Hinata's waiting arms for a dig.

Kiyoomi starts his run up. The ball finds him in the moment he reaches the apex of his jump, and there's no hesitation before he's punching it down in a cruel line shot.

His lips twist in satisfaction when he makes out the blaring sound of the ball hitting the floor, and It’s that same expression he directs to Atsumu before getting back into his place on the net.

They end up winning the game 3 x 1.

Meian finds him later, when most of the team is freshly showered and gathered around the waiting room so they can walk back to their bus together.

"Nice game, Sakusa-kun."

Kiyoomi turns to him, a little wary of the sudden approach. "Thanks, captain."

"You know, I worried a little at first," Kiyoomi looks at him questioningly, and then he follows Meian's eyes to find him watching Atsumu on the other side of the room, giggling animatedly as he recounts some of his best plays of the game to Bokuto. "I figured you and Atsumu had some disagreement from back in the youth team. Wouldn't really be a surprise, Atsumu is good at getting under people’s skin."

Kiyoomi hums in agreement.

Meian turns his eyes back to him, expression amused. "But I guess I was wrong. You two actually seem to be friends," he pauses for a second, face twisting a little with uncertainty. "In this weird way you kids seem to work your friendships nowadays."

Kiyoomi's expression sours, he makes sure to exaggerate his grimace a little, just to prove a point.

"We're not friends."

Meian raises his eyebrows. "Well, he's the only person you let touch you."

Kiyoomi grits his teeth in frustration. "It's not that I let him. It's just that I've been telling him not to since we were sixteen and he has ignored it ever since. I just don't bother wasting my time anymore."

The words come out way too defensive even for his own ears. Kiyoomi has never seen the point in lying, but he understands why his reasoning might come out a little hypocritical right now given what happened inside the court just a few hours ago.

Kiyoomi touched Atsumu. He initiated the contact. Consciously. And at his own volition. 

And in front of all of their teammates, as Meian’s knowing look reminds him.

Kiyoomi feels his ears starting to burn. He has always been someone who found comfort in his routine, but he's now starting to realize how it can betray him as well.

Am I actually getting used to Atsumu’s physical presence?

The captain is at the very least tactful enough to not point that out loud, even though his expression already speaks volumes. "Whatever brings you peace of mind, Sakusa-kun," he says, just as Inunaki comes running through the door—he was the only player missing, which means they can start moving.

Meian sends him a last glance and then he's turning to follow coach Foster to the bus before Kiyoomi can come up with a comeback.

The next day, the team has the afternoon off, following a morning of physical recuperation activities in the medical center after the strict schedule of successive games they had in the last weeks.

Kiyoomi walks out of his dorm, determined to make it to the dining area without further ado, but he finds himself unable to walk two steps before bumping into Hinata.

They freeze, staring at each other in shock.

Hinata looks like a deer caught in the headlights, sheepishly hugging a yoga mat to his chest while looking up at Kiyoomi with unblinking eyes.

Kiyoomi tilts his head. "What are you doing?"

Hinata hesitates, looking down at his feet to avoid Kiyoomi’s eyes. "I heard there's a small garden somewhere in the back of the training center, so I was going to look for it to… meditate," he ends up saying, and then he turns his head up again, voice unsure. "Do you… wanna come with me?"

Kiyoomi blinks in silence, contemplating the proposal.

"Sure," he settles with, Hinata gapes at him with evident surprise. "Let me just,” Kiyoomi makes a vague gesture with his hands. “Grab my own mat."

Hinata nods, watching a little dumbfounded as Kiyoomi walks back into his dorm to grab his things.

The 'garden' itself is nothing much, just a little space hidden in the background of the building with a few wood benches and a frontier in the ground where cement floor becomes grass. It honestly seems forgotten, a few flowers growing up in scarce places in a ugly display of negligence—but it's roofless, allowing them a breath of fresh air.

It's the most private piece of outside Kiyoomi has ever found in Osaka so far.

Hinata takes a deep breath, smiling with satisfaction before extending his mat on the ground.

Kiyoomi grimaces, but gingerly settles his own mat next to his.

"I tried to keep doing this back in my room, but I got used to meditating outside in Brazil, so it was hard to adapt, I am glad we found this place. I didn't know you liked meditating though, Omi-san," Hinata says to him after sitting down.

Kiyoomi hums, considering it for a moment before deciding to take off his mask. It's better to do these things without anything blocking his respiration.

"I've always tried to be very careful with my own personal maintenance, but when I was younger I had trouble falling asleep because I tended to overthink a lot, so I researched about ways to calm me down, like meditation, breathing techniques, etc, I have a lot of books about this stuff." Had, his brain complements for him, because most of them belong to his high school kouhai right now. "What about you?"

Hinata stops for a second, a glimpse of sorrow reaching his smile. "I can’t afford to be careless,” he says. “I'm usually very energetic, meditating helps me settle down a bit so I don't get sidetracked."

Kiyoomi can't say he understands how deep this matter hits for Hinata, he probably never will, but he's aware of the basics: there are things that are out of your control, always will be, and there's nothing you can do about it except ensuring that you have taken proper care of everything that is administrable. 

It's a difficult concept to grasp, one everyone that chose this path has to make peace with at some point, in whatever way fits them better. It took a little longer for Kiyoomi to get there, but he accepted it as well.

He nods. "I see."

Hinata is fiddling with something in his phone absently. "How long do you usually go for, Omi-san?"

"Whatever you prefer, I will keep up with you."

"Alright."

They lose the finals. 

It's crushing, the moment the final whistle blows for them. Kiyoomi knew he was on top form, that was probably his best ever performance in an official game so far, and he wasn't even an outlier, the whole team rose to the match's level as well. Their collective performance was immaculate.

The match was completely open until the final, anyone could've fairly taken the championship. The Black Jackal had their chance, they had plenty of chances—five match points in a row to be explicit—but the moment the Adlers managed to turn the tables on them, they took the win without a stutter.

Nobody made any major mistakes, and the few ones that happened weren't really game changing, so Kiyoomi is personally aware there's no plausible source for regrets here. They've done everything they could, they left nothing away, but somehow it only makes the sting of the loss a little worse.

The final game happens in Osaka, in front of their home fans, which kind of just adds to the issue. The atmosphere of the team's bus remains dreadfully silent in the whole way back to their training center.

Coach Foster says a few last words before sending them off with an "I will see you tomorrow afternoon" and the team scatters around after muttered farewells, some of them heading to the living facilities, and others to the parking lot to grab their cars and go back to their families.

It's a funny business, dealing with a loss like that as a professional athlete, back in high school there had always been an extra sensibility in the grown ups’ approach with them in the awareness they were dealing with children, and the amateur competition in college made it easier to reduce the experiences as a learning opportunity. It's different when it's your job though, not only because of the amount of time dedicated to that, but there's a sense of pride in knowing you could have settled yourself forever in a club's history by winning a championship—and it would be a lie to say the money prize loss doesn't sting.

They're not kids anymore.

Kiyoomi goes back to his room, and manages to survive a total of twenty minutes before the restlessness reaches the point of irritation and he's getting up again.

A part of him kind of expected to find Hinata there when he opens the backyards door, but he stops with surprise when he recognizes the familiar shade of blonde there instead, sitting on one the benches quietly.

They stare at each other for a beat, then Kiyoomi frowns. "What are you doing here? I thought you had gone home already."

Atsumu shrugs. "Didn't feel like being alone.''

The explanation only makes Kiyoomi's frown deeper, weren't you alone out here anyway?, but Atsumu speaks again before he can express his question. "How did you find this place?"

Kiyoomi steps outside properly, closing the door behind him, but he doesn't walk closer, choosing to lean against the wall instead, eyes intently assessing Atsumu from the distance.

"This is Hinata's hidden meditation place, I tag along sometimes," he explains matter-of-factly. "This is your freak out place?"

Atsumu smiles sadly.  "Something like that."

"Hm."

The silence stretches out like that for a while, loud and defeating. Kiyoomi remains static for most of it, quietly reflecting on the events of the night. It isn't exactly the moment of meditation and search for inner peace he was expecting to get when he first decided to come here, but it works well enough in his query for catharsis.

Atsumu, on the other hand, is restless, can't stop fidgeting, bumping his feet and moving his hand with agony. Kiyoomi can see his irritation increasing, until the moment he breaks—he lets his head fall into his hands, a groan coming out of his mouth, it starts as a pained small sound under his breath, but it increases gradually, getting louder and louder until it reaches the point of a full-blown scream.

Kiyoomi remains silent, waiting for Atsumu to let it out. He raises his head when he's done, hair messy from the hands clutching at it. He turns to face Kiyoomi then, eyes glossy.

"What did we do wrong?" His voice sounds broken.

Kiyoomi tilts his head, expression pensive.

"We played as equals through the whole game, so I don’t think it’s anything like that. They just had the emotional upperhand on us by the end," he says, eyes focused on one of the ugly flowers in the corner of the garden.

Atsumu brings one hand to rub his eye, shaking his head mutely. "'It was a rhetorical question, didn't really need an answer."

"Oh," Kiyoomi says, turning back to look at Atsumu. "Sorry."

Atsumu scoffs, but he seems more composed now, so the sound comes out more amused than derisive.

"What are you gonna do now?" Atsumu mutters.

"What do you mean?"

"Your contract, it was just a one year deal, right?"

Kiyoomi hums. "Yeah."

His contract negotiations were scheduled to start after the definition of the V. League, the fact slipped his mind for a second.

"So?"

What are you gonna do now?

"I am not sure yet."

"I heard the Adlers sent you a proposal," Atsumu stares up at him questionly.

Kiyoomi feels the corner of his lip tugging up.

"Yeah, lots of teams did."

"Ah."

"I will let you know."

The day after he signs his new contract, he finds Atsumu in the locker room.

"I'm staying," he informs matter-of-factly as he starts changing.

It's a three years deal, but he doesn't feel the need to specify anything, the details will probably be out in all news outlets in a few days.

Atsumu's eyes perk up, his lip twitches, like he is about to let out a full-blown grin, but then his expression twists drastically, bordering on something predatory.

He doesn't try to hold back the threat in his voice when he says:

"Let's bring those stupid eagles down."

Kiyoomi snorts.

Life goes on, Hinata ends up taking the Rookie Award away from him, and the invitation for the 2019 National Team Training Camp arrives in April.

"That's amazing!” Hinata looks up in awe when they spot the facade of the National Training Center, the huge Ajinomoto lettering staring back at them.

“Oi, Hinata! You have to try their food! I swear they have the best nutritionists in the country!” Bokuto beams, dashing ahead with obvious enthusiasm.

Kiyoomi grunts. Internally, he must admit that seeing the building does bring him some sort of comfort, there’s a sweet sense of familiarity that hits him when he enters the facility, but he doesn’t have much presence of mind to dwell on it. Having to deal with public transportation always leaves him on edge, even more cranky than usual, and the presence of the three disoriented idiots only adds to the issue—Hinata he can forgive, but the other two lost ducks are inexcusable. (“Bokuto, for god’s sake, you’re literally from Tokyo,” he complains. “Hey! It’s been a while, alright? Besides I never really paid much attention to that stuff, last time I came here I went to visit Akaashi first, so I didn’t come straight from Osaka!”)

Thankfully they were able to clean up and change as soon as they arrived, so Kiyoomi can quickly resume back to his natural state of lack of tack instead of a full scale asshole.

“This is so cool! We even get special Japan practice uniforms,” Hinata gestures proudly to the red training shirt they’re all wearing, his enthusiasm is so palpable there’s an extra bounce in his steps, like he is seconds away from jumping in excitement.

Kiyoomi tilts his head. “It’s just so we don’t accidentally advertise a brand that isn’t one of our sponsors in case we’re recorded or something like that, we have these back in the club as well,” he points out, but his words end up completely ignored as soon as they step inside the gym.

Bokuto disappears in less than two seconds, out to greet some of his thousands of acquaintances. Hinata looks around briefly before spotting Kageyama in the corner of the room and running towards him while yelling his name, eyes a mix of challenge and playfulness that has Kiyoomi sighing in exhaustion before the physical exercise has even begun.

There’s the sound of a scoff next to him, Kiyoomi glances to the side to register Atsumu, smirk on his face and a hand placed on his hip, shaking his head with amusement. 

“Can you believe these overexcited kids, Omi-kun?”

Kiyoomi regards him with a pointed glare, a dry remark on the tip of his tongue—something in the molds of can you drop the stupid pose or you really aren’t in the place to call anyone that— but before he can say anything Atsumu perks up, eyes widening in excitement when he spots something and then he is running off to the opposite side of the gym, screaming an excited “Aran-kun!” while waving and giggling like a little kid, which, really, just proves Kiyoomi's point.

Kiyoomi snorts, staring at Atsumu’s retreating back with exasperation.

He glances around, a quick assessment of the room telling him his cousin isn’t here yet, so he settles for the second less troublesome option for company.

“Hey Kiyoomi!” Kourai beams at him from the floor, he’s in the middle of the process of stretching his hips, hugging one of his knees laterally while looking up at Kiyoomi. The image is quite comical. “You took your time.”

Kiyooomi isn’t sure if he means the time they arrived or the fact this is his first invitation for any activities regarding the senior team yet, but opts for not asking for an elaboration either way.

“Hey, Kourai-kun,” he greets, sitting down next to him and waving shortly to Wakatoshi, who’s also stretching quietly a few steps away from them, before starting his own routine. “Did you arrive a long time ago?”

Kourai finishes his mental count and releases his leg, sitting up to look at Kiyoomi from an eye-level. “Yeah, I wanted to have breakfast here so I came right after my morning run. By the way, did you pick your room already?” He leans a bit closer, voice dropping and expression turning secretive. “They let us pick the single rooms now that we’re on the senior team, you know?”

Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow. “Really? I think I will end up rooming with Komori anyway, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Kourai nods, opening his mouth to comment something else but he gets distracted by something over Kiyoomi’s shoulder just as Kiyoomi himself feels a presence behind his back.

“Hey Sakusa,” a voice greets him.

Kiyoomi turns around, feeling the corners of his mouth tug up in a smile when he recognizes the presence in question.

“Iizuna-san! How have you been?”

His past captain sends an affable smile to Kourai in greeting, before turning back to Kiyoomi. “I’m doing alright, what about you? Great job in the finals last month too, the game was great.”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “It could have been a little better,” he says flatly.

Kourai snorts next to him.

Iizuna smiles, charming, a little sheepish. “Yeah, I get where you’re coming from. Did—”

“Omi-kun!” A voice cuts through the air. The three of them turn to find its source, meeting Atsumu’s sickening smile—a display of forced sweetness mixing with gritted teeths in a creepy picture. “Are you done stretching? Come warm up with me,” he raises the ball in his hand to illustrate his point.

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at him, giving a very slow once over around the room to silently point out the amount of volleyball players available to warm up with him, but Atsumu doesn’t budge, face remaining paralyzed in that weird expression like Kiyoomi’s wordless retort didn’t even reach him.

Iizuna huffs, an amused little thing, and turns back to Kiyoomi with a smile that hints on knowing. “Go ahead, we can catch off later.”

Kiyoomi sighs, getting up with a small “I will talk with you guys later” before approaching Atsumu, a reproachful look in his eyes.

“You are a big baby.”

Atsumu smiles, satisfied, before throwing the ball in his direction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There’s a total of thirty players in the camp, most of them known faces from the V. League, the ones that are always on top of the rankings and shining in the individual spotlights of their clubs, aside from a few unknown faces that Kiyoomi assumes are playing some foreign league.

For most of them, just making it to this camp is already a dream come true, having your skills attuned to the point you get recognized as one of the best players of your nation, just receiving Hibarida’s phonecall with the invitation is already an accomplished goal, but still, everyone here is a professional athlete, and it’s impossible to follow this path without a little bit of greed.

There’s a total of thirty players in the camp, and the next major appointment of the Japan National Team is going to be the Volleyball Nations League later in May, there, particular features of the competition aside, only twenty five players will be registered.

Afterwards, the Asian Championship later in September—by then, there will be only fourteen of them. World Cup in October, Nations League again the following year, and with the blink of an eye the Olympics will be looming over them already, hosted in their home country, an unmatched experience that so few athletes get the honour to live through.

With only twelve spots available. 

The atmosphere is completely different from high school, where the novelty and excitement of being able to play with some of the best players in the country sometimes overshadowed the ever-present sense of competition. Now, being great and playing the greats was just another part of their jobs. Now, everyone’s purpose here is simply to prove to the National Team's technical staff why they’re better than the rest of the people present.

The sense of competition is cutting, sharp, the feeling is almost solid—you know you’re being observed, all your hits and misses being dissected, scrutinized, evaluated as people try to find ways to reduce your rights and benefit from your wrongs.

Dealing with the pressure is part of the job, but It’s funny though, because while Kiyoomi is highly aware of the feeling and is just really proficient in the art of ignoring it, there are people that fall apart under it, there are people that actually thrive on it, as much as there are people that are completely oblivious to it.

Kiyoomi watches, a little breathless, as Hinata, Kageyama, Kourai and Bokuto play around with a ball in a doubles match in the court beside him. "Let's play some footvolley!" Were Hinata's words when they were officially discharged from the official activities by their coach.

Kiyoomi opted for staying on the side, convincing Motoya to join him in practicing some receives while Atsumu and Wakatoshi served.

Now though, his cousin and Wakatoshi already left to have dinner, and Kiyoomi and Atsumu are sitting down in the corner to take a break for a couple of seconds, absentmindedly watching their friend's shenanigans.

"You know, I don't think I could ever be as passionate about this thing as you are," Kiyoomi muses out loud.

"Uh?" Atsumu turns to him with a frown. "What are you talking about?"

Kiyoomi hesitates, measuring his next statement. "Sometimes I wonder if we're called that silly nickname just because so many of our generation coincidentally stood out or if there's something else, some explicit factor that would make a player a monster ," he says the word almost mockingly. "I feel like you all have something that keeps you hooked, some type of drive that makes volleyball pivotal."

Atsumu considers it for a second, head tilting with wonder. "I guess I get what you're saying, Shoyo-kun always seems kind of hungry when he plays volleyball. I don't think it's a general thing, though, or that you're lacking something."

Kiyoomi huffs, a bit amused. Strong words for someone that did say I lacked passion back in high school.

"You once told me you would die without volleyball."

"Did I?" Atsumu chuckles. "You're definitely making this sound more dramatic than it was," 

Kiyoomi feels the corner of his lips sliding up with mirth. "Maybe. I know it's something you never second guessed though."

Atsumu tilts his head. "Does it mean you could live just fine without volleyball?"

Kiyoomi's eyebrows twist into a difficult shape, expression getting serious again.

"I guess? I don't think I would be miserable without it." 

Atsumu stares at Kiyoomi with undeciprable eyes.

"It doesn't matter though," Kiyoomi shrugs, unbothered. "I made up my mind when I chose this career, and I am confident enough in my abilities to be able to stand on the court regardless of anything. I am here because it makes me happy," he feels the need to clarify. "I was just making an observation, half of the people here are acting like vultures, looming over us to try and benefit from our mistakes, but I don't think Hinata or Bokuto even realize it."

Atsumu hums. "Yeah, I get where you're coming from. Like, they are competitive alright, but I don't think they notice when things get really nasty."

Kiyoomi feels his lips tugging up in a knowing smile. "You do, though."

He can feel the weight of Atsumu's puzzled stare on him.

"You thrive on the attention, even if it is from people hoping for your downfall," he elaborates.

Atsumu averts his eyes, suddenly seeming chastised for some reason. Weird, Kiyoomi reckons, he won't lie and say there wasn't a bit of an innocent jab in the comment, but Atsumu is usually weirdly proud of his own terrible quirks.

"Not everyone," he mumbles.

Kiyoomi turns his head to assess him. "What do you mean?"

"Onigashira-san came to talk to me earlier," he says, sour. "Give me some tips or something like that."

Kiyoomi tilts his head in confusion. Onigashira is one of the most experienced players in this camp, he played the last two Olympics for the team as their main setter and captain. He has been losing space because of Kageyama lately, but Kiyoomi still doesn't understand why Atsumu would be upset by a player like that approaching him. "And why do you sound so upset about it?"

Atsumu grumbles something unintelligible, avoiding his eyes.

Kiyoomi blinks, and then he scoffs, disbelieving. "You're annoyed that you couldn't get under his skin."

Atsumu rolls his eyes, but he does seem a little sheepish. His voice still comes out a bit petulant when he speaks though. "Well, it would be nice if he was at least a little threatened by me."

"Really," his voice comes out dry.

"It's whatever," Atsumu huffs. "I'm confident in my skills either way."

Kiyoomi shakes his head, unimpressed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Atsumu screeches undignified.

"Kageyama, you idiot!" Hinata's loud screams cut through the gym, interrupting the conversation. "You can't use your hands!"

"It was reflex!" Kageyama yells back.

Kiyoomi shakes his head as Hinata keeps chastising Kageyama, then he turns to Atsumu to elaborate his point.

"Do you remember one of the first things coach Hibarida told us? Back when we went to the youth camp for the first time?"

Atsumu squints. "Uh, you're the one with the scary memory here, Omi-kun."

Kiyoomi sighs. "He said something like 'talent is something that must be shown, not had'. Miya, you've been standing out in the setter statistics ever since you started playing as a regular in the league, you've been on the top 2 of the server rankings of Japan for fours years in a row now," he internally wonders if it didn't cross Atsumu's mind to question why Onigashira decided to approach him in the first place, mainly now that the setter's age is pushing him closer and closer to a retirement from the National Team and an open spot in the roster will probably be available soon, but Kiyoomi refrains from exposing the thought out loud, would go straight to his head. "Everyone here is aware of your skills, but there are plenty of skilled players that have done amazing things in their clubs, and never really worked out for the National Team."

Atsumu's face is hard to read, but there's no sign of amusement in his eyes. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing. Really, nothing. It's a good thing you're confident in your skills, we all know you have the right to be. I am just saying there are things that go beyond pure skill when it comes to representing your country on an international stage, you gotta make the coaches believe you will be reliable regardless of the moment—be it as a starter, for a tactical substitution or as a pinch server—that you can be trusted at any time. Whatever this factor is, we know Onigashira-san has it, Kageyama too, but for some reason the coach didn't feel it in you yet . So I wouldn't disregard an experienced player that is trying to give me advice if I were you."

Atsumu stares at him blankly, blinking slowly as he considers his words. Then he frowns, eyebrows and mouth twisting in frustration. "Damnit, Omi-kun, you really gotta be a blunt little shit all the time, don't you?"

Kiyoomi looks down, fiddling with his water bottle absentmindedly. "I didn't mean it as a jab to you."

"I know," Atsumu huffs, and it doesn't sound resentful. Kiyoomi can feel the weight of Atsumu's stare on him, but he doesn't turn his head to inquire the reason for the assessment. 

The heavy silence remains over them for a few moments, before Atsumu speaks again.

"You know, Omi-kun," he starts, voice small. "You might be different from the rest of us, but I think you're your own kind of monster."

Kiyoomi feels the muscle of his face moving in a treacherous smile. Somewhere in the corner of the gym, he registers the sound of Hinata and Kourai giggling loudly, Kageyama grumbling with annoyance in the background. He shakes his head, policing his expression back into something neutral before standing up.

He grabs a ball from the basket, throwing it in Atsumu's direction. "Are you done resting? Let's get back to practice. Do the hybrid one."

Atsumu mumbles petulantly as he gets up. "So bossy."

After he is bathed, fed and has properly changed his sheets, Kiyoomi throws himself in his bed, letting the weight of his sore muscles settle down against the mattress while he watches his cousin unpack.

Motoya is almost finished, halfway through the process of folding his sleeves inside his drawer. It's an abundant collection, a variety of whites, blacks, reds and greens, even a special hideous yellow thing that perfectly matches the color of his EJP Raijin uniform—a piece Kiyoomi is secretly very fond of.

"Did you change your conditioner?" Kiyoomi asks. "Your hair looks different."

Motoya closes the drawer, finishing off and putting his empty bag to the side before turning to Kiyoomi.

"Uh, yeah, I did. Why?" He brings a finger to touch his hair self-consciously. "Did you like it?"

"No, not especially."

The pillow hits his face before he can even register his cousin moving, being directly followed by the sound of Motoya snickering. He grabs the pillow, throwing it back in the direction of the sound, but Motoya manages to dodge it effortlessly.

"Gotta work on your reflexes, lil' cousin."

Kiyoomi huffs, moving around in the bed and fluffing his own pillow to get more comfortable.

"By the way, what's the deal with that new guy? The one from the Russian league?"

Motoya shoulder's tense, turning to face Kiyoomi with a clenched smile.

"Yaku-san? He is a cool guy."

Kiyoomi snorts. "You might wanna try saying it again without sounding murderous."

Motoya shakes his head, shoulders dropping with resignation.

"He's really not a bad person," he relents, sitting down in his own bed in the other corner of the room. "He's used to playing with really tall guys, though, so he gets mad when someone spikes over our blocks. It's pretty funny. I think Hakuba is genuinely afraid of him."

Kiyoomi hums. "He plays in a strong league and has high expectations for our players here, that's good."

"Yeah," the words are innocent enough, but Motoya's eyes have a hard edge as he stares at the wall, a challenging glint to it. "We did play him back in high school, you know? He told me."

"Did we?"

"Yeah, back in our second year, I think? Nekoma High?" The words come out more question than statement, but Kiyoomi chases his memories anyway.

Nekoma High, Nekoma High… Second year of high school… Nekoma High! Right. Inter High Qualifiers, Quarterfinals.

Not exactly a powerful roster, but it was a very disciplined team, red jerseys, clever setter, smug-faced captain… Libero…

Kiyoomi's expression sours, and suddenly his cousin's reaction to the guys makes a lot more sense to him. He was definitely a pain in the ass.

"What? What is that expression for?" Motoya squints at him.

"I remember him… He had… Very good positioning," he reluctantly settles for.

Motoya huffs with dissatisfaction before settling down on his own bed. The temper lasts for a total of two seconds, as it usually happens with his cousin, and then he is turning to face Kiyoomi, elbow pressing against the bed and hand supporting his head.

"So, that was the first time I actually practiced with Hinata-kun, he seems like a pretty cheerful guy, even more energetic than he is on court," he says, a knowing smile on his face. There's a hint of amusement in his voice, the one that he uses when he knows Kiyoomi is in a specially uncomfortable situation and Motoya is finding it entertaining.

"Yeah, he actually is," Kiyoomi answers, feeling pretty unbothered. "He gets very quiet when he's focused though."

"Hm," Motoya considers, his next words coming out more softly. "And are you doing alright?"

Kiyoomi closes his eyes, feeling the corner of his lips moving up. "Yeah, I've been doing pretty good."

He hears the sound of Motoya rustling around, probably laying down in the bed for good.

"It's nice to have you here," the voice comes small, the sound reaching Kiyoomi's ears a little differently than it had before.

Eyes still closed, Kiyoomi tries to picture his cousin's figure right now.

He's probably facing the roof , he concludes. Motoya likes to sleep on his back—or at least that was how he preferred it back in high school.

"Hm," he says sleepily.

"What are your goals here, Ki?" It's obvious Motoya is starting to get sleepy as well, but his tone still comes out a little hesitant.

Kiyoomi fights against the sleep to try to entertain him, contemplating on the idea for a moment.

He's working hard. He has gotten pretty good. He knows it's a difficult deal, an olympic cycle lasts four years, as soon as an Olympics ends the technical staff immediately gets to work to build their next generation of players. Kiyoomi arrived a good three years later for that, but he wouldn't have hope if he didn't think he had what it takes to be there.

"I want to face the strong guys," he decides. "The furthest I can go, I will take it."

Kiyoomi watches through the net, inspecting the movements of the players in front of him.

Motoya manages to send Hinata's serve right into Atsumu's hands, Hyakuzawa, Wakatoshi and Kourai start their run-up approaches to spike.

The ball leaves Atsumu's hands, a pretty arc to his right, and Kiyoomi is running to compose the block, closing off Kourai's line shot.

Careful with the positioning , he tells himself, making sure to push his arms over the net and meticulously rotate his fingers in the process, he's a tricky one .

Kourai punches it to the cross, and Kiyoomi turns around middair in time to see Kageyama getting under it, bumping it up high in the middle of the court.

Kiyoomi's feet touch the floor and he is almost instantly stepping back to get a good distance for his run-up.

Yaku is sending the ball his way with a quick motion of his arms, Kiyoomi watches its path in the air, and hesitates.

Too far from the net , he considers, adapting his approach.

Half a second of contemplation, he assesses the situation. Kourai and Atsumu stepped back to help floor defense, but the middle blocker is still by the net, marking him.

He jumps, and there's a bunch of fingers shining on his peripheral vision. Well. if you insist.

Kiyoomi spikes it, adjusting his aim and power. The ball grasps the middle blocker's fingers and deflects uglily, falling to the floor a few meters away from the endline.

"Hyakuzawa, don't try to go for a block when the ball is so far away from the net, step back to help the floor defense," coach Hibarida's voice reaches the team, tone stern.

"Yes, sir."

Kiyoomi turns back to his colleagues and finds Yaku raising his hand at him in an apologetic motion, he nods quietly in acceptance before the libero is turning to Hinata, listening intently to the opposite's directions—something about leaving it for him to set if the ball goes in this and that sector of the court again.

"Don't worry about it," he hears Atsumu's voice behind him, and turns back in time to see the setter giving a few consolatory pats to his middle blocker's back. "There's really no right choice when it comes to Omi-kun. Offer your fingers, give him a free shot, whatever it is, it's gonna be a pain."

Atsumu's eyes find his through the net, and they share a heavy moment of eye contact.

Then the whistle blows, Hinata readies himself for another serve, and both of them are moving back to their positions.

It takes less than a week of joint practice for Kiyoomi to realize that whatever goes on between Hinata and Kageyama is way beyond his comprehension skills.

He's well aware of the fact both of them used to be teammates, even if he didn't already have his memory to aid him on that, the dozens of reports and articles retelling the adventures of the "freak duo" back in the high school days that started being released as soon as Hinata got himself in the spotlight of the V. League would successfully have done the job.

Hinata has always been a particularly intense person, especially when he's on the court, but Kageyama's presence seems to only feed into his tenacity. And, to Kiyoomi's surprise, Kageyama not only endures his energy effortlessly, but he also entertains the antics, rushing forward with him without a second thought. This last week was probably the most expressive he has ever seen Kageyama being aside from his constipated look back in their first training camp together.

For all he knows, Bokuto and Yaku are the only people with actual practice experience with the two, and they approach the whole deal with nothing more than half exasperated and half amused glances, so Kiyoomi assumes this is normal behavior for them.

Still, it's weird, there's a sense of... intimacy in most of their interactions, even if they actually spend most of their time actually bickering.

Kiyoomi doesn't understand, so he does his best to try to avoid being alone with them.

He gets along just fine with the both of them individually, so it's not like his actions raise any suspicions, and it's easy enough to tell when they're together from a safe distance to flee without getting questioned—they're usually the loudest persons in the room.

Sometimes they still manage to catch him off guard though.

Kiyoomi is sitting by one of the couches of their resting room, the television in front of him showcasing last year's World Championship Final from one of the records he found in the cabinet, when the voices reach him.

He tenses, Kageyama and Hinata's argument are the first thing he registers, as usual. As the voices get louder, it's clear they're debating over something about their practice matches earlier today, and that they're not alone.

When the group crosses the door, Kiyoomi glances quickly, registering Atsumu's presence, as well as one of the youngest middle blockers of the roster that he didn't really bother learning the name yet.

He turns back to the match on the television, making an effort to tune them off.

It works for nearly fifteen minutes, Poland being well on its way to win their second set against Brazil, when he registers Atsumu's voice.

"—able, since I am Shoyo-kun's favorite setter, right?" 

Kiyoomi closes his eyes with mortification.

"Uh?" is what Hinata has time to come out with, voice a little startled, before Kiyoomi is standing up abruptly.

"Miya," he calls out. Everyone turns around to stare at him, Atsumu especially with wide eyed surprise. "Come help me out in the kitchen."

He makes his way out instantly, not bothering to turn back to check if Atsumu is following him, but he can hear the hurried footsteps coming his way after a few moments.

He walks inside their shared kitchen, a small space made just to deal with the athletes' trivialities since all of their real meals are cared for by the nutritional staff, and Atsumu is right on his toes.

"What did you need my help for?" Atsumu asks.

Kiyoomi huffs indignantly. He didn't think things this far, so he hesitates for a second to consider his next actions, staring at the utensils in front of him before grabbing two mugs and putting them over the countertop.

He's furiously rubbing on the sides of the mugs with a napkin when he finally says something. "Nothing really, I just couldn't stand to see you embarrass yourself like that."

Atsumu leans into the countertop, angling his body in a way that allows Kiyoomi to see his unimpressed glare. "Really."

Kiyoomi regards him with an improved version of the unimpressed glare. "You really need to learn how to pick your battles." 

Atsumu huffs. "It's just… frustrating," he says through gritted teeth.

Kiyoomi shakes his head, starting his tea making process.

"I get it," He starts, hands moving diligently. "Hinata is not only a very demanding person, he's a high maintenance spiker, the better the setter, the more comfortable he gets to unleash all his potential. So I understand it is a source of pride for a setter to be favored by someone like him."

"It's not that," Atsumu interrupts him, then he hesitates. "I mean, it's a little bit like that, but not just that. It isn't just with Shoyo-kun, I want to be everyone's favorite setter," he finishes off crossing his arms with petulance.

Kiyoomi turns to him, hoping his tiredness is conveyed properly through his expression.

"You're a big baby," he says, voice flat.

"Am not!" Atsumu shrieks, like a baby. "Listen, I don't mind what people say about me personally, but I know my purpose on the court and I am committed to it. I worked damn hard to get where I am today, I know I am good and I want to be recognized." 

The I want to be seen is left unsaid, but Kiyoomi can still hear it loud and clear.

Of course, the confession shouldn't really come as a surprise. Atsumu has always been a person that bloomed under attention, be it positive or negative. He opens his chest, diving head first into everything he does, with passion, devotion, conceit, totally unapologetic about everything that constitutes himself, and ready to deal with whatever the outcome is—be it cheers or boos. As long as you're paying attention to him.

There is nothing Atsumu hates more than indifference.

I don't think I have ever met someone more different from me, Kiyoomi considers.

Kiyoomi remains silent, because there's nothing he can think of as a retort to that.

The kettle whistles, and Kiyoomi is on the move again. Atsumu follows him with his eyes before he starts speaking again.

"I am not stupid, alright? I know these things aren't so simple, picking favorites and stuff. If you had to ask me about my favorite spiker, I'd probably say it's my brother, and he hasn't walked into a court for years now," he stops on his tracks suddenly, narrowing his eyes. "Don't tell him that though."

Kiyoomi scoffs.

Atsumu keeps going. "And you have that old captain of yours, and your weird whatever-the-deal-is with the lint roller connection," Kiyoomi closes his eyes with annoyance, he really needs to have a conversation with his cousin about gossiping behind his back. "So I guess it would make sense that you favour him somehow."

Kiyoomi can feel the beginnings of a headache starting, and he has to control his breath in a deliberate attempt to relax.

He wills himself to focus his mind in the task in front of him, putting the right sugar measure in both mugs. Three on the right, one on the left, stir it.

In the back of his mind, a voice that sounds dangerously similar to Motoya is going, not everyone has the same pragmatic approach to life as you, so even if you can't understand, you can't judge them for caring about something that doesn't make sense to you .

Don't be an ass, is what his conscience tries to tell him.

"You're stupid," it what he says instead, shoving the right mug in Atsumu's direction. "You're the only person in the world that would get so attached to a superficial concept like that. And even if this wasn't complete nonsense, if Iizuna-san was truly my favourite setter, I'd have taken on the DESEO Hornets' proposal instead. They paid better."

Atsumu gasps, eyes lighting up. He brings one hand to his chest in a dramatical motion. "Omi-kun?"

Kiyoomi turns around, grasping his own mug and walking away from the kitchen before he does something stupid—like getting his ears red or something like that.

"Don't even get started," he says over his shoulder.

"Omi-kun! I am touched!" Atsumu screams, louder this time, voice even more smug, but then he falters. "Wait, how much did they offer you?"

To: Motoya

Can you stop telling all your friends about my personal life?

From: Motoya

???

Why are you texting me we're literally rooming together

Also lol

no

viii. radiance

The end of May arrives with the official start of the Volleyball Nations League. The announcement of the list with the twenty five chosen players is done with a few weeks in advance, but that's just the beginning point.

The preliminary round of the tournament extends throughout five weekends, in five different venues around the world, but each one of these stages allows only fourteen players in the roster per time, leaving it for the coaches to decide which athletes out of the available list will have the chance to play in each of these weekends, if any.

The first week has them landing in Serbia after a fifteen hours flight.

"Argh! Motoya-kun, you told me it would be summer over here!" Atsumu cries, shivering inside his tracksuit.

"We knew we would arrive here in the middle of the night, Miya," Kiyoomi mumbles under a mask, a scarf and the collar of his winter coat. "I told you to bundle up."

Atsumu whines, hugging his arms around himself and jumping on his toes in an attempt to warm up.

"My nose is freezing!"

Kiyoomi rummages through his handbag, finding one of his extra facemasks and throwing it in Atsumu's direction.

"That's all I can do for you." He turns around, facing their staff. "How long until the van arrives to pick us up?"

Coach Hibarida is fiddling with something in his phone. He doesn't bother looking up when he speaks. "I am going to call the hotel to check up. Don't split up."

Right on cue, Kiyoomi sees their athletic trainer grabbing Hinata's and Bokuto's collars before the two of them can run off to explore the airport.

Kiyoomi scoffs, and he hears his cousin doing a similar sound beside him, except that in Motoya's case it comes out more amused than scornful.

"Three games in three days," Motoya muses quietly. "Feels kinda nostalgic, doesn't it? At least we don't have a hell day over here."

Kiyoomi hums.

"We're just going against some of the best players in the world instead," he gives Motoya a meaningful glance. "Everyday is hell day in the National Team."

Motoya smiles at him, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Kiyoomi holds his breath, eyes following the ball with anticipation. It probably hasn't been more than twenty seconds, but it already feels like the rally has been going on for an eternity.

The intensity increases with each touch, a beautiful dance around as the ball is exchanged from side to side in a mix of carefully placed balls, mind blowing saves and powerful spikes from both sides—and then, when everyone least expects it, the grounding sound of the ball hitting the floor thunders through the arena.

He blinks in shock.

"Brutal."

It's the second day of the tournament. Motoya, who is now sitting next to him and aiding on the bench commentaries, got to play the match against Serbia the previous day, but Kiyoomi has watched all the sets so far from the sidelines.

Atsumu, who is sitting by his right side, with the exception of some few opportunities as a pinch serve, also finds himself in a situation very similar to Kiyoomi's.

As for Hinata, he got his first real chance to play in the second set against Russia, switching places with Wakatoshi on the court. Thus, "I don't remember the last time I've seen a slide working so well in a professional match for men's volleyball," Motoya says pensively.

Kiyoomi nods. "It's really not so common in our category anymore, in theory it isn't as effective when you're facing high level blockers, but, well, it's Hinata we're talking about," he shrugs. "And they were already off-balance because of Bokuto's feint beforehand, Hinata not only noticed that but also took advantage of the fact Kageyama got the first touch to punch the ball back in their faces before they could even get up. Russia tried to be sly there but it really backfired for them this time."

"Brutal," Motoya repeats. "Gotta hurt even more after how hard they worked to send the ball back in the first place. They're going to have nightmares with this moment for some time now."

A few steps ahead of them, standing on the edge of the court, Hibarida claps happily, a satisfied smile on his face.

Kiyoomi glances to the side discreetly, evaluating Atsumu's expression. There's a hard line between his eyebrows, and his teeth are gritted in a frightening attempt for a smile. Kiyoomi turns to the other side, a few more players stand between them, but he can still make out Wakatoshi's strained expression, eyes serious while watching the duo on the court.

The Russian team won't be the only ones having nightmares tonight.

Kiyoomi spots Hibarida discreetly waving at him, and he gets up to hear what he wants to say.

"You're coming in to serve when Nitta gets to the back row, get ready," the coach instructs.

Kiyoomi nods obediently at the words, heading to the warm up area right after to wait for the call.

The next day, Kiyoomi gets to start his first ever official game for Japan's National Volleyball Team, helping the team conquer a 3 x 2 victory against France.

Their next pool of games is hosted in Japan, a very welcoming relief from the fatigue that comes with the travel and the anxiety of having to spend dozens of hours inside a death machine in the air.

Hinata complains for two whole days when the round's official roster is announced and he finds his name is not there.

From: Hinata

I wanted to play Brazil too (ಥ﹏ಥ)

The message is followed by three more crying stickers from the opposite hitter, and then the group chat is inundated with reassuring texts from the rest of the team—because Hinata is a person no one likes to see upset.

Kiyoomi scrolls through the messages with boredom, 'I'm sure you will have more chances soon!' , is what most of the messages seem to convey, which, well, obviously.

Hibarida isn't stupid, it isn't like they have many chances of actually winning the tournament this time—or even making it to the knockout round for all it matters—the team isn't exactly bad, but it is, well, experimental. They're brute, unpolished, so the coach is mostly using the competition to test his players, give them mileage, assess their chemistry in the court, see what kind of answers someone can give him under the pressure of an international match, everything with a clear goal in mind: Tokyo Olympics.

"We walk into every game with the intention of winning," is what coach Hibarida tells the reporters that approach him about the subject. "But this is a long term project, we're working to build a team that will arrive at the Olympics with real chances of a gold medal, and that demands some trial and error on our part right now."

From a coach's point of view, it is always better to have as many qualified players for a single position as possible, even if the circumstance might culminate to a tougher call when the time to make decisions for a more limited roster arrives.

And here's the deal: Hinata has already proven his worth to the technical staff, he didn't need much more than a few minutes on the court to display what he's capable of doing. Shoyo Hinata is the kind of player that doesn't crumble under the pressure of a big game and, most of all, he has proven for numerous times that no matter how high are the expectations you set on him, he's the kind of person who will always be able to overcome them.

He will get more chances to represent his nation in the court, plenty of them, but right now, he has to step back so the coach can see if anyone else is remotely capable of filling his shoes in case of need.

A very unfortunate task to have, in Kiyoomi's humble opinion.

From: Bokuto

Don't worry, my pupil! Omi will take care of Romero's serves on your behalf!

Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows at the message. That's hardly reassuring at all.

And it isn't like there's any guarantee I will even get to play this game anyway.

From: Kiyoomi

I will do what I can.

Kiyoomi does get most of Romero's serves up during the game. Brazil still kicks their ass anyway.

Sunday night finds them playing against Argentina. The whole arena vibrates in excitement as they cheer team Japan in their last home game for the competition.

Kiyoomi takes a sip of his drink, watching attentively as Kiryu busts a receive, ball hitting his outreached arms and twisting to the side angrily.

Next to him, Kourai tilts his head in his direction. "Wrong positioning," he whispers to Kiyoomi. "No way you can bump that ball with just the arms, you gotta adjust your body behind the ball and try to at least send it in a high arc to the center of the court." His I could've gotten it up goes unsaid, but Kiyoomi nods in agreement anyway.

Another serve, and a quick set through the middle gives Japan the point.

The rotation now brings Atsumu to the front row, so coach Hibarida undoes the inversion, Wakatoshi switches places with Atsumu while Kageyama goes back to the court, taking their second string opposite's place to serve.

That was a particularly successful passage from Atsumu in the set, his serving alone earned the team three break points, and they scored four more points in the course of the game up until the moment Atsumu finished his turn in the back row.

Hibarida gives him two appreciative pats in the back when Atsumu walks past him to sit down, and Kiyoomi regards the setter with an appraising raise of his eyebrows.

"How's the weather out there?" He asks playfully.

Atsumu sends him a blinding smile. "Perfect," he sighs, throwing himself in the seat next to Kiyoomi.

They watch the next couple of rallies in silence, up until the moment Bokuto punches a powerful spike right against a wall, and everyone watches in awe the alarming speed the ball acquires when it falls back at his feet.

"That's the third time he was stuffed just this set," Kourai points out.

Kiyoomi nods. "They got his timing. If he keeps on trying to confront the block like that he's going to be in trouble."

"I think Bokkun might have gotten a little spoiled with Shoyo-kun's decoy work," Atsumu chuckles, lips twisting up into a sly smile.

There is something else that only the experience of playing an International competition in a home venue can offer: aside from the usual National Team supporters in the stands, you can also find the presence of a diversity of club fans spread around the stands. There's a lot of people sporting merch, most of them from the Adlers, but if you look attentively you can find the colors of almost all the teams in the V. League scattered around the venue, a rainbow in disguise among the sea of red, with hints of black and yellow and green lost everywhere, all proudly cheering for whoever is representing their favored clubs in the National Team. Kiyoomi himself spotted two little girls wearing his MSBY Jersey somewhere on the third row.

It's easier to ignore them during the heat of the game, but once Argentina finishes another set and Kiyoomi and Atsumu find themselves doing some pepper drills in the corner of the court to keep their bodies warmed up in case they're needer later, the people in the stands also get a little more daring.

"Atsumu-kun! Sakusa-kun!" A bunch of girls scream their names, trying to catch their attention.

Atsumu falters, turning back to entertain them with a charming smile and a little wave of his hand. Kiyoomi makes sure to add a little more strength to his next spike, aiming it just a little higher than usual.

Atsumu dodges the ball before it can hit his face. "Ouch, Omi-kun!"

"Pay attention," Kiyoomi deadpans.

The third round of the VNL for the team Japan happens in Bulgaria.

On Thursday night, Atsumu finds him in the weight room of the MSBY Black Jackal back in Osaka, watching attentively as Kiyoomi finishes his biceps workout routine.

Kiyoomi finishes his mental count, letting go of the dumbbells to glare at Atsumu. "What do you want?"

Atsumu stares at him blankly for a beat, then he blinks. "Do you wanna watch the game at my place tomorrow?"

Kiyoomi tilts his head in consideration. "I am not really in the mood for being packed in your coach with the rest of our team. I will pass, sorry."

Atsumu shakes his head hurriedly. "No, no one else is coming. Bokkun is still in Tokyo staying with Akaashi-kun, Thomas hasn't gotten back from his break yet, Meian and Inunaki are visiting their parents and the rest of the team… will watch it with their families."

"Osamu?"

"At work."

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. "So I am your last option."

Atsumu gapes at him. "No, I— What? No! I didn't ask anyone else!" He looks away, avoiding Kiyoomi's eyes. "I just happen to know their schedule."

"Ah."

Atsumu turns menacingly back to him. "That's not the point though! Do you want to come or not?"

Kiyoomi considers it for a second, stooping down to grab his dumbbells again.

"Fine, text me the details later," he decides, and then he falters, turning to regard Atsumu with a cold stare. "But if your place is disgusting, I am not staying." 

"My place is not disgusting!" Atsumu cries.

From the corner of the room, one of their physiotherapists turns to face them with a questioning look.

"That's what we're going to find out," Kiyoomi retorts, initiating the mental account of his exercise once again.

Kiyoomi lingers by the door, squinting at what he can see of the apartment with suspicious eyes.

Atsumu stares at him expectantly, gesturing for him to come in.

He hesitantly takes a step inside, working on taking off his shoes while carefully assessing the place.

"This looks… Habitable."

Atsumu closes the door, turning back to give him an unimpressed look. "Don't be snarky."

The place is actually surprisingly clean. The apartment's living room stares back at him and Kiyoomi finds himself having to adjust his expectations, nothing seems to be aggravatingly out of place.

The smell of lavender reaches his nose when he takes a deep breath.

"Yeah, this is actually quite alright," he relents.

Atsumu nods, seeming satisfied with the reluctant answer. He stands awkwardly on his own entry, darting his eyes around the room with hesitancy

"Did you eat something already?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Great… Do you want something? Coffee, tea… Water?"

Kiyoomi blinks at him, distrustful.

"Water is fine," he says, and then he takes a moment to actually look at Atsumu, taking in his high brand shirt and stylish jeans. He frowns. "Why are you dressed like that?" He figured people would make a point to dress comfortably at their own house.

"What are you talking about? I always dress like that, I am not an animal," Atsumu huffs, immediately turning around and making his way to what Kiyoomi assumes must be his kitchen with a display of affected indifference in his steps.

Kiyoomi looks down, taking in his own grey sweatpants and trying to figure out if he should be offended.

He takes advantage of the fact Atsumu is in the kitchen to explore the living room, wandering around the space.

The first thing he notices are the pictures displayed on the shelf to his right, all organized in chronological order. One of a younger version of Atsumu and Osamu hugging a lady with a kind smile and wrinkles around her eyes as the three of them smile at the camera—probably a grandmother, Kiyoomi figures—immediately followed by a frame with the twins once again posing in front of two older people, as the whole family wears traditional clothes.

As Kiyoomi steps to the side, the twins get older in the pictures. The two of them holding a trophy from the Hyogo Middle School Qualifiers, and then a similar one where they're clad in back, proudly sporting their Inarizaki jerseys. There's a full team picture too, a disastrous yet endearing capture where half of the people in the image aren't even looking at the camera. Kiyoomi assumes it must be their roster back when they were in their second year, if he remembers the faces correctly.

For someone who prides himself in not needing memories, you seem awfully attached to them.

The last frame on the shelf is the most recent one, a picture with the Black Jackals, probably taken a few months before Kiyoomi joined the team. They're all gathered around a table, minus Kiyoomi and Hinata, smiling brightly at the camera, Bokuto with strong arms around Atsumu's shoulders and making a peace sign with his fingers.

It's the only picture that doesn't include Osamu.

It's funny, Kiyoomi had always taken Atsumu as someone who held himself in high regard, so the lack of individual pictures feels strange—he was expecting at least one image of Atsumu alone, proudly showing off one of his individual awards or something like that.

He glances to the side, and spots a cabinet next to the hall Kiyoomi assumes must lead to the apartment's rooms, there, glittering behind a glass, there's a shelf that showcases all of his awards, a collection of medals and golden colored pieces that have ' best server ' or ' best setter' written somewhere on them.

Yeah, something just like that.

There's also a collection of action figures in the shelf under it, neatly arranged and tidied up. The view makes Kiyoomi raise his eyebrows, he never took Atsumu as someone who enjoyed this stuff.

He looks away, and catches a glimpse of another frame hung by the wall, except it doesn't look like a picture this time.

Kiyoomi frowns, stepping closer.

It turns out to be a review of Onigiri Miya that came out in some food magazine Kiyoomi isn't acquainted with. He doesn't read the whole thing, but judging by the title and the overall tone of the article, it seems to have a very optimistic note.

And Atsumu has it hanging in his hall.

Kiyoomi scoffs, but the sound comes out wrong, bordering into something dangerously close to fondness. He is glad there was no one in the room to witness whatever that was.

"You live here alone, right?" He raises his voice so his question can reach Atsumu in the other room.

"Uh? Yeah," Atsumu screams back at him. "Why you ask?"

"Just making sure," he says back, voice getting softer.

There's a funny ache in his chest, one that Kiyoomi cannot pinpoint the source for.

Weird , he thinks, as he stares unseeingly at the frame in front of him, being immersed in Atsumu's personal space like that feels odd; a small physical bubble that is so intrinsically Atsumu it's almost overwhelming. This is an extension of who he is , Kiyoomi considers, and he doesn't know why, but it feels meaningful to be allowed inside that.

Maybe I should start searching for a place as well. He didn't bother with it at first, considering he wasn't even sure if he would be able to adapt to the city, but now that he knows he's okay here, and that he extended his contract, maybe…

"You can sit by the couch if you want," Atsumu screams from the kitchen, voice taking him away from his thoughts, and Kiyoomi turns to squint suspiciously at the furniture in question. Atsumu's head pops up from the kitchen door, glaring at Kiyoomi from the distance. "It isn't gonna bite you."

The head disappears again, and Kiyoomi huffs indignantly before making his way to the couch.

He sits down gingerly on the left corner of it, forcing his attention to the television. The pre-game has already started, broadcast showing the players doing their warm ups before the match begins.

He doesn't know how long it takes for Atsumu to come back, but suddenly his silhouette is covering Kiyoomi's view from the television while he lowers to place something on the table in front of them. A cup of water and a mug with tea—and both of them above cup holders, Kiyoomi acknowledges with esteem.

Then, Atsumu is facing him, a bowl with something that seems suspiciously familiar in hands.

Kiyoomi frowns.

"What is this?"

Atsumu avoids his eyes. "Pickled plums. You mentioned you liked them back in high school, and it's the only thing I knew that you didn't hate, so I went out to get you some and be like… A good host or whatever."

He extends his arms, and Kiyoomi looks at the bowl being handed to him, then up at Atsumu's face, then back to the pickled plums again.

He hesitantly grabs the bowl. 

"Thanks," he says, voice small.

Atsumu grunts something unintelligible before he speaks again, voice clearer. "And you don't have to be afraid of the food in my place, I didn't insist because I know it makes you uneasy, but I promise my tea won't kill you."

"Hm," he says, making a show of acting unconvinced, but he knows Atsumu can see through him.

"Is it gonna start already?" Atsumu changes the subject as he settles down in the opposite corner of the couch.

Kiyoomi nods. "Yeah, I think they're about to show the starting teams." 

On cue, the television exhibits the graphic illustrating the court and the player's positions, with the standard pictures of the athletes smiling blankly at the audience. First Bulgaria, then Japan.

Atsumu frowns. 

"Tobio-kun isn't starting?"

' ...yeah, with both Hoshiumi and Hinata in the receiving formation, Bulgaria will have to take a lot of risks with their serving to get a good chance at counterattacks, otherwise Japan will have a lots of quick sets at their disposal and...,' the commentarists discuss over the announced roster.

Kiyoomi shrugs. "Probably being spared for the game against Italy," he guesses.

From the television screen, Onigashira's face stares back at them, expression sympathetic.

Kiyoomi risks a glance with the corner of his eyes, finding Atsumu staring sourly at the image.

He feels his lips disobediently trying to move up, and he makes himself grab one of the pickled plums in front of him to disguise the motion.

It's funny to think there was once a time when Kiyoomi disliked Atsumu because he felt ingenuine. Has he always been so easy to read?

“I like your action figures collection,” he says, matter-of-factly. 

“Uh?” Atsumu turns to him with a frown, and the recognition flashes into his eyes when the words click. "Oh, that?" He looks behind his back,  spotting the shelf with the figures in question. "Pretty cool, right? I've been collecting since I was in middle school. I clean them every week," he says, a proud grin on his face. There's a sense of pointed self-satisfaction in his words that indicates he expects Kiyoomi to be impressed with the fact.

He kind of is.

Self-satisfaction and crazes aside, there are plenty of times when cleaning works for Kiyoomi as something almost therapeutic, he wonders if it is similar to Atsumu in this case.

The game begins, and they diligently resume their attention to it, remaining mostly quiet except for the sparse volleyball related comments.

"He's kind of short, isn't he?" Atsumu says nonchalantly, taking a sip of his tea as the broadcast replays the point a setter dump from Onigashira earned Japan.

Kiyoomi softly furrows his brows. It's kind of an excess considering there are two spikers that barely surpass 1,70 m on the court right now. "I guess? He definitely doesn't have the same blocking expertise as Kageyama. I am a little surprised they decided to put him in the game with both Hinata and Kourai-kun."

"They're probably testing how Onigashira works with Shoyo-kun," Atsumu ponders, voice thoughtful. "And if you're already going to sacrifice your blocking height..."

Inside the screen, Bulgaria's outside hitter jumps, aiming for a line shot over Hinata's block, but Kourai is behind him to bump it in time, a tiny shape in the corner of the court with light hair and extended forearms, sending the ball perfectly back to Onigashira's hands.

"It's better to make sure you have one of your floor defense specialists there," Kiyoomi concludes the thought for him.

It's a simple notion, even if it doesn't come intuitively considering the particularities of their sport. Neither Kourai nor Hinata are inept blockers, but there's just so much a good jump and sense of timing can do against adversaries that have 40 centimeters on you, so it would be a reach to say there's not a disadvantage there. And still, they have a wide range of ways to make up for it.

"They have each other's backs," Atsumu muses, voice sounding amused by the concept.

Kiyoomi nods quietly.

When the game ends, Kiyoomi lingers by the door once again, looking back at the place after putting on his shoes. He contemplates on the space, the decent sized balcony on the side he managed to grasp a look on, the amount of natural light the huge windows of the living room allow in.

"This place isn't half bad," he decides. "Let me know if you hear of any apartment on the building being up to lease."

Atsumu looks at him strangely. "Uh. Sure." 

Kiyoomi steps out of the apartment, and Atsumu hesitates for a second by the door before reaching out.

"Omi-kun! Wait!"

Kiyoomi looks back at him, a clear interrogation mark on his face.

"You can come back…" Atsumu starts, a little uncertain. "Tomorrow, to watch the other game, I mean. It's gonna be a little earlier, so you could come over and we can order something to eat, or anything like that."

Kiyoomi grimaces.

"You can pick the place," Atsumu adds with exasperation.

Kiyoomi blinks once, considering the offer.

"Sure," he nods. "See you tomorrow, Miya."

Atsumu smiles. "See you tomorrow, Omi-kun."

One of the most trivial downsides of the hectic schedule of an international tournament is that, even if they get the chance to travel around the world with the team, no one really has the time to explore the countries they get to visit.

But, if there’s any solace in that, the fourth week of Nations League sends them to some lost village in Illinois, which—no offense—isn’t really in Kiyoomi’s dream list of sightseeing places in America.

They face the hosts in the very first match of the weekend and, even though everyone knew it would be a difficult game, the reality still stings.

The scoreboard mockingly shines a 19 x 10 against them in the first set, and the crowd fills the venue with supportive chants for USA.

The ball crosses over the net, coming with a fast speed aimed for the left corner of Japan’s court. Kiyoomi moves on time to get his forearms in its trajectory, trying to direct the ball to the center of the net where Kageyama is waiting.

Too high, too long, he chastises himself.

Kageyama bends himself in the air trying to reach the ball without touching the net or invading the opponent’s court. Without surprise, he manages to get a hand on it and toss the ball to his left side.

Kiyoomi realizes midair that the ball is way too close to the net for him to be able to spike it, so he adapts, waiting a beat longer than usual before tapping it lightly against the falling block in front of him.

The ball returns to their court, and he dodges it in time to watch it falling out of bounds.

The referee signals Japan’s point.

Kiyoomi turns to face his teammates, most of the people inside his court give out weak screams and claps of encouragement, the atmosphere is already too gloomy to properly celebrate even the unlikely point.

Kageyama raises an apologetic hand in his direction. "Sorry."

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “It was my mistake, that pass was terrible."

Kageyama shrugs. “You did a good job even getting that ball up.”

Kiyoomi gives him a weak nod, but the comment somehow makes him feel even more upset.

The very next play has the American’s middle blocker punching a quick set into their faces.

20 x 11. Kiyoomi purses his lips in frustration.  

A loud buzz echoes through the venue, and Kiyoomi raises his head to find Bokuto waiting by the substitution area, proudly displaying the number 15 in the board he holds.

Kiyoomi sighs, getting up on his feet. He figured this would happen.

He takes the board Bokuto hands to him, waiting until the 2nd referee signals they can proceed with the exchange.

“See if you can cheer them up a bit,” he mumbles after he’s given the okay to step out. “And their number 8 is really struggling with his line shots tonight, so close the cross tightly.”

Bokuto blinks, eyebrows rising in wonder at first, but he energetically nods back at Kiyoomi as soon as the words click in his head. The very next second, he’s walking inside the court, fists raised into the sky as he cheerfully screams a succession of ‘hey’s at his teammates.

Kiyoomi shakes his head in a mix of exasperation and fondness, grabbing a towel and making his way to one of the farthest benches available before tiredly sitting down and rubbing himself dry.

Atsumu stands in the warm up area with the rest of the reserve players, keeping himself ready in case the coach decides to put him in anytime soon, but he approaches Kiyoomi after a couple of minutes. “Hey you.”

“Hey you,” Kiyoomi parrots absentmindedly, still focused on drying his arms.

Atsumu hesitates, then he moves to the box with their drinks, finding Kiyoomi’s bottle in the mix to hand it to him. “You doing okay?”

Kiyoomi puts the towel to the side, grabbing the bottle instead.

“As far as possible,” he shrugs.

Atsumu hums, turning to face the game again. He avoids looking at Kiyoomi’s eyes when he speaks next. “You weren’t playing bad, though,” he points out. “I mean… The whole team was struggling overall, but you were playing like you always do.”

Kiyoomi is careful enough to gulp down his drink before letting out the huff. If he didn't know any better he could even think Atsumu was trying to cheer him up.

“I know,” he says, unbothered, and both of them watch as Bokuto manages an incredible cut shot to score for Japan, immediately turning to his companions to let out a radiant scream and hand out high fives.

He performs a one-sided chest bump with Kageyama that sends the setter three steps back in an attempt to regain his balance.

“I just wasn’t what the team needed right now.”

The last stop of the preliminary round of the Nation's League finds them in Germany.

Kiyoomi sits by the sidelines, watching what is going to be their last game in this competition since they arrived here with no mathematical chances of making it into the knockout stage. 

Germany is a resilient and adaptable team, and they count with an opposite hitter that owns a serve that has Kiyoomi's forearms itching to get inside the court.

Japan managed to take the first set by an inch, but the home team tied things up in the second set. Now, the third one is once again being fought for neck by neck.

Atsumu is next to him, eyes attentively tracking the motions of the game, legs stretched in front of him, and ankles and arms crossed in a fairly comfortable stance. He's in a better mood than usual today, given the fact he got to start yesterday's game and help the team take a 3 x 1 win against Portugal. He's still not completely satisfied, as he never is when he has to experience a game from the benches instead of from inside the court, but the experience managed to soften his edges a little bit.

Japan's last point yesterday came from a beautiful pipe attack they pulled out together, and today Kiyoomi is also here keeping the bench warm, so he can understand Atsumu’s feelings well enough.

"Say, Omi-kun," Atsumu starts casually. "Now that we got to see most of the options for outside hitters playing for real, who do you think should be our starters?"

Kiyoomi conscientiously looks around, checking to see if anyone was close enough to hear the question. He knows he's generally known for his bluntness, but this is still not a conversation he would like to have with an audience, much less one that is composed of their teammates.

He makes a quick assessment of the placements around them. Kiyoomi always makes sure to choose the farthest bench available when he sits down, and Atsumu is the only person—aside from his cousin—that would ever make a point to sit next to him. The three seats next to Atsumu are occupied with functional items for the match, a box filled with the athlete’s drink bottles, the bag with towels, and a few extra jerseys in case of necessity. The rest of the team are either sitting in the remaining benches or standing further away from them in the warm up area, clapping and screaming supportive words to the players in court.

He exhales a deep breath, relaxing when he concludes there’s no one in hearing range from them.

Atsumu notices his actions, targeting him with a sly smile.

Kiyoomi shakes his head in a dramatic display of disapproval, but now, more at ease, he actually gives the words some thought.

Indeed, aside from a few kids that are barely two years into college, all of the outside hitters that have been registered for the competition had at least one chance of playing a full game for the team. All of them are known names, players that are well respected in the Japanese volleyball scenario, some even with previous experiences with the National Team in their resume already.

Bokuto, Tsuetate, Ojiro, Kiryu, Hoshiumi, Nishiura… Whatever the name, the bottom line is that they're all highly competent players

"I can't tell for sure what is going to be Hibarida-san's choice, but whatever it is, I bet he's happy that he's going to have a hard time picking," Kiyoomi gives a diplomatic answer.

Atsumu shakes his head, unsatisfied. "C'mon! Aren’t you the realistic one here? I bet you must have at least a general idea."

Kiyoomi ruminates on it for a second, pursing his lips in thought. "I guess… The energy of the team is different when Bokuto and Kourai-kun are on the court."

Atsumu frowns. "You don't care about this 'energy' stuff."

The corner of Kiyoomi's lip twists up. "Yeah, but not everyone is like me," he argues.

Atsumu hums, a doubtful sound, and turns his face back to look at the match in front of them.

"Besides…" Kiyoomi tries to elaborate, but the words die in his mouth as the play develops in front of their eyes. Kageyama is diving for an extremely difficult save and sending the ball up to the left side of the court, where Ojiro launches himself in the air, stretching his body and whipping his arm forward as he manages to find a clean line over the German block to punch the ball to the floor. The cheer squad is mostly composed of German people themselves, but they still scream in awe at the spike. "Yep, that."

If Bokuto is a creative and energetic spiker that never actually perceives obstacles as, well, obstacles, and Kourai is a well honored weapon that can find ways to capitalize out of almost any situation, Ojiro is the kind of person that will glimpse at these obstacles and simply conquer them through sheer vigour. There's just very little his superior athleticism and resilience can't overcome.

Atsumu grins, facing lightning with pride. "He's amazing, isn't he?" 

Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow. "What are you looking so smug for?"

Atsumu huffs, playfully raising a nose in the air. "He's my senpai, okay?"

Kiyoomi shakes his head, but doesn’t bother coming up with a retort for that.

A moment of silence passes between them as they watch Kageyama make his way to the service area, and when Atsumu opens his mouth to speak, his voice is serious again. "Anyway, you can talk about energy, or star factor or whatever, but I personally think there's this real sense of security in the team when you're on the court. Because of both your skills and your temperament."

Kiyoomi has to remind himself he’s not wearing a mask when he feels a smile starting to break through his face, he manages to keep the expression less obvious with some effort, letting a small smirk peak out instead. 

He really knows how to praise a man, Kiyoomi thinks, coming for my consistency like that.

"Either way, like I said, it will depend on what the coach's criteria will be," Kiyoomi says.

Atsumu turns to him, a challenging look in his eyes. "If you were to choose, based on your own criteria, who would you pick?"

It takes half a second of consideration. "Me," he says. And after another pause, he complements, "And probably Kourai-kun."

Atsumu's mouth twists into a triumphant smile. "I knew you would say that!"

"Did you now?" Kiyoomi raises a doubtful eyebrow at him.

"You like the players that are very technical and precise, and, like, you respect people that are meticulous and build themselves up, so I figured you would pick Kourai-kun."

Kiyoomi hums. 

"I guess you're right. But also," he traces the movements in the court with his eyes, from up the attack line, Kageyama positions himself under the ball, sending it up in a beautiful arc to his left side, "the higher we go and the better the teams we play, the more skilled the blockers will get as well, so I think it's important, to count with players that not only know how to face a high wall head on," Bokuto launches himself up, right arm snapping over his head until his hand finds the ball, aiming it for the cross, but the opponent middle blocker throws himself to the side in time to close off the hole and send it back to their court, Hinata slides through the floor to get his hand under the ball before it touches the floor, "but that also are confident in working their way around it."

The ball gains less than 1 meter of height, but Kageyama is there again, diving to throw it up with a clenched fist. Motoya then sends it back to the other side of the court with an accelerated pass.

Kiyoomi frowns, considering his own words. He looks at Atsumu again. "I don't mean to say anyone is actually lacking in that regard though, it's just—"

Atsumu shakes his head. "I know what you mean."

Kiyoomi purses his lips, turning his attention back to the match in time to see Germany punching a quick set through their middle, Hinata tries to react on time but the ball is already hitting the floor before he can move his arms.

Atsumu is also watching the game closely, face serious, but then he chuckles, seeming to be hit by a specifically funny thought.

"What?" Kiyoomi asks, voice laced with suspicion.

Atasumu doesn't turn back to look at him, but the smile on his voice is clear. "I was just thinking that both you and Kourai-kun have this tendency of starting unprompted rants out of nowhere, so it makes sense that you get along."

Kiyoomi's face sours.

"I don't do that," he says defensively.

Atsumu regards him with an unimpressed look and a knowing smile. Intolerable.

Kiyoomi turns back to face the court, sucking.

"But I gotta say, Kourai-kun's speeches are way more motivational than yours."

"I have never in my life tried to be motivational," he fires back. "Ever."

Atsumu smiles at him.

"I know."

They both focus back on the game, Kiyoomi unwilling to keep the conversation going, and Atsumu satisfied with the reaction he managed to bring out.

A thought crosses Kiyoomi's mind.

"What about you though?"

From the other side of the court, Germany's opposite hitter jumps to serve, body bending in the air into a rigorous form to assemble power and snapping forward aggressively to punch the ball in their direction at a meteoric speed.

Bokuto gets a hand on it before the ball touches the floor, but the motion only works to soften its path, the ball goes up at a slower tempo but remains headed for the back of their court. Hinata runs for it, throwing himself at the ball and sending it back with an underhand move.

Kiyoomi follows the trajectory of the ball with his head, the course headed for a few centimeters ahead of the attack line, center of the court.

That's hittable, he regards. 

Ojiro is running, eyes focused on the ball and adapting his approach to its fall.

Kiyoomi assesses the movement of the adversary block with the corner of his eyes. Three .

"Three!" Atsumu simultaneously tries to scream a warning.

Ojiro spikes the ball, and it's a matter of milliseconds before it falls back on his feet.

Kiyoomi and Atsumu give out identical grimaces at the scene.

"Yikes, that was textbook perfect," Atsumu says. He turns back to look at Kiyoomi. "What about me?"

"Who would you pick, if the choice was up to you?"

Atsumu tilts his head. "For outside or setter?"

Kiyoomi snorts. "For outside. I think I have a pretty good idea for what your choice for setter would be."

Atsumu smiles at him innocently, but he gives out an answer without hesitation. "You and Aran-kun, probably," he sends a secretive smile Kiyoomi's way. "Don't tell that to Bokkun though."

Kiyoomi feels a strange warmth in his chest, the feeling is unknown, weird, like syrup sliding into his ribcage, spreading through his body. He can feel it unfurling through his limbs, reaching his fingers, going up his throat.

He swallows the feeling down, clenches his fist. What is he? A teenager?

You don't need outside validation , he tells himself.

Another serve, the ball strikes the endline untouched.

The referee blows the whistle, signaling the end of the set.

They get up, and someone from their staff throws a ball their way for them to get started with their warm up trills.

"Sakusa."

Kiyoomi turns back, looking quizzically at his coach.

"Warm up well," he says, tone full of meaning.

Kiyoomi nods, and when he turns back, Atsumu has his eyebrows raised at him, a knowing grin on his face. “Ooooh.”

He shakes his head silently, fondly, and throws the ball his way. “Don’t get started. Focus.”

Before the fourth set starts, coach Hibarida gathers them, giving some last minute instructions.

"Omi," Bokuto says to him, a little sulky, but petulant all the same. "Punch through them."

Kiyoomi looks at him, and then chances a glance at the 2.10 meters tall German middle blocker making his way inside the court.

"Highly unlikely," he tells Bokuto. "But I will do my best to find some holes."

Bokuto narrows his eyes, looking a bit uncertain if he's actually satisfied with the answer, but he ends up shrugging, probably figuring it would be pointless to ask for anything more with Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi steps inside the court, positions himself to receive, and the match restarts.

Japan grabs the fourth set with a five point lead.

The last set is even more strenuous. As the servers get more offensive, both team’s receptions also improve in return, continuously raising the stakes of the match. Both squads reaching their peaks in order to conquer the final win.

Kiyoomi pants, gasping for a breath. The last time he looked at the scoreboard it read 11 x 10 for Japan, but the action feels like it happened a lifetime ago now, as Germany hits them with the third counterattack of a rally that feels endless.

He is sweating buckets, the feeling is already leaving the lands of mildly uncomfortable and almost reaching functional impracticality as the sweat hangs over his eyebrows, on the edge of falling into his eyes.

Hinata zips through the court, spiking the ball back to the other side with impressive speed. 

Kiyoomi drops his block coverage form and uses the few seconds of breathing room to try and rub the sweat away with the back of his hand, mindful of the dirt in his fingers considering how much he touched the ball and dived to the floor these last couple of seconds, but the motion is almost pointless considering his everything is completely wet as well, then his time is over and he gets back in position to assemble their defensive formation.

Two Germany players make a simultaneous approach for the spike, but the set ends up going to their outside hitter, who punches the ball into their court, searching for a free line for his cross, but Motoya's reaction is fast enough to get a forearm in its path. 

The ball goes up again, aimed to the sidelines of their court, but its motion is more cushioned now. Ojiro is running for the save, throwing the ball back inside their court.

Kiyoomi moves, positioning himself under the ball's falling path.

Can't spike this, must send it for free. Better make sure their setter gets first touch. He glances to the side. Or…

The ball slowly finds his hands and in a quick, deliberate move he tosses it above the net in a long arc.

Everyone holds their breaths, watching the motion with stunned expectation, the ball covers their libero on its way up, and starts a fast-paced fall dangerously close to the end of the court.

Then it touches the floor, leisurely, tauntingly, just above the ending line.

The whistle blows, and the referee signals the point to Japan.

"Heh," Kiyoomi chuckles..

The adversary calls for a time out immediately. Kiyoomi doesn't understand a word of Germany, but he has a few good guesses of what the words the coach angrily screams back at the team must mean.

If we ever let a ball like that fall, Hibarida would kill us.

He walks to the sidelines with the rest of the team, and finds Atsumu staring up at him mischievously, an extended arm with a towel in offering. 

Kiyoomi makes sure to dry himself off before raising an eyebrow at him. "What got you looking so smug?"

Atsumu shakes his head. "No reason," he smirks, voice melodic in a good humored mannet. "I just think you're a terrible human being."

Kiyoomi smirks. "Thanks."

After the win, Hibarida finds them back in the locker room.

"Ah, I think that was a great way to pack things up for now," the coach starts off with a smile. "I know we can do better in the future, but given the circumstances, I am really satisfied with what I've seen these last weeks. I know you all still have appointments with the medical and recovery staff, but we don't have any more official practice scheduled for now so I just wanted to say: enjoy your break. Consciously," he points out, voice stern. "And work hard with your clubs when you're back. I am pretty sure I will see most of you again in August for the next series of international tournaments, but until there, stay safe. And take care of yourselves," his face is pleasant enough, but there's a demanding edge underneath his words. The team shouts back in agreement, and Hibarida leaves them to finish changing.

They all get back to Ajinomoto, proceeding with their rebuilding procedures and physical exams when necessary. The medical team does an extra check up on his wrists before officially releasing him, Kiyoomi doesn’t know if it is just objective caution or just extra consideration given his own temperament, but he appreciates the care anyway.

Everyone gets officially dismissed by Wednesday.

“I’ll be going out now,” Atsumu’s head pops on the door of the resting room, he gives the room a once over to check who’s inside before walking in, bag in tow. “Where’s Bokkun?”

“Already left,” Kiyoomi mutters, without taking his eyes away from his phone.

“And you are...?”

“Waiting for Komori to finish packing,” he answers the fragmented question. “We’re visiting his parent’s first.”

Atsumu nods understandingly. “Well, I will be leaving now. Bye, guys,” he raises his voice so it can reach the few players that are further away in the room, and they all wave back at him. “Omi-kun, Shoyo-kun, see you in a few weeks, don't have too much fun without me. Tobio-kun, have a safe trip, bring me souvenirs from Rome,” he says over his shoulder as he walks away.

Kiyoomi perks up at that, raising his eyes to look at Kageyama. He’s waving at Atsumu’s retreating back, lips pursed in confusion.

Atsumu was definitely just messing with him, but he will probably end up bringing the souvenirs anyway , Kiyoomi thinks with amusement.

“When are you traveling, Kageyama?” He asks.

Kageyama turns to face him. “In two weeks.”

“Are you going alone?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama nods.

“Are you nervous?”

You never know what tomorrow will bring you, but Kiyoomi can’t picture himself in that situation. He can’t imagine what it would be like to leave everything you know behind and unveil a completely different country like that. Different language, customs, food, having to relearn everything you take for granted from scratch—common etiquette, public transportation, health insurance, everything on your own. Just the thought alone makes him shiver.

It was never something he deeply considered, but he knows lots of athletes tend to rush to get partners and form a family when they’re still young to try and create a root, a sort of foundation they can take with them in situations like that to hold their ground. But he knows that’s not Kageyama’s case either.

Kageyama tilts his head in consideration.

“Yeah, I am a bit worried I won’t adapt to the food and will struggle to keep my form there,” he shrugs. “But I heard Italian food is pretty good and there will be nutritionists to take care of me, so I think it will be alright.”

Sometimes Kiyoomi forgets Kageyama’s brain works in a completely different wavelength than his.

"Ah,” he lets out. “Aren’t you worried about being on your own there?”

Kageyama blinks back at Kiyoomi, expression confused. “As long as I am playing volleyball I think I will be okay.”

Kiyoomi gives him a slow nod. “Right.”

“But we’re going back to Miyagi first, right?” Hinata appears behind Kageyama’s shoulder, looking down at the setter expectantly. Kageyama nods back obediently. 

“Oh,” Kiyoomi says. Oh , he darts his eyes between the two of them. 

Right, sometimes a person doesn't necessarily need to be physically with you to give you a root.

These guys are weird.

“Yeah, we will spend some time with our families, check up on old colleagues, maybe even meet up with our high school’s coaches and see how the team is doing. We will take the train back after lunch though,” Hinata excitedly elaborates.

“Yeah,” Kageyama agrees.

Kiyoomi nods at them quietly.

“Ah! Maybe we can even get some old friends to play a little with us before Kageyama travels, that would be nice,” Hinata keeps going, his enthusiasm unconsciously increasing the volume of his voice as well.

Kiyoomi hums.

“It’s gonna be so cool! Oh, do you think they will recognize me in the streets now? Since I am a pro player! And a representative of Japan!”

“It would be difficult to mistake your tangerine head for anyone else. And you’re very loud, so people will know you’re coming from miles away,” Kageyama retorts in a petty manner.

“Really? I— Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?!” Hinata screams indignantly.

Motoya appears at the door, face perking up when he spots Kiyoomi. “Oh, there you are! Ready to go?”

Kiyoomi nods hurriedly, getting up instantly. “Yep. Goodbye. See you soon. Hope you enjoy your breaks. Have a nice trip, Kageyama.”

“Bye, Omi-san! Bye Komori-san!”

“Goodbye, Sakusa-san. Komori-san,” Kageyama regards each of them with a single nod of his head.

Motoya grins brightly at them, cheerfully waving his hand. “Bye, guys!”

Japan SportNews @SportsJPN

CHAMPIONS OF ASIA! And once again, our volleyball National Team brings home the title of the Asian Championship! Congratulations to our monsters!

[picture of the team celebrating the win on the court]

“What’s the commotion about?” Kiyoomi frowns when he arrives at the gym.

“We’re taking a team picture,” Motoya helpfully remarks.

“Ah,” Kiyoomi regards the scene around him, the mess of players talking simultaneously, the presence of photographers, the light stands, everyone from their coaching staff is wearing their official uniforms as well, and there’s a banner that goes Champions of the 2019 Asian Men's Volleyball Championship in bold letters hanging in the corner of the room. “Didn’t we take the official pictures already, though? Before the competition began?”

“Yeah, but they want to take one with the banner, to make posters and stuff.”

“Ah,” he says again, face souring.

“So how are we gonna do this?” Kourai inquires, raising his voice so it can be heard over the chaos in the room.

“I guess we do like usual, half of the team standing and half kneeling,” Onigashira answers. 

“And how do we define who’s doing what?”

“Shouldn’t we make the tallest ones stand?” Hakuba proposes.

“Why?” Kourai squints at him.

“To… assert dominance…?” The middle blocker loses his conviction under Kourai's scrutinizing glare. “Isn’t that how everyone usually does it anyways?”

Yaku takes a step forward, hand resting on his waist with petulance. “I say we should make the tall half kneel.”

The way he says it makes Kiyoomi shiver in fear. Hinata and Kourai nod in profusal agreement.

“That would be, like, super lame,” Atsumu scoffs.

“You do realize you’re going with the short half, right?” Kiyoomi whispers under his breath.

“The tall guys should definitely kneel,” Atsumu immediately declares.

It takes another fifteen minutes for them to decide the order of the players and come to a consensus about the poses until the camera is finally clicking in front of them.

Hinata raises a hand in the air, like a high schooler asking for permission to speak. “Can we take a picture with me in the middle? We don’t have to make it the official one, but I want to frame it.”

Kageyama scoffs.

“Hey, Kageyama! If you want one too just say it, don’t act like you think it’s lame,” Hinata yells at him. "Jealousy is a terrible look on you."

Kageyama averts his eyes. "I have plenty of pictures already, I don't need stuff like that," he mumbles in an affected display of nonchalance.

“I want one too!” Bokuto screams, raising his hand in the air to mirror Hinata’s gesture.

Kiyoomi closes his eyes, willing his brain to block out the reality around him.

“Alright, now that we got that out of the way,” coach Hibarida smiles, looking almost as relieved as Kiyoomi feels. “Let’s get back to business. The World Cup will be starting next month, and I am pretty sure everyone here is already aware that it's gonna be a rough one.”

Rough is an understatement. They’re about to face eleven games in fifteen days, the competition’s schedule is one of the toughest ones out of all the international tournaments existent. Their only console is knowing this specific tournament always happens on their home grounds at least, but it’s still a small relief in comparison to what they’re about to face.

“But luckily for us,” the coach claps his hands together, smile turning more suggestive, bordering on a smirk. “I have a very competent team in my hands. So let’s talk tactics, shall we?”

He turns around, and starts searching for his pen so he can point out instructions in the whiteboard.

Next to him, Atsumu chuckles under his breath, a throaty sound.

“Let the games begin,” he speaks quietly.

Kiyoomi grunts.

“Can you not say it like we’re about to get into a horror movie?” He mumbles back.

Oct. 4, 2019. 

Third game.

Hinata is making his way to the serving area when he notices, stopping on his tracks immediately and turning to walk the steps to the substitution zone instead. He makes an exchange with Atsumu, handing him the ball and grabbing the substitution board from the setter’s hand before making his way to the bench. Behind him, Kageyama performs a similar gesture with Wakatoshi, minus the ball.

Atsumu heads to the back of the court confidently, exchanging high fives and pleasant smiles with his teammates on the way. He regards Kiyoomi with a self-assured smirk while passing by him. 

Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows, face unimpressed.

Atsumu sends the first serve in the space between Tunisia’s opposite and outside hitter, the ball hits the floor before any of them has time to move a limb.

Uh, he seems pretty warmed up already.

He sends the next one to the same place, but the outside hitter bumps it into their setter’s hands. Kiyoomi watches their movements attentively, readying himself to get in motion. 

They come from the left, but Kiyoomi is under it, sending the ball up to the center of the court. He stands up quickly, taking a few steps back to start the run up for a spike.

He launches himself in the air, projecting his body forward, and the ball finds his palm when he’s finishing the swing of his arm, aiming for an open spot on the right side of Tunisia's court.

Tunisia’s libero sticks his hand in its path, and the ball is deflected, now aiming to the sidelines at a slower pace, but there’s a player diving to save it with an underhand motion, and then the ball is being sent back to their side of the court for free.

“Mine,” Yaku screams, passing it back right into Atsumu’s hands.

Kiyoomi is on the move again. Left, right, left, careful not to accidentally step on the attack line during his approach, then he’s shoving himself in the air. 

This time, the ball grasps on the block after leaving his hand, twisting up and crossing the whole court in a high arc, aiming to fall further back, close to the sponsor banners in the corner of the venue.

But the libero is on the run again, and as Kiyoomi lands on the ground, he watches the player send the ball back inbounds with a motion of his arms. 

Kiyoomi feels the irritation growing in his chest, the heat spreads through his body, making his moves sharper, more purposeful

The ball comes back to them, aimed at Atsumu, but the setter steps to the side in time when he takes notice of Hakuba’s presence by his side, prepared to cover him on the first touch and allow the team to restructure itself in the time it takes for the middle blocker to deliver the ball back into Atsumu’s hands.

Kiyoomi is up and moving, steps filled with purpose. He doesn’t bother with assessing his opponents defensive formation or aiming for gaps this time, he just throws himself up in the air, and punches the ball down as hard as he can.

The libero is there, arms outreached under its trajectory, but the ball hits his skin and twists to the side aggressively. He snaps his head to the side, watching wide-eyed as the ball lands up in the stands.

Kiyoomi clenches his fist in triumph, a celebratory growl coming out of his mouth. Around him, he registers the roar of the crowd, and the cheerful screams of his teammates. He raises his head, finding his team looking back at him, smiles a mix of excitation and relief. He can even recognize the annoyed set of Wakatoshi’s eyebrows disguised underneath his smile, but he understands where he’s coming from—his time on the court is already brief these days, and Atsumu just gave Kiyoomi three sets in a roll.

He allows himself to feel extra smug about that.

“Nice kill!” Atsumu beams at him brightly, arms raised in the air seeking for a high five. 

Kiyoomi squints at his hands distrustfully.

Atsumu raises his eyebrows at him, smiling expectantly.

Kiyoomi relents, hesitantly offering a fist instead, and Atsumu chuckles, happily completing the fist bump.

Kiyoomi avoids his eyes when he speaks next. “Go on, you’re still serving,” he says, making a shoo gesture with his hand.

Oct. 9, 2019.

Sixth game.

Kiyoomi watches, face turned to the right side of the court as Kourai jumps, spiking the ball against the block. It comes back high, aiming for the back of their court—dangerously close to the line, so Yaku throws himself under it to guarantee.

The dig starts to descend just a few steps behind Hinata, but Kageyama is crossing the court to meet the ball as well. They almost collide, and there's a terrifying second when both of them hesitate to reach for the ball as they notice the other's presence, but Hinata goes for it, sending a set to the middle of the court.

Kiyoomi jumps, the ball is too low to do anything too daring, so he gives it a light tap instead, sending it over the block—and right into the waiting arms of the Australian libero.

He hurriedly steps back, placing himself in his defensive position.

Australia storms forward, three of its offensive players making simultaneous approaches. Kiyoomi takes a step to the side as soon as the setter directs the pass to his outside hitter, trying to cover the area most of his crosses have been directed to in the game so far.

The spike comes in his direction with intent, striking against the corner of his outreached arms and twisting to the side as it goes out of bounds.

" Damnit ," he blurts out, punching the floor in frustration.

A buzz resounds through the venue as Hibarida calls for a time out.

The team gathers around their coach, seizing the moment to take a breath and hydrate themselves as well.

"Okay, kids," Hibarida begins, clasping his hands together. "This is a difficult formation for us, our net is inverted, so you know the drill: pass in your setter's hands, I want both the middle and the pipe to be actionable," he sends Kiyoomi and Hakuba a pointed glance, to which they nod in accordance. "Hinata, if Kageyama can reach the ball, then he has the priority, even if he has to go underhand. You focus on preparing for an attack."

Hinata replies with a sheepish nod, making an act of darting his face to the side right after to avoid the dirty glance Kageyama sends his way.

"His positioning is off, you know," Kiyoomi mutters quietly to Kourai when it seems Hibarida is done with his instructions.

Kourai looks up at him, eyes quizzical.

Kiyoomi makes a subtle wave of his head, gesturing with his chin to the Australian opposite on the other side of the court. "I know you've been aiming at the middle blocker for a tool since he's taller, but that one tends to be a little distant from the net when he tries to block. Super easy to explore."

Kourai hums, expression pensive. The buzz rings again, signaling the end of their time, just as the information seems to click in Kourai's brain, and he sends a conspiratorial smile in Kiyoomi's direction before walking back in the court.

The game restarts, Kiyoomi bumps the serve right into Kageyama's waiting hands, and Hakuba punches the ball to the floor.

Oct. 10, 2019.

Seventh Game.

Japan launches ahead, Hinata from the right at a faster tempo, then Hyakuzawa from the middle and Bokuto on the left, Kiyoomi stands back to cover their backs with Motoya by his side.

Kageyama tosses the ball, placing it gingerly just a few inches away from the antenna, and Bokuto is there with a gleaming smile to turn the set into a menacing cross shot.

The whistle blows, and Kiyoomi takes a deep breath. That’s 14-13 for them.

There’s no relief in knowing they’ve achieved a match point, they had plenty of these in the last set and Egypt still managed to tie up and turn things around on them, taking the win by 28-30.

It's even more unnerving to know they will have to survive without a libero next, as Hyakuzawa makes his way to serve.

We could really use a boost right now , Kiyoomi muses to himself while getting in position. He hasn't played this set so far so…

Kiyoomi chances a glance to the side.

… And there he is.

Atsumu is waiting by the sidelines proudly, the board in his hands displaying the number 22.

This time, he doesn’t regard anyone when he walks inside the court, diligently making his way to the service zone with a concentrated look in his eyes.

Kiyoomi doesn’t resent the lack of acknowledgement, actually, he’s a little bit touched—it is not like Atsumu ever not takes volleyball seriously, but he usually deals with critical moments a little differently than the rest of them. It’s surprising to see he can feel and respect the weight of this moment as well.

He probably thinks nothing of it right now, Kiyoomi focuses his glance back at his opponents, flexing his knees in preparation, but I think it’s a great source of pride, to be trusted by your coach in a moment like that.

The ball cuts the air above him, and he can only hear its deafening sound before it reaches his field of vision, crossing the net, aimed dangerously close to the sideline.

In.

Someone manages to throw himself to the ball, getting it up poorly. The libero is running to provide coverage, sending the ball to the attack zone.

Kiyoomi watches motionless from his place in the defense as Egypt’s left wing spiker makes his approach, jumps in the air, and crumbles beyond Japan's triple block. 

Game over.

Oct. 11, 2019.

Round of sixteen.

The whistle blows, the referee’s arm extending into Japan’s side of the court to signal their point after a successful pipe from Kourai.

Now they’re at match point, and the crowd around them howls in excitement, starting to chant “TO-BI-O! TO-BI-O!” in prelude as Kageyama is intended to serve next.

Someone throws a ball in Kageyama’s direction, and he grabs it one-handed in the air. Kiyoomi expects him to start walking to the serving area immediately, but the setter stops on his tracks, staring back at him with a pensive face.

Kageyama glances at Hinata as well as the opposite makes his way to the net, then returns his eyes to Kiyoomi. Hinata looks back at him questioningly too.

“What?” Kiyoomi asks.

“They’ve been taking advantage of Hinata’s shorter block the whole game so far…” He muses thoughtfully.

Hinata scowls. “Hey! I mean, I know that, but don’t be mean!”

Kiyoomi frowns, he might have an idea of where this is going, but…

“So?”

Kageyama leans a bit closer, voice dropping—it’s an extra display of prudence, really, considering it’s hardly likely any of their opponents actually understand a word of japanese. “After I send the ball over, wait a bit longer and switch positions on the net. Let’s see if we can mess with them a little.”

Kiyoomi and Hinata share a look before nodding at Kageyama, and then the setter is finally turning back to go serve.

The ball cuts the air above their heads at a lightning speed, the sound it makes when it touches Kageyama’s hands is just a hint of how much power was thrusted into the object.

It takes less than two seconds before the ball is nearing the floor, targeting the junction between the court’s sideline and endline, but a wing spiker is able to make the save, putting a forearm under it before the ball can hit the ground.

The setter is running for it almost immediately. Kiyoomi watches the movements on the other side of the net attentively. Definitely no quick set.

The ball is tossed back to the net, and there’s a hitter watching its path, matching his approach accordingly. He jumps, the swing of his arm foregoing the moment of his hit.

The outside hitter sends the ball right into Kiyoomi’s extended arms in the air. The ball bounces back to their side of the court, finding the floor just a few centimeters within the sideline. 

The whistle blows, and the referee signals Japan’s win.

Kiyoomi regards the opponent spiker with a quick glance, before turning back to look at his celebratory team.

“That moment, before he went to serve,” Atsumu asks later, when they’re doing their cool down stretches. “Did Tobio-kun tell you to stay on the right side?”

Kiyoomi glances up, assessing Atsumu with an indecipherable look.

“Yeah.”

"Hm," Atsumu nods mildly, expression blank. “That was smart.”

Oct. 13, 2019.

Quarterfinals.

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows pinch together as he registers the moment the ball scratches the finger of someone in their block and changes direction.

It covers their heads at a fast speed, and Motoya is running for it almost immediately, Kiyoomi following right behind to give him aid if necessary.

There’s no time to weep until the ball has hit the ground.

Motoya dives, but the ball bounces on the floor just a few centimeters beyond his reach.

He feels his shoulders fall in frustration. He takes another step, helping his cousin up, Motoya looks back at him apologetically, a hint of irritation in his eyes—probably aimed at himself—but then he glances at something behind Kiyoomi and his face falls.

Kiyoomi turns around, and feels his blood run cold.

Close to the attack line, Kageyama lies on the floor, face crunched in pain while a protective hand holds onto his right leg.

They hurriedly run back to the court to assess the situation. Hinata is by Kageyama’s side almost instantly, and Bokuto is making to approach him as well, but Kiyoomi holds him back with a gesture of his hands. “Don’t crowd him,” he says, taking notice of their athletic trainer and a member of the medical staff next to Kageyama as well, exchanging words quickly among themselves.

Kiyoomi turns to Bokuto. “What happened?” 

“He and Hyakuzawa collided on the net, and I think…” Bokuto’s face squirms, he glances at Kiyoomi with downcast eyes. He kind of looks like a kicked puppy. “It was the knee.”

Kiyoomi shivers, he looks back at the real image in front of his eyes before his brain starts to conjecture visual scenarios for the scene he didn’t see. Kageyama is being helped out of the court, flanked by Hinata on one side and Iwaizumi on the other, they settle him down on the floor, a few steps away from the bench, and then the medical staff rushes into action, getting an ice pack over his knee and calmly inquiring him.

Kiyoomi looks away.

He’s under competent hands now, no point in getting worked up over it, he tells himself, repeating the breath patterns he knows by heart. He has been through this before.

He chances a glance to the side, Onigashira makes to stand up, but Hibarida doesn’t even glance back at the bench. “Miya,” he calls out with a come here motion of his hand.

Atsumu is by his side in a second, there is not a big exchange of encouraging words or instructions, coach Hibarida just mutters something at him quickly. Kiyoomi watches the motion of his lips attentively, trying to make out the words. ‘No point in holding back now, right?’

Atsumu steps inside the court, exchanging a few words with Hinata before turning to face the rest of the team.

It isn't exactly purposeful, but everyone is staring back at him expectantly. Kiyoomi isn't sure what he expects, maybe some encouraging words to lift their spirits? Or a self-assured remark to attempt to give them a sense of normality?

Atsumu frowns at the attention, lips pursing with hesitation. “Uh, rotation?”

Kiyoomi blinks. “You’re in position 3.”

Atsumu nods, smile weak yet gratefully.

“Eh… Omi?” Bokuto calls his attention, tilting his head in the referee’s direction. “You’re the…”

Oh, right.

He approaches the referee, policing his face into neutrality before addressing him. 

“ Sorry for the delay, ” he says, making sure to project his voice so the english words can reach his ears with precision despite his attention. “ We're okay to restart now. ”

The referee nods, putting the whistle back in his mouth.

Kiyoomi settles back in their receive formation, and stares fixedly at the player proceeding with his serve routine on the opposite side of the court. Number 7, Łukasz Skorek, left-handed, outside hitter, voted as one of the best outside hitters of the PlusLiga last season, Top 15 in the rank of servers in the last Nations League, he internally chants the trivia he knows about him to ground himself.

The guy chances a glance at their side of the court before sending his serving toss up, and Kiyoomi feels a shiver down his spine when their eyes lock for a thousandth of a second.

He is coming for me.

The ball is punched in the air, crossing the court with a fast-paced speed coming right in Kiyoomi's direction. 

He positions his body to receive it, but in the last second the ball is grasping against the net, losing its moment and starting a taunting descent at the front of the court.

Son of a...

Kiyoomi throws himself at the ball, one arm outstretched ahead of him while the other is being used to help push his body forward, and somehow manages to get under it in time. It’s more wrist than forearm, really, but the ball gains enough height for the receive to be passable.

He rolls to the side just in time as Atsumu quickly steps on the space he was previously lying on, positioning himself under the ball and, in the blink of an eye, it is already in Hinata’s hands, being slammed into the floor.

Poland’s number 7 stares back at them sourly, face scrunching up in spite. Atsumu regards him with one of his most infuriating smirks.

Kiyoomi grunts, everything happens so fast that by the moment the referee signals their point he's still pathetically lying on the floor. “Show off,” he mumbles under his breath as he starts to stand up, raising a hand to call for someone to clean his sweat from the floor.

Atsumu giggles with self-satisfaction, offering a hand to help him up. “What? Can't have our friends thinking we will go easy on them now.”

Later that night, when the team is back at the Training Center, Kiyoomi catches the familiar voices as he’s walking around their accommodations on a night trip to get water.

He stops on his tracks, taking a few steps backwards to peep at the resting room.

The two people in question are sitting on one of the couches further away from the door, and despite the fact Kiyoomi already had a pretty good idea of who it was given the voices—even though they were speaking at much lower tones than he’s actually used to—the forms are unmistakable, mainly Hinata’s wild tuff of orange hair. 

Kiyoomi regards Kageyama’s nape in consideration. If he is out here already instead of in the hospital or the medical room then he must be alright.

They’re talking to each other in hushed tones, Kiyoomi can’t make out the words specifically, but he’s hit again with a sense of unease at the scene. The whole exchange feels heavily intimate.

He takes a step back, being extra careful to remain silent on his way back to his room.

It’s the first time he makes it a point to avoid them out of fear of intruding instead of the actual self-preservation.

Oct. 14, 2019.

Kiyoomi spots Kageyama during breakfast the next day.

“Hey T… Kageyama,” he contains the slip of his tongue with a strained voice. I’m spending way too much time with Atsumu, he scolds himself. ("Tobio-kun!” Atsumu simultaneously yells happily from somewhere behind him.) “How’s the knee doing?”

Kageyama regards them with a good-natured nod. “It’s alright. Iwaizumi-san said he was going to keep an eye on me, but if I don’t feel any pain during the warm ups today I will be allowed to play.”

Kiyoomi smiles at him, it’s small but genuine, even though the vision is obstructed by the mask, he hopes his eyes can convey the feeling. “I am glad to hear that.”

Semifinals.

Hinata's hand strikes against the ball as he finishes the swing of his arm. It travels forward a few inches before hitting a wall, being forcefully punched back into their court.

The ball finds Yaku’s knee instead of the ground, and it twirls angrily to the side. Kageyama is instantly running after it, and Kiyoomi follows on his tracks in case he needs follow up.

Kiyoomi holds his breath, watching as the ball nears the floor a good meter too far from Kageyama’s reach. He’s not gonna make it.

Then Kageyama changes the axis of his body, leaning his torso back and stretching his leg forward instead—and before the ball can hit the floor he’s diving, no, he’s sliding for it, and he’s kicking the ball back to within bounds.

Kiyoomi blinks in shock, and when he looks back to follow the ball's path...

Oh, you must be kidding me.

Hinata is there, throwing himself in the air as the ball finds its way into his hands, and spiking it down.

The whistle blows.

Japan 16 - 15 USA.

Despite being part of the insane play, Kageyama looks up at Hinata with a stunned expression as well, and Hinata just stares back at him with a boastful smile. “Can you put it a little closer to the net next time?”

Kiyoomi swears he can see a hint of a smile on Kageyama's face, but it’s gone too quickly, and then the setter is aiming his next kick at Hinata’s ass instead.

The technical break is a welcoming relief, because Kiyoomi definitely feels like he could use a moment to breathe.

The whole team gathers together, using the moment to dry off and drink some of their sports drinks. Kiyoomi listens attentively as Hibarida points out some last seconds instructions to them.

“... and careful with their number 9, Hakuba. He’s getting too comfortable with the cross shots.”

Kageyama takes a long sip of his drink, then he’s looking down at Hinata questioningly. “You good to go?” He asks.

Hinata blinks up at him, seeming a little bit dazed at first, but once the words click on his mind he's immediately nodding in answer.

“Good,” Kageyama drops his bottle back in the box before turning to direct a challenging look at Hinata again. “Don’t hold back, I will keep up with you.”

Kiyoomi looks away from them. Jesus Christ.

He finds Atsumu’s eyes already looking at him, an eyebrow raised in mild amusement.

Kiyoomi nods back at him as they share a moment of mutual exasperation.

They get back home with a silver medal.

It isn’t exactly the place they were aiming for, but overall, the tournament ends up leaving them with a sweet taste in their mouths. It’s their first podium in a world level competition in ten years, and it just feels like a prelude of the great things that are yet to come.

They're back in the Black Jackal's locker room, and Kiyoomi watches quietly as his three counterparts speak animatedly about their experiences, running over one another to talk about specific situations on the court and other shenanigans with the rest of the team both in the Asian Championship and the World Cup.

“Woah, it surely sounds like you had fun,” Meian chuckles at them. “I hope you guys left something to your old club down here as well.”

“Captain,” Atsumu smirks back at him, tone dropping dangerously. “I’ve never been hungrier.”

Kiyoomi flexes his fingers absentmindedly, testing the motion after finishing the taping process. His pinky has been aching beyond the norm since Bokuto got a block tool out of him in yesterday’s practice. 

Maybe I should go talk with the medical staff.

Behind him, Atsumu grunts. Kiyoomi looks back to find the setter, fully dressed and tapped already, staring at his hands glumly.

"What's your deal, Miya?"

"My fingertips are getting all dry again," he whines.

Kiyoomi hums. "What hand moisturizer do you use?”

Atsumu blinks back at him, clueless. “What?”

Kiyoomi’s face darkens.

“You’re a heathen,” he spats.

Atsumu gaps at him. “Wait, you use it?” He asks, and then his eyes go wide, face lighting up in recollection. “Is it the thing that smells like peaches?”

“Peaches and apricot,” he corrects petulantly, looking down at his own hands again. “My hands tend to get very dry too, because of the sanitizer, so I have them in stock.”

He can see Atsumu nodding to himself from his peripheral vision, like the new piece of information makes a lot of things suddenly make sense, and Kiyoomi is talking again before he can stop himself. “I can give you some samples later if you want, to check if you like it.”

Atsumu perks up. “Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks, Omi-omi.”

Kiyoomi pauses, turning his head again to regard him with a distrustful look. “But it is just a test, alright? If you like it you’ll have to find a way to get it on your own, I am not gonna be your dealer.”

Atsumu grimaces. “You know, it sounds really wrong when you word it like that,” he cries.

“I don’t care,” Kiyoomi says flatly.

The locker room door opens, and Meian steps inside staring at them with a suspicious look in his eyes. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” they say in unison.

The captain lets out a long and septical hum, but apparently ends up deciding to drop the subject, probably figuring out whatever the matter was it wouldn't be worth the bother. Meian reaches for his bag, grabbing something unidentifiable before leaving without muttering another word.

The moment he opens the door on his way out allows the noises of the hall to reach their ears more easily.

Kiyoomi takes notice of the unusual fuss outside, a bunch of voices talking at the same time, Hinata’s excited screams standing out against the rest.

“What’s going on?” Kiyoomi asks, getting up to fix his knee pads before leaving for the court.

“Uh?” Atsumu is zipping his bag, ready to go as well. “Oh, that? Bokkun did mention that Keiji-kun was in town, so he might have come to watch our practice.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “Is that allowed?”

Atsumu shrugs, heading to the door. “Probably not, but it’s Bokkun, so he didn’t ask for permission and no one has the heart to stop him now.”

“Eeh,” Kiyoomi grumbles tiredly, following behind him. 

There’s a new pair of eyes watching them attentively during practice, and somehow Kiyoomi is summoned into taking part in an after-hours team gathering that he really wasn’t in the mood to go.

As usual, he’s the first one to be done in the showers and dressing up, so he finds Akaashi sitting by himself in the lobby when he arrives at the meeting point.

Kiyoomi sighs, fixing his facemask in the bridge of his nose and preparing himself for a round of painful small talk.

“Akaashi-kun,” he greets when he steps closer.

Akaashi raises his head at the call, face twisting into a pleasant smile when he recognizes Kiyoomi’s approaching form. “Sakusa-kun,” he nods in acknowledgment. 

“You look…” Kiyoomi hesitates, taking in the huge dark circles under Akaashi’s eyes, struggling with himself to find an acceptable way to finish the sentence. “Employed,” he settles for.

Akaashi’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t drop the pleasant smile. “That’s a way of putting it,” he says. And then, after some brief consideration, he adds: “But I must admit things weren’t much better back in college.”

Kiyoomi lets out a short blast of air through his nose, looking at Akaashi with amusement. “Yeah, I get that.”

They share a look of complicity, and Kiyoomi can feel a bit of the tension leaving his body. Akaashi seems to notice the change in the atmosphere as well, for he seems more at ease when he starts to talk again.

“So how are you doing over here? I know you were used to playing Bokuto back in high school, but it must be a different experience being on the same team as him,” he says.

Kiyoomi snorts. That's an understatement.

“He’s still… as peculiar as always.”

Akaashi chuckles. “I wonder how he behaved with you here though, he was very obsessed with beating you back in high school.”

“Oh, he’s still set on beating me alright,” he retorts with a resigned expression, thinking back to the way Bokuto spent two weeks loudly complaining about the fact Kiyoomi got one of the awards for best outside hitter from last season’s of the V. League instead of him.

“You’re entertaining him,” Akaashi looks up at him knowingly.

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “He entertains himself.”

“When it comes to Bokuto-san, not stopping him is as much validation as he needs to keep going.”

Kiyoomi hums in contemplation. “I guess I get what you mean, he’s pretty unaffected by… uh, any negative stimulus in general.”

“Yeah,” Akaashi laughs, face softening. “Bokuto-san has a very specific way of dealing with walls, he hardly ever acknowledges them, to be honest. He just keeps going ahead and pursuing the things he wants without hesitation.”

Akaashi’s eyes become unfocused, like he’s suddenly lost in some kind of memory, and Kiyoomi fidgets awkwardly in the face of the clear fondness displayed on his face. He’s hit with that strange sense of discomfort again. Right, intimacy . 

He wonders to himself if it is possible to feel like you’re intruding in a conversation of only two people.

“It must be freeing, don’t you think?” Akaashi turns back to face Kiyoomi.

“Uh?”

“To have such a good sense of one-self, even if unconsciously, that you never really have any issues to find what you want, and being able to seek that without second guessing yourself.”

Kiyoomi blinks back at him, a little startled. He never really thought of things like that, but the words strike him somewhere very close to home.

He really got himself in a team filled with people that are the stark opposite of him.

 “Yeah,” he says, voice soft. “Yeah, it must.”

Akaashi stares at him, eyes suddenly turning understanding and sympathetic in a terrifying manner, and Kiyoomi is hit by the realization that if Bokuto is someone that most of times is unaware of the personal nuances of the people around him, Akaashi might be a little too perceptive in compensation.

“What about you, Sakusa-kun? Is there something you’re seeking right now?”

Kiyoomi opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates, unsure of what to say.

“AKAASHE! OMI-OMI!” Bokuto’s voice reaches their ears, and both of them turn to see his form approaching them. 

Half of the team follows on his toes, Atsumu and Hinata included, and as Bokuto fills the room with his mindless babbling and contagious enthusiasm, time passes by quickly until the remaining half of it arrives.

They start walking, exchanging pleasant small talk on the way.

“Ooh, Akaashi-san, did you know Kageyama had a huge setter crush on you back in high school?” Hinata exclaims, cheerfully lashing on any opportunity he gets to embarrass Kageyama.

Akaashi’s eyebrows raise in amusement, a contrast to Bokuto’s thunderous laugh next to him.

“Really?”

Hinata nods excitedly. “Yeah, he never said anything directly, but it was obvious in the way he talked about you.”

Atsumu leans closer, expression smug. “Did Tobio-kun ever talk about me?”

Hinata’s face falls. “Uh, no. Not really. Sorry, Atsumu-san,” he says sheepishly.

Kiyoomi huffs, and Atsumu instantly turns to him, eyes accusatory. Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow at him amusedly, and they hold eye contact for a moment.

Atsumu tries to sustain the look of irritation, but by the time he turns back ahead the corners of his lips are tugging up.

Kiyoomi’s own grin is hidden behind his mask.

Chapter Text

ix. love

The sound of the ball hitting against different surfaces fills the gym. The drill is easy enough, the repetitive motion almost relaxing. Kiyoomi spikes, Atsumu bumps it back to him, Kiyoomi tosses it, and Atsumu is on the net ready to spike it down to the other side of the court.

86, 87… It's hard to keep track of the time, but Kiyoomi keeps the count of the motions, adding up in his head every time Atsumu manages to successfully spike one of his sets to the ground.

They made it to 116 yesterday, and as the balls gather across the floor on the other side of the net, Kiyoomi wonders how many more they can get before someone from the physiology team arrives to scold them.

Atsumu grabs another ball from the basket, throwing it up in the air in Kiyoomi’s direction. Kiyoomi slaps it down, and Atsumu is under it, directing the pass right over Kiyoomi’s head and hushing to get up to start his approach.

Kiyoomi raises his arms above his head, and for a millisecond the ball fits perfectly between his fingers before he’s sending it to the edge of the net.

Atsumu’s palm finds it in the apex of his jump, and then he's spiking it down into a cross shot. 

“Your form is obvious,” Kiyoomi points out drily.

Atsumu lands, regains his balance, and turns back to Kiyoomi with an unimpressed look.

“Try to put it closer to the antenna then,” he bites back.

Kiyoomi ignores the retort, opting to look down instead, taking in his sweaty state with disgust, a quick glance to the side confirms that Atsumu is in a similar situation.

“Can we take a break?” He asks, gesturing to the wetness in his hands.

“Uh uh,” Atsumu denies with a shake of his head. “If it ever comes to a point where you need to toss during a match, odds are that it will happen in the middle of a long rally, so you gotta get used to the feeling of the sweaty ball.”

Kiyoomi frowns, slightly more annoyed by the fact Atsumu made a reasonable argument than at being denied.

It seems like the irritation from the bickering carries on with them though, because the very next time Kiyoomi spikes the ball Atsumu botches the receive, sending the dig too low and a few meters too far from Kiyoomi’s position.

He runs for it, managing to get it up with a whip of his forearm. It’s low and far from the net, Atsumu doesn’t even bother trying to jump for it, opting to just throw it across the net with an overhand pass.

They watch as the ball pathetically bounces against the floor of the empty court—an otherwise completely free ball that would have been given to their opponents.

“You’re an asshole,” Kiyoomi deadpans.

Atsumu flips at him instantly, face insulted. “Me?!” He squeals. “That spike was definitely stronger than the rest! And at least I am not being lazy about this! You could’ve gotten that one overhanded if you tried,” he turns an accusatory finger to the space his broken pass was headed to.

Kiyoomi’s face sours. “I am not lazy ,” he shots back. “Just because you have a love affair with the leg press machine it doesn’t mean the rest of us can be as unconcerned about our knees' well-being as you.”

Atsumu gapes at him in shock, opening his mouth to retort, but another voice reaches their ears before he can.

“Kids,” the Black Jackal's athletic trainer's head pops into the gym's door, expression heavy with exasperation. The athletes are always advised not to stay late to practice without at least one member of the physical or medical staff on duty with them in case of accidents. It isn’t exactly an official rule as much as it is a recommendation, but Kiyoomi still takes it to the heart anyway. “Time to pack up, my wife is asking if I will make it home in time for dinner,” he raises his phone in the air, a pointed look in his eyes.

“Sorry, Futoshi-san!” Atsumu raises an apologetic hand in his direction, voice sheepish. “You can go ahead, we will just clean things up here and leave.”

Futoshi waves them goodbye, yelling a “Behave!” over his shoulder before leaving.

“What are you doing now?” Atsumu asks after they’ve finished collecting the balls back into the basket, both of them gathered at the corner of the room to grab their things to leave.

“Taking a shower,” Kiyoomi says, tucking his water bottle inside his bag.

Atsumu huffs. “I mean later.”

Kiyoomi stops for a second, targeting Atsumu with an unsure expression. “... Nothing?"

“Hm. Wanna come see Samu with me?” Atsumu says with nonchalance.

Kiyoomi tries to assess his expression, but Atsumu keeps his head down, purposely hiding his face as he finishes settling his water bottle inside his bag. Kiyoomi hesitates for a beat, then he concedes. “Yeah, sure.”

Coach Foster calls for a break, and Kiyoomi takes the opportunity to sit down and take a much needed breath. The weather is getting colder with every passing day, but it doesn’t really affect the atmosphere inside the gym, the air feels damp and smells like a mix of sweat and menthol, and the heat comes out of his skin in waves after a couple hours of intense physical exertion.

Someone approaches him while he’s towing the sweat off his face, Kiyoomi can feel the presence but he doesn’t acknowledge the person until they’re engaging with him.

“What are they up to?” Inunaki asks, signalling with a small flick of the head to the other corner of the gym, where Atsumu, Hinata and Bokuto are giggling while staring at a phone.

“Uh?” Kiyoomi looks up, following Inunaki’s gaze until he figures out what he means. “Oh, that? They’re trying to do some new TikTok challenge. Don’t ask me,” he says tiredly.

Inunaki hums, expression a mix of exhaustion and amusement, and Kiyoomi looks back down , staring at his hands absentmindedly.

Time for a trim, he makes a mental note, taking in the state of his fingernails.

“You know,” Inunaki starts again, calling for Kiyoomi’s attention again. “I think we’re very lucky to have you here with us.”

Kiyoomi squints at him, eyebrows twisting quizzically. Inunaki laughs at the face, thankfully taking it as enough incentive to elaborate.

“You keep the golden trio on their tracks,” he explains, making Kiyoomi’s expression immediately turn skeptical instead. “Really!" Inunaki tries to defend between laughs. "They listen to you! Especially Atsumu. You’re the only one here able to actually keep up with their antics and restrain them when necessary.”

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “I don’t think there’s much restrainment happening.”

Inunaki scoffs. “Oh, you have no idea. These two are so energetic and single-minded that they lose track of what is around them when they have their minds set on something. Hinata is a little more reasonable, but he’s also overexcited, and it’s hard not to let yourself get carried away when you're with the two airheads over there.”

“They’re both much better than they were back in high school though,” Kiyoomi points out after some consideration.

Inunaki’s face darkens, eyes turning haunted all of sudden. “And that is terrifying,” he whispers.

Kiyoomi snorts, and Inunaki softens into a knowing grin in his direction.

“Either way, what I am trying to say is: you seem to ground them, I don’t know how this team’s balance would work without you,” he says. Thank you for sacrificing your sanity so the rest of us can keep ours, is what Kiyoomi hears. “I know you got a bunch of offers to work with, but you still decided to stay with us, so, yeah, thank you.”

Kiyoomi tilts his head, weighting the words. It doesn't feel right somehow, to be praised for standing by a team like it's some honorable act of charity. He didn't choose the Black Jackal because he thought they needed him, he's here because he knows this team is strong and he trusts the people around him.

He feels good here.

And yet, a part of him hesitates, a voice in the back of his conscience telling him Inunaki wouldn't mean something like that. So he reconsiders, and the thought brings him back to years in the past, to what he remembers feeling when he used to stand on the same court as Iizuna, the same thing he recognized seeing in Inarizaki, back in his second year, when their captain stepped into the court.

He remembers the words Atsumu told him just a few months ago:

'... but I personally think there's this real sense of security in the team when you're on the court.'

He felt appraised back then already, but the feeling is stronger now, solidified. Knowing that your presence alone is capable of having an effect on the people around you, not your skills, not what you can perform, but what you are . It isn't something you can practice, and it's something Kiyoomi had accepted a long time ago he could never achieve.

He feels the warmth rising, going all the way from his neck to the tip of his ears, but he fights it back. This feels too personal, too raw, and he definitely is not in the mood to experience it in front of an audience.

“I didn’t decide to stay here so I could babysit my teammates,” Kiyoomi settles on, voice resolute, but not unkind—it isn't a lie. “I wouldn’t have stayed if I thought I couldn’t be happy here.”

Inunaki's eyes widen in surprise at first, but they soften up when the words register. He nods at Kiyoomi, the motion is lite, but gentle, a knowing glint hidden behind his smile.

The coach calls the team back to practice right after, and they start moving inside the court without uttering another word.

Atsumu gasps, looking down at his phone in shock. The four of them are sitting together in the dining room, Kiyoomi having already scolded Atsumu about messing with his phone on the dinner table, but the setter just disregarded his remarks with an unconcerned wave of his hand.

Now, they all glare at him quizzically, waiting for an elaboration on what caused the reaction.

Bokuto leans closer, body moving across the table so he can peek over Atsumu's shoulder to find out what he’s looking at. When he registers what it is about, his face lights up. 

“Oh, they’ve posted it!” He screams cheerfully.

Kiyoomi chances a glance to the side as well, finding the phone displaying the MSBY Black Jackal’s twitter page, the post in question is one introducing the season’s new kit, with a picture of the team wearing it from their most recent photoshoot and a link to pre-order attached.

He looks at the picture thoroughly. It looks, if he’s being honest, way less stupid than he expected. Their marketing team had kept them in front of a chroma key for hours, trying out different poses and formations for the group shots, apart from taking the individual pictures that would be sent to the competitions and broadcasts as well.

The picture they wind up posting has Bokuto in the front, grinning brightly with his two hands laying on his hips, chest stuffed pridefully, Hinata and Kiyoomi are right behind him, on his right and left respectfully, Hinata with a cheerful smile and Kiyoomi with a blank expression. Next to Kiyoomi’s shoulder, Atsumu poses laterally, chin tilted down so he can look at the camera from under his eyelashes, eyes dangerous and smile pretentious. The rest of the team are aligned behind them in a variation of intimidating poses.

After the post-editing process, the chroma key is exchanged for dark colors, a picture of a selvage jackal looking ahead with intense eyes, and there’s even a smoke effect between them to add to the ambience.

Not bad, Kiyoomi regards. He still thinks the whole thing is kind of lame, but he can see the ending result of a careful and well-thought process. Definitely took some effort.

“I can’t believe they chose the picture with Bokkun in the front!” Atsumu exclaims indignantly.

Kiyoomi shakes his head. Unbelievable .

Bokuto laughs, hitting Atsumu's back with two strong consolatory slaps. The sound of the contact alone makes Kiyoomi cringe in pain, but Atsumu barely reacts.

“Don’t worry, Tsum-Tsum! You look super cool as well!”

Atsumu’s face squirms in offense. “They even put me behind Omi-kun! This gotta be a joke!”

Hinata peeks at the phone as well. “Ah, but Omi-san looks so cool too! All mysterious and brooding!”

“Heh,” Kiyoomi smirks.

“That’s the face he makes all the time!” Atsumu shrieks. 

Hinata's shoulder shrinks into himself, reluctantly trying to defend his point. “Because… Omi-san is all mysterious and brooding…?”

Atsumu shakes his head adamantly, furiously typing something in his phone.

“What… are you doing?” Bokuto blinks at him with confusion.

“I’m texting the head of our digital media.”

Kiyoomi huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

Atsumu stops on his tracks immediately, turning to Kiyoomi with a perplexed face.

“What is that?!” He exclaims, pointing an accusatory finger to the corner of Kiyoomi’s lips—which is, traitorously, tugged up. “What are you smiling for?”

Atsumu's face seems at war with itself for a second, twisting between feelings as if he's unsure of his own stance on the situation, but he ends up dropping the undignified expression, eyes lighting up as a giddy, almost wicked, smile makes itself apparent instead.

“Don’t point,” Kiyoomi spats as the dread settles in his chest.

Atsumu drops his hand, but the expression doesn’t change. “Omi-kun,” he starts, voice taunting. “Do you think I am funny?”

Kiyoomi’s face sours.

“I don’t think you’re funny,” he deadpans. “I just think your lack of dignity is entertaining.”

Atsumu’s jaw falls to the floor, he blinks back at Kiyoomi in shock. 

“Omi-kun!” He cries.

That's when Hinata decides to cut in. 

“Atsumu-san, I think your lack of dignity is very funny!” He exclaims, a supportive fist raised in the air.

Atsumu turns to him with a resigned expression, and Kiyoomi doesn’t bother trying to disguise his snort this time.

The V. League season starts for them with a 3-0 against VC Kanagawa.

It’s just the beginning of the season, but it’s the most motivated Kiyoomi has ever seen this team being in his experience with them so far. They're on a high, both in physical terms and in morale given how most of their starter players had a successful passage in the National Team recently. It doesn't take long until the sports commentators and journalists are calling them the season's favourites to win.

It can be a tricky thing, favouritism. Kiyoomi knows it better than anyone. Sometimes it serves more as a burden than as an objective label. The high expectation can become pressure, the confidence can turn into complacence, and just like that, if you're not careful enough the advantage you created is what pavels the way for your downfall.

Either way, it's useless to worry. The only thing they can do to avoid getting sidetracked is keep on giving it their all, and Kiyoomi trusts his team, he knows they're competent and focused enough to achieve their goals.

And he knows they're always willing to take another step ahead.

He stops on his tracks, looking down expectantly at Atsumu before the setter notices his presence and takes his attention away from his phone.

"I want to try a new move," Kiyoomi informs.

Atsumu blinks. "Oh?"

"A jump in projection."

Atsumu's eyebrows lower in confusion. "Don't you do that already?"

Kiyoomi gives a light shake of his head, bringing out his phone to display the video that shows what he means. "I project forward when we're doing back row attacks, but I actually want to try a diagonal projection."

Atsumu slouches forward, bringing his face closer to Kiyoomi's phone as he watches the video attentively. Recognition falls into his face when he catches what Kiyoomi is talking about, eyes lightning up in excitement.

"Oooh, I get it. You make your approach forward and faint the blockers making the jump laterally instead," he says in delightful awe. "It's gonna be a mean one if you're on a single block, even more with that wicked line shot of yours…"

"Exactly," Kiyoomi points out with a nod, putting his phone back in his pocket. He doesn't have to ask if Atsumu wants to try it, he already knows the answer—he knew it even before he decided to bring out the subject—so he proceeds to elaborate on the topics he was already enumerating in his mind when preparing for this conversation. "We can start working on it this week, after talking with the coach. We have to come up with some new signals too, when we're doing second tempo I can adapt my approach, but they will be necessary if we're doing first tempo too."

Atsumu raises one eyebrow, smile an infuriating and attractive mixture of boyish and cocky. "You know I can get the ball to you, right?"

Kiyoomi shakes his head adamantly. "I am not Hinata, I won't be already in the air when you're tossing. I can't leave you to guess what I am doing."

"And here I was thinking we could count on your undying trust in me to make it work," Atsumu retorts playfully.

Kiyoomi levels him with a flat stare, not bothering to dignify that with an answer.

Atsumu's expression decays, but it doesn't fall completely. Instead, his face turns amused, lips going from a full out condescending grin to a soft smile, like Kiyoomi gave him the exact reaction he was expecting for. "I am sure we can work something out."

"Right," Kiyoomi mutters, unsure of what to do now that he has technically finished what he came here to do.

He makes a internal analysis to check if he said everything he included on his mental list, and prepares himself to retreat when he's satisfied with the outcome, but Atsumu is faster, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling Kiyoomi closer until he's being obliged to take the seat next to him, pushing his own phone in Kiyoomi's face right after. "Now come look at these ducklings crossing the street, they're adorable."

Kiyoomi lets himself be manhandled with a tired exasperation, but he softens when he glances at the video on Atsumu's screen.

"Yeah, they're really cute," he relents.

Kiyoomi looks through the window, watching warily as the heavy clouds gather around in the sky. A specially dark one nears them, its presence an intimidating view as it covers the usual afternoon light of Atsumu's living room.

It’s probably gonna start snowing soon.

The sound of a mug hitting the table brings him out of his reverie, and he turns to see Atsumu staring back at him. “So?”

The apartment is a little bit different from the last time he came over, there’s a new miniature coliseum placed proudly on the shelf, as well as two new pictures—one of the Asian Championship winner team, banner and all, with Atsumu smiling proudly in the center, and one taken straight out of the court of the World Cup’s final, with Atsumu, Kourai and Motoya bitting happily to their silver medals while displaying huge grins, Kageyama coping the gesture next to them, albeit a little hesitantly, and Kiyoomi on the corner, watching the gesture with disgust.

The sound of the television resonates through the place, what started as watching specific videos recommended by their coach for professional research turned into recreation as they got around to picking random videos from the suggestion bar to discuss. Now, after the joint decision to take a break to eat something, they can still hear the sounds of match highlights videos coming from the autoplay.

And Kiyoomi frowns, trying to recollect what they were talking about.

“Uh, Nitta or Hyakuzawa, right?” He stops for a second, considering the options. “I don’t know, they’re pretty even in terms of technique. Hyakuzawa has the height advantage and he’s hardworking, but, hm, he can still be a little… innocent sometimes?” He’s unsure if it was the right term to describe It, so the words come out more like a question than a statement. "He could be more wily sometimes."

"He will grow out of it,” Atsumu defends with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But my point is: he’s a really great hitter, like, he’s the type of player you can send a high ball to the net and he would still be able to work things out, even if the set is crappy. Not everyone can work with these, much less a middle blocker.”

Kiyoomi hums. “Yeah, I guess. Neither of them are brilliant blockers if you go by international standards…”

“Yeah, Tobio-kun can be trickier than then,” Atsumu remarks, voice a mix of proud petulance and bitterness while he brings his mug to his lips.

“... I think there might even be a few players in Division 2 that are better at blocking strictly speaking, but you can’t make it to the National Team by standing out at only one thing.”

Atsumu nods at him with resolution. "Exactly."

Kiyoomi stares back, face pensive. “So, Hyakuzawa and Hakuba then. You think both of them will make it to the Olympics?”

Atsumu shakes his head. “I know they will make it to the Olympics–” he starts, then falters. “I mean, if neither of them gets hurt until there,” he amends. “I think they will be our starters.”

“Hm.”

“Wanna bet?” Atsumu blinks at him with challenge in his eyes.

Kiyoomi feels the corner of his lips sliding up.

“No, I am with you on that one.”

With the Olympics looming over them, it’s difficult for their conversations not to end up arriving into the topic sooner or later. It becomes natural for them, as much as volleyball itself is, and they talk about everything, venues, different plays, teams, debating possible rosters, they disagree on some things, but find themselves agreeing on most of them, even if tentatively. 

They don’t talk about which setters might take the slots for the Japanese team though, an unwritten rule between them, as Kiyoomi discovers that despite his extra confident armor this seems to be a sensitive topic to Atsumu.

Kiyoomi takes a sip of his tea, chancing another look at the window.

“You can stay, you know?” 

Kiyoomi regards him with a questioning glare.

Atsumu shrugs. “I know it might not be up to your standards, but I’ve been told my couch is pretty comfortable. And I am pretty sure anything would be better for you than get caught in the middle of a storm.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. “Says who?”

“Osamu.”

“Oh, right,” Kiyoomi says, expression twisting into mirth. “I guess I can trust Osamu-kun’s judgement.”

Atsumu regards him with a dirty look, face murderous. “You’re terrible. A terrible, terrible , human being.”

Kiyoomi hides his smile behind his mug. “Takes one to recognize one.”

In the end, he does manage to get back to the dorms before the snowstorm, but, as he steps inside his room safe and sound, he's hit with the strange realization that being inside this place doesn't really bring him the relief he was expecting.

Kiyoomi gets his head through his shirt's collar and fixes it back on his torso before raising his eyes to stare expectantly at the person sitting in the corner of the room. "So?"

Hayashi clicks her nails against the table leisurely, not even bothering to take her eyes away from the screen of her computer despite Kiyoomi's anxious inquiries.

"Hm," she goes, with a total lack of inflection, just as Kiyoomi approaches the table to chance a look at the exams being displayed on the screen.

Not like he has enough knowledge to take any conclusions from the abstract colors decorating his body in the images, but anything is better than staring at the head doctor's impassive face.

"Yeah," Hayashi settles on, finally deciding to glance back at Kiyoomi. "Healthy as a horse."

Kiyoomi squints. "You know horses can be really sensitive animals, right?"

Hayashi hums with disinterest, changing tabs as she starts typing something on his medical record. "Then I have made the right comparison."

Kiyoomi scoffs, catching the glimpse of a smirk in the corner of the doctor's lips.

"Either way, you're a healthy horse so far. We just have to be careful with your weight for now, wouldn't want to overload your joints. I will email your nutritionist about it later, we might get you on a more strict diet, but so far we can proceed with our planned schedule without bigger issues."

He nods. "Cool. Are we done?"

Hayashi hesitates, turning to glare at him with a distrustful expression.

"What?"

"You've been staying late to practice with Atsumu lately, haven't you?"

Kiyoomi purses his lips, trying to find the least incriminate way to word it. "This is an important season, and there's a lot we need to refine. Why? Is it an issue?"

Hayashi glares at him, it takes a beat before she settles on an answer, voice coming out stern. "No. Not yet at least, but you know once the season intensifies you will have to be more careful."

"I will stop if you say I have to."

She huffs, turning to fix her attention back on her computer. "You're not the one I worry about."

As if on cue, a mess of blonde hair pops from the room's door. "Are you done already?" Atsumu questions.

"Speaking of the devil." Kiyoomi catches as Hayashi mumbles under her breath, before she gets up and starts to rearrange her working tools. "Yes, you can go now, Sakusa-kun. If you see Hinata please tell him to step by in the afternoon."

Kiyoomi nods and starts heading to the exit.

"Omi-kun, wait for me for lunch," Atsumu sing-songs happily when he walks past him, and Kiyoomi grunts a moody confirmation.

"You," Hayashi starts with a commanding voice when Kiyoomi is stepping outside. "Shirt and shoes off."

"Damn, Hayashi-san, at least buy me dinner first," the sound of a clipboard being smacked against something , " Ouch —hey! Careful with the shoulder, Hayashi-san! I need it for work!"

Left, right, left—and Kiyoomi jumps, propelling his body to the side while he's in the air.

The ball is being shot in his direction, but it comes down a little too early. Too short. He stretches out, trying to get a grasp of if with his fingers, but the contact is barely there, and he watches as the ball slides lamely against his own side of the net.

Kiyoomi frowns, looking down at it. Did I drift too far?

No. It was the set.

He chances a look to the side to find Atsumu staring back at him with gritted teeth.

They've started well today, like most of their extra practices have been doing lately. Kiyoomi was pretty sure they would be able to bring out their new move into a real match sooner than the expected, but at some point during the afternoon something shifted.

They don't seem to be clicking anymore, they're either out of sync with their tempos, or the ball is too short, too long, too high.

And the frustration from the unsuccessful attempts is just adding to their stress. 

Kiyoomi grimaces. "Let's take a break."

"What? Wait–" Atsumu tries to argue, but Kiyoomi already has his back on him, crouching down to grab a towel inside his bag.

He hears more than see Atsumu stomping the floor to reach his own bag, sitting on the floor with a stance that exhales petulance. Kiyoomi watches from the corner of his eyes, taking in the way Atsumu made sure to sit facing the wall just so he could have his back on him as well.

Kiyoomi gets up, gingerly making the steps until he's standing right behind the setter, and then he hesitates. He takes in the tension on Atsumu's shoulders, and catches himself before his hand can reach for it.

He freezes, palm hovering just a centimeter away from Atsumu's back. He can still feel the warmth radiating from his skin despite the distance, and he doesn't need to touch to know there's a very strained set of muscles hidden under it.

He brings his hand back to his side, closing his fingers in a fist. "You know what, I think we should call it a day."

Atsumu immediately turns to him with wide eyes. "Are you insane? Have you seen how out of sync we are? We can't stop now."

Kiyoomi shrugs. "We were just fine yesterday, There's no point in overworking ourselves."

"Overworking ourselves," Atsumu huffs with venom. "Look who's talking."

Shut up, I would never , his brain wants to bite back immediately, but Kiyoomi holds it back with a gritted teeth. He's not strange to bickering with Atsumu, and most times the distraction is welcomed, but he knows this wouldn't be the ideal approach for this situation.

"Well, you would stop me, wouldn't you?" He says instead. "If you thought I was overdoing it. None of us would benefit from the other getting injured."

The words make Atsumu dismantle the hostile stance, but he still seems reluctant. "You know we don't have much time."

Kiyoomi nods. "And that's exactly why Hibarida-san would kill you if you got hurt now ."

Atsumu blinks back at him, and Kiyoomi knows he has won this one.

"C'mon, you can head into the showers first, I will clean things up here," Kiyoomi turns to grab some of the balls thrown on the floor. "You're probably going to realize what was going wrong as soon as you get a good night of sleep."

And you'll be getting a lot of muscle aches as well.

"We can keep going tomorrow?" Atsumu asks as he gets up.

Kiyoomi hesitates, pursing his lips in contemplation. "Actually, I want to practice my sets a little bit more," he decides. "You can stay to help me with my posture if you want."

Atsumu narrows his eyes at him, expression suspicious. "Whatever is it that you're doing, I don't like it."

"What?" Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow. "Me being a decent human being?".

"Yeah," Atsumu turns, grabbing his bag and starting to make his way to the showers before speaking over his shoulder. "Doesn't fit you."

"See," coach Foster pauses the video just as Ojiro manages to punch an incredible point for the Red Falcons. "This is what I was talking about, the way he uses his build to find a spot, over the block, in the last corner of the court. I want someone covering that space all the time . We will practice it later, but just making sure you grasp the notion. If he somehow finds a cut shot then that's his own merit, but that long cross cannot fall for free, got it?"

"Yes, coach!" Hinata screams firmly.

"And Inunaki–" Foster glances at his libero, but Inunaki is already nodding before he can elaborate.

"Got it, coach, cover the line."

The video restarts, and they watch as the Red Falcons group together in an ecstatic hug, a mess of limbs and sweet as everyone wants to psychically appraise their hitter after the amazing spike.

"Ah!" Hinata lets out a hearty scream. "Why can't we do that too?"

"Over my dead body," Kiyoomi deadpans, and the comment is followed by a wave of snickering around the room right before their coach starts speaking again.

Once the meeting is done and Foster officially dismisses them, Hinata turns almost immediately, leaning over the back of the couch he was sitting on to find Kiyoomi's eyes with purpose.

"Omi-san, when we win gold at the Olympics you will hug us, right?"

Kiyoomi holds back a grin. "I will think about it."

He analyzes the spiker’s posture on the other side of the net attentively, trying to adapt his position in the court to defend accordingly. The swing of the arm in the air is coming at full force—until it halts, and he’s contacting the ball with a tiny poke above the block instead.

He is on the move before his brain can even register the action properly ( that absolute bastard ), he throws himself on the ground, hand outreached in front of him while he dives for the save. The friction of his arm against the floor is torturous , and somewhere in the back of his mind the moment makes him reconsider Motoya’s suggestion to start wearing sleeves to play, but he gets a palm between the ball and the floor, successfully performing the pancake.

The rally is still on, there’s no time to dwell on the pain.

It’s low, but Atsumu is under it anyway, bending backwards to send the ball to Hinata's hand.

Kiyoomi gets up, and Hinata’s spike finds Hakuba’s extended arms, a 2,05 meters tall wall sending the ball back into their court.

Inunaki is on the cover though, and a careful motion of his arms is passing the ball back to Atsumu's hands.

Kiyoomi steps back, preparing himself for a pipe. Left, right, left, up —and Atsumu is sending the ball over the net, it arcs above the blockers’ heads mockingly and falls to the Tachibana Red Falcons’ court in front of two players whose dive attempt to save it was in vain.

Atsumu turns to their opponents, an infuriating smirk in face—aimed specifically at Onigashira’s direction.

Kiyoomi lands back on the floor, and glares at his setter.

Atsumu turns back to him. “What?” He asks, smile self-satisfied.

“... Nothing,” he mumbles grumpily.

Atsumu giggles with delight. “C’mon, Omi-kun, it's your turn to serve again.”

Kiyoomi stops on his tracks, eyebrows going up  as he processes the information. “Hm.”

“What,” Atsumu asks, approaching him from behind. He grabs Kiyoomi’s shoulder, getting on his tiptoes to try and peek at his phone.

Kiyoomi sighs, exasperatedly tilting the screen so Atsumu can read the article’s headline.

Atsumu’s eyes widen. “Woah! Ushijima-kun is going to Poland?”

He turns the phone back to himself so he can read the remainings of the article, while Atsumu moves to stand by his side, leaning into his personal space to try and catch a glimpse of the words as well.

“It says they’ve made an offer, but doesn’t mention if he has accepted it yet,” he mutters.

Atsumu tilts his head in confusion. “Does he have to go now? In the middle of the league?”

Kiyoomi scrolls through the last half of the article, lips pursed. “Apparently their star opposite got hurt and they’re looking for a replacement of the same level.”

Atsumu nods, seeming impressed. “What's the team again?”

“Orzel… Warszaha…?” He tries with reluctance, the words foreign in his tongue. "Orzeł Warszawa."

It takes a beat to land, but then Atsumu's eyebrows raise in amazement. “Woah, that’s a strong one! They made it to the semis of last year’s Champions League…" He leans closer to squint at the words in the article. "Do you think he will take it?”

Kiyoomi pauses, head tilting in consideration.

“Yeah, probably,” he muses after giving it some thought.

“Are you gonna ask him?”

“Why?” Kiyoomi frowns.

Atsumu blinks at him. “Aren’t you friends?”

“Uh. Yeah? I think so,” Kiyoomi says.

“So don’t you wanna know what his decision will be?”

“Won't we find out anyway when the official announcement is done?”

Atsumu looks at him like he has grown an extra head.

“What kind of friend doesn't get curious about their friend's life changing decisions?!” Atsumu yelps.

Kiyoomi deepens his frown. “If he wanted my insight he would have called me. Otherwise, what difference does it make if I know it now or in a week?”

Atsumu shakes his head at him, eyes incredulous. “I can't believe you. I honest to God don't understand how your brain works.”

Kiyoomi hums, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Well. The feeling is reciprocal. Now let's go, I am hungry."

Kiyoomi makes himself comfortable in the coach, happily bringing one of the pricked plums in the bowl in front of him to his mouth.

Atsumu is sprawled next to him, they're on opposite sides of the coach but the setter is so stretched out that Kiyoomi can feel the heat of his limbs just centimeters away from him.

The afternoon went like this: with a cup of tea in hand, Kiyoomi leaned against the couch and inspected Atsumu’s work while he sat on the floor with a toothbrush and diligently cleaned his action figures. Atsumu didn’t ask for his help, Kiyoomi didn’t offer it either, so they just remained like that, mostly in silence except for the few times Kiyoomi would drily point out advices that Atsumu snarked at but ended up following anyway.

These days, it feels like he has spent more time in Atsumu's apartment than in his own room back in the Black Jackal's living facilities. It’s hard to point out the reason, Atsumu simply invites him over frequently and he finds himself agreeing—there’s just something about the place that makes Kiyoomi feel at ease. 

Maybe I should ask him what brand of sanitizer he uses, he considers. It smells really good.

Now, they’re both in front of the television watching the pregame for the Club World Championship’s Final. Atsumu insisted on watching the international broadcast, even though his english knowledge is subpar at most, so every once in a while he will poke Kiyoomi’s thighs with his toes to catch his attention, “What are they saying?”, and Kiyoomi, although begrudgingly, dictates the words back to him.

“Why did you even bother watching the international broadcast if you can’t understand what they’re saying?” He ends up asking after the fifth time it happens.

Atsumu kicks his leg again, this time with a little bit more of spite than the last occasions. “I do understand what they’re saying!” He defends himself with petulance, but then adds, voice sucky, “As long as they’re talking about volleyball. I mean, who cares about their life story? 'Uh, they're childhood friends'— no one wants to hear about that crap!” 

Kiyoomi snorts. "You literally love it everytime a commentator mentions the fact we've known each other since middle school."

Atsumu avoids his eyes. “But that’s not the point! Our broadcast doesn’t have the same mood! It’s all about the vibes, Omi-kun! The vibes!” He keeps speaking, voice going up an octave as he gets through the sentence. “Besides, you went to a freaking boarding school! Like hell I ain’t gonna take advantage of that!”

Kiyoomi doesn’t bother dignifying that with an answer, but he manages to pettily pinch Atsumu's calf through his pants before he's being targeted with another kick.

The TV broadcast starts displaying both team’s starting rosters, an indication that the game is about to start.

“Aaah,” Atsumu sighs dreamily.

The graphic style is not really so different from what they do in all the V. League matches, but Kiyoomi nods, understanding where the extra excitement is coming from.

“Half of the people on that court are Olympic medalists,” Kiyoomi muses.

The broadcast then proceeds to show the highlights of both teams during the season, a montage of videos that go from powerful spikes to impressive saves, all culminating to a thrilling moment from the semifinals: just at their match point after five sets, the opponent's spiker jumping in the air to hit the ball, only for it to be stopped by a monster block. The middle blocker roars victoriously, turning to his companions with a fists raised in the air in triumph.

“Yikes,” Atsumu laughs.

“I need to start working on improving my vertical reach…” Kiyoomi thinks out loud with a grimace.

“No way, have you seen the power pose?" Atsumu says dramatically.

Kiyoomi looks up at the roof, biting his lips to keep his reaction at bay. He isn't even sure if he's actually amused or annoyed right now, at some point the line started blurring when it came to Atsumu.

Somewhere, deep down, he knows Atsumu does this on purpose, he’s probably grinning with satisfaction at the prospect of Kiyoomi’s despair, but still, it’s hard not to give a reaction when a person is so adamant in getting one from you.

“You know, I don’t remember much from my childhood,” he starts off, eyes still focused on the details of the ceiling. “But I remember my mother used to be really strict back then, especially about my… Uh, disapproving responses when I was younger, like rolling my eyes, or clicking my tongue,” he makes a tsk sound, the gesture feeling foreign in his mouth after so many years of disuse. “She thought it was rude, so she scolded me a lot until I grew out of it,” he muses, absorbed in his own memories for a second. Then he remembers the point he wanted to make, and his tone becomes a little more pointed when he says, “Sometimes you make me wanna throw years of strict upbringing down the drain.”

Atsumu gets surprisingly quiet after that, and for a moment Kiyoomi worries that he might’ve actually taken offense on his words. He’s about to glance to the side to gauge his reaction when Atsumu speaks again, and the clear smile on his voice makes Kiyoomi breath with relief.

“Well, it’s no wonder you grow up prickly the way you are, you're a repressed trouble child,” he chuckles, and then he sobers, the next words coming out in a soft tone. “You never really talk about your family though.”

“Hm? Oh,” Kiyoomi shrugs with nonchalance. “We’re not so close, I mostly only see my parents at the end of the year holidays to be honest, my siblings even less.”

Atsumu gapes at him. “You have siblings?!”

Kiyoomi frowns. “Uh, yeah? Like I said, we don’t talk much, even when I go back to Tokyo for my breaks I end up hanging out more with Komori’s side of the family than anything else. It isn’t a big deal. Let’s focus back on the match though, the game is about to start.”

Atsumu gives in, albeit a little bit reluctantly, and turns back to face the television.

Still, Kiyoomi can’t help but to scrutinize the interaction a little bit, mind going overboard as he tries to force himself into paying attention to the game. It isn’t like his relationship with his family actually bothers him, it never did, it has always been like that—and he knows they all care about him deeply, to a point you can even consider him spoiled in some regards, so it’s hard to resent them for anything—but he’s aware that Atsumu has a completely different relationship with his own family. He talks to his brother pretty much every day, and goes back to visit his parents at any opportunity he has, so it shouldn’t come out as a surprise that he doesn’t understand Kiyoomi’s predicament.

He isn’t really sure about what bothers him so much about the situation, if it’s Atsumu’s apparent judgment or the simple fact he’s being perceived that sets him off. And it isn’t like he has any room to analyze it either, he has never talked about it to anyone else—Motoya knows, but he never consciously seeked his cousin’s presence to talk about it, Motoya simply had always been there.

The realization hits Kiyoomi like a slap in the face, face instantly contorting with disgust.

“Ew,” Kiyoomi says.

Atsumu turns to him instantly, eyes wide as he tries to understand the reason for Kiyoomi’s intense reaction. The expression is almost comical. “What?”

“This is disastrous. When did you become my closest friend?” Kiyoomi asks flatly.

It takes a beat for Atsumu to grasp it, but it’s obvious when it happens, his face lights up, an sly smile spreading across his lips. “I know, right? Disgusting."

Kiyoomi grunts, and both of them bring their attentions back to the television.

And the soft, small tilt upward of Atsumu’s lips remains there for the rest of the night.

Kiyoomi chances another glance to the side, taking in Atsumu’s gloomy expression. He’s had an off game today, not absolutely disastrous, but miles away from his usual standard at least—a few botched sets, a fault for a double hit, not a single service ace, just enough to tell Atsumu wasn’t up to his usual level of excellence.

They managed to beat the Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets 3 to 1, and even so, there’s a dark cloud hovering over him as Atsumu corners himself in their locker room in a dreadful manner.

Atsumu lets out a long sigh, and Kiyoomi averts his eyes.

Deep down, Kiyoomi knows Atsumu is just as demanding of himself as he is of his teammates, maybe even worse, since there’s no social filter in the things he can tell himself in his mind—which is something he actually learned to develop after his monthly incoming started depending on his relationship with his teammates.

I wonder what must be going on inside that head of yours, Kiyoomi ponders quietly while zipping his jacket up and putting on a facemask. Can’t be anything good.

Any sensible person would know to stay away from Atsumu at this moment. Hinata and Bokuto tried to approach him earlier and say some encouraging words, but all they got in return was a weak nod from Atsumu, eyes unfocused, and both spikers ended up hesitantly leaving the room, throwing worried glances behind their backs on their way out.

At least the game was in Osaka, so he won’t have to worry about sleeping in a foreign hotel bed when he's already in a bad mood. Any other day and he would already be on his way to spite his brother, but Osamu isn’t in the city today, “went to Tokyo on a business trip, that ass thinks he’s some hot shit now,” is what Atsumu told him earlier today.

Well, it isn’t like I can do something about it, Kiyoomi reasons, preparing to leave as well. If Hinata and Bokuto were unable to cheer him up, it’s not like something Kiyoomi says could do the job.

He will probably go back home, suck a little more, and come back tomorrow even more motivated, he nods to himself, fairly satisfied with that outcome before he starts walking away.

Kiyoomi makes it as far as two steps, then stops on his tracks. He lets out a resigned sigh before turning back, placing himself in front of Atsumu.

Atsumu blinks at Kiyoomi’s shoes confusedly, raising his head slowly until they’re making eye contact.

“C’mon,” Kiyoomi mumbles. Atsumu tilts his head to the side, puzzled. Kiyoomi just walks back to the door, making sure to tug the sleeve of his jacket over his hand before touching the handle, holding the door ajar so Atsumu can get through. “Let’s go.”

Atsumu hesitates for a beat, but he gets up gingerly, grabbing his own bag and walking his way to the door. “Where are we going?” He asks softly.

“There’s this restaurant I’ve been looking into for a while now but still didn’t have the time to visit,” Kiyoomi says. “So I am using you as my experimental subject.”

Atsumu stares back at Kiyoomi’s face, searching for something in his expression. Kiyoomi isn’t sure of what he finds.

“Okay.”

The night breeze hits their face as soon as they step outside. It’s a relatively pleasant night, given the season, but Kiyoomi still shivers, hunching in his coat before he starts walking, hands buried inside his pockets. Atsumu follows after him dutifully.

At some point during their series of walks to either Osamu's shop or Atsumu's place, Kiyoomi started to take notice in the way Atsumu would always try to stand on the street side of the sidewalk when they're together. It's probably something that began during the rainy season, when Atsumu realized how antsy Kiyoomi would get at the prospect of being hit by a splash of water everytime a car passed by.

It was never something he approached out loud, and now, taking in the way Atsumu immediately positions himself to the street side just as he always does, even though his eyes are cloudy and he seems completely disconnected from reality, Kiyoomi realizes it must be something he does unconsciously.

The silence settles between them. Kiyoomi counts their steps, wondering how long it will take. 

46, 47...

“So,” Atsumu starts, looking up at him expectantly. “Where are we going again? Like, what’s the place like?”

“You will see when we get there,” Kiyoomi says flatly.

“Hmmm,” there’s already a hint of a smile in Atsumu’s voice when he makes the sound, so Kiyoomi assumes he must be already regaining his senses. When he speaks again, he’s targeting Kiyoomi with a crooked grin. “Is this a date, Omi-kun? Are you treating me to dinner?”

Kiyoomi scowls. “No. You’re paying for yourself.”

Atsumu chuckles under his breath, and the silence fills the space once again, but this time it feels less tight.

“You know,” Atsumu says, facing looking up at the sky, watching the moon above them. “It’s funny that we get to spend so much time together now, considering how I used to have a huge crush on you back in high school.”

Kiyoomi has to stop himself from tripping on his own foot. “Really? What a shame. I couldn’t stand your guts back in high school.”

Atsumu laughs, bumping their shoulders together in a good-natured manner. “Don’t be mean,” he whines playfully.

Kiyoomi shakes his head, biting back a grin. “But, like, are you serious? You were a terrible suitor, sometimes I had the impression you would have snapped my wrists in half if you had the chance back then.”

“Oh no, that thought definitely crossed my mind at some point,” Atsumu says, tone serious, he holds it for a total of two seconds before the smile settles back into his face. “And I said I used to have a crush on you, not that I was aware of it back then.”

“And when did you realize it?”

“Uh, during the youth team, I guess?” He shrugs. “I am not really sure, at some point I just looked back at my own actions and was like ‘uh oh’, so I figured it out.”

Kiyoomi hums. There’s that funny sensation in his chest once again, but it seems contained this time, just a weird sense of warmth trapped between his ribcage. Kiyoomi decides to let it be for now, vowing to access the strange feeling later. Behave , he scolds his agitated heart. High school was ages ago.

He’s not really sure how to keep the conversation going after that, so he exhales a small breath of relief when his eyes spot the familiar facade.

“We’re here,” he says.

“Oooh,” Atsumus eyes light up in excitement, and he immediately marches ahead to open the door for them.

Their tournaments go on a break at the end of december, allowing the athletes to have a small holiday.

After the second week of the new year, they’re invited to a sequence of friendly games with the National Team.

At this point, the Ajinomoto volleyball court already feels like a second home when Kiyoomi steps inside the gym.

Hibarida is already there, waiting to give them a pep talk before the official activities begin.

"Well, first of all, I know no one here is going to have trouble staying motivated," he starts good naturedly, and Kiyoomi can feel the metaphorical sparks going around the room—most of them being aimed at Hinata. "So I hope I won't have to worry about you getting too comfortable just because we're doing friendlies. Before you get started on your stretches and warm ups, I just wanna say a few things first. We all know this is a very important year to us, and that very soon we will have to work with… limited resources," Hibarida gives them a meaningful glance to complement the words. 12 spots . “I want to use these games as an opportunity to try out a few new formations in case we have to handle casualties throughout it, as much as testing what are the lengths of our resources. If you work seriously now, I will be able to know who I can trust for real later. I will start testing some variations today already, and depending on your performance we will see what we can try against South Korea. So, for now…” Hibarida looks down, checking something in his clipboard. “Miya?”

Atsumu raises his head with pride. “Yes?”

“I will have you starting on Team A.”

Atsumu’s face lights up, immediately nodding in response.

“Kageyama?” Hibarida continues.

“Yes?”

“You’re top three in the blocking statistics for the team,” Hibarida remarks from his annotations with appraisal. Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows, looking down at the floor to keep people from gauging his reaction. It isn’t a lie, but it’s still a heavy thing to say out loud when there’s at least five middle blockers with a decent amount of playing experience for the team present in the room as well. “So I want to see how you perform in the middle. And since I know he has experience with the position as well, Hinata will take the other spot.”

Hinata and Kageyama immediately turn to glare at each other, eyes lighting up in challenge, and a collective groan spreads through the room from the rest of the players.

Hibarida smiles knowingly, completely aware of what he had just done.

“Komori?”

Kiyoomi peeks a glance at his cousin, watching with amusement as Motoya stares back at their coach with wide eyes. “Yes?”

“How do you think you would fathom as a wing spiker?”

Motoya looks to the sides, unsure. “Uh, alright? I think? I played opposite at some point back in school.”

The coach smiles. “Great, let’s try that,” he concludes, putting his clipboard down. “Sakusa, Bokuto and Yaku will complete the team. Onigashira, Hakuba, Hyakuzawa, Hoshiumi, Ojiro, Ushijima and Heiwajima, you’re on Team B. We will be making a few shifts during the practice, but that’s it for now. You can go back to your warm ups, Iwaizumi will instruct you and let me know when we’re ready to go.”

Hibarida leaves them to their devices, turning to exchange a few words with his assistants.

Kourai groans in a sulky manner, and both Kiyoomi and Hakuba look down at him questioningly.

“What’s your deal?” Hakuba frowns.

“Kageyama is a really annoying blocker,” Kourai whines sourly. “He’s attentive and meticulous, it's very annoying to tool him.”

Hakuba raises an eyebrow, looking almost offended. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kourai regards the middle blocker with a sympathetic slap to the arm, but his voice is taunting when he speaks. “Dealing with big guys like you just means I have bigger targets to work with.” 

Hakuba's eyes go narrow with irritation, and Kiyoomi huffs his amusement, then proceeds to disguise the sound under a self induced cough. 

Kourai doesn’t pay them any mind though, opting instead to turn in search of Hinata among the players.

"Hinata Shoyo!" He screams in challenge once he spots him. "I bet I can score more than you today!"

"It's on, Hoshiumi-san!" Hinata calls back with a feral grin.

"Yashida-san, make sure you're keeping count!" Kourai turns to regard the man sitting on the sidelines.

Yashida Yuki, their performance analyst, doesn't even bother taking his eyes away from his tablet to answer. "That's literally my job."

Kiyoomi takes this as a cue to start his stretching routine, trying to discreetly make his way to the very opposite corner of the gym.

"Don't get your back on me either, Kiyoomi," Kourai yells before he can get out of the danger range, making Kiyoomi cringe in retaliation. "You're getting your ass kicked as well."

"Riiiiight," Kiyoomi sighs tiredly, not bothering to look back.

Ojiro regards him with a knowing smile when he sees him approaching. “Sakusa-kun.”

“Ojiro-san,” he nods in acknowledgment, sitting next to him and starting his own exercises.

The room is filled with a relative silence, just a few muttered words exchanged between the athletes while their athletic trainee and a few physiotherapists walk between them to check if everything is alright. Kiyoomi is halfway done with stretching his wrists when Atsumu’s voice reaches his ears.

“Tobio-kun,” he screams melodically. “Come practice some quick sets with me.”

Ojiro chuckles next to him, shaking his head fondly. “That one really didn't change, did he?”

Kiyoomi chances a glance at the two setters from the corner of his eyes, watching as they exchange a few words animatedly—as in, Atsumu talking animatedly while Kageyama just wordlessly nods back at him with his natural resting pouty face.

He thinks back to the Atsumu he met in high school, a temperamental and prideful little thing, recklessly reaching for the things he wanted and taking the world for granted. He thinks back to the Atsumu he found in that training camp before their first competition with the youth team, a lost boy, burning himself out in a desperate attempt to find an anchor after losing the biggest certainty he had in volleyball.

He feels the corner of his lips tugging up without his consent. “He changed a little bit,” he concedes.

The sound of a ball being successfully spiked against the floor. Atsumu giggles.

“Nice kill,” he yells happily, offering a palm for Kageyama to high five.

Kiyoomi huffs. “But I guess the essence is still the same.”

It can be unsettling at first, it can be irritating if you're not used to it, but Miya Atsumu is the type of person who will find joy in anything he does. There's an unending source of passion there, and regardless of how difficult the circumstances might be, he's someone who will always try to find a way to enjoy himself.

Kiyoomi learned by personal experience that he's someone you'd much rather have on your side of the court.

"Open! Open!" Someone screams behind him, and Kiyoomi steps back to watch as Wakatoshi rises to spike, too far from the net to go with his full strength.

Instead, he opts for using half of his strength to send the ball over the net, cunningly aiming right for the zone of the court Atsumu is covering.

Kageyama runs forward, and he launches himself in the air just as Atsumu's fingers toss the ball in his direction.

Kageyama's right arm snaps forward, and in front of him Hakuba jumps as well to match his movement, Wakatoshi coming from the right to flank him on the block, but on the last second Kageyama's stance changes, taking the ball in two hands instead and sending it to the side—where Bokuto is leaping from the back row to slam it to the floor.

Bokuto is guffawing as soon as he lands on the floor, throwing an arm around one setter each as he jumps in celebration.

Hibarida glares amusedly at the other side of the court. "Seriously? No one saw that coming?"

Kiyoomi's eyes go narrow at the scene. Atsumu catches the expression before smirking knowingly. "What is it, Omi-kun? Getting jealous now?"

"Shut up," he mumbles.

Bokuto goes back to the serving position, and Kiyoomi positions himself on his place in the net, hiding his hand behind his back before doing an indication with his fingers.

Atsumu chuckles behind him, and then Bokuto is punching the ball to the other side of the net.

Yaku gets under it with no issues, and then Onigashira is placing the ball into Wakatoshi's hand.

Kiyoomi jumps, Kageyama by his side, covering the line shot, and in front of him Wakatoshi doesn't hesitate before punching it in the cross. 

But Motoya is there, perfectly positioned to receive that cannon hit in his outreached arms.

Nice defense , Kiyoomi thinks, taking in as the ball goes up high in the middle of the court. Enough to have an organized attack.

Atsumu runs to get under it, Kiyoomi steps back to get room to run.

He throws himself forward, taking in from the corner of his eyes as his court companions make similar approaches from different parts of the court.

Hakuba follows Kageyama's movements attentively, and Kiyoomi catches Wakatoshi's eyes in the net, standing right in front of him on the wait.

Kiyoomi reaches his last step, and Wakatoshi immediately jumps up to block, but Kiyoomi takes the momentum of his approach and launches himself diagonally instead, and the ball gets to him in the perfect moment for him to spike it down into the gap that emerges in front of him.

The ball bounces against the floor, and Kiyoomi makes sure both Kourai and Wakatoshi get a good glimpse of his smirk before turning. "Make sure you note that one down, Yashida-san," he calls over his shoulder.

Kiyoomi glances to the side in order to praise Motoya on his defense in the first touch, but what he gets instead is Kageyama staring at him with a familiar glint in his eyes. "New move, Sakusa-san?"

Kiyoomi shrugs. "Something like that."

Kageyama hums with interest, eyes remaining fixed on Kiyoomi, even if they seem a little unfocused—like he's daydreaming about something.

Kiyoomi huffs.

"We can speak later."

"Oh, yes. We will," Kageyama nods.

"Tobio-kunnn," Atsumu whines, throwing an arm over his shoulder good naturedly. The gesture isn't completely unfamiliar, but it did get a bit more comical after Kageyama turned taller than Atsumu. "Stop making googly eyes at my spiker, will you?"

Kageyama shrugs. "Technically he's our spiker here."

Atsumu falters, face contorting.

"Ah, semantics," he ends up disregarding with a wave of his hand, and then he stops, looking pensive. "Do you think I could practice hitting some of your sets later though?"

"Uh, sure?"

Atsumu's eyes light up in excitement. "What about minus sets? Can we do some of these?"

The friendlies are going to be hosted in a venue in Tokyo, three games in a span of a week against South Korea. The environment is welcoming, and the knowledge they won't have to waste hours in locomotion even more.

Kiyoomi settles himself in his seat on the bus, moving around a bit until he can get comfortable, then proceeding to search for his earphones. It won’t be a long trip, it will mostly depend on Tokyo’s traffic, but in the best case they’re scheduled to arrive at the venue in thirty minutes.

He feels more than sees someone taking the seat next to him, a quick glance to the side providing him with a very indicatory tuft of blonde hair. Kiyoomi doesn’t think much of it, he’s used to sharing seats with Atsumu back in the club's travels anyway.

He feels the weight of a pair of eyes on him shortly after though, and when Kiyoomi raises his head it is to find Motoya staring back at him with amusement, eyebrows dangerously close to his hairline. Kiyoomi has no idea as to what is going on in his cousin’s head, but whatever it is, it seems to be extremely entertaining by the look in Motoya's eyes, which means it is bad news for Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi stares back at him for a beat, eyebrows furrowed. He gives a very slight shake of his head. Not now.

Motoya chuckles quietly, making his way to sit beside Bokuto instead, but Kiyoomi knows he will hear more from that later.

Motoya corners him later, making sure to catch a moment where they’re alone in the locker room. 

“What’s the deal between you and Atsumu?”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Motoya blinks back at him, puzzled. “You’re either actually clueless or lying to me, and none of these sound like you.”

Kiyoomi grunts, avoiding his eyes. It takes a beat of silence between them before he’s finally giving in. “I’m still in denial, give me more time."

Motoya snorts, loudly, unapologetically, and then he’s shaking his head with disbelief. "Really? After all this time?"

"Exactly," Kiyoomi shrugs. "We went through a lot already, and things are at a good place right now. I don't see the point in risking everything just for…" He stops, shaking his head. "I won't even entertain the thought."

Motoya just blinks at him with an impassive expression. "Well, that's funny," he scoffs, and Kiyoomi gets the feeling he won't find anything about the directions of this conversation funny, but he pushes anyway.

"What?"

"I never took you as the type of person who would settle for something."

Kiyoomi goes quiet, looking down and pointedly fixing his attention on the work he's doing with his safety gears. He takes his time adjusting the braces in his ankles, tying his shoelaces. He gets up then, making a point of turning his back on Motoya to slip the knee braces where it belongs.

Once he considers he gained enough time to arrange his thoughts, he turns to look back at his cousin, catching Motoya glaring at him with unimpressed eyes, and realizes that it was all useless anyway. Kiyoomi still has no idea of what to say to defend himself.

He inspects Motoya closely, they're playing with their black uniforms today, which puts Motoya in the red kit. He's set to be their starting libero for today—because Hibarida, for all his genuine excitement in trying out new things, is especially great at making them have no idea of what actually goes on in his mind—and Kiyoomi's eyes linger at the Japanese flag proudly displayed on his chest.

“You know we don't have time for that,” he ends up saying with resoluteness. And then, after a beat of consideration, he goes: “You should start practicing your serves."

Motoya tilts his head, dumbfounded. “What?”

“You wanna make it to the Olympics, right?”

Motoya gives him a slow blink of the eyes. “Duh?"

"It's like coach said, the more resources you have, the better. As it is right now you, you're already the best defensive player in Japan, and things have been even so far with you and Yaku-san alternating, but if it ever comes to the point where…" Kiyoomi hesitates, he doesn't know where he is going with his reasoning, so he feels the sentence die in his mouth 

No one knows what the final list of players summoned for the Olympics will be like, but it isn't like they are completely clueless either. Kageyama is practically a warranted piece, leaving the other setter spot open for debate. As for the opposites, it went from the most open position back when Wakatoshi was still struggling to adapt in the senior team to the only position that is practically certain. Internally, no one has a doubt over which two names will appear on the list, as long as neither of them get hurt until there. 

For the outside hitters, there are at least six possible players that have been performing well for what will probably be four spots, so it is more a matter of which characteristics the coach will be prioritizing, and who are the unlucky ones that will be cut out.

Now for the liberos… If Hibarida ends up opting to go with a traditional formation and bring just one libero with the team, he will have to make a very difficult decision. 

"I just think you could work well as a versatile piece," he tries again. "You're a good at setting already, and coach did try to see how you would behave as a wing spiker, so that might be a hint of what he has in mind for you. You can cover for some of our wing spikers that aren't so good at defense in a back row turn in critical moments of a match when you're not the starting libero. Or even come in to serve in the rotations we technically wouldn't have a libero in the court to defend, but for that you would have to serve at least as well as our middle blockers."

Motoya blinks back at him, a little perplexed, but Kiyoomi can tell he's considering his words.

"Wait, did you actually come up with all that on the spot just so we wouldn't talk about your crush?" Motoya squints at him.

Kiyoomi avoids his eyes.

"No," he says petulantly. "I actually did think about some of that before."

Motoya chuckles, but the sound comes out more bewildered than amused. "You're an idiot."

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes with venom, but Motoya just shakes his head, unbothered by the glare.

"I mean, I am not saying you're stupid. We both know you are not. But you definitely think you are smarter than you actually are, which makes you the biggest of fools." He gives two consolatory pats on Kiyoomi's shoulder, ignoring the dirty look he gets in exchange, and starts talking again before Kiyoomi can rebuke. "Alright, then. I promise I will think about the serving thing. Now let's get going, warm ups are about to start."

See, one of the best parts of being a professional athlete, aside from the full commitment to your performance and the corresponding achievements it brings you, is the professionally handled physical recovery process.

Having a group of highly competent people watching over you constantly, continuous physiologic assessment, massage therapy, infrared thermography, cryotherapy, among many other things . Kiyoomi can’t say he particularly minds the attention.

It’s not a secret he’s someone who values the worth of taking proper care of yourself, but sometimes—he thinks to himself as he slowly sinks inside an ice water bath—the best thing you can do for yourself is just as effortless as trusting the cares of the team that is paid to take care of you.

Back with the Black Jackal's team, back in the strenuous V. League rhythm, Kiyoomi exhales a deep breath, closing his eyes. At first his body tenses when it contacts the contrasting temperature, but he wills himself to relax. 

It’s almost therapeutic. After an arduous five sets long game that left his knees shaking when the adrenaline wore off, getting to physically cool down like that, and enjoying the opportunity to do a similar process emotionally as well.

Kiyoomi closes his eyes, humming contentedly to himself. The atmosphere of the room is pleasant, the silence embracing him while he focuses on his breath exercises and quietly meditates on the game events, pondering on what went right and wrong, what can be improved and what was inevitable. Quietude, peace of mind, serenity…

And then the door opens, an ongoing conversation reaching his ears. “ —hey, hey! Tsumu-Tsumu, you were on top of your game today!”

Kiyoomi reluctantly opens his eyes, the voices getting louder and louder as they get closer to him. Atsumu and Bokuto are also wearing just compression shorts, cheerfully discussing the game as they walk, initially unaware of Kiyoomi’s presence until Atsumu turns his head and their eyes meet.

"Heya, Omi-kun! You beat us to the ice bath," Atsumu smiles at him, face knowing. "As usual."

"Hmmmmm," Kiyoomi regards them, sounding anything but thrilled.

“Oya, Omi-Omi!” Bokuto throws himself in the bath next to him, raising a stream of cold water in his trail. Kiyoomi has to turn his head to avoid the cold droplets from making contact with his face.

Atsumu gets into the remaining bathtub, although a bit more hesitantly and with a very pained groan to accompany the gesture, face contorting into a hideous grimace when he settles down inside the water. "Argh, so cold!" He shakes.

Both spikers are more than used to their setter’s dramatics, so they don’t pay the show any mind. Bokuto turns his head to look at Kiyoomi excitedly. “Great game today, Omi-omi! Mostly the fourth set too. What was it? Six service aces?”

Kiyoomi feels the corner of his lips tugging up in a satisfied smile, remembering the feel of the ball against his palm. “Five,” he corrects. Seven break points though.

Bokuto doesn’t seem put down by the rectification. “Either way! It was amazing, things were starting to feel hopeless and it really gave us the boost we needed to grab the win by the end.”

Kiyoomi gives him a faint smile in return. “Yeah,” he says with a mild nod.

Atsumu seems to have recovered from the thermal shock, and quickly enough he and Bokuto are back to their previous conversation. 

Kiyoomi tries to tune them off, closing his eyes again to go back to his mental exercise. It’s a difficult task, given that neither of them are really known for their discretion.

“ —and I can’t believe you had the guts to pull a setter dump at their set point!” Bokuto is saying, voice raising a couple of octaves in his excitement. 

Atsumu giggles.

Kiyoomi opens one eye, turning slightly to assess their reactions.

“Did you see their faces!” Atsumu yelps with joy. “They were so pissed.”

Kiyoomi feels his expression twisting, a mix of amusement and incredulity. 

“You almost got in trouble though,” Kiyoomi points out drily. “The referee definitely thought you were mocking the opponents later.”

Atsumu stutters indignantly, Bokuto’s laugh is thunderous—he throws his head back aggressively in the process, the motion making some of the water spill from the bath.

“He thought you were poking your tongue out to them!” Bokuto screams with joy, like the simple concept is completely hilarious.

“I wasn’t! That would be, like, so immature!” Atsumu defensively screams back.

Kiyoomi snorts. “Meian really had to step out to defend you out there.”

Atsumu whines, expression getting sullen. “It wasn’t even like that! It’s just… I don’t know, a habit, I think,” he sulks.

Kiyoomi reflects back on the moment, he knows it wasn’t something so infantile as sticking your tongue out, even though he wouldn’t put these levels of immaturity totally past Atsumu—but he would probably keep it reserved for one of his clashes with Osamu —no, it was nothing like that. But it was, for sure, a very deliberate move.

He visualizes the scene again, the way Atsumu slowly, tauntingly, brings his tongue out, swiping his bottom lip with tease, and then proceeds to target his opponent with a provocative smirk after he pulls off an impressive feat on the court.

Kiyoomi sinks deeper in the bathtub.

In Atsumu’s defense, it isn’t like the gesture is mocking, it’s more of a challenge. A call for whoever he is confronting to rise up to his level, to push him higher—and there are very few people in the V. League that are able to meet him head on in that feeling. Fairly speaking, the person who matches him the best in that is all the way in Europe right now.

“But it would be funny,” Bokuto mutters with amusement. “You taking the set point away from them only to give it back by getting yourself a red card.”

Atsumu grumbles with petulance, his next words coming out with a heavier amount of his kansai accent than usual. “There’s nothing funny about that.”

Kiyoomi chuckles under his breath, closing his eyes again.

A few minutes later, their athletic trainer peeks through the door to fetch Kiyoomi out. He gets up, waving an impassive goodbye to the two people remaining in the room.

He can feel the weight of a pair of eyes on him, but he doesn’t look back to check if his senses are accurate.

"I will come get you guys in a few," the physiotherapist says with a look behind his back after Kiyoomi gets through the door.

"Please, don't take too long!" Atsumu shaky cries travel through the halls.

A quick set from the opponent springs the ball to their side of the court, just above Meian’s head. Somewhere on the edge of his mid game perception, Kiyoomi can discern the annoyed yells from coach Foster on the sidelines.

Bokuto manages to throw himself in the ball’s trajectory in time, but the pass is off, way too far to the right. Atsumu gets on the move instantly, desperately running the steps so he can put himself under the ball’s downward path. Hinata is running as well, just a few steps beside Atsumu, preparing to fly.

Atsumu tosses the ball up, and it passes by Hinata’s waiting hands, traveling all the way to the left side of the court, meticulously making its way to start dropping just a small distance away from the antenna.

Knew it, Kiyoomi thinks to himself, finishing his last step and launching himself in the air to come meet it.

Half a block.

He doesn’t linger to try and appreciate the view. Kiyoomi picks an open line, and then his palm is coming in contact with the ball to slam it down.

He lands on the floor elegantly, balance intact. “Heh.”

Kiyoomi turns to his colleagues, taking in all the celebratory smiles aimed at him. Well, all of them except Atsumu, who’s looking at him with a smug face, the one that Kiyoomi recognizes as a conveyance of That was on me.

Kiyoomi raises one challenging eyebrow at him in a clear display of disagreement, just to be rascal.

Atsumu scoffs.

It’s his turn to serve now, but the game is on hold for the ball boys to dry their court from Bokuto's sweat, so Kiyoomi decides to entertain Atsumu for a few seconds. “What?”

“You never praise my sets,” Atsumu whines.

Kiyoomi gives him a blank stare. “You already know when they’re good.”

“Well, I know when they end up coming out a little bit off as well, but you always make sure to point these out!” He protests.

Kiyoomi huffs, having to make a conscious effort to make it seem like he's actually annoyed. The whistle blows, and Kiyoomi starts making his way to the serve zone.

“You already have enough of an ego,” he calls out over his shoulder. "I am not helping make it bigger."

Kiyoomi leans on the arm of the couch, fiddling with his phone lethargically, switching with disinterest between his twitter and instagram feeds in hopes of finding something that will provide him some sort of distraction.

On the other corner of the couch, Atsumu finds himself in a similar predicament, the two of them in silence, forming a sign of almost comical boredom.

Both of them will probably get a little more attentive when the broadcast for the match between the Tachibana Red Falcons and the Eastern Japan Paper Mills Raijin actually begins, as it is right now, the sports channel is just reprising their own game against the Green Rockets from yesterday, and it isn’t like it can provide any fresh entertainment to keep them focused.

Kiyoomi scrolls down absentmindedly, taking in the content from his instagram feed. Motoya’s pre game picture—he instinctively presses the like button—, Hinata’s selfies, picture of a weird Polish food with barely any context provided by Wakatoshi, Kageyama’s pictures from his last match in the Italian league that his PR team probably obliged him to post…

"AND SCORE!" He registers the sportscaster’s screams with the bit of his perception that is still aware of his surroundings. " Sakusa makes beautiful work of that shoot set and slams it to the ground in a wicked line shot! Absolutely beautiful, the blockers are probably still searching for the ball—" the narrator chuckles.

Kiyoomi doesn’t raise his head to see the play, he remembers it pretty clearly from yesterday, but he does feel the corner of his lips moving up in a satisfied smile.

"Indeed," the other commentator, an ex volleyball athlete, goes on to complement, " and Sakusa is a player you can always feel secure to accelerate the ball for, because he has the technical resources to fix these sets."

“Don’t go getting any ideias,” Kiyoomi says out loud, eyes still dutifully focused on the screen of his phone.

Atsumu gives him a confused double take. It takes a beat until it registers in his mind, and then he’s giving Kiyoomi an offended gasp. “What the hell! As if I would ever send you a set that you need to fix, ” he pronounces the word with disdain.

Kiyoomi turns to face him, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he takes in Atsumu’s expression and stops on his tracks. 

The face in general actually looks insulted, but there’s a joyful glint in his eyes, a tug on the corner of his lips that has Kiyoomi narrowing his eyes in suspicion. He glances down at the phone in Atsumu’s hand, then back at his face.

“What got you all giddy like that?”

Whatever the reason is, it’s obviously something Atsumu is not embarrassed to share, because the very next second he is throwing his phone in Kiyoomi’s face with excitement. 

“Look, someone on twitter made me a fancam!” He screams with joy.

Kiyoomi moves back so he can actually access the footage without getting cross-eyed. There’s no sound for him, since the device is probably connected to Atsumu’s airpods, but he can grasp a flash of several videos and pictures showing up in a quick tempo one after the other, probably following the rhythm of a popular song.

Atsumu making a service ace, focusing on his triumphant face when the point gets confirmed, photoshoot pictures, a few casual pictures that were probably taken out of his instagram, a bunch of video footage of him bending low to set the ball, a very revealing picture zoomed in on his thighs—Kiyoomi recoils, like the sight physically burned him.

“Get this out of my sight,” he grumbles.

Atsumu crackles, bringing the phone back to him, a huge grin and a delighted look in his eyes, watching with mesmerization as the thing loops.

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “Your vanity never ceases to amaze me."

Atsumu just laughs back at him, totally unbothered by Kiyoomi’s clear display of judgement.

“Maybe if you smiled a little more you would have one too, Omi-kun,” he sing-songs.

“I have no interest in being objectified by random people on twitter,” Kiyoomi deadpans.

“Oh, don’t come at me with those big words,” Atsumu gives him with a pointed look before raising his nose in the air. “It’s flattering!”

Kiyoomi grunts. “Whatever.”

“Look! It already has 600 thousand views.”

“I don’t wanna see,” Kiyoomi turns his face away, Atsumu follows the motion with his arm, trying to put the phone in his eyesight again.

“Loooook,” he whines.

“No.”

“Omi-kun!”

“I am not looking! Now get away from me, the game is starting.”

Atsumu settles back on his side of the coach, a sulky pout displayed on his face. 

"I will send you the link then."

"I will block you."

Kiyoomi throws himself in the bus seat, aggressively moving around until he can find a comfortable position. He’s even more crusty than usual today, there’s some comfort in knowing they’ve won yesterday’s game and are going back home now, but it’s early, he had a terrible night of sleep and the hotel’s bathrooms were disgusting, so he feels excused in his extra layer of irritability.

He usually avoids falling asleep in the bus, it ruins his sleep schedule, but he’s sure it will be inevitable today. He grumbles to himself as he searches around in his hand bag, the words unintelligible even for him, and then he’s grabbing his hand sanitizer, squeezing the content into his hand and aggressively rubbing them against each other.

He’s looking for his travel pillow when another hand enters his field of vision. Kiyoomi blinks stupidly at the outstretched hand in front of him, then turns to the side to find Atsumu expectantly staring at him.

Hesitantly, he moves his hand to squeeze a bit of the sanitizer in Atsumu’s hand as well, and the setter proceeds to do some very meticulous rubbing, practically a mirrored version of Kiyoomi's own gestures a few seconds earlier.

He frowns. Uh, okay. Whatever. Sleep.

Settling the travel pillow behind his neck comfortably, Kiyoomi leans back, and in a matter of seconds the bus starts moving and he’s out of it for good.

He wakes up a few hours later, groggy and feeling a weird, warm weight on his shoulder.

Kiyoomi blinks his eyes open confusedly, taking in his surroundings. He has sinked down on the bench, the intensive hunching is familiar already for him, but his hips have slid through the seat in a way that has his lower back screaming with discomfort.

He glances to the side, and frowns when he finds Atsumu’s head leaning heavily on his shoulder. He doesn’t know when the setter initially moved closer in his sleep, but he obviously followed the motion as Kiyoomi slid down on the seat, neck twisted in a painful angle as his cheeks are squished against Kiyoomi's shoulder.

This idiot is gonna end up spraining his neck.

Kiyoomi is still a little dizzy, unsure of how to proceed, but the prospect of waking Atsumu to scold him feels like too much trouble, so he just fixes his own posture slowly, careful not to jest Atsumu awake.

When he manages to sit properly again, he finds that the few centimeters of height advantage he has on Atsumu makes the bent of his neck something a little more sensible; it isn’t ideal, but it’s the best he can do for now. He's going to pester him about getting his own travel pillow later.

He moves a little closer too, reducing the distance between them so the point of contact feels more stable. It's simply an attempt to avoid any awkward positionings to happen again, so he doesn't dwell too much on the action 

Kiyoomi closes his eyes again, and goes back to sleep.

It must be a testament to the Schweiden Adlers’ strength that, even without two of its star players, the team still manages to make it to the V. League finals without any major issues.

His high school coach used to say that the secret of a strong team is a good foundation. Kiyoomi leaned on those words heavily, not only on a collective aspect, but also in the individual foundation one makes of oneself—building yourself physically, technically and emotionally to make sure you will live up to the responsibility of being part of a strong team.

He knows it goes way beyond that, though. The Adlers are a clear embodiment of the concept, what it means to have a strong foundation in every level of a professional institution. A committed governing body, a competent technical staff, a serious and effective long-term project, as well as a group of qualified athletes that are not only extremely skilled, but also follow strict work ethics. They’re definitely a team of champions.

Well, Kiyoomi thinks to himself as he watches Bokuto punch the ball to the floor, they can brag about that much as they want, but right now we're the ones with the match point.

Atsumu makes his way to the serving line, the serenity in his steps unsettling—a display of the calm before the storm.

There’s palpable tension in the air, the venue filled with expectancy.

Kiyoomi turns away, focusing on getting himself in position and fixating his concentration on the movements of the opposite team.

He doesn’t see it, but he can hear the moment the world quiets around him, unconsciously holding his breath as well.

Kiyoomi gives a look at the Adlers’ receive formation, taking in their expressions of wariness. A quick glance to the side to check his coach's stance, Foster has his back to Atsumu, hand against his back displaying one raised finger to him—indicating where he wants the serve to be aimed at.

Position one, right between Romero and Heiwajima, where their setter will be doing the infiltration forward.

He considers it for a second, what would he do in this situation? Going full out? The more aggressive the serve the bigger the risk of a mistake. Perhaps a more tactical serve? Making sure their first pass is broken, their net is inverted right now, and their opposite is a rookie in the V. League, new to the weight of a final and the pressure of needing to have your every move be a decisive one, maybe it would be better to guarantee the Black Jackal would at the very least have a chance of a counterattack—but even so, Romero is in the front row right now, nevertheless the fact he's in the right side instead of the left, he's the kind of player that's used to decide situations like that, would it be worth the shot?

There's the sound of the ball cutting through the air behind him, and Kiyoomi almost wants to laugh.

It is Miya Atsumu we are talking about.

He’s going for a glory shot.

There’s the boom of Atsumu’s feet kicking the floor, and then the thunderous sound of ball and palm making contact. The ball zips over his head, crossing over the court with its trajectory aimed for just a few inches before the endline.

Heiwajima tries to move for it, the ball grasps at the libero’s outreached arm and twists angrily out of the court.

The whistle resounds through the venue. Game over.

A number of things happen at the same time; the cheer around them roars, all the players in the bench invade the court with celebratory screams, and two flashes of color move in Kiyoomi’s peripheral view as he registers both Hinata and Bokuto throwing themselves at Atsumu. And Atsumu — well, Atsumu glows .

The grin is so huge it risks breaking his face in half, the gleam in his eyes is youthful, filled with joy, and it remains there when Kiyoomi approaches him, a soft smile, an outreached hand offering for a high five and a “Nice serve” in the tip of his tongue.

It remains there when Kourai approaches them and, reluctantly but genuinely, expresses his congratulations for their win. (“You better enjoy this feeling right now! Because next year we’re kicking your asses again,” he screams over his back when he goes back to his team.)

It remains there when the team playfully throws a bucket of cold water over his head when Atsumu is distracted basking in the reporter's attention.

Kiyoomi never really believed in fate, or that something could be predetermined by the universe in general, but now, watching Atsumu with his easy smiles and easier laughs, the light in his eyes, the bliss in the way he holds himself, no snark, no concerns, nothing left to prove, Kiyoomi actually starts to reconsider the idea. It feels like Atsumu has found his natural habitat, and Kiyoomi is hit by the notion that Atsumu was born to be a winner.

The rest of the night passes by in the blink of an eye. They get their medals, raise their trophy, celebrate on the court, celebrate a little more back in the locker room, take an uncomfortable amount of behind the stage selfies, and then they leave to start off the ‘real celebration’, in their capitan’s words.

Kiyoomi hits his social limit by 1 am, and he manages to get away from the crowded bar while his high-strung companions are distracted performing a painful cover of We Are The Champions .

He is extra grateful for the fact the last game was in Osaka when he steps inside his room, sighing in a mix of satisfaction and relief.

Kiyoomi is halfway through his skincare routine when a crashing sound makes him stop on his tracks.

“Eh…” He grumbles to himself, already dreading whatever it is that awaits for him when he steps out to check.

Atsumu blinks back at him sheepishly. Kiyoomi stares at him, then at one of the chairs of the room (the one they usually sit at when the team gathers to watch matches and reference videos together) dramatically fallen to the floor with its legs in the air.

“Sorry,” Atsumu giggles, voice a slur. “I tripped.”

“What are you doing here,” Kiyoomi deadpans. Why aren't you out celebrating? Or back in your own place?

In spite of his (many) prejudgments of the setter, their time of coexistence in these last years have taught Kiyoomi that Atsumu is actually not a heavy drinker. He is way too self-conscious of his own physical form and tries to avoid drinking in the middle of the session as much as possible.

The only times Kiyoomi has witnessed Atsumu actively drinking has been, first, back in his debut match, when the team finally defeated the Adlers for the first time after a long time in the stand by, and, well, tonight.

And the obvious outcomes of this arrangement is that Atsumu has a terrible alcohol tolerance.

Atsumu ignores his question, waveringly trying to make his way to one of the couches in the corner of the room, lightly tripping in at least three other chairs and on his own foot on the way. 

Kiyoomi watches the movement from his standing point, eyes squinted with judgement.

“Wait here,” he grumbles, even though he’s pretty sure Atsumu doesn’t have the aptitude to go anywhere.

He comes back a few minutes later, sticking a glass in Atsumu’s face. “Drink,” he commands.

Atsumu gingerly takes it, motions slower than usual. He takes one sip, face twisting with disgust. “What is this?” He asks, sounding insulted.

“Water,” Kiyoomi says, voice flat.

Atsumu grunts begrudgingly, but still obediently drinks it.

“What are you doing here?” He asks again, trying to put a little more intonation in the words this time.

Atsumu finishes drinking the water, humming absentmindedly. “Don’t wanna be alone,” he mutters, handing the glass back to Kiyoomi, the alcohol apparently losing his tongue.

Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow. “Is this a twin thing?”

Atsumu closes his eyes, resting his head in the coach contentedly. There’s a faint smile on his face when he speaks next. “Maybe? Don't like being on my own.”

Kiyoomi squints at him. If this guy ends up falling asleep here…

He watches Atsumu quietly, considering his options. There’s a few extra rooms in the residential wing of their facilities, Atsumu sometimes drops by in one of them when they’re scheduled to leave especially early in the morning for an away match.

If Kiyoomi can take him to one of the rooms and drop him off there, it would prevent a big headache —and lots of back pains for Atsumu.

“C’mon,” he settles on. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Atsumu shakes his head petulantly, the scene almost childlike.

“Nooo,” he whines, hiccups, and then pats on the space next to him on the couch. “Sit down with me for a bit.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “Why?”

Atsumu opens his eyes to stare up at him, and there’s a clarity in his voice that wasn’t there before when he speaks again. 

“You always make me company when we lose, why can’t you stay with me for a while after we’ve won?”

Kiyoomi blinks back at him with puzzlement, but Atsumu holds the eye contact unwaveringly and, before he can think better of it, Kiyoomi is sitting down in the space indicated by Atsumu, if only to avoid the weight of his stare.

Atsumu closes his eyes again, softly humming with satisfaction.

Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything, and Atsumu seems to be satisfied with the silence for now.

He doesn’t know how much time passes them by like that, just the two of them sitting quietly next to each other. He is starting to think Atsumu might’ve fallen asleep when he speaks again.

“Hey Omi-kun,” he starts.

“Hm?”

“You thought about quitting, didn’t you?” His voice is soft. “Back when we were in the youth team.”

It takes a beat for Kiyoomi to say something.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I did.”

Atsumu hums, he doesn’t move from his position, eyes still closed and not facing Kiyoomi at all. “Was it worth it? Staying?”

I guess , Kiyoomi concedes. It's strange to ask him that in this context, It’s not like he made the decision with the strict idea of winning titles in mind.

It’s great, obviously, it’s always specially good to get the solid feeling that you achieved something, the pride you get after beating a strong team, but at the end of the day, he understands this victory more as an evidence of a work well done than anything else—there are plenty of moments where a hint of luck can make the difference, an specific chance play that can change the outcome of a match, a nonstandard performance happening at the wrong place and wrong time, an ill-timed injury, among other things.

Kiyoomi welcomes the moments of luck that work in his favor, and tries to overcome the times it works against him without a second thought, but in the long game, all of these things are nothing but details.

You can’t win a championship by pure luck. 

And yet...

Kiyoomi chances a glance to the side, taking in Atsumu’s profile. He still has his eyes closed, but his face is peaceful, and the corner of his lips are tilted up in a satisfied smile.

Maybe it isn’t about the achievement itself, but the experience, the feeling.

There's a very specific type of high here, something that goes beyond simple delight or enjoyment, it's an unparalleled feeling, it's addicting. Maybe it can even bring out a part of yourself that you weren’t aware existed.

“Yeah,” he settles on. “Yeah, it was.”

Atsumu doesn’t say anything in return, but Kiyoomi watches as the corner of his lips tugs a little higher.

Kiyoomi stares at him stupidly. Ah.

He gets up. “C’mon, Atsumu, let’s get you to bed,” he says, making a ‘get up’ gesture with his hands.

Atsumu whimpers, an over exaggerated pout taking over his face.

Kiyoomi shakes his head soberly. “If you end up sleeping here, I am leaving you to rot. C’mon, you big baby, get your ass up.”

Atsumu complains a little more, but ends up begrudgingly getting up. He stumbles on his own feet after his first attempt for a step, grabbing onto Kiyoomi’s sleeve for balance.

Kiyoomi stares down at him with resignation, Atsumu just giggles happily, smile loopy and totally unbothered by Kiyoomi’s stare.

They make the way back to the dorms slowly. Atsumu holds onto Kiyoomi the whole way.

“Uh, don’t the people in this show know the concept of personal space?” Kiyoomi frowns.

Atsumu instantly grabs the remote control between them, changing channels with almost aggressivity before turning to regard Kiyoomi, a stupefied look in his eyes.

Kiyoomi blinks. “What."

“The kid has just been possessed by some devil demon king and you’re worried about personal space?” Atsumu sounds so insulted by the concept he almost screams out the last words.

“Well, if I was a demon king I don't think I would like to have someone all in my face either so…”

Atsumu interrupts him with a dramatic grunt, and then he’s focusing his attention back at the television, angrily zipping between channels.

He settles on a sport channel, the screen showing a bunch of middle aged men sitting around a table while debating. Kiyoomi purses his lips. “How long until the press conference?”

Atsumu checks the time on his phone before answering. “At least one more hour,” he says in a sucky manner.

Kiyoomi purses his lips.

They manage to remain quiet for almost five minutes, dutifully watching the roundtable discussion until Kiyoomi gives up, grabbing the remote control and turning off the television.

“Hey!” Atsumu makes to complain, but Kiyoomi just shakes his head with finality.

“Watching this is just gonna make us more anxious,” he concludes, defending his actions. “Besides,” he raises his own phone to point out his next argument, “it’s not like we’re not gonna hear about it the second the list is out.”

“But I wanted to—”

“We can watch the replay later on Youtube.”

Atsumu hesitates, but ends up relenting with a pout.

Kiyoomi huffs. “Now we just have to find something that will actually distract us until the announcement.”

Atsumu grunts unhelpfully at first, but then perks up right after. “I will be back in a minute,” he says before getting up and heading to the kitchen. 

Kiyoomi watches his back with dread.

He comes back a few minutes later holding two cans in hand, handing Kiyoomi one when he gets closer enough.

Kiyoomi stares at it blankly, and then looks up to regard Atsumu with a grimace. “Cheap beer?”

Atsumu crackles, thoroughly entertained by something in Kiyoomi’s expression. “C’mon. You know regardless of what happens tonight, the obvious outcome will be alcohol, right?”

Fair enough, but still… Kiyoomi’s frown doesn’t waver.

Atsumu snorts, moving his hand to stick the can literally in Kiyoomi’s face instead of into his hands. Kiyoomi recoils before the object can make contact with his cheeks.

“Don’t put this thing near my face,” he scowls.

Atsumu shakes his head with exasperation. “I’ve obviously washed it before bringing it to you. Now grab the beer, you big baby ,” he parrots the words back at him, tone filled with mirth.

Kiyoomi grunts, but reluctantly accepts the beer can.

“C’mon, let’s go outside,” Atsumu says, gesturing to the balcony, and starts walking without waiting to see Kiyoomi’s reactions. His next words are muttered under his breath. “This balcony increases the price of the rent by a ton and we don’t even get to spend time there during the winter.”

Kiyoomi follows him after a beat, awkwardly fidgeting with the cold beer can in his hand.

July’s heat is usually unforgiving during the day, but the nights can be pretty forgiving in compensation. Kiyoomi is once again reminded of that when he steps out and is welcomed by a refreshing breeze, a signal of a pleasant night.

Atsumu is leaning against the fence, absentmindedly watching the lights of the city in front of him.

Kiyoomi settles on sitting on the wood bench in the corner of the balcony, looking down to stare at a set of succulents cutely arranged by its side.

“Why didn’t you watch the announcement with your family, by the way?” Kiyoomi asks, eyes and hands focused on opening beer without making a mess.

Atsumu shrugs, but the gesture feels weird, too uptight for the image of nonchalance he is trying to pull off. “They did invite me to go, but I told them I already had plans.” He turns to give Kiyoomi a meaningful look. “And I didn’t want to look at their faces in case I didn’t…” He falters.

In case my name is not on the list.

Kiyoomi hums, taking a sip of his beer. He can tell Atsumu is getting gloomy, the tense set of his shoulders is a clear give away, but it isn’t like he has any words available to give him much comfort—and Atsumu was pretty aware of that already when he invited Kiyoomi over. 

They're in similar situations after all.

“What about you?” Atsumu asks.

“Eh? I would probably watch it on my own anyway.”

“Right,” Atsumu nods, eyes seeming distant.

The silence falls over them, but Kiyoomi doesn’t mind it much. He is comfortable, the beer is terrible but at least it is cold, so he allows Atsumu to take the time to figure out whatever is going on inside his head.

“I can’t believe Shoyo-kun is leaving us,” Atsumu whines suddenly, in a clear attempt of changing the subject.

Kiyoomi doesn’t mind.

“Hm, he’s probably going to get used to all those giant opposites in Brazil and leaves us all in the dust when he comes back,” he says.

They exchange a few more words about harmless stuff like their friends and teammates and random volleyball discussion until the silence settles again, heavier this time. 

Until Atsumu breaks.

“Gosh, Omi-kun,” he starts, voice distressed. “What if we don’t make it?” At first, Kiyoomi assumes it’s a rhetorical question, but then Atsumu turns to him, eyes pleading. “What do you think? Since you’re all realistic and stuff.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I am realistic, not a crystal ball." he deadpans. "Besides, what's the point of my realism thirty minutes before the list drops?”

Atsumu rubs his face nervously, screaming with frustration. “Gosh, what if I lose my spot to a college kid?”

When did this guy gave up on trying to act cool in front of me, Kiyoomi wonders, looking down at the beer can while pretending to read the label. Should I feel flattered?

“He barely even played half a set with the team at the VNL, Atsumu. It’s not going to be him,” Kiyoomi answers absentmindedly.

Atsumu doesn't drop the matter, grasping his hair desperately. “What if we lose our spot to a high school kid?!”

Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow. We?

“Technically he has already graduated,” Kiyoomi reasons. “And he had even less playing time than Nakisuna-kun.”

And he’s an outside hitter, if anyone is at risk of losing their spot it would be me.

Atsumu freezes up for a second in contemplation, body stuck in the ridiculous pose. Kiyoomi isn’t sure if he’s actually considering his reasoning, somehow he doubts Atsumu has even actively registered his words

When Atsumu moves again, his face is emotionless. He releases the hair locks, unbothered by the horn-like shape the motion left behind, and then he turns to stare at Kiyoomi again, leaning back against the fence.

Kiyoomi feels a sense of dread settle down in his chest while meeting Atsumu's eyes, the nervous edge that was coming off of him is completely gone, and what remains makes him look almost… Defeated.

“Hey Omi-kun,” he says, voice low, somber. “But really, what do we do? If we don’t make it?”

Kiyoomi blinks back at him, exhaling a heavy breath. What do we do?

It’s difficult to be the target of Atsumu's solemn eyes like that, he knows he is expecting a genuine answer—what to do if everything we've done so far is still not enough?—but the thing is that, well, Kiyoomi has no idea.

And to make matters even worse, there's this unreasonable part of him that feels the need to make Atsumu feel better somehow, even though he knows he's incapable of doing so.

What if everything we've done so far is still not enough? I guess we'll just have to keep doing it until it is.

Kiyoomi opens his mouth to reply, then hesitates for a second, reconsidering his words. "Uh, France 2024?"

Atsumu blinks stupidly, trying to make sense of it at first. When the point finally registers to him, his eyes widen in recognition. “Oh,” he says, nodding weakly. “Right. Right.”

Another beat of silence. Kiyoomi watches Atsumu’s expression, but Atsumu avoids his eyes, looking down at his own shoes with a pensive face.

“France is pretty cool,” Atsumu tries again, sounding more like he’s trying to convince himself than anyone else. “I heard their subways are smelly though.”

“I am not going anywhere near their subways,” Kiyoomi scoffs, bitterly taking another sip of his beer.

Atsumu chuckles under his breath, face softening. “Yeah, of course you won’t.”

Kiyoomi shakes his head in resigned amusement, occupying himself with finishing his drink. Atsumu more fidgets with his own can than actually drinks from it, but Kiyoomi doesn’t comment on it.

He is putting his empty can to the side when Atsumu perks up suddenly, eyes lighting up like a brilliant idea just crossed his mind. “Ah-ha!” He screams triumphantly.

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. “What,” he asks, voice filled with suspicion.

“Hear me out, Omi-Kun!” He starts, body leaning forward with excitement. “Consider this… Greece.”

Kiyoomi blinks. “Greece?” He parrots stupidly.

Atsumu nods cheerfully. “If…” He hesitates, struggling to get the words out. “If we don’t make it this time, let’s go to Greece and have a good time there instead. Isn’t it like the root of everything or some shit like that?”

Kiyoomi stares back at Atsumu, he isn’t sure what kind of face he makes right now but he is feeling a bit feverish. “You want… You want to go on a vacation to Greece?” He says slowly, making sure he is getting the situation correctly.

Atsumu shrugs nonchalantly. “I mean it isn’t like we should be on standby for anything, they don’t allow replacements even in case of injuries. And! The tickets will be cheaper to leave Japan by then, since everyone will be coming here instead! So, what do you think, Omi-kun? Should we go to Greece together?”

They lock eyes, and Kiyoomi can feel the corner of his lips traitorously tugging up. This guy is unbelievable. 

It’s obvious both of them want to make it, and it will undoubtedly be a huge source of disappointment if it turns out their names are not on the list regardless of any mental tricks they try to pull right now to soften the blow, and yet he can’t help but to entertain Atsumu a little.

“Sure,” Kiyoomi concedes, face twisting with amusement. “Komori is going to kill me if he makes it and I go on a vacation though,”

Atsumu just laughs, looking completely delighted by the prospect.

Kiyoomi tilts his head. “What if just one of us makes it?”

Atsumu pauses, staring at him with puzzlement. Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows in inquiry, trying to convey the question with his eyes as well. 

Atsumu’s face falls, and for a second it seems like the prospect of them not being together, in whichever case possible, has never crossed his mind. 

“Uh,” he hesitates, eyebrows twisting in contemplation. “I guess I would have to stay to cheer you on.”

Kiyoomi watches Atsumu attentively, taking in as his posture changes from the formerly bright beam to something more demured, almost bittersweet. Suddenly, Kiyoomi's chest feels too tight.

“You’re an idiot,” he says without thinking. 

“What!” Atsumu yelps indignantly. 

Kiyoomi shakes his head, feeling the frustration rising up on him. 

“You frustrate me to no end, you know? I really don’t understand what your deal is sometimes. You’re entitled and self-absorbed, and like, a total jerk overall, but sometimes you’ll make the most thoughtful crap and I don’t even think you do these consciously . You have this insufferable thing where you feel a twisted satisfaction for being the reason someone successes, like, in general, but mainly with volleyball. So you get super demanding on your hitters to give you the compensation you want, but at the same time that’s also why you’re so devoted to the people around you, so willing to give yourself away freely. This has to be the most selfless way to be a selfish prick ever and it drives me mad.” Kiyoomi stops, takes a breath, and frowns to himself as he slowly feels the rage building down into something else. “But then, it just makes me really mad at myself too. Because it can’t be normal to spend so much time thinking about someone, tracking your expressions, reading your reactions, your intentions, you just—you feel for everything so deeply. I don’t even know why I care so much. This can’t be normal, right?” He sighs. ”And sometimes I just can’t help but wonder, like, what... what would it be like... to be cherished like that? The same way you love volleyball?”

Atsumu stares back at him in stunned silence while he rants, but he is smiling by the time Kiyoomi is done, which only makes him even more upset.

“This is the worst confession I have ever gotten,” Atsumu says giddily. 

Kiyoomi gapes. “It was not a confession!” He says, tone defensive. “I am mad at you, why aren’t you insulted?”

Atsumu shrugs. smile turning lopsided, and smug, and absolutely foolish. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because you’re here? You’ve been here almost every night for months now, actually. At first I thought you really liked my apartment, but then I figured you would not spend so much time with a person you couldn’t stand just because of that.”

Kiyooomi stares back at him, face unreadable. Atsumu holds his gaze, expression unwavering, but when he speaks again, his voice gets lower, a little airy even.

“Hey Kiyoomi,” he says. “We should do this.”

Kiyoomi suddenly feels breathless. “What?”

Somewhere deep down Kiyoomi has to repress the need to start fidgeting with his wrists, a nervous habit he didn't have to deal with since high school.

“Come on,” Atsumu says, voice coming off petulant, but a little bit endeared as well. “You’re not an idiot, and I haven’t been subtle. I have been waiting for you.”

Kiyoomi lets himself release a shaky breath. It isn’t like he has been totally clueless to whatever… the thing between them has been building up to all this time, but up until this moment he can’t say he has ever confronted it. 

What have I been neglecting my own feelings for?

“You’ve been waiting for me?” He parrots.

“Yeah, and I am usually not very patient.” Atsumu shrugs, and Kiyoomi snorts. Yeah, you got that right.   “I mean I did think about doing something about it before, but I figured you would be doing it on your own terms either way.”

“And you want to be with me? Even after my terrible confession?”

Atsumu chuckles. Kiyoomi's chest hurts. “I’ve always known words aren’t your strongest suit. But I do appreciate your honesty.”

Kiyoomi watches Atsumu, still feeling a little out of breath.

He knows he's an overthinker, it has never been a secret to him. He tears down complicated concepts, rebuilding it until they start making sense to him, until he can place them between his molds, until he can describe them in his own terms, but it's obvious this approach doesn't work for everything.

It took Kiyoomi years to find out he couldn’t make sense of what volleyball is to him, he just knows that he cares about it.

And now he is starting to realize the same applies to Miya Atsumu.

Kiyoomi takes in Atsumu’s content smile, the way his eyes sparkle when he’s happy—when their eyes meet.

Motoya is right, you're an idiot, his brain helpfully comes up with, and Kiyoomi is almost upset, because it feels like everyone figured it out before himself.

But there are more important matters at hand.

“Come here,” he mutters.

Atsumu raises his eyebrows at him questioningly, Kiyoomi just extends a hand in his direction, impatiently wiggling his fingers as an invitation.

Atsumu stares at his hand for a beat, and then he is moving. Slowly, hesitantly at first, but then Kiyoomi is reaching for him, and Atsumu is there, warm and soft and staring back at him with a face so fond it makes Kiyoomi’s everything hurt. He gets that warm feeling again, sweet and syrup-like sliding through his body, he lets the feeling grow this time, reaching through his fingertips when he raises his other hand to place it on Atsumu’s neck, a thumb softly grasping over his cheeks appreciatively. 

Atsumu blinks up at him, tongue peeking out quickly to wet his lower lip, and then Kiyoomi is closing the space between them.

The first touch is almost hesitant, both of them moving away quickly after to gauge the other’s reactions. They lock eyes, share a secretive smile, and come together again immediately. 

It’s more certain this time, more assertive and hungry. Kiyoomi registers the faint taste of beer, but it pales in comparison to the warmth that he feels spreading, spreading, up to his neck, his limbs, fingertips, ears, everything, until it feels like it bursts and he starts to sense it in the air around him as well.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it when he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket, once, twice, thrice in a row, and then there’s a similar sound coming from Atsumu’s own phone above the table next to them. All in a thirty seconds time gap.

“Oh, I wonder what that is about,” he says sarcastically, reluctantly letting go.

Atsumu beams at him. “Hopefully more good news.”

He gives Kiyoomi another short peek, then he’s getting up to get a hold of his phone.

Kiyoomi doesn’t bother grabbing his own phone, he just watches quietly as Atsumu unlocks his own, fiddling with it for a moment and then he’s taking a deep breath before clicking in something.

It takes a beat, and then Atsumu is looking back at him with a smile so bright Kiyoomi doesn’t need any spoken words to know.

He feels his own face twist into pure joy.

“Did Komori make it too?” He asks.

Atsumu looks back down, scrolling through the page before he is glancing at Kiyoomi again, nodding happily.

“Great.” I will call him later. Kiyoomi extends his hand once again. “Now come back here.”

Japanese Volleyball Federation releases list of players summoned for the Tokyo Olympics

Coach Hibarida Fuki has made a lot of mystery about it, but the list with the 12 players selected to represent Japan in the Olympics is finally out.

The Japan men's national volleyball team conquered a silver medal in last year's World Cup and made it to the semifinals of the VNL last month, making them one of our biggest hopes at getting a medal in the competition.

The full list announced by the Japanese Volleyball Federation is:

Setters

Kageyama Tobio, Miya Atsumu

Opposites

Hinata Shoyo, Ushijima Wakatoshi

Outside hitters

Bokuto Koutarou, Hoshiumi Kourai, Ojiro Aran (C), Sakusa Kiyoomi

Middle Blockers

Hakuba Gao, Hyakuzawa Yudai

Liberos

Komori Motoya, Yaku Morisuke 

x. epilogue

peace of mind

The air feels prickly, the atmosphere heavy around them given the circumstances of the game. Kiyoomi thinks the audience might be screaming “NI-HON! NI-HON”, lifting their Tokyo 2020 merch to cheer on the home team, but the feeling of the court is so grounding that at this point silence and noise mix together, turning almost inextricable.

He jumps from behind the attack line, projecting his body forward during the motion. The ball finds him in the peak, and there’s two blockers in front of him almost immediately. Kiyoomi swings his arm, aiming for their fingers, and the ball obediently grasps on it before falling down on the back of the court.

Kiyoomi punches the air in triumph, sharing this moment of excitement and relief with his teammates around him.

The game is 12 x 14 now, Japan just managing to save themselves from their opponent’s first match point.

Just two more points, Kiyoomi tells himself. Two more points and then we will be on even footing.

He chances a glance to the side, feeling his lips tugging up. We can make it.

Hinata is making his way to serve when he notices it, shoulders falling immediately in resignation

Atsumu smiles down at him with a mix of amusement and understanding, saying a few words while rubbing Hinata's hair playfully that before stepping inside the court.

The setter smiles at his team, does a quick hand signal to Kageyama, and regards Kiyoomi with a wink while making his way to serve.

Another substitution is being made, and Wakatoshi is walking into the court in Kourai’s place.

He’s not completing the inversion, Kiyoomi notices with a frown. Probably just raising the height of our walls, counting on Kageyama’s blocking skills.

He barely starts to ponder on the situation before Motoya is already by his side, whispering under his breath. “I will be on the lookout for tips, you can stay back to cover for a wipe.”

Kiyoomi nods dutifully.

The sound of the whistle rings through the arena.

Atsumu’s first ball is a missile that crosses the air with a loud screech, and there’s nothing that could stop it from slamming on the floor with a decisive smack, just between their opponent’s libero and outside hitter.

Atsumu’s screams in triumph, and everyone in the venue raises to roar back at him.

The second ball is very similar to the first one, but the outside manages to get a hand on it before Atsumu can consecrate himself. It goes up angrily, but the libero is following behind it to send it to their ace on the right.

A triple block builds itself in front of him, Kiyoomi holds his breath and prepares himself to move.

He spikes, and the ball hits the flank of someone’s arms before it’s twisting angrily to their sidelines.

Damnit.

There’s a blur of white in his vision, and then Motoya is miraculously under the ball sending it back to the court with a swipe of his wrist. 

It’s one of those moments you’re purely moved by instinct. The ball comes in Kiyoomi’s direction, he doesn’t even have the time to raise his head to check for his teammates positions to know if any of the setters would make it in time, he just makes the move without hesitation.

“Mine!” He screams, making the step needed to get under the ball and raising his hands over his head.

He can see Wakatoshi stepping back to prepare for his approach, their opponent’s block shifting accordingly.

He can still make it count, he decides,

Then he registers another motion out of the corner of his eyes, from the other side of the court Atsumu is running forward fearlessly. Just a blur of red and gold crossing through the court to reach the attack line.

Kiyoomi doesn’t think twice, the ball finds his hand and he’s immediately tossing it to the other corner of the court, right into Atsumu’s waiting palm.

He tracks the motion of the ball and can’t help but to let out a stunned laugh. No block. Atsumu slams it to the ground.

The venue roars, he can register the yells from his colleagues from both inside the court and the bench, but he only has eyes for the boy that’s running in his direction with a blinding smile.

“You’re insane,” he screams over the noise, offering his hands up for a high-five. “From the back row, really?”

Atsumu regards the hands for half a second, giving it a quick slap and opting to throw his arms around Kiyoomi’s shoulder right after. Kiyoomi woofs but still holds back the impact, hugging him back. He can feel the shape of Atsumu smile on his neck.

“I knew we could make it.”

The moment lasts two seconds, but it makes Kiyoomi feel warm for hours ahead.

He can feel Atsumu’s lips getting closer to him, taking the motion as inconsequential until he feels the pressure and realizes he is actually kissing his neck. The touch is brief and innocent enough, just a quick display of affection hidden from prying eyes with the Atsumu’s head is angled in the hug, but Kiyoomi still steps back immediately.

He averts his eyes, hoping the warmth in his cheeks can be disguised as the physical exertion from the game so far, but the knowing smirk Atsumu directs at him tells him his hopes are in vain.

“C’mon, get back to it,” Kiyoomi says, gesturing to the serving area. “And make sure I won't have to set the next one."

Atsumu giggles, but starts making his way back to the service area.

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath, turning to get back in position, only to find the rest of his team staring at him, expressions a variation of appraisal and amazement, and he smiles.

He thinks about his team, the companions that share the court with him right now, the ones that scream at him happily from the sidelines, the boy behind him whose laugh is still resonating in his mind.

And he thinks, time and time again, that luck has been very kind to him.