Archive of Our Own ^beta

The clock in the kitchen reads 8:43 p.m. The house is dimly lit except for the warm light emanating from the range hood above the stove. Atsumu has flour on her fingers, sauce on her cheek, and her heart in her throat, because Kiyoomi is arriving today. After almost a week in Osaka for a bioethics conference, she's coming back.

They are no longer professional players. Not for the last five years.

Kiyoomi started working at his father's company. He became a researcher.

And yet, for Atsumu, he's still the same Kiyoomi who could silence her with a look. The same one who sometimes held her hand under the table.

Listen to the key turn. Smile before turning around.

"Omi! You got right to the best part. I made curry with those weird noodles you like, and what's more... you won't believe what happened with Haruki today!" he says, still not looking directly at him, focused on stirring the pot. "That bastard nailed the hardest cross-court line serve I've seen in years. Even the umpire laughed at the impact!"

Silence.

Atsumu keeps talking. She likes to talk. Especially about her boys. Especially with Kiyoomi.

"I swear, if he keeps this up, he'll be called up for the national team in a year. He gave me such a tight hug after the game that he almost broke one of my ribs," he laughs, oblivious to the invisible weight that just entered through the door.

Kiyoomi sets her suitcase on the floor with a barely audible sigh. She doesn't take off her coat. She walks slowly toward the dining room. Her face is neutral, exhausted, perhaps even pale under the artificial light.

Atsumu turns around with two plates in his hands, already prepared, with steaming noodles and garnishes on top. But he stops.

Kiyoomi isn't looking at it.

He's not looking at anything.

Just to the ground.

As if searching for a word in the mosaics.

-Dear...?

Kiyoomi looks up.

Empty.

And it says:

—I want a divorce.

The words fall with the force of a clean cut. No embellishment. No warnings.

Without anesthesia.

The sound of steam bubbling in the pot becomes a distant echo.

Atsumu doesn't blink. He doesn't move. He doesn't breathe for a few seconds.

-That...?

"I'm tired, Atsumu," he says, finally taking off his coat. His tone isn't cruel. It's plain. As if he were talking about the weather. As if he hadn't just stabbed him in the chest with a knife.

Atsumu places the plates on the counter. Her hands are barely trembling.

—What are you talking about...? What... what happened? Did you have a bad week or...?

Kiyoomi sits down. She looks at her own hands.

—I don't know when it happened. But I realized it today. On the train. When I was thinking about going back. I was thinking about you talking. About your stories. About your students. About how your voice gets higher when you're excited.

He pauses.

—And I realized that I don't want to listen to them anymore.

Atsumu's heart stops. Literally. It stops for a second.

"Don't say that," she whispers.

—I've thought about it a lot. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I hug you out of habit. Sometimes I try hard to seem present. But the truth is, I don't feel what I used to feel. Not for you. Not for this house. Not for any of this.

Atsumu takes a step back. As if the air weighed him down.

—So... how long have you been like this?

Kiyoomi does not respond immediately.

—Maybe months .

The words pierce his stomach like needles. Atsumu swallows hard, but finds nothing to soothe him. No voice. No explanation.

—Why didn't you say anything before?

—Because I thought it would pass. That it was just a phase. That I'd feel something more than... affection again. But it doesn't. And I don't want to keep lying to you.

Atsumu leans against the counter. He looks at the still-steaming curry. The neatly folded napkins. The glass he prepared for Kiyoomi with ice because he knows she likes her water that way.

All of that seems ridiculous now. A parody. A bad joke.

And then, in a lower, more broken voice, she asks:

—If only we hadn't met in high school... would things be different?

Kiyoomi looks at him.

Not with anger. Not with sadness.

Only with that cruel peace of someone who has already decided.

- Maybe .

"Maybe we wouldn't have gone bankrupt like this," Atsumu adds, attempting a smile that dies on his lips.

—Perhaps we would be happier. With other people. Or alone .

Atsumu nods, and there it is, the pain. In her eyes. In her whole body.

But there is also love. Still.

—I don't want to sign anything. But if you want me to disappear, I'll do it.

—That's not what it's about.

—So what is it about, Kiyoomi? Forgetting everything? Pretending we weren't real?

Kiyoomi remains silent. Because there is no answer. Because none would work.

Atsumu looks at him for the last time that night. And inside, without knowing why, she desperately wishes:

"I wish we had never met."

Atsumu locked himself in the room.

It wasn't like when he was twenty-five, when he could take his things and go cry with Osamu without thinking twice.

Now they were adults.

And that's why she didn't cry.

But he was seconds away from scoring on his brother... like the child he had always been when everything hurt.

Kiyoomi didn't know what to expect.

He was greatly surprised that Atsumu didn't scream, didn't make a scene, didn't complain about anything.

He had remained seated on the sofa, in silence.

Waiting for what? Not even he knew.
For her to beg him? To ask for explanations? To throw him out?

He thought about leaving. He could afford a hotel that same night.

I would leave the house to Atsumu; I wasn't planning on fighting for it.

He was about to get up when he heard the bedroom door open.

Atsumu walked to the entrance with a firm step.

He took the keys from the keyring without saying a word.

"Where are you going?" Kiyoomi asked, unable to contain himself.

The question slipped out before he could think about it, like a reflex.

Atsumu stopped dead in his tracks.

She hesitated, wondering whether to answer him. She considered simply ignoring him.

What was the point of arguing? Of telling him "what's it to you"?

She sighed, gripping the keys tightly between her fingers.

"I don't want to be here," she finally said. "I'll come by for my things tomorrow. I'm going to stay with Samu."

Kiyoomi opened her mouth to say something.
"But... you could..."

—I'm not going to stay in a place where everything reminds me of you, Sakusa .

Hearing her last name like that—as if they were two strangers—hurt more than Kiyoomi imagined.

Since they got married, he had taken the surname Miya without hesitation.

—Just... take care of yourself, okay?

Atsumu turned towards the door without looking at him.

—Don't pretend you care.

And he left.

Without slamming the door, without shouting.

He just left.

And Kiyoomi was left alone with the echo of his name in his mouth.

Atsumu couldn't stand staying in the house.

The silence was heavy.

The echo of the words Kiyoomi had spoken—cold, direct, terminal—still lingered in the air, repeating itself like a cruel mantra between the walls.

It didn't matter how many times he took a deep breath.

It didn't matter that he told himself he was an adult now, that he could handle this.

It didn't matter that she hadn't screamed, cried, or begged.

It was in pieces.

Then he grabbed the keys without thinking.

He left with only the clothes on his back.

And he drove.

With no fixed destination. He just needed to get away.

After a few minutes, his body carried him on its own, as if by autopilot, to a hill on the outskirts of the city.

One he knew from his rookie days at MSBY, where he used to come and shout at the sky when everything went wrong, when Osamu took his attention away, when volleyball frustrated him, when he felt he wasn't enough.

He parked the car and got out.

He was carrying a bottle of whiskey that he had bought at a roadside shop, the cheapest one he could find.

It wasn't her favorite, not by a long shot.

But it was burning. And that was enough.

He sat down on the frozen grass.

The wind hit her face and ruffled her blond bangs.

In front of him, the city vibrated as if it were an inverted sky.

Warm lights in every window. Families having dinner. Couples embracing. Lives that weren't falling apart.

Above, the clear sky displayed twinkling stars, distant, indifferent.

And the moon.

The damned moon.

Tall. Cold. White.

How that comparison bothered him.

All his life he had been told that he was the sun: bright, noisy, warm, annoying.

And Kiyoomi, of course, the moon: quiet, enigmatic, calm, beautiful.

They were the perfect balance , they said.

But that night, Atsumu didn't feel like the sun.

Not even as something that mattered.

It felt like a lost star. One of those you barely notice. That blink for a few seconds and then disappear without a trace.

A broken star.

Forgotten.

Replaceable.

He drank straight from the bottle. The liquid burned his throat, but not enough.

Nothing burned him more than the idea of ​​having loved so much... for nothing.

Having cared for someone for years, having shared everything, even the surname...

And yet, that someone might one day get up and say:

And I don't want this anymore.
I don't want you anymore.

He wanted to call Osamu. To tell him he couldn't take it anymore. To ask him to please come and get him.

She asked him to make the onigiri she used to make for him when he was a child. She asked him to let him sleep on her sofa like before.

To remind him that there was still someone in the world who loved him unconditionally.

He took out his cell phone with trembling hands.

Black.

No battery.

Like him.

He laughed. Or at least, he tried to.

A hollow sound came out of it, almost a dry sob.

—Obviously he's dead... like everything else.

He crawled back to the car. He started the engine. He plugged in his cell phone.

The radio turned on immediately and an old song began to play, one that she had sung out loud hundreds of times, back when she was still happy.

And then he sang.

With a hoarse voice, a tight chest, and blurred vision.

She sang as if she could exorcise the pain with every syllable.

As if the wind could carry it all away.

He stepped on the gas pedal.

He felt the roar of the engine like another heartbeat.

And he thought again:

"What could be better than driving? It's the best way to forget everything... isn't it?"

The road was almost empty.

The world was asleep.

The moon followed him from above, indifferent as always.

He increased his speed.

The wind was hitting his face.

The music continued, and so did he.

Faster.

Higher.

Further.

Because if she couldn't run away from the pain... at least she could outrun him for a while.

The memories appeared in bursts:

Kiyoomi with her hair wet after showering.

Kiyoomi was reading in bed while he talked to her nonstop.

Kiyoomi kissing him in the hallway, saying "I love you" as if it were something eternal.

All of that, now... was nothing.

And then, the world broke apart.

A sudden change of direction.

A gleam.

A sharp blow.

And silence .

Atsumu opened his eyes. Everything was confusing.

The car was no longer upright.

The moon was still up, but something looked strange, crooked.

In the distance, his car... overturned, wrecked.

The driver's side window had a perfect hole.

Black. Lethal.

Right where his head had been seconds before.

He tried to move. Nothing.

Neither legs nor arms.

Only pain.

A ringing in the ears.

And a cold that wasn't from the wind.

"If I had worn my seatbelt... would I have survived?"
"If I hadn't gone out? If I had stayed and screamed that I still loved him? If..."

The world was beginning to blur.

My thoughts were jumbled up.

And among them all, only one remained clear:

"What an irony to die like this... alone, without having been able to talk to Osamu, without being loved. Without being important."

He closed his eyes.

And there was no more light.

Osamu woke with a start, his throat tight and his chest burning as if he'd screamed in his sleep. His breathing was ragged, and a sharp pain shot through his stomach. He blinked several times, disoriented, until he felt the familiar warmth of Keiji sleeping beside him, completely oblivious to his agitation.

It was three in the morning.

Osamu stared at the ceiling in the darkness. He tried to calm himself, but the emptiness that gripped him inside only grew stronger. He didn't know what had woken him, but the anguish pierced him like a hook. He sat up silently, picked up his phone to distract himself, hoping for a message, some sign that would explain the lump in his throat. He checked his notifications, but there was nothing relevant. Not a message from Atsumu. Not a missed call. Not even a silly meme in their usual group chat.

She sighed. She couldn't just call him at this hour. She pressed her lips together, trying to convince herself she was exaggerating, that it was just a bad dream, but her body wouldn't cooperate. She felt trapped in a shapeless anxiety.

She lay back down, her eyes open. Closing them only brought back the feeling of loss, the same nightmare repeating itself in blurry fragments: a dark path, flickering lights, a voice calling her name…

Then, the cell phone vibrated on the nightstand.

Osamu took it immediately, without even looking at the number. He replied in a whisper:

-Hello?

From the other end, a tired female voice asked:

"Relative to Miya Atsumu?"

His heart stopped.

—Yes… I am his brother —he replied, already sitting up.

"Mr. Miya, Atsumu was admitted to the hospital a few minutes ago. He's in surgery right now. I'm sorry to say the accident was serious. We need you to come as soon as possible."

Osamu didn't answer. He felt everything around him go dark. The woman's voice seemed to be coming from the bottom of the water.

—Mr. Miya?

—Yes, yes, I'm going —he managed to say before hanging up, as if the words weighed tons.

His fingers moved almost instinctively, dialing another number. When Kiyoomi answered, he sounded sleepy.

—Osamu? What's wrong?

"Where the hell are you?!" he spat out, unfiltered. "What the hell happened? Where were you?! How could you let this happen?!"

—What…? I don't understand… What's going on?

"Atsumu's in the hospital, you idiot! In surgery! God knows if he'll make it! And you... you should have been with him! Why wasn't he with you?!"

There was a stifled silence on the other side.

—I… didn’t know… I wasn’t with him, I thought I was with you…

"It's not!" Osamu's voice cracked.

"I'm going there," Kiyoomi said, simply.

Osamu was no longer listening. His cell phone fell onto the bed as he put on the first thing he found. He didn't allow himself to cry. He didn't have time. The drive to the hospital was a black hole. And as the car moved on, as the world slept oblivious to the disaster that had just occurred, Osamu felt a single certainty gnawing at his chest:

He shouldn't have left him alone.

Not after everything they had been through.

Although Osamu lived further away, he arrived before Kiyoomi.

They were both in the hospital waiting room, where the silence was almost unbearable.

Twenty years was enough to know the reactions of her brother's husband.

She knew Kiyoomi was distressed about something, but she couldn't figure out what.

"What happened?" Osamu finally asked.

Kiyoomi glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and looked away without answering.

"I swear to God, if you don't tell me," Osamu's voice sounded venomous. "I know my brother can be an idiot sometimes, but damn it, I was always sure my brother would be okay with you."

Minutes passed that felt like hours.

Finally, Sakusa spoke.

—I asked for a divorce. I thought I was going to go with you. I... I didn't know I hadn't told you. If only...

"If only what?" Osamu swore he would have beaten Sakusa to a pulp if they weren't in that place.

—They...

Before he could continue, the doctor and a nurse approached the group. Kiyoomi looked more anxious, almost clinging to hope.

—Relatives of Miya Atsumu? —the doctor asked in a serious voice.

"I am her husband," Kiyoomi replied in a trembling voice, trying to contain her fear.

"Ex," Osamu murmured, his words laced with the poison of despair.

The doctor sighed, with a mixture of resignation and sadness, as if he were used to witnessing tragedies and family conflicts at these times.

"I am very sorry to inform you that Mr. Atsumu did not survive the surgery. His body was destroyed. He barely made it to the hospital alive."

The words hit like a fist in the chest.

The world seemed to stop.

Kiyoomi clenched her fists, while Osamu felt rage and pain burning inside him.

At that moment, they both understood that nothing would ever be the same again.

Kiyoomi felt the air escaping from her lungs.

His body was trembling, and he was sure he was going to have a panic attack at any moment.

His Atsumu was dead?
Did he still have the right to tell him he was his?

Suddenly, he felt Osamu take his hand and gently lead him away from the hospital.

Osamu, who was normally strong and firm, now seemed about to break.

Kiyoomi knew that Osamu was filled with rage.

If the circumstances had been different, I would have definitely beaten him to a pulp.

But at that moment, in that place, they could barely stand up on their own.

When they went outside, the cool breeze hit her face like a cold balm.

He glanced sideways at Osamu, and saw him: with a lost, dull gaze, as if a part of him had already left forever.

"Just go, Kiyoomi," Osamu whispered, his voice breaking.

—Osamu...

"Please," she insisted, her voice a whisper that seemed to plead. "If you still love my brother, even a little, just leave."

Kiyoomi hesitated, she wanted to say something more, but she couldn't.

He walked away, leaving behind the hospital and an Osamu who was finally able to let out the tears he had held back for so long.

At that moment, sadness no longer needed masks.

Atsumu woke up suddenly.

His heart was beating wildly and uncontrollably in his chest.

His lungs didn't seem to be working properly; he was gulping air as if he were drowning.

He was drenched in cold sweat.

Their eyes widened and blinked desperately as they scanned the unfamiliar— or perhaps all too familiar —room.

Her hands trembled, and she began to frantically touch every part of her body: her arms, her chest, her legs.

He was whole. He was... alive .

But the panic didn't go away.

Because the memories were there. All of them.

Stabbing like knives, one after the other:
the kisses, the games, the silences, the fights... the apartment room... the pain in the chest.

The crash.

The operating room.

The end .

"No, no, no..." she whispered, barely audible, her voice breaking.

Her vision blurred, her hands gripped the sheets. She felt like everything was spinning. The ceiling. The walls. Her entire life.

Until firm hands surrounded him.

Warm hands. Real .

A voice, muffled at first, began to filter through the chaos.

—Atsumu... Atsumu, look at me! Look at me, please!

Atsumu's ragged breathing stopped for a moment.

That voice...

I knew that voice even before I could name things.

"Samu?" he managed to say in a whisper, looking at the person holding him.

Osamu stared at him, his face contorted with fear. Pale. Almost trembling.

When was the last time you saw your brother's face?

But he wasn't an adult. He was young. Too young.

They both were.

Atsumu looked down at her own hands and saw them soft, without the scars she knew so well.

He ran to a mirror in the corner of the room and stared at it with crazed eyes.

It was his face... but not as he remembered it.

He wasn't in his early twenties. He wasn't thirty.

She had no wrinkles, no traces of time, nor that shadow of perpetual sadness in her eyes.

"It can't be..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "It can't be... this isn't real..."

Osamu approached, frowning, still not understanding.

—Atsumu? What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare or something?

Atsumu fell to his knees on the ground, trembling.

The tears flowed unbidden.

She put her hands to her face and laughed, cried, and moaned all at the same time.

It was madness.

I was back.

He returned to his sophomore year of high school.

Where it all began.

Where I still had time.

Where he could still change everything.

Atsumu lay down, hugging Osamu, trembling slightly, as if his body still hadn't quite grasped that all of this was really happening. He couldn't put into words the chaos swirling in his mind. What if it wasn't real? What if it was all just a dream that would fade away at dawn? But it felt too real: his brother's warmth, the smell of cheap fabric softener on the sheets, the teen posters on the wall… even the soft hum of the fan hanging from the ceiling.

The first few weeks were a slow and quiet process of acceptance. He didn't talk much. He observed a lot. He looked at the world as if he could find a mistake, a crack, proof that it was all a hallucination… but he couldn't find it.

And then the strange looks began.

From his classmates, his teachers, even Kita. Because Atsumu was no longer the same. Because something inside him had broken and been rebuilt in an unrecognizable way. He was no longer the arrogant idiot everyone knew. Now he answered politely, sat up straight, kept his grades impeccable, and spoke only when necessary.

He stopped playing volleyball with such passion. Not because he didn't love it… but because he knew that if he gave it his all, fate would drag him down the same path again. He couldn't allow that. Not again. He played with his team, yes, and allowed himself to enjoy some matches with Inarizaki, but when he received the letter from the special training camp, he rejected it without hesitation. He wasn't going to become a professional. He wasn't going to repeat that cycle.

She had made a decision: to change everything.

His parents were surprised to see him making lists of the groceries the house was missing. He would leave these notes for his mother, stuck to the refrigerator, and cook whenever he could. He would clean his room before they even asked him to. Each of these gestures was like a lifeline thrown into the future, a desperate attempt to build something new.

What was most striking was that mature aura, as if he had lived through too many winters in his eyes. Kita, always so perceptive, confronted him one day in the hallways.

Are you okay, Atsumu?

Atsumu smiled gently, as if the question hurt him.

—Yes… I’m just trying to be better.

But what she really thought about was everything she had left behind. The dusty trophies, the Olympic medal hanging forgotten on a shelf. What was the point of all that if in the end she had lost everything? Even loving Kiyoomi with every fiber of her being, she hadn't been able to protect him… or even herself.

He began to take an interest in other things. He read about the environment, political theory, basic philosophy. He refused to admit it, but he had developed a taste for reading ever since Kiyoomi—by then retired from volleyball—would recommend books for them to discuss together at breakfast. These habits, acquired over time, had become ingrained in him. They were as deeply rooted in his routine as sharing toothbrushes or the obsessive tidiness of the kitchen.

That's why, when she heard about the multi-school camp, she was surprised. She didn't recall Inarizaki ever being invited to anything like that. She vaguely remembered a conversation with Hinata, who had once told her how she met Bokuto at one of those gatherings. But in her memory, he hadn't attended. He'd gotten sick from overtraining, and Kita—along with his parents—had given him the worst scolding of his life. She remembered locking herself in her room and coldly dismissing all the stories Osamu brought back.

But this time he didn't get sick. This time he could go.

And then, as he packed his things, he realized that something inside him still clung to the rituals that gave him a sense of control. He packed his neatly arranged clothes, wipes, disinfectant spray, spare masks… he couldn't help it. The mere thought of not having those things filled him with paralyzing anxiety. He felt that without them, the world could crumble again.

She looked at her now-closed backpack and sighed. She was walking through unfamiliar territory again. But at least this time, her feet would be steady.

And although she didn't plan to open up to anyone, a part of her hoped... that by changing the course of her story, something—someone—would also change her place in it.

The trip was peaceful. Atsumu noticed it in every detail: the monotonous clatter of the bus, the constant murmur of his classmates, the way his brother slept with his head tilted toward the window. No one spoke too loudly, no one bothered him, and that was already a rarity.

Upon arriving, he wasn't surprised to see that not many schools had arrived yet. Fukurodani had lent its facilities for the camp, which explained the air of familiarity that hung in the air, despite the unfamiliar faces. He got out of the car with his bag slung over his shoulder, scanning the place with a mixture of apathy and resignation. It felt strange... as if he were inside a box of memories that only he could clearly see.

He slumped into a secluded corner at the edge of the covered patio, where few people passed by. He closed his eyes. He liked to meditate when he felt overstimulated. It was a habit acquired over the years, imposed by necessity, and perfected in silences shared with Kiyoomi. Breathing deeply, counting to five, letting his heart find its rhythm... it was the only thing he could do to keep from spiraling out of control.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he opened his eyes. The light of the setting sun was beginning to tint the edges of the sky, and in front of him, his brother and Suna were chatting animatedly with a group of boys who, judging by the colors of their uniforms, must be from Fukurodani. Atsumu smiled gently. He didn't want to interrupt them. He had learned, much to his chagrin, to read the empty spaces he could inhabit and those he should avoid. So he picked up his bag and walked away silently, without anyone noticing.

He wandered aimlessly through the corridors until, turning a corner, he stopped abruptly. Some boys wearing Johzenji jackets were surrounding a nervous-looking young man.

Komori Motoya.

He recognized him immediately, from his other life... in that other timeline where everything had happened differently, Komori was part of the national team. Part of his life. Part of Suna's life. And although he was no longer sure how the rules of fate worked, he had learned that some threads, no matter how tightly they were pulled, could never be completely broken.

The boys from Johzenji weren't exactly being violent, but there was something about their forced laughter, about their movements that bordered on the limit, that set off all of Atsumu's alarm bells.

"What's going on here?" he said casually, approaching as if he were just passing by.

His voice, naturally authoritative and tinged with that elegant arrogance he'd never quite lost, made the boys turn around. They didn't know him, but they recognized the threat in his eyes. Atsumu could shatter anyone with a well-chosen word, a precise phrase, a direct blow to the ego. And he did. He didn't raise his voice, he didn't swear. He simply observed them, let out a small, condescending chuckle, and delivered remarks so sharp they were enough to make the group disperse in less than a minute.

When he turned around, Komori was looking at him with a mixture of relief and embarrassment. Atsumu smiled at her.

"Are you okay?" she asked with a sweetness that came from memory, more than from the present.

—Yes... thank you —the boy stammered.

But Atsumu couldn't hear it anymore. Because right behind Komori, partially hidden by the shadow of the wall, someone was breathing heavily. Atsumu squinted. The sound of the rapid, almost choked breathing was so familiar that his stomach clenched. 

Kiyoomi.

There she was, squatting against the wall, her back trembling, her lips pressed tightly together. A panic attack was imminent. Atsumu knew this because she had witnessed dozens of them. Because she had managed to hold it back so many times—in airports, in hotels, in hospitals, in her own bedroom. Because she had learned, over the years, to read Kiyoomi's silences as if they were her native language.

She approached slowly. She avoided touching him. She kept her hands visible, at a distance, as a gesture of respect.

"It's okay, it's alright," he said in a low, deep voice, almost like a whisper.

He took out his small bottle of disinfectant and offered it to him gently. Kiyoomi glanced at him, not quite looking up, but took it. Atsumu applied some as well, to show him he was clean. Then he took a new face mask from the side pocket of his backpack and unfolded it in front of him, without touching him.

"Is it okay if I give it to you?" she asked kindly.

Kiyoomi barely nodded. Atsumu placed the mask a reasonable distance away and took a few steps back, watching him put it on with trembling hands. When the boy's breathing finally stabilized, when his back no longer heaved as if he were about to collapse, Atsumu simply turned and walked away without another word.

He didn't need a "thank you." He wasn't looking for recognition. He just... couldn't help but take care of him. Even though Kiyoomi didn't know who he was. Even though he hadn't met him yet. Even though, for now, he was nothing more than a nervous boy hiding behind a mask.

He wandered aimlessly through the corridors of the empty gymnasium, leaving behind the faint echo of other students' voices. His chest still felt tight from the encounter, from Kiyoomi's evasive gaze, from the tension that enveloped him like a thick fog.

"What am I doing?" he wondered aloud.

He had said he wouldn't go near him again. That if fate insisted on pushing him, he would simply dodge it. And yet... there he was. He saw him tremble. He heard him breathing heavily. And something inside him—that part so old, so broken, and so alive—reacted instinctively.

He didn't know at what exact point the love he had felt became part of his DNA, so deeply rooted that not even going back in time could completely uproot it.

Atsumu sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. The disinfectant still clung to his fingers, a familiar, almost comforting scent. A habit shared for years. Twenty years of small quirks turned into routine, into silent affection. Into love.

He returned to his assigned dormitory, one he shared with three other boys he barely knew. Osamu was in another group, so he took advantage of the silence to sit on the futon and pull out his notebook. He hadn't planned to write, but he needed to organize his thoughts. Writing wasn't as direct as spoken words, but it helped to release them. And he, at that moment, had too many things to release.

"I'm not going to fall in love again," she wrote with a firm hand. "It doesn't matter if it's the same smile. It doesn't matter if she's just as scared. It doesn't matter if she needs me."

His words betrayed him. Because, deep in his chest, something was beating stronger than he was willing to admit.

He didn't sleep well that night. He tossed and turned, trapped between the present and the past, between the Atsumu he had been and the one he was trying to be now. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Kiyoomi covering his face with the mask he had given him. He remembered the way his fingers trembled as he adjusted it, the way he hid behind Komori as if the world were crushing him.

And Atsumu... Atsumu hated himself a little for having wanted to get closer again.

The next morning, she dressed leisurely. Breakfast was optional, and she preferred to stretch before training. The morning air calmed her nerves. She put on her headphones but didn't turn on the music. She just needed an excuse not to talk to anyone.

Until a voice interrupted him:

"Hey... you..." It was Komori, sounding a little nervous, accompanied by Kiyoomi. "My cousin... wants to thank you."

Atsumu looked at him, feigning surprise.

Sakusa didn't look up from the ground. Her hands were clasped behind her back, as if she were trying to hold something back. The silence between the three of them grew thick.

"Thank you," Kiyoomi finally murmured, without looking at him. "For... yesterday."

Atsumu lowered his head in a gesture of acceptance.

"No problem," she replied with a gentle smile. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

Komori gave him a knowing look before walking away, leaving them both alone. Atsumu thought about leaving too. But something—a strange curiosity, a pang in his chest—stopped him.

"Are you okay now?" he asked carefully, as if he didn't want to push.

Sakusa hesitated. Then she nodded.

"I find it hard to be in new places," she confessed, almost in a whisper.

Atsumu nodded. He remained silent for a few seconds before speaking again.

"Sometimes it's hard for me too," he lied.

However, that's not the case.

Because even though I knew that place, that time, those faces... everything was foreign. Everything was new.

And while the rest of the world thought he was an arrogant and carefree boy, Atsumu carried a whole life that no one else remembered.

The silence between them became comfortable. For the first time in days, Atsumu didn't feel like he was acting. He didn't have to pretend to be himself. He didn't have to avoid Kiyoomi... at least not for now.

The training began, and they became lost in drills and strategies. Kiyoomi watched him from a distance, as if trying to understand him. Atsumu, for his part, avoided looking at him too much. But his eyes betrayed him, just like his heart.

That first day passed with a deceptive calm. Atsumu remained impeccable in every practice, a clean, precise, and focused setter. He had no trouble standing out, but he made an effort not to shine too brightly. His role was no longer to stand out, but to build and observe. He offered Akaashi advice with a measured smile, knowing exactly how to speak to him so as not to intimidate him. He kept his distance from all those who, in his memory, could interfere with the delicate balance of the future he sought to avoid. He had a plan, and that plan included staying safe from any ties that would set him back.

He went for walks more than necessary, taking unfamiliar routes to avoid sharing spaces with others. On one of these walks, he reached a remote corner of the campus. From there, he could hear the muffled voices of the group gathered not far away. He recognized every sound: Bokuto's exaggerated laughter, Kuroo's dry comments, Komori's soft voice, Akaashi's discreet firmness, Suna's subdued but attentive tone. And Kiyoomi's silent, yet unmistakable, presence.

He didn't want to get closer, but he couldn't stay away either. He sat with his back against a wall, his eyes on the ceiling, listening without intervening. It was then that Komori's voice rose slightly higher than the others, telling him something. About him. They were talking about him.

"It was weird... but he appeared out of nowhere," Komori said. "He literally destroyed those guys with words, he didn't even raise his voice. He just looked at them and... I don't know. It was terrifying. But you could tell he wanted to help."

Osamu let out a stifled laugh.

"Are you sure it was my brother?" he joked. "Although... the truth is, he's been acting strange for months now. Ever since he stopped going to practice so much, stopped arguing about anything, started cooking and cleaning... and got top marks. He's not my Atsumu, but I respect him."

"It has changed," Suna added thoughtfully. "A lot."

Atsumu closed his eyes. It wasn't that it hurt to hear it. It was just that he felt increasingly alienated from himself. As if he were playing a role he had learned perfectly. 

He heard a sharp thud. Bokuto had started dramatizing some anecdote, as usual. Everyone was laughing, even Kuroo. But then, the least expected voice spoke. Low, almost hesitant, but clear.

"I think... he's a kind person," Sakusa said, and there was a brief silence. "Although sometimes... he seems a bit of a psychopath."

The laughter returned, but Atsumu couldn't help but smile wearily. He covered his eyes with his arm. "A bit of a psycho ," he repeated to himself. How ironic that he of all people would say that, after everything they'd been through, after what he'd broken them.

He stayed like that for a while, listening to their voices from afar, as if they were echoes from another life, as if they were memories that no longer belonged to him. He wanted to get away. He shouldn't get more involved than necessary. Every word he exchanged with them was a seed planted that could sprout into a future he desperately wanted to avoid.

I couldn't love Kiyoomi again. I couldn't trust her again. Not after that night when, amidst whispers and weary glances, Kiyoomi asked for a divorce. With the most broken voice I'd ever heard.

So she stood up. She walked in the opposite direction, her eyes fixed on the ground, her footsteps echoing with a firmness she didn't quite feel. Because she knew that if she stayed a little longer... if she heard one more laugh... if Kiyoomi said anything else, even just one word... perhaps she would give up. Perhaps she would allow herself to feel again.

And he couldn't afford that luxury.

The following days were exhausting, though Atsumu didn't know exactly why. He slept well, ate better than ever, and his body responded precisely every time he raised his arms to place something, every time he walked with the others, pretending that this present was the only one he knew. But inside, he felt like a rope that grew tighter and tighter with each passing day.

The irritation began as a slight tingling, a barely perceptible discomfort in the pit of his stomach. But it transformed into something more when he noticed Kiyoomi looking at him. Not once, not twice.

Constantly.

"What the hell are you looking for?" he asked himself as he pretended to stretch, while walking back to his room, forcing himself to look straight ahead.

It was impossible to ignore him. Every time he went for a walk to clear his head, Sakusa appeared, as if his presence were an unavoidable shadow. Sometimes he'd find him pretending to look at a tree, other times simply walking in the opposite direction and then casually turning to follow him. Atsumu knew it wasn't a coincidence. He knew him too well.

And that suffocated him.

Because he knew that if Kiyoomi kept getting closer, he would give in. Because his body still longed for him, his soul still recognized him, his memory still ached.

So he turned to the only thing he thought would work: Suna.

Rin had been his anchor in many dark moments, and now she would be again, albeit in a completely different way. She began spending more time with him, laughing loudly at his jokes, leaning against his shoulder, stroking his hair when he said something even remotely funny.

One night, as they were walking back to their lodgings, Rin stopped him with her hand firmly on his chest.

—What are you doing, Atsumu?

"What?" he tried to laugh.

"I'm not stupid," Suna growled, narrowing his eyes. "Are you using me to drive Sakusa away?"

Atsumu lowered his gaze. He thought about it. One second. Two. And on the third, he simply replied:

—I don't want to be near anyone from Itachiyama.

Rin stared at him intently, as if trying to read between the wrinkles of his shirt or the lumps in his throat. Then, she sighed.

—Fine. But if you're going to use me, at least do it right. Make him die of jealousy.

—Doesn't it bother you?

"No," he laughed with a hint of bitterness. "But if you hurt me too, I'll kill you, Miya."

From that moment on, his feigned flirting became a kind of unspoken agreement. A strategy. A refuge. Atsumu knew it was a shitty idea, but he also knew he was desperate. He didn't trust himself.

He didn't trust his heart.

And it worked. Kiyoomi stayed out of it. At least until the very last day.

It was just a few hours before he had to go home. Atsumu already felt calmer, more confident that his plan had worked, closer to achieving it. He was standing with his back to him, picking up his bottle, when he felt it behind him. That presence he knew even without looking. That energy that made his skin crawl.

—Miya— murmured the voice she had loved all her life.

Atsumu turned slowly. He saw him. Kiyoomi was more nervous than ever, his hard expression now fragile, awkward. Almost trembling.

"Could you...?" He broke off. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and held it out in front of him. "I was wondering if... you'd give me your number."

The world stopped.

Atsumu didn't know what surprised him more: that he was asking, that he was using such a timid tone, or that he was doing it with such courage. Because this Omi wasn't the one he knew. His own Omi would never have taken that step.

And that's why he knew he had to stop him.

I had to nip that in the bud before anything sprouted, before fate played its tricks again, before I felt everything I had promised to bury.

He shook his head. Without saying a word.

And he walked away.

She walked away like someone fleeing an avalanche, like someone leaping into the void to avoid being swept away. She didn't look back. She didn't allow herself to think about the flushed face she was leaving behind. She didn't allow herself to remember how much she had loved him.

He would rather Kiyoomi hate him than see him break again.

Osamu was the first to notice the change. As soon as Atsumu returned, he was waiting for him with his arms crossed in the doorway, as if no time had passed. But his gaze held no patience, only a suppressed question.

—What the hell is going on with Suna?

Atsumu lowered his head, took off his headphones, and let out a tired sigh.

—Nothing, Samu. He helped me with a few things. That's all.

—What things?

—Personal.

A curt response wasn't typical between them. But Osamu understood. Because he looked at his brother for another second and saw the way he avoided him, how hurt he was behind that feigned calm. So he didn't press the issue. They went back to living together as always: arguing over trivial things, cooking together, training relentlessly.

Until the intercollegiate competition arrived.

And the past seeped back in through the cracks of his present.

Before the match between Inarizaki and Karasuno, Atsumu felt someone's gaze fixed on the back of his neck. He looked up at the stands, searching for him. And there he was. Kiyoomi.

He watched him with that unreadable expression, with the same intensity he always had, as if he could dissect him with a single glance. Atsumu immediately looked away. He had to stay calm. He couldn't lose control. He knew the outcome. He knew Karasuno would win. That defeat would come like an inevitable wave.

But even so, he played as if he didn't know.

He played with all the passion he had held back for weeks. Not for the result. Not for the victory. He did it for himself. For Osamu. For the memories that still anchored him.

And when it was over, when the defeat became official, she forced herself to accept it. To breathe. To move on.

He went straight to the locker room, gathered his things, and headed to the showers. He chose the one farthest away. He just wanted to be in silence. To think. To let the water envelop him until it washed everything else away.

He took off his shirt, then his pants. He was left in his underwear. And just as he was about to take off the rest, he heard the door open. He turned his head, not expecting anything. But there it was.

Kiyoomi.

Looking at him from head to toe, with that dark, voracious gaze, as if she were devouring him with her eyes.

"Do you need something, Sakusa?" Atsumu asked seriously, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kiyoomi didn't respond immediately. Her expression twisted between frustration and desire.

"What the hell was that before?" he finally blurted out. "You didn't give it your all."

Atsumu looked at him as if that sentence had come from someone he no longer knew. How could he explain that it wasn't a lack of effort? That he simply no longer felt like proving anything. He just sighed. He turned around, took off his towel, removed his underwear... and stepped into the shower without another word.

"Don't ignore me, Miya," Sakusa insisted.

Atsumu turned on the hot water. The noise served as an excuse not to answer. But she hadn't expected to feel him so close. A shadow slipped under the shower, and when she turned her head, she saw Sakusa... fully clothed, soaking wet without even blinking.

"What the hell, Omi?" The nickname slipped out before she could stop it. The nickname stung. "Are you an idiot? You're going to catch a cold."

—I want to talk to you.

—Well, read the room, Sakusa. I don't want to talk to you.

And that's when Sakusa realized. Really. She realized that Atsumu was completely naked, that he was looking at her without shame, without any embarrassment. 

He backed away as if he'd been pushed. He stammered an apology, tripped over the curtain, and ran out of the bathroom, soaking wet and shivering.

Atsumu closed her eyes. The water was falling on her shoulders. She could hear the dripping of her wet shoes as they faded away. She didn't understand why her heart was beating so fast if she wasn't supposed to feel anything. If she didn't  want  to feel anything.

Just before closing his eyes, he shouted:

—I have face masks in my bag, so you can leave with peace of mind.

Because even when she wanted to hate him, even when she wanted to erase him, Atsumu still didn't know how not to worry about him.

When they returned to Inarizaki, the offer had been straightforward. The coach hadn't showered him with praise or given him an inspirational speech. He had simply asked if he wanted to take on the captaincy for his final year.

Atsumu looked at him silently for a few seconds. Then he turned his gaze to the empty court. That place that, years ago, was his temple. Where he dreamed of being the best setter in Japan, of dominating everyone. Where his heart beat to the rhythm of his serves.

But now he only felt empty.

—Thanks, but no .

The coach didn't insist. There was something in Atsumu's gaze, something heavy, dull, that made it clear that arguing would be pointless.

The news spread quickly. The first-year students were confused. The third-year students, resigned. And Osamu...

Osamu exploded.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he yelled as soon as they closed his bedroom door that night.

Atsumu, sitting on his bed, cleaned his shoes with a damp cloth. He did it with slow, almost methodical movements, as if he needed to cling to a routine to avoid losing control.

"I don't want to be a captain," he said without looking at him.

"You don't want to?! Is that all?!" Osamu frowned. "You always wanted it, Atsumu! Ever since we started at this high school! You said you were going to lead the team in our senior year, that you were going to stand at the top. And now you just say no?!"

Atsumu lowered the cloth and remained silent.

—Things change.

"They don't change!" Osamu snapped, growing increasingly agitated. "You're fading away! You've stopped fighting, stopped competing, stopped showing any desire for anything! You're becoming someone I don't recognize!"

Atsumu swallowed. His fingers gripped the edge of the bed.

"Perhaps there's nothing left to prove," he murmured.

"How can you say that?!" Osamu stared at him in disbelief, hurt. "You're giving up, Atsumu! And why? Just because? Because you got tired? Or because you think it doesn't matter?! If you keep going like this, you'll never be happy in your fucking life, you know?"

And then Atsumu laughed.

It wasn't a genuine laugh. It was a low, dry sound that came from such a deep place that it even hurt him to hear it.

"Happy?" he repeated, as if playing with someone else's word.

Osamu frowned. He expected a fight, a shove, a confession, something. But Atsumu just shook his head, as if the very idea of ​​happiness were a cruel joke he already knew by heart.

She picked up her shoes again and resumed cleaning them, but no longer carefully. She did it only to avoid looking at him, to avoid breaking down, to avoid saying what burned in her chest.

Because, deep down, Atsumu knew that even if he chose differently, even if he forced himself to want something else, the outcome wouldn't change. That his story, somewhere in time, had already ended. That at forty, everything he had ever loved, he had lost. That he had ended up alone.

And that, though unspoken, was in every gesture, every silence. Especially in that laugh that Osamu couldn't understand, but which left him with a bad feeling lodged in his stomach.

As if something in Atsumu could never be restored.

Atsumu's final year of high school passed more quickly than he expected. It was strange: he hadn't fully enjoyed it, but he hadn't suffered through it either. He had lived each day with an inexplicable calm, as if everything that should have hurt had already been experienced in another life.

He applied to several universities, never mentioning that he didn't plan to play volleyball professionally. His decision was made. He had given up on the sport the first day he returned. It was a silent but necessary mourning. He had done well on the science tests, so he chose a degree related to applied biology, not because it was his calling, but because it sounded stable. Something that could support him without sinking him.

When he learned he'd have a shared room in the university residence, he felt more anxious than annoyed. In a way, he was excited to meet new people. To finally get away from the sports circle, the familiar faces, the questions that always revolved around his serve, his next match, his professional future. He wanted to be someone else. Or maybe just disappear.

He arrived at the residence early. He went upstairs with a light backpack, confident that no one would recognize him. But when he opened the door, he froze.

There it was.

"Sakusa?" her voice escaped before he could stop her.

Sitting on the bed at the far end, surrounded by a stack of unpacked books, his curly hair more disheveled than he remembered, wearing the same brooding expression he had both loved and hated. Atsumu blinked. He looked again at the plaque on the door, the number, the brochures he had received. There was no mistake. This was his university. This was his room.

But Sakusa Kiyoomi... shouldn't be there.

In his past life, Sakusa had chosen a private university in Tokyo, specializing in research. He remembered it clearly. They didn't share a city. They didn't share spaces. Years had passed before they met again in the professional league. Atsumu knew this. He had sought him out. He had loved him so much that he even remembered the location of their first student apartment.

But not now. Not in this way. Not again.

Sakusa was just as surprised. Why was he here? What kind of joke was the universe playing on him?

Atsumu said nothing. She neither frowned nor smiled. She simply crossed the room silently, placed her bag on the empty bed, took out a change of clothes, and turned away without even looking at him.

—Miya—Sakusa murmured, almost in a whisper.

But he was already leaving through the door.

It wasn't explicit rejection. It was worse. It was as if Sakusa didn't exist. 

And, even knowing it wasn't true, panic settled in his chest.

He sat back down on the hallway floor, his hands trembling. He felt the pressure in his chest growing, anxiety rising in his throat. He was agitated, barely able to think. He didn't want to go through this again. Not with him. Not if Sakusa was going to treat him like a friend. What should he do? Talk to him? Confront him? 

Despair was beginning to overwhelm him when he felt a cold touch on the back of his neck. An ice-cold bottle.

"You're as white as a sheet," said a calm, female voice.

A brown-haired girl was looking at him with concern, holding the bottle for him.
Atsumu blinked, confused, but the cold helped to calm his trembling breath. He nodded, barely.

"Thank you," he murmured.

She smiled at him and left without waiting any longer. Atsumu didn't even ask her name.

But he couldn't stay there. Not yet. Not with Sakusa's presence still so fresh in the air. He needed space, clarity. So he stood up and left the hallway, his heart still pounding.

When Atsumu returned to the room he shared with Sakusa, he found him lying on his bed, an open book in his hands, his face partially obscured by the shadow of the desk lamp. He said nothing. He simply repeated what had become his mechanical routine: he took off his shoes, laid out his pajamas, went to the bathroom, showered meticulously, as if each drop of water could wash away the constant knot in his stomach, and upon returning, slipped under the covers without making a sound. He turned his back on Sakusa without thinking, because facing him would mean confronting memories he didn't want to relive.

Neither of them slept that night.

Atsumu's eyes were open, fixed on the empty wall, counting the invisible cracks in the plaster. He felt Sakusa's every breath like a buzzing against the back of his neck. He could tell when he moved, when he shifted position, when he sighed deeply, trying to relax. He knew him too well, even in this time when they were still nothing.

The next morning, he woke up before dawn. He barely dressed before heading straight to the student administration office, hoping they could relocate him. The mere thought of living with Sakusa day after day, night after night, made his chest tighten. But the answer was as blunt as it was devastating: the campus was full. He would have to wait at least six months before a student left the dorm. No one could leave before then. He was stuck.

When he returned to the room, he wasn't surprised to see Sakusa still asleep. Her face was relaxed, enveloped in a peace that seemed foreign to his own. Atsumu didn't glance at her again. He simply unfurled his mat on the wooden floor and began his yoga routine. The movements were fluid, controlled, precise. They helped him focus his mind, to force his body to remember that he was still present, that he could still breathe.

It was during a stretch that she heard it.

A soft gasp.

And when he turned his head, there was Sakusa, half-sitting up in bed, watching him with half-closed eyes and dilated pupils. For a second, Atsumu felt a shiver run down his spine. He knew exactly what kind of look that was. He had seen it before, many times, in a life that no longer existed.

Sakusa said nothing at first. She ran a hand over her face, as if trying to clear her head, and stood up. She walked to the desk, picked up a water bottle, drank, and then, with a slight smile, said:

—Next time, let me know. We could do yoga together.

Atsumu didn't respond. He just clicked his tongue in annoyance, without even looking at him, and continued stretching his torso in silence. The rejection was clear, dry, almost cruel.

Sakusa sensed it immediately. His brow furrowed slightly, confused. He didn't understand that coldness, that marked aversion.

"Why do you hate me?" he asked, his voice lower and more vulnerable than Atsumu remembered it could sound at that age.

Atsumu closed his eyes, lowered his arms, and held the position a little longer, as if he needed time to swallow the words that wanted to come out. Because he couldn't answer him. He couldn't tell him that he didn't hate him. That in fact, he had loved him so much that this story had shattered him. That, in another time, in another place, he had been her husband. That together they had built a life. That together they had also torn it apart.

I couldn't tell him that seeing him there, so close again, so new, so untouched... hurt me more than any open wound.

So she took a deep breath and said nothing. Because if she started talking, she knew she wouldn't be able to stop. And at that moment, all she wanted was to keep stretching her body until her heart stopped hurting.

Receiving no response, Sakusa locked himself in the bathroom. Atsumu's silence had hurt him more than he was willing to admit. He rested his hands on the sink, his head bowed, and took a deep breath, trying to soothe the burning sensation in his chest that was beginning to spread like wildfire. His eyes felt irritated, on the verge of bursting.

She had fallen in love with Atsumu from that very first day, when she saw him defend Komori from those idiots at Johzenji. Even though she hadn't done it directly for him, even though they hadn't even exchanged a word back then, Sakusa couldn't get the image of Atsumu standing tall, his energy seemingly overflowing, out of her mind. And later, when Atsumu offered her a face mask without a word, without teasing, just with a simple yet meaningful gesture, she knew that this boy had something special.

He cared for him when he felt weak, holding him with a patience Sakusa didn't know he deserved. And it was then, when he saw him looking at him with tenderness, with that warmth that seemed to hold no grudge, that Kiyoomi felt that intense desire to get closer. To know everything behind that gentle smile, that pride that wouldn't yield even under pressure.

He knew the Miya twins had a reputation for being troublemakers, for causing chaos wherever they went. But the Atsumu he knew wasn't like that. He was strong, determined, kind in unexpected ways. And yet, so quietly wounded.

Seeing him now... avoiding him, remembering when he saw him shamelessly flirting with Suna, looking at him like he was an annoying stranger, broke something inside him. And it was even worse when he asked for his number and Atsumu refused without even giving an excuse, without looking him in the eye. It was like being crushed under a ton of concrete.

He watched him lose against Karasuno and knew it wasn't the Atsumu he remembered. Because he knew that passion, that ferocity to win, and that day Atsumu seemed... empty. Passive.

And when he saw him naked by accident, it wasn't surprise or desire that left him speechless, but Atsumu's expression: indifferent, almost annoyed. As if Sakusa were nothing more than another piece of furniture in the room. He didn't care that someone had seen him in such an intimate moment. And that, more than the nudity, left him frozen.

That's why he had distanced himself. Because he couldn't bear the thought of being just a burden. But secretly, every night, every time he closed his eyes, he begged the universe for just one chance. One, even if it hurt, even if Atsumu hated him. He just wanted to see him smile again like that time. To see that bright, warm expression again, the one that had made him fall hopelessly in love.

When she came out of the bathroom, her face still slightly damp—she couldn't tell if from the steam or the tears she'd quickly dried with a towel—Sakusa saw Atsumu sitting on his futon, his hair still wet and his gaze lost on his phone. He didn't seem to notice her, but Sakusa knew he did. Atsumu always noticed everything. And, precisely for that reason, she was also aware of the rejection in every gesture the blond boy offered her: every calculated silence, every averted glance, every word spoken with an invisible edge.

She walked to her desk pretending nothing was wrong. Pretending it didn't hurt. Pretending she didn't feel her heart clenched in a fist with every forced exhalation.

"I'm going to class," Atsumu said suddenly, as he put on a light jacket without looking at him.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Sakusa asked before thinking twice.

Silence settled in again, this time thicker. Atsumu took a while to reply, though he did so with his back turned, in a dry voice.

—It's not necessary.

And he left.

Sakusa closed her eyes. The room grew even quieter as the door closed, as if something had broken for good. Perhaps it had been her hope.

The days passed like silent punishments.

Atsumu maintained a strict routine: classes, studying, showers at precise times, solitary meals in the cafeteria. He avoided any attempt by Sakusa to engage in conversation beyond the bare minimum. Sometimes not even that. The blond wasn't cruel, but he was indifferent enough to hurt.

And Sakusa didn't know how to stop the bleeding that opened up a little more each day.

He watched him unintentionally, in the library when they happened to meet by chance or fate, in the shared kitchen when Atsumu made coffee—coffee that smelled of home and everything he couldn't offer him. And he watched him at night, when the other slept with his back to him, his breathing slow and deep, as if no one else existed in the world. As if Sakusa were nothing more than a shadow.

He had begged for a second chance. But if this was a test, he felt he was failing with every step he took.

One night, she couldn't take it anymore.

Atsumu was at his desk, checking something on his computer. Sakusa closed his book and slammed it down on the bed harder than necessary. He stood there for a few seconds, hesitating, but the lump in his throat compelled him to speak before he could stop himself.

—What did I do to make you hate me?

The mouse click stopped.

Atsumu did not respond.

"I'm not stupid, Miya," he added, his voice softer, almost pleading. "I know I make you uncomfortable. I know you don't want to be here with me. But I don't understand why."

Atsumu slowly closed the laptop and turned slightly, without fully facing him.

"It's not that I hate you," he murmured. "I just don't want to meet you."

The words fell like stones on Sakusa's chest. She wanted to reply, but her throat closed.

-Because?

Atsumu stood up. She was trembling, though she tried hard not to show it. She walked to the window and crossed her arms. Her silhouette, illuminated by the dim light from the hallway, seemed more fragile than she had ever allowed herself to show.

—Because if I know you... I won't be able to walk away.

Sakusa froze.

-That...?

"Because if I ever meet you again," Atsumu continued, without turning around, "I'm going to make the same mistakes. You're going to break my heart. And I'm not going to survive it again."

Sakusa took one step closer, just one.

"I don't understand," she whispered.

Atsumu barely turned his face, his gaze lost somewhere in the night, his jaw tense, his eyes shining with the reflection of a sadness that was too old.

"You don't have to understand, Sakusa. I just need you to... not try to get to know me this time."

And he returned to his desk. He sat down. He turned on his computer as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just ripped his soul out in front of him.

Sakusa watched him for a long time. She didn't insist. She didn't say anything else.

He simply walked to his bed, lay down on his back, and stared at the ceiling. He had no more prayers left. Only silence.

Because that's how Sakusa was. A stubborn idiot. A damn fool who wouldn't give up. Who persisted. Who pushed the limits just to get to know him better. He wanted to be everything to Atsumu. Because he was the moon, and Atsumu was the Earth that kept him spinning. He didn't want Atsumu to drift away. He couldn't let him go.

Atsumu, for his part, couldn't take it anymore. The walls he had worked so hard to build were crumbling. And it was all Sakusa's fault, with her sweet gestures, her absurd patience, her painfully honest way of loving him. Atsumu didn't want to feel anything. He didn't want to break again. That's why his only way out was to hurt Sakusa in the cruelest way possible. To destroy him completely so he could no longer hold onto hope.

That Friday night, the conversation began.

"Are you going to meet up with Toya-kun?" Atsumu asked, looking at his phone with feigned indifference.

—Yes, let's have lunch—Sakusa replied in a low voice, almost hoarse from the accumulated tension.

—Can you stay with him tonight?

Sakusa looked at him, puzzled.

-Because?

"I'm going to a party. I'll be drunk when I get there. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable," Atsumu murmured, avoiding her gaze, as if the floor were suddenly fascinating.

Sakusa felt himself blushing. That kind of gesture disarmed him. He loved it when Atsumu thought about his quirks, when he worried about his comfort even in the smallest things. He simply replied neutrally:

—I'll think about it.

But Atsumu knew that answer well. They had known every part of him for twenty years, and she knew that "I'll think about it" was a disguised denial. She knew Sakusa would be in the room that night, as always.

That's why it was the same. She went to the party. She got drunk. She flirted with several people. She laughed with an exaggerated intensity she didn't feel. And when the pain had subsided a little, when the alcohol had clouded her judgment enough, she chose someone. A handsome, unknown boy who didn't have Sakusa's face or eyes. She took him to the room.

They began kissing. Their clothes flew off effortlessly. Atsumu sat him down on the bed and knelt in front of him. He wanted to disappear. He wanted Sakusa to hate him, to see him as the worst thing imaginable. That was his way out.

But then the door opened.

Atsumu sensed it. He didn't need to look at him. He knew it was Sakusa. He knew he was watching him.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't stop. She carried on, as if nothing was happening. She felt the other man's hand on the back of her neck, the lazy laughter.

— Do you want to join? — the stranger asked, amused, looking at Sakusa.

Then came the slam of the door.

One so violent it shook the frame. The guy tensed, terrified, and Atsumu... Atsumu just froze. The lump in his throat choked him. He'd done it. He'd destroyed him.

He stood up abruptly and pushed the boy.

"Get out," he ordered in a trembling voice.

—What...? But we were having the best time...

"Get out!" he shouted, and this time there was no hesitation.

The boy reluctantly got dressed and left. Atsumu stood in the middle of the room, his chest pounding, tears stinging his eyes.

He had achieved his goal. Now all that remained was... surviving the emptiness that followed.

Sakusa was trembling. Her body was freezing, her hands were sweating, and she felt as if her throat were closing up. She wandered aimlessly through the dormitory hallways, descended the stairs with her face burning, and before she knew it, she was out on the street. She didn't know whether she wanted to scream, vomit, or run until the pain in her chest became physical. Without thinking, she called Komori; she could barely hold the phone.

"Kiyo? Are you okay?" Komori's voice was immediate, worried, alert as if she knew something was about to happen.

"I was an idiot, Motoya... a complete imbecile," Sakusa's voice sounded shaky, broken, with that tone that Komori had only heard when his grandparents died.

Where are you? I'm coming for you.

Sakusa sat down on an ordinary bench; she didn't remember walking there. She was having trouble breathing; her lungs ached.

—I don't want you to see me like this...

"I don't care how you are, Kiyo. Tell me where you are." Komori's firmness was the only stable thing Sakusa felt amidst her chaos.

He remained silent for a few seconds before saying, his voice like ashes:

—I saw him... I saw him do it. He knew it, Motoya. He knew I was going to be there... and he still did it.

"Oh, Kiyo..." Komori didn't say anything else for a moment. Then her voice lowered, becoming gentle. "Do you want me to pick you up? To go with you?"

"No," Sakusa whispered, closing her eyes tightly. "Just... stay on the line. Just talk to me."

—Of course. I'm here. I'm not going to hang up.

Sakusa took a deep breath, as if pain could be inhaled with the air and perhaps, upon exhaling, released. But it didn't go away. It remained. Heavy, dense, cold.

"I tried so hard to understand him... to not pressure him, to respect his boundaries," he whispered, looking up at the sky. "But I was stubborn, wasn't I? A stubborn idiot who thought that with patience he would choose me."

"You're not an idiot for loving someone, Kiyo. You never will be."

—And for continuing to choose him even now...? Is that okay too?

Komori remained silent, and for a few seconds the only thing that could be heard was Sakusa's ragged breathing.

—I don't know if it's right, but I know you're human. That it hurts, that it hurts a lot. And that you're not alone.

Sakusa did not respond, she let out a stifled sob and allowed herself to cry uncontrollably.

Because he had loved. Because he continued to love. Because Atsumu had destroyed him with that decision, with that empty gaze, with that body that offered itself to anyone but him.

And yet, a part of Sakusa would still wait for him. Even though she didn't know why. Even though she didn't know if Atsumu would ever look at him again like that time in the hallway, where it all began.

Sakusa couldn't see him. Not yet. Every time she thought of Atsumu's face, her chest tightened, her throat burned, and she felt like she was going to shatter into a thousand pieces. So she avoided the apartment. For three days she slept on Komori's couch, pretending she was okay, pretending it hadn't hurt so much. Komori tried to talk to her, but Sakusa just said she needed space. That she needed to think. But she hadn't stopped for a single second.

However, the reality was simple: she needed her things. Her routine. Her damn night cream. So she chose a time when, hopefully, Atsumu wouldn't be around. She slipped in quietly, closing the door as carefully as possible. She walked toward his room with measured steps... but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him.

Atsumu slept hunched over his desk, his brow furrowed even in his sleep, as if his mind were still racing even in rest. Crumpled papers lay under his arms, highlighters were scattered everywhere, and his dark circles were so pronounced they were pitiful. He looked exhausted, drained, as if he hadn't slept in days. And then, an irrational—yet cruelly hopeful—thought took hold in Sakusa's mind:

What if it wasn't out of hatred? What if he did it because he's frustrated, because he needed to escape? What if it wasn't to hurt me?

The thought didn't justify anything, but for the first time in three days, it didn't hurt so much. She approached slowly and, with trembling fingers, brushed aside a lock of hair that fell across Atsumu's forehead. She stroked him gently, with a desperate tenderness, with that silent kind of love that only Sakusa could offer. And for the first time, she smiled.

She waited. Two whole hours. Just watching him sleep, breathing softly, as if being near him allowed her to breathe again too. Until Atsumu stirred, stretched, his muscles tensing with the movement, and his eyes blinked, still sleepy.
Then she saw him.

"How long have you been here?!" he exclaimed, startled, jumping slightly when he noticed Sakusa so close.

"For about two hours now," Sakusa replied in a low, serene voice, as if she wanted to sound indifferent, although inside her soul was falling apart.

Atsumu grunted under his breath, as if frustrated with himself, and stood up, grabbing a towel without another word. He locked himself in the bathroom.
Sakusa heard the water running.

And when he returned, his hair still damp and wearing an old t-shirt, he found Kiyoomi's gaze fixed and direct on his crotch. It was almost instantaneous.

"Do you need something? My eyes are up here," Atsumu blurted out, clearly annoyed.

"You're stressed," Sakusa said, without moving, without apologizing.

"Well, yes. I have several exams and..." Atsumu sighed heavily, placing both hands on his desk. "I don't have time for this, Sakusa."

"I want to help you," Kiyoomi insisted, taking a step towards him.

"We already talked about it..." Atsumu murmured, lowering his voice slightly.

Sakusa watched him, almost with devotion, and being so close, she slowly raised a hand and brushed against Atsumu's hip.

"What are you trying to do, Sakusa?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and taking a small step back.

"I just... want to help you," he whispered, awkwardly, sincerely. His hand went down, took the hem of Atsumu's pants, and smoothed it as if trying to untangle a knot in his own soul.

Atsumu pressed her lips together, but said nothing.

Sakusa then took the pillow from her bed, dropped it to the floor... and knelt in front of him. Speechless. That gesture alone said it all.

And Atsumu felt his world crumble.

Because he was weak. Because despite everything he had done, everything he had ruined, he still felt something so deep for Sakusa that it overwhelmed him. Seeing him there, on his knees, with that serene and sad expression, begging her with his body even though he didn't have words... it was unbearable.

He stroked her cheek. Gently. As if he couldn't help it.

—Sakusa... —he whispered.

—Say my name, please, Atsumu —he begged, his voice breaking.

And Atsumu felt something inside him collapse.

Because she had spent four damned months building walls, struggling not to fall, feigning coldness. But Sakusa, with every detail, with every glance, with every sweet gesture... she had torn them down. One by one.

He was the moon. Sakusa was the moon, eternally revolving around him, no matter how far he tried to run.

And he, Atsumu, could no longer pretend that he didn't care.

—Kiyoomi

Sakusa was clumsy. He didn't know how to touch without trembling, or kiss without fear getting stuck in his tongue. But Atsumu, against all odds, let him in. Let him caress him, undress him with unsteady hands and unspoken promises. It wasn't perfect—it never was with Sakusa—but it was real. Messy. Hot. Ephemeral. Atsumu thought that would be enough. That an afternoon where desire disguised rage would suffice.

But just as he felt on the edge, as pleasure pushed him toward the abyss, he abruptly pulled away. He stood up silently and walked toward the bathroom, his breath ragged, as if he needed to escape himself. Sakusa stopped him, a hand on his wrist.

"Where are you going?" she asked in a low voice, still watching him.

—I need to take a shower.

Sakusa said nothing. She simply pushed him gently onto the bed and climbed on top of him, mounting him with a decisiveness she hadn't shown before. Her dark eyes shone with determination, as if for once she knew exactly what she wanted.

"Tonight you're going to be mine, Atsumu," he said firmly. "Only mine."

The blond man closed his eyes and sighed, surrendered, defeated.

—Do whatever you want with me, Omi.

And Sakusa did it. She touched him as if her life depended on it, as if by doing so she could repair the damage, return to the moment when they still smiled at each other without scars. Afterward, they showered together in silence. There was no laughter or tenderness, only a naked intimacy that hurt more than it soothed. They fell asleep embraced in Sakusa's bed, and for a moment, everything seemed alright.

But morning came.

Atsumu got up first. He dressed calmly, silently, without looking back. Sakusa woke up to the rustle of the empty sheets, barely opening her eyes before Atsumu was already ready to leave.

"Are you leaving?" he asked in a hoarse voice, a mixture of hope and sleepiness.

Atsumu stopped by the door, without turning his face.

—Yes. And, just so there's no confusion... what happened last night was a mistake .

Sakusa stood motionless, feeling his chest fill with stones. Before he could say anything, the door was already closing behind him.

Atsumu never slept in the same bed again. Or in the same room. Every Friday, as if it were a personal punishment, he arrived with someone new. They weren't relationships, not even deep encounters. A kiss in the doorway, a forced laugh, a trivial conversation. Nothing more. But it was enough.

Enough for Sakusa to see it. Enough for her to misinterpret every glance, every touch, as if Atsumu were doing it on purpose. As if he wasn't the one who had pushed him out of his life.

One night, seeing the fifth different boy come down the building's stairs with a red collar and wrinkled shirt, Sakusa exploded. She burst with jealousy, rage, and helplessness.

"Do you think this is funny?" she confronted him when Atsumu returned to his room. "Is this a game to you?"

"What are you talking about?" he replied disdainfully, leaving the keys on the desk.

—Every Friday you bring someone different. Do you want me to applaud you? Or do you just need me to see how replaceable I am?

Atsumu shrugged with feigned indifference, although something in his jaw was trembling.

"Nothing's going on with them. I'm not even interested in them. But neither are you, Sakusa."

And that sentence was a knife Sakusa didn't see coming. Because it hurt, it hurt more than she could admit. Because she knew Atsumu was lying, but she also knew she no longer had the right to ask for the truth.

Atsumu closed the door behind him, and Sakusa, alone in the room, clenched his fists until his nails dug in. He'd been an idiot. He'd cried for Atsumu more times than he cared to admit. He'd called Komori, heartbroken, begging for comfort that never came. And now, it all felt like punishment. Like a slow, silent revenge.

But the worst part wasn't the anger. It was the certainty: no matter how hard she tried, Sakusa still loved Atsumu with every broken part of her body.

...and even though he denied it time and time again, even though he convinced himself that Atsumu was just playing with him, that it had been an impulse, an escape valve, Sakusa couldn't stop thinking about that afternoon.

In the way Atsumu had touched him, with a gentleness that bordered on devotion. In how his hands roamed his skin, not seeking pleasure, but memorizing him, as if afraid of forgetting him. In the way he looked at him, his eyes filled with something deeper than desire… it was longing, it was restrained love, it was a farewell that didn't want to be spoken. He clung to his neck when they joined, as if in that instant he could be saved. He trembled as he whispered “Omi ,” as if saying his name was the only thing keeping him alive. And none of it felt like a coincidence.

But the Atsumu of the present was not that one. He was a distant Atsumu, who laughed loudly with anyone but him, who filled his calendar with weekend conquests, who seemed untouched and unattainable.

They passed each other in the university hallways like complete strangers. Sometimes, Sakusa would watch him from afar, talking to some new student, or letting someone playfully push him while smiling. Atsumu didn't look at him. Never. It was as if Sakusa had become a dead spot on his radar.

And yet, every Friday night, Sakusa couldn't help herself: she would stare at the door, waiting. She didn't know exactly what for, but she did. And when she heard footsteps and recognized Atsumu's laughter with someone else, her stomach would churn. Even though she knew that most of the time Atsumu just left them at the entrance to the dorm, sometimes with a quick kiss, sometimes not even that... Sakusa would still lock herself in her bathroom, wash her face over and over, and curse.

I couldn't forget it. I couldn't understand it. And what I hated most was that I was starting to get used to living with that constant pain in my chest, as if it were just another part of my daily routine.

But everything intensified when they saw the boxes.

Seeing Atsumu packing silently, with that cold and impersonal determination, was a blow that was not expected.

"What does this mean?" he asked, his voice barely controllable.

Atsumu didn't turn around. She simply continued folding a T-shirt and put it in one of the boxes.

—I asked to be transferred to another room.

Sakusa clenched her fists.

-Because?

Atsumu stopped, slowly turned his face, and looked at him. His eyes were empty.

—Because six months have already passed. I met the minimum time requirement to request the change. It has nothing to do with you. It's about me.

And without saying anything else, he turned away again, as if Sakusa were an unimportant shadow.

There were no shouts. No complaints. Only a silence that felt like an open wound. Sakusa left without closing the door behind her.

It was the right thing to do, yes. They both knew it. But even so, it hurt like hell.
And no one, not even Atsumu, would know how much Sakusa had cried that night. Because despite everything—the rejections, the distance, and the mistakes—Sakusa still loved him.

The remaining four years passed in the blink of an eye. University, which had initially seemed like an escape, became routine. Atsumu, as always, stood out. He had a brilliant memory, a keen business sense, and a discipline that kept him at the top without the need for favors or connections. He graduated with honors, top of his class, praised by professors and administrators as an exemplary student. His name appeared on plaques, in presentations, and in graduation speeches.

But at her graduation ceremony, the seat assigned to her family remained empty.

Osamu texted him that morning, apologizing for not being able to make it: the restaurant had a problem with suppliers and he had to take care of it himself. Atsumu replied with "Don't worry. Good luck today," accompanied by an emoji that said he didn't feel anything. His parents didn't even call.

Atsumu was alone.

Sitting amidst applause that wasn't his, surrounded by colleagues celebrating with hugs, photos, and promises of eternal friendship, he could only think of one thing: how much he had changed so that nothing would truly change. Sometimes, he believed that this distant, reserved, and professional version of himself was just an empty shell. He had achieved everything, and yet, there was no one in the audience to look up to with pride. No one to search for. No one waiting for him at the end of the ceremony.

After receiving his diploma, Atsumu didn't stay for the celebration. He walked alone through the streets near the campus, still wearing his graduation gown and carrying the rolled-up diploma in his hand, until he reached his apartment. He showered, changed, and went to bed early, ignoring the messages from his classmates inviting him out.

The next day I was already working.

He had landed a job offer before even graduating, from one of the country's most prestigious companies. They wanted him in the area of ​​strategic planning and international expansion. The salary was high, the conditions unbeatable. Atsumu accepted without hesitation.

While everyone else was talking about taking a gap year, traveling, "finding themselves," he was already immersed in an office suit, endless meetings, quarterly targets, and performance reports. He became just another cog in a massive machine. Efficient. Perfect. Unattainable.

And while he watched others fall in love, get married, open cafes, try new things, volunteer abroad, or simply live, he remained trapped in that flawless life, as functional as it was lonely.

No, he was unhappy.

Not happy either.

I simply... was.

The city moved forward, faces changed, seasons passed.

And Atsumu was still there, like a figure frozen in time.

Until one day, he saw Sakusa again.

Atsumu had traveled to Osaka to see Osamu. It was a long weekend, and although some time had passed since their last meeting, the relationship between them felt serene, more mature. They weren't the same explosive teenagers or the young adults who fought over everything. There was something different about Atsumu, something Osamu didn't know whether to name. A kind of artificial calm, as if his brother's inner storm had frozen, but not disappeared.

"You look good," Osamu commented as he prepared tea.

Atsumu smiled, that bright smile she still wore as armor.

—I try hard.

And it was true. She maintained an impeccable image; her clothes were elegant yet simple, her hair perfectly styled. But she no longer made silly jokes. She no longer bothered him with absurd imitations or hugged him unexpectedly. She had even stopped calling him "Samu," that nickname she used to use for everything. Now it was "Osamu," as if she needed to create distance.

However, Osamu continued to call him "Tsumu".

They spent the afternoon talking about important things, as if there wasn't enough time for trivialities. Deep conversations, with long pauses and comfortable silences. Atsumu no longer rushed to fill the gaps with laughter. He only listened and spoke when he felt it was necessary. Something about him was different. Osamu noticed it, even though Atsumu didn't say anything: that quiet sadness, well disguised. A sadness so chronic it seemed to be part of his very being.

The calm was shattered when the restaurant door burst open and a boisterous group burst in, their energy infectious. MSBY. Just like in their past life. The team's old tradition of celebrating at  Onigiri Miya  was still alive, even though Atsumu was no longer on the court. It was Osamu who had extended the invitation without warning, never imagining his brother would be there that very day.

"But it's Mya-sam's brother!" Bokuto exclaimed, smiling as always and opening his arms enthusiastically. "Tsum-tsum, it's been so long since I've heard from you!"

Atsumu stood up with a kind, somewhat restrained smile.

—Miya-san. Nice to meet you —Hinata replied, somewhat awkwardly, as if he didn't know whether to hug him or shake his hand.

"Oh, come on guys. You know Samu, so just call me Atsumu," he said, without thinking too much about it.

The nickname came out so naturally that even Osamu looked up in surprise. Atsumu didn't correct himself or seem to notice. He just observed them, one by one. Inunaki, Bokuto, Meian, Hinata... And then his eyes met Kiyoomi's.

For a second they held each other's gaze.

It was quick, a blink perhaps. But there it was: the echo of a past that hadn't healed. Atsumu looked at him with that same mixture of tenderness and pain he usually had at the end of his fights. Sakusa, on the other hand, awkwardly looked away and turned to Bokuto, pretending to listen to something.

Atsumu also turned around, with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.

There was nostalgia. There was something more.

And yet, as if they had both rehearsed this indifference for years, they stuck to the script. They spoke to others, avoided shared spaces. They pretended not to notice when their eyes met again, fleeting, dangerously lingering.

They were two ghosts in the same place.

Both alive.

Both injured.

Both pretending it didn't hurt.

When the team left, the restaurant's bustle faded like a receding wave, leaving only the thick silence of low tide. Bokuto's laughter and jokes, Hinata's guffaws, Meian's deep voice... all vanished behind the door, dragging with them the echo of a past impossible to bury.

Atsumu didn't move from his seat.

His hands were wrapped around a half-finished glass of water, his fingers trembling slightly from the cold, or perhaps from the weight of the memory. He stared at it with the intensity of someone facing a strong drink, even though he knew perfectly well there wasn't a single drop of alcohol in it. There couldn't be. Not after Kiyoomi. Not after that night when he told himself never again.

So much time had passed. Years. And yet, the pain had the audacity to remain, like a poorly healed wound that doesn't bleed but still burns.

Every time she saw him, every time she felt him close even if it was only through a stolen glance, Atsumu's heart throbbed with that mixture of guilt, love, and a sadness that she didn't know where in her body it resided.

"I don't understand why you were never her boyfriend," Osamu said suddenly from behind the counter. "It's obvious you're both crazy about each other."

Atsumu did not look up.

-That?

"That's it. I've always thought so. Even now." Osamu crossed his arms, looking at him with a mixture of frustration and genuine concern. "I saw you, Tsumu. And I saw him too. Both of them. They feel each other. They look at each other as if the entire universe were a bad excuse not to kiss."

Atsumu smiled, but it was a broken, sad gesture. He turned the glass a couple of times in his hand, as if turning it could cool his anger or regret.

"And do you know what I did?" Atsumu looked up, her eyes wet and unblinking, her smile trembling like a thread about to snap. "Nothing. I just watched. I hid. I died inside and out."

Osamu said nothing. He couldn't. He just stared at him, as if he were truly seeing his brother for the first time in years. He clenched his fists. The air felt thick.

—What are you talking about, Tsumu?

"There was another life, Samu. And I'm not crazy. I swear. I remember everything. We were married, we lived in a small house, with a garden and a coffee maker that made more noise than it did. I loved him so much. For years. I did what I loved most and he was there... or so I thought." Atsumu lowered his voice to a whisper. "One day he sat down in front of me and told me he couldn't go on anymore, that he needed something else. That I wasn't enough. And he let me go. He let me go."

Osamu took a deep breath, as if he wanted to absorb the pain that his brother was spitting out in pieces.

—And then I got in the car. I drank until I didn't know who I was. I was driving at top speed, you know? Because I wanted to escape everything. Him. Myself. The emptiness. And I left. I really left.

Silence. A dense silence, which seemed to swallow all the oxygen.

—I died, Samu. I killed myself. I killed myself because living without him was like dying every day, and in the end I made it happen.

—We...

—And now I'm here. In this shitty second chance where I tried to stay away. To not repeat the same mistakes. Where I rejected him before he could hurt me again. But I loved him again. I loved him again, Samu. As if time hadn't passed. As if my soul knew it was him, even though my memories screamed at me that I shouldn't.

—Since when?

—Always. I've loved him for over thirty years. Between this life and the next. I loved him as a teenager, as an adult, as a husband... and as a ghost. I love him now, even though it hurts. Even though he doesn't know it. Even though I no longer know how to go on without breaking a little more each time.

And then, Osamu understood. He understood that his brother had never recovered. That the smile he wore was just the scab over a wound that never fully healed. That Atsumu wasn't just broken... he was tired of trying not to be.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Osamu asked, his voice breaking, barely contained by guilt. His eyes were shining, as if he could finally see the extent of the pain his brother was carrying.

Atsumu shrugged, a bitter smile on his lips.

"And what did you want me to do? Tell you at seventeen that I'd lived a whole life, that I'd gotten married, that I'd been dumped, that I'd killed myself?" He looked at him, exhausted. "Would you really have believed me, Samu?"

—I... I don't know. But I would have listened to you, at least.

—Listen to me? Samu, you were an idiot at seventeen. I'm sorry if I didn't want to share my forty-year-old heart with a kid who still believed that pain was cured by eating ramen.

Osamu frowned, but smiled a little. Just a little.

—So now you're a fifty-year-old man?

Atsumu let out a short, hoarse laugh, as if it was difficult to get it out of his chest.

—I feel eighty, actually.

There was a second of silence. And in it, the truth slipped in uninvited.

"I missed you calling me that," Osamu whispered, looking down.

-As?

-Find.

Atsumu swallowed, moving closer. He didn't touch him yet. He didn't want to break the moment.

"Well... I've been an idiot," he admitted, with genuine awkwardness. "Even though I am the oldest now, right?"

"Just a few minutes, no more," Osamu joked, his voice still trembling.

"Yes, but enough to have made me think I was wise all this time. I'm sorry for not trusting you. And I'm sorry for pushing you away, little brother," Atsumu finally said, breaking down a little.

— I'm sorry for not noticing how lonely you were.

Atsumu closed his eyes. And for the first time in years, he seemed to exhale the weight of several lifetimes in a single breath.

—I wasn't alone. I was just waiting. Waiting for someone to believe me.

—And I believe you, Tsumu. I believe you.

Silence. The kind of silence that doesn't frighten. The kind that comforts.

And through it all, the pain was still there. But, for the first time, he was no longer alone.

After Atsumu left, Osamu sat motionless in front of the closed door for several minutes. The silence in the apartment was overwhelming, but no more so than the echo of his brother's words. That confession... had disarmed him.

He poured himself a glass of water, but didn't drink it. He stood by the stove, replaying every gesture, every word, every look Atsumu had given him in the last few months. Even the previous years began to make sense: the perpetual weariness on his face, the calls cut short, his sudden decision to stop drinking, that strange shift in priorities that Osamu hadn't understood.

She had started to change right when she was a sophomore in high school. Or rather, when she left them .

She couldn't take it anymore. With trembling fingers, she picked up her cell phone and searched for that one name that always responded, even in the middle of the night:  Suna .

"Are you okay?" asked the voice on the other end, with its typical calmness, but with a hint of immediate concern.

"Can you come?" Osamu said bluntly.

That was all it took. An hour later, they were in Osamu's apartment, sitting on the sofa. Osamu was shifting restlessly, as if what he felt in his chest couldn't fit inside his body.

Before he could speak, Suna glanced at him sideways, arms crossed.

—It has something to do with Sakusa and Atsumu, right?

Osamu froze. His grimace was all Suna needed to confirm her suspicions.

"I knew you'd spill the beans sooner or later," he said with a low laugh, not mocking, like someone who knows something important is about to happen. "Go on, talk. I'm listening."

Osamu took a deep breath. He didn't know where to begin, but he couldn't keep it to himself any longer.

"I don't know how to help him, Rin. I really don't. He told me everything, everything he went through... and I..." She swallows, her words coming out broken. "I wish I could grab that Sakusa from the future and punch him for being such an idiot."

Suna raised her eyebrows, partly out of surprise, partly because of how devastated her friend sounded.

—From the future?

"Yes." Osamu leaned back, covering his face with his hands for a moment. "I'm not crazy, I swear I'm not. Atsumu... Atsumu lived another life. He told me everything. He married Sakusa, loved him for years, and still, Sakusa left him. She broke his heart. And he..." He said it with anger, with suppressed pain, "he couldn't bear it. He drank himself into oblivion and had an accident. He died, Rin. He died."

The room fell silent.

Suna blinked, serious. The mocking expression vanished immediately. There was no more room for jokes.

"Are you saying that your brother...?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes. In another life, he died. Because of Sakusa." Osamu clenched his fists. "And now he's here again, with all those memories weighing on him. He still loves him, Rin. He told me so. More than thirty years have passed, counting both lives, and he still loves him just the same. But nobody knows. Nobody. He's carried it all alone."

Suna didn't respond immediately. Her gaze was fixed on the coffee table, as if processing the information was physically difficult for her.

"Is that why he changed so much?" she finally murmured. "Is that why he became quieter, colder?"

Osamu nodded, his voice barely a whisper.

—Yes... because I was just surviving. Because I had already lived, loved, and lost. All of that before turning twenty again. And you know what the worst part is? I think I still hold out hope that Sakusa will remember. That's why I've never been with anyone else. That's why I keep waiting.

Suna took a deep breath, frowning. Then she shook her head slowly.

—You can't keep this just for yourself, Samu.

-What do you mean?

"Komori needs to know," Suna said, looking him straight in the eyes. "He's been with Sakusa all this time. He's seen how she suffers. How she searches for him everywhere, even if she doesn't say so. Maybe he can... I don't know, help. Or at least make her see the truth.  He deserves  to know. Atsumu can't carry this alone anymore."

Osamu hesitated. It was the most painful secret his brother had ever confided in him. But it was also true: perhaps sharing it was the only thing that could save him.

"I don't know what's right anymore," he finally said, broken.

Suna placed a hand on his shoulder.

—Me neither. But if we don't do something, Atsumu is going to die again. This time, even if he's still breathing.

Komori arrived at Suna's apartment with light steps, a bag of donuts in hand, and the calm expression of someone who didn't yet know her world was about to be turned upside down. She greeted Osamu and Rin with a distracted smile, plopped down on the sofa without asking permission, and tossed the donuts onto the table.

"What happens now? They told me it was urgent," she murmured, opening the box.

Suna looked at Osamu, as if giving him the go-ahead. Osamu rubbed his face with both hands, exhaling slowly, feeling that what he was about to say was irreversible.

"It's Atsumu..." she began, her voice hoarse. "He... remembers things. From another life."

Komori raised her head, blinking in confusion. "What?"

"Yes, it sounds stupid and ridiculous. But... it isn't. He's not lying," Suna interjected calmly. "It's not a fantasy. Atsumu lived a whole life before this one. He got married, divorced, and his life went to hell. And he saw it all again from scratch... with the same eyes."

Komori remained motionless.

—And who did she marry?

—With Sakusa—Osamu replied.

The silence grew thick. Komori slowly lowered the donut she had reached for, and her expression turned serious, almost dark.

—Are you telling me that Atsumu... always loved him?

Osamu nodded.

—And he still does.

Komori let out a hollow, trembling laugh.

"And why didn't you say so?!" Komori snapped, jumping to her feet. Her hands trembled slightly. Her jaw was tense, as if holding back crueler words.

"Because he was afraid," Osamu replied, without getting up, but with his eyes fixed firmly on him. "Because when he trusted her completely, Sakusa left him. She abandoned him."

Komori clenched his fists, his lips, his breath. It wasn't anger that burned in his chest now, it was something deeper: disappointment, yes, but also a fierce sadness. A pain that wasn't his own but had become a part of him after watching Kiyoomi sink for years.

"They're a bunch of damn lovesick idiots," she muttered through gritted teeth. "Atsumu for not trusting him, and Kiyoomi for continuing to love him despite everything. It drives me crazy trying to understand when it all fell apart. When... when did he get tired of it? When did he decide it wasn't worth continuing? How the hell do you get to the point of divorcing the only person who taught you how to love?"

"We are not them," Suna said quietly from the kitchen, where she had remained on the sidelines until that moment. "And assumptions aren't going to get us anywhere."

"But I need to know!" Komori exclaimed. "I need to understand why the hell Atsumu ended up running away, drinking, almost killing herself... and she still loves him! She loves him as if no time has passed, as if time stopped the very second they broke up."

"And yet," Osamu interjected with a sigh, "he can't give himself up again. Because the last time he did... and Kiyoomi broke his heart."

Komori closed her eyes. She lowered her head slowly. Her shoulders moved with ragged breathing, as if she were holding back the urge to break something, to shake off all that borrowed pain she carried on her back.

—I just... want to help. But I don't know how.

"Help him," Osamu said gently. "Kiyoomi. Talk to him. Without saying anything, without revealing anything you shouldn't, but observe. Find out if his heart still beats for Atsumu. Because if there's anything to save, there's still time."

Komori nodded with a slow, resigned movement.

—I will. But you better get ready, Osamu.

-So that?

Komori looked up, and his expression was as serious as that of a judge handing down a sentence.

"Because if Kiyoomi finds out everything and decides to go after Atsumu again... you're going to need to be there. Because your brother's heart isn't made to endure a third time."

Komori left in silence. He didn't say goodbye with hugs or witty remarks. He simply nodded as Osamu watched from the doorway, knowing he had unleashed something that could no longer be stopped.

The journey home felt long. Not because the train was slow, but because his mind wouldn't leave him alone. He'd spent years silently caring for Kiyoomi, keeping him company without asking too many questions, offering his shoulder without demanding explanations. But that afternoon, something broke. Seeing him grovel like that for someone who clearly loved him and yet had still left him, had emotionally exiled him… it hurt. It burned.

How could they love each other so much if they hurt each other so much?

He vividly remembered all the times Sakusa called him, sobbing, his voice choked with emotion, asking if Atsumu was already with someone else. If she was over him. If she had ever loved him as much as he thought. He remembered the times Sakusa stopped eating for days, and Komori had to drag him out of bed with any excuse. "They're going to kick you off the team if you keep this up ," he'd tell him, though what he feared most was that one day he wouldn't get up again.

And all for what? To find out now that Atsumu had lived another entire life with him and still left him? Did something happen in that future that was powerful enough to break them from within?

Komori didn't understand anything. And she hated not understanding.

A week later, his team faced MSBY. Unlike other times, he didn't approach it with detached professionalism. He observed every interaction, every glance, every hint of discomfort. It was there, amidst the unspoken tension, that Komori made a decision.

They needed a cousins' moment.

Even so, he wasn't impulsive. He spent the entire week researching—regressions, reincarnations, soul connections, anything that had even the slightest resemblance to what he'd heard from Osamu. And everything he found agreed on one thing: destined souls always found a way to reunite.

So, if Atsumu had returned… why hadn't Kiyoomi?

With that question burning in his throat, he went to Sakusa's apartment. He knew everyone on the team had gone drinking at Onigiri Miya, a kind of ridiculous tradition whenever they played against them. Sakusa, as always, made excuses. He didn't like to drink. He didn't like people. And Komori knew he would find him alone.

He knocked with the confidence of someone who had been inside a thousand times. When Sakusa opened the door, surprise was evident on her face, but she said nothing. She simply stepped aside to let him in.

"I didn't know you were coming," he murmured.

"I didn't know she was coming until a few minutes ago," Komori replied, setting her bag aside.

The apartment was spotless, as always. Cold. Too quiet.

—Do you want tea?

—I didn't come for tea, Kiyo.

Sakusa stopped halfway. She turned slowly and looked at him with that restrained expression she used to keep from breaking down.

—Then tell me what's going on.

Komori thought for a moment, choosing her words as if they were needles that could prick or heal. Then she sat down on the sofa, still looking at her cousin.

—I'm tired of seeing you consumed by him.

—Don't start.

"I've been seeing it for years," she continued, without raising her voice. "I called you every time you cried. I picked you up off the floor when you couldn't go on. And you still don't realize it?"

Sakusa clenched her fists.

—What are you talking about?

—From Atsumu. From you. From how they keep destroying themselves without even trying again.

—He doesn't love me, Komori.

—Do you want it?

Silence.

—Do you even love yourself?

Sakusa glared at him, but Komori didn't back down. It was the first time they'd spoken like this. And yet, there was more love in that confrontation than in all the shared silences of the past.

"You know what I find hard to understand?" Komori said, her voice breaking. "When did you stop fighting for him? What did you do in that future they talk so much about that drove him away from you like this?"

Sakusa did not respond.

"Because I want to understand. But I can't. I'm not him. You're not you. Nobody knows, and we're not going to get anywhere with assumptions. But I'm fed up, do you hear me? Absolutely fed up with seeing two people so stupidly in love let time, fear, or pride tear away what they once had."

Sakusa looked away.

—I don't want you to pity me.

“I don’t have it,” Komori said firmly. “But I’m not going to stay silent while you keep groveling. I’m going to talk to you. And I’ll do it as subtly as I can, not to manipulate or pressure you. Just to understand if you’re still there… if there’s still some of that love I know existed.”

Sakusa sat beside him. For a moment, he seemed smaller. More broken.

—What if it's no longer useful?

Komori put a hand on his shoulder.

—Then at least we'll know we tried.

And that night there were no answers. But the silence became a little more bearable.

Atsumu was reviewing reports at his desk, his sleeves rolled up carelessly, his tie half-loosened, and his brow furrowed with concentration. It was late; the office was beginning to empty, and only the echoes of distant footsteps and the constant hum of the lights remained.

I didn't expect someone to knock on the frosted glass door.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as soon as he looked up, feeling the weight of the past hit him suddenly when he saw Sakusa, standing there, still wearing her MSBY sports clothes, her hair wet from the quick shower and her eyes fixed on him.

"I wanted to invite you to dinner," Sakusa said simply.

Atsumu blinked, confused, as if that possibility couldn't possibly exist anymore. He then noticed the difference between them: he was dressed too smartly, as if trying to convince the world that his life was under control; while Sakusa looked like he'd just stepped out of an ordinary day at the gym. They looked ridiculous together. The contrast was painful.

"Dinner?" Atsumu repeated, glancing down at his watch. "Sakusa, I'm busy. I can't..."

At that moment, a third figure appeared in the hallway: a young man, probably an intern from another office, who stopped when he saw Sakusa and opened his eyes wide.

—No way! Sakusa Kiyoomi? I've been a fan of yours since high school!

Sakusa blinked, somewhat uncomfortably, but nodded with a slight, polite smile.

"Would you mind giving me an autograph?" the boy insisted, glancing sideways at Atsumu. "Wow, Atsumu-kun, I didn't know you knew Sakusa-san."

Atsumu swallowed.

"We don't know each other," he replied coldly, without thinking, without considering how much those words could hurt them both.

The young man let out a nervous giggle, taking the refusal as part of a game.

"Really?" she smiled, almost cheekily. "Then you wouldn't mind if I asked her out on a date, right?"

Atsumu tensed up. And Sakusa, who was already preparing to politely deny it, stopped when she saw Atsumu's face contort into a grimace that bordered on annoyance and repressed jealousy.

"Sure," Sakusa said then, looking at the boy. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

The atmosphere in the room shifted in an instant. Atsumu stood up so abruptly that the chair creaked beneath him. He walked over to Sakusa, took his wrist firmly—not tightly, but decisively—and fixed his gaze on the boy.

"Excuse me," she said with a strained smile, her eyes dark with anger, "but he invited me first."

The silence was awkward. The intern stepped back, clearly intimidated, and mumbled an apology before disappearing down the hall.

Sakusa stared at Atsumu's hand on hers, not daring to move. Atsumu didn't let go immediately either.

"Idiot," Atsumu finally whispered, still not letting go of him completely. "What the hell were you thinking?"

—I thought you were going to let me go. Like always.

The grip loosened. Atsumu awkwardly pulled his hand away.

—Okay... let's go to dinner, before someone else asks you out.

—Was that a yes?

"Don't get too excited," he grumbled, but he was already grabbing his jacket. "It's just so you don't end up in a restaurant with a teenage fanboy."

"You're saving me," Sakusa murmured, with a smile that barely dared to form.

"I'm saving myself, Sakusa," Atsumu replied, buttoning his shirt as he turned his back on her. "From hating you again."

And although the tension between them still throbbed like a poorly healed wound, they left together.

Perhaps the first step toward ceasing to hurt each other. Or perhaps, just one more night to remember why the love between them was so easily mistaken for a battle.

Dinner was silent. The restaurant was elegant, though not so much as to justify Atsumu's impeccable attire, which contrasted sharply with Sakusa's sportswear. Sakusa had come straight from training, without much thought, driven only by the desire to see him. Seated across from each other, their wine glasses still nearly untouched, they barely exchanged a word.

There was cordiality, yes, a courtesy that hurt more than any argument. Atsumu kept his gaze fixed on his wristwatch, trying to hide it, although it didn't matter much anymore whether Sakusa noticed or not.

Kiyoomi clutched the napkin to his lap, feeling awkward and insecure.

"If you weren't going to be looking out for me..." she began in a low, hurt voice, "...I would have accepted the other date."

Atsumu looked up quickly, a hint of annoyance flashing across his face. Then he smiled as if nothing had happened.

"You weren't going to accept," he said, shrugging. "You only said it to provoke me."

—And it worked.

Silence returned. The discomfort became palpable. Sakusa's fork tapped gently against the edge of the plate, then she let go. She took a deep breath. She had rehearsed this conversation several times, but it never sounded like this in her head.

—Why are you so reluctant to give us a chance, Atsumu?

The name, spoken so clearly, so carefully, rested on the table like a delicate offering.

Atsumu narrowed his eyes, barely pursing his lips.

—And what assures me that you will love me for life, Sakusa?

Kiyoomi didn't hesitate. Her voice didn't tremble.

—I've loved you since I met you, Atsu.

Atsumu lowered his gaze. His fingers played with the rim of the glass. A joyless laugh escaped his throat.

—That's the sad thing, Kiyoomi. You've never really known me.

The silence grew heavier. Sakusa didn't break it. Atsumu looked at him, without resentment, without anger, only with the resigned certainty of someone who has already lived through that future.

"You know the kind side. The one that backs away when you're uncomfortable. The one that pretends everything's okay. The one that ignores you. The one that sets boundaries. But you don't know the real Atsumu. You don't know what I'm like when I talk nonstop, when I laugh really loudly, when I make a huge mess and leave things out of place. Would you really love me if you knew all that?"

Sakusa opened his mouth, but Atsumu stopped him with a gesture of his hand. He had to say it. He had to get it all out.

—Maybe so… a couple of years. Maybe you'll like that challenge. Opposites attract, right? But tell me, Kiyoomi… when you retire and start working at your dad's company… when you have more travel, more meetings, more time in hotels than at home… will you really still love me?

He looked him in the eyes.

Tell me you won't arrive one day, exhausted from a flight, and when I excitedly tell you that I learned a new recipe or that I had a silly argument with a client… tell me you won't look at me with annoyance. Tell me you won't tell me to my face that you're tired and want a divorce. Tell me you won't come to hate my presence. Tell me you won't spend months silently resenting me, just because you don't have the courage to tell me.

Kiyoomi remained silent, tense, his fingers clenched on his knees.

"You can't deny that, can you, Kiyoomi?" Atsumu whispered, as if his voice were breaking inside. "Because I can. I know it's going to happen. Because I know you. Because you've already done it ."

A slight tremor ran through Sakusa's lips. She didn't fully understand, she couldn't understand. Not yet. But enough to know that something was crumbling in her hands without her even having fully grasped it.

Atsumu stood up slowly, leaving a couple of bills on the table.

—Thank you for inviting me.

There was no reproach in her voice. Only sadness.

Sakusa watched him walk away, feeling her heart, the one that had remained unbroken for so long, crack once more. Because she finally understood that Atsumu's fear wasn't of love, but of abandonment.

And the worst part was that, perhaps, Atsumu was right.

She didn't know how many drinks she'd had. Or when she started crying. Only that it hurt.

The house was silent. As silent as his soul felt. He used to find solace in meticulous order, in the purified air, in the perfect geometry of the furniture. But now all of that seemed like a mockery. The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the wood, but that didn't stop him. He poured more. He drank as if he could dissolve in the alcohol, disappear from within, break apart and never be formed again.

If I ever had something with Atsumu—if I actually managed to— would it be the way he said?

Would he really get fed up?
Would there come a day when he wanted to leave, just to stop hearing her laughter?

"What kind of monster would he have to be for me to stop loving him?" she murmured, staggering to the sofa. She closed her eyes. The world was spinning. Everything was turning except for that phrase that kept pricking her like a thorn in her chest:  "That's the sad thing, Kiyoomi. You never really knew me."

And she let go.

Fell.

When she woke up, the first thing she noticed was the pain. Her temples throbbed. Her muscles protested when she moved. Her throat was dry. But more than all that… something didn't add up.

She blinked. The light coming through the window didn't seem the same. The sofa… it wasn't hers. Nor was the coffee table. She sat up with difficulty, unsteady on her feet. The nightstand next to the bed held objects she didn't remember ever seeing before.

Pill bottles.

Some for sleeping.

Others are for depression.

He swallowed.

Her gaze fell upon a framed photograph. Him… and Atsumu. Smiling. With the rings in the foreground, as if the whole world needed to see them. Kiyoomi couldn't tear her eyes away from Atsumu's smile. It was the most genuine she could remember seeing.

She touched the image as if she could feel the warmth of the moment. It was impossible. It couldn't be real.

She ran to the bathroom. She washed her face. She looked at herself in the mirror. The man staring back at her had more wrinkles, duller hair, sunken eyes. Aged. Lost.  No... it can't be...

She went back to the room and picked up her cell phone. The date.

Ten years later.

A sharp knock on the door startled him.

"Kiyo...?" the voice trembled from the other side.

I would recognize that voice even if I were on the edge of the abyss.

He opened the door.

Komori stood before him, with deep dark circles under her eyes, her lips pressed tightly together, and a sadness so clear it could only mean one thing.

—No... I didn't see you at the funeral...

The world went dark.

He didn't need any more words.

A rush of memories violently assaulted him.

Atsumu lay on the sofa waiting for Kiyoomi to return home, but he was going to drink alone after a meeting.

Her parents yelled at her that she had ruined her future by marrying someone like Atsumu.

A cancelled dinner.

An apology never uttered.

A young boy, much younger, flirting with her at the bar and Kiyoomi smiling, just because he felt seen.

Atsumu welcoming him home with a funny story about the day, and Kiyoomi ignoring him because he was tired, because he just wanted silence, because love no longer seemed enough to him.

A scream.

The argument where he—himself—asked for a divorce. He did it coldly. Cruelly. Because he couldn't stand her smile anymore. Because her happiness irritated him.

And then Osamu. In a white room. Filled with fury, with red eyes and a broken voice.

Sakusa's heart stopped.

He remembered entering.

He remembered the hospital.

He remembered the doctor giving him the news.

And now…

Now there was no turning back.

He fell to his knees in front of the photo frame.

He clenched his teeth, covered his face with his hands, and wept. He wept with all the accumulated pain of the years he had ignored what was right in front of him. He wept for every wasted night. For every gesture of love he failed to appreciate. For every time he chose silence. He wept because, even if he repented, there was no one left to ask for forgiveness.

She cried because she lost everything.

And he deserved it.

"I ruined it... Atsumu ..." he whispered, so low that even he couldn't fully hear himself.

Because yes.  He ruined everything .

And this time, there was no second chance.

There was nobody left on the other side.

He didn't think about it too much. He just grabbed his car keys and left, as if something inside him knew exactly where he had to go. He didn't leave a note, he didn't answer any messages. It was his memory that took the wheel, that guided him through sleepy streets to the outskirts of the city, to that place that hurt just to think about.

Sakusa climbed the hill as if her bones were heavy, as if her body remembered every step, every conversation, every stolen kiss under that starry sky. The wind blew with the same gentleness as before, and dawn tinged the clouds with shades of orange and violet. But the air was no longer warm. It was heavy with something denser. Something that hurt.

Atsumu had been there. He knew it even before seeing the trail of wet footprints in the earth. This was  their  place. Theirs. Where they had promised each other their love without needing witnesses. Where Sakusa had knelt with her heart in her hand and Atsumu, with glassy eyes, had told her that there was nothing safer in the world than the two of them.

Now only silence remained.

Then he saw it. Among the damp grass, slightly bent by the morning dew, something gleamed: a ring.

Atsumu's wedding ring.

Trembling, Sakusa knelt down, carefully parted the grass as if afraid of breaking something sacred, and found a clumsily rolled-up piece of paper, wet from the night breeze. He unwrapped it with hands that wouldn't stop shaking.

The handwriting was messy. With smudged ink and stains that could have been rain, or tears. Or both. But it was Atsumu's handwriting.

 

 

Kiyoomi,

I don't know if you'll ever find this letter, but if you do…

I just want you to read it without anger.

I don't want to hurt you anymore.

I'm not angry with you, and I hope that's clear from the start.

I'm not angry about how you stopped feeling. Sometimes love fades, sometimes people change. And even though it breaks my heart… I understand. I really do.

This is not a final goodbye, not one of those you say before doing something irreversible.

No.

I didn't want to leave, Kiyoomi. I didn't want it to end like this. I just wanted to quiet my mind, to numb the pain for a while. And I ended up making it worse. The one thing I shouldn't have.

You have no idea how lonely it feels to keep loving someone who no longer loves you. And yet, I did it.

I loved you every day.

Even when your eyes no longer sought mine. Even when your silences were longer than your words. Even when you began to leave little by little, each day, until one day you were no longer there, even though you continued sleeping beside me.

And I don't blame you. Because I still have enough love for both of us.

I swear I have it, Kiyoomi.

But I'm not going to beg for it anymore. Not because I don't care, but because I have no more pride left to give up.

Because I'm starting to forget myself, who I was before I loved you so much. Because losing myself hurts more than losing you.

And that, that really is the end.

That's why I'm setting you free.

And I do it with all the love that still fills my heart. Because I love you so much that I'd rather let you go than become a shadow that haunts you.

I don't want you to stay out of pity. I don't want your hugs out of habit. I don't want your kisses out of guilt. I want it to be because you still love me if you ever come back.

But if not… if that love no longer exists… then that's okay. It's going to be hard, but I'll be alright.

I'm not a victim in this story. Neither are you the villain.

We were just two people who loved each other very much, but we stopped understanding each other. And if there's one thing I learned, it's that love isn't always enough.

I'm leaving you this ring, not because I want to give it back, but because I refuse to wear it as if we were still what we no longer are.

It was the symbol of the most beautiful promise ever made to me. 

But I... I will remember that moment on this hill as the happiest of my existence.

I want you to keep living.

May you allow yourself to truly laugh again. May you love without fear. May you not carry this like a burden.

The only thing I chose… was to love you. And that, even if I'm left with only the echo, will always be my truth.

Thank you for teaching me what it means to love without measure. Thank you for letting me be a part of your story, even if it was just one chapter.

And even if life offered me a second chance with you, I wouldn't take it.

Not because I don't love you, because I do love you, Kiyoomi, with all that I am, but because that love could only be experienced once. What we had was unrepeatable.

Single.

And I don't want a copy of what we had, I don't want a watered-down version of what was once so much ours.

Loving you was the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me.

But it was also what hurt me the most.

And that's why, because of everything it meant, I prefer to keep it intact, even if it leaves scars.

Because yes, it's nice to love you.

But it is also… unbearably painful.

And if you ever think of me, let it be with affection.

Always yours, even from afar,

Atsumu

Sakusa clutched the letter to his chest, falling completely to his knees, as if the world had crumbled beneath him.

"Atsumu..." she whispered between sobs.  "No... no..."

The hill, the sunrise, the cold air. It was all a cruel joke.

Because now he understood that Atsumu didn't want to die. He just wanted to be sought after. To be loved. To be chosen. And he didn't do that. He left him alone. He let him think he was disposable. He let him go.

Fate was playing a rather cruel game. Ever since Atsumu had confided in Osamu that time, he'd started visiting him more often. When he had meetings in Osaka, he preferred to stay with his brother, seeking in the warmth of family something that reminded him of who he used to be, before everything fell apart. They laughed, cooked together, sometimes simply shared silence in front of the television, but Atsumu couldn't ignore one thing: Osamu treated him with a care he hadn't felt since they were children.

One afternoon, while Atsumu was stirring the tea in his cup without touching it, he looked up and asked in a low voice:

—What aren't you telling me, Samu?

The question surprised Osamu. He frowned, placing his silverware on the table with a soft,  dry click  .

-What are you talking about?

"I don't know..." Atsumu sighed, dragging his fingers along the rim of the cup. "You look at me like you don't know what to do with me anymore. Like you know something I don't."

Osamu remained silent for a few seconds. Then, he looked away.

—How did it go with Sakusa?

The question pierced him completely. Atsumu pressed his lips together, suppressing the trembling of his jaw. He didn't know if the distance hurt more, or the hope that still refused to die within him.

"We had dinner the other day." He paused and forced a hollow laugh. "I think she finally gave in."

He said it with disdain, but he couldn't stop his mind from bringing up the image of Kiyoomi silently, with moist eyes, looking at him as if she still loved him… but also as if she no longer knew how.

Atsumu felt like hell.

Just then, the door suddenly opened, startling them both.

"Komori!" Osamu exclaimed upon seeing his cousin's agitated figure in the doorway.

The young man entered without even closing the door completely, breathing in short, ragged breaths. His face was pale and drawn, and his eyes held a worry that chilled both of them to the bone.

"Kiyoomi…" she said, her voice breaking. "She's in the hospital."

Atsumu stood up immediately, his heart racing.

—What? What happened?

—Intoxication. Alcohol. Pills. No... it wasn't an attempt at anything, it was a dangerous mix. He passed out in his apartment and was found by a neighbor.

Atsumu paled. His body grew completely cold.

"Can I come?" he asked in a hoarse voice, almost pleading.

Komori looked at him, hurt and furious.

—Why? To hurt him more?

That sentence broke him. Atsumu took a step back as if he'd been slapped. The lump in his throat became unbearable. He knew he'd hurt Kiyoomi, but he also knew that he never meant for things to end like this.

"Komori…" Osamu murmured, standing up and placing himself between them. "Stop it. You're not helping by talking like that. Atsumu has a right to worry."

"Worried?" Komori retorted. "Now?"

"It wasn't just their fault," Osamu insisted, his tone firm. "They both broke together."

Komori gritted her teeth. It was clear she was struggling with conflicting emotions. She wanted to protect Kiyoomi, she wanted to understand what had happened… and also, though she found it hard to admit, she wanted to believe there was still something left to save between them.

Atsumu, meanwhile, kept his gaze fixed on the ground. His hands were trembling.

"I'm not going if you don't want me to. I just... I just wanted to know if it was okay."

"She's stable," Komori finally said, lowering her voice. "But... she's still not awake."

A thick silence settled in. The kitchen clock ticked every second as if mocking the pain in the room.

"Just…" Komori added after a pause. "Don't tell him anything yet. Don't put a burden on him that he can't bear. If you go, it will be to see him, not to talk about you two."

Atsumu nodded, unable to speak. His chest ached, his soul felt heavy, and all he could do now was wait… again.

The day was gray, as if the whole world had decided to share Atsumu's mood. The hospital, with its smell of disinfectant and stifled whispers, was already familiar to him. He walked the same corridors twice a day, the same lukewarm coffees in hand that he never finished. Since Sakusa had been hospitalized, there hadn't been a morning or afternoon that he hadn't gone to see him. He went when there were fewer people, when no one else could reproach him for being there. He didn't want to bother Komori. He didn't want to inconvenience anyone. He just needed to make sure Sakusa was still breathing.

That day, the doctors were more reserved than usual. They noticed he was weaker. Something in his body wasn't working properly. The poisoning was eating him away from the inside.

Atsumu stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on the IV, trying to ignore the constant alarm in his chest. Guilt had been silently gnawing at him for days, but now it felt like it was suffocating him.

He thought about everything he hadn't said. Everything he'd said wrong. Every time he'd chosen to protect himself and not believe. Every time he'd thought Sakusa might hurt him again… and not the times he'd loved her more tenderly than anyone else.

She felt her hands tremble. She slumped into the chair. She covered her face and began to cry.

They weren't silent tears. It was a heart-wrenching cry. The cry of someone who can't forgive themselves.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Omi..." she whispered, like a mantra, as if that could turn back time.

She didn't even notice the movement in the bed until a warm, though weak, hand touched her cheek. Atsumu looked up abruptly. Sakusa's eyes were half-open, cloudy, but alive.

"I hate it when you cry..." he murmured, his voice almost childlike. " You're too beautiful to cry."

Atsumu let out a soft laugh, choked with snot and tears.

—Let me call Toya-kun, I promised him that if this happened he would be the first to know.

"No." The refusal was barely audible, but clear. Sakusa's eyes remained fixed on hers, unblinking. "Stay. I don't want anyone else right now. Only you."

Atsumu blinked. Her chest tightened.

—Omi… I shouldn't be here. Toya is right. What am I doing here if I'm only hurting you?

—You don't hurt me, Atsu. You make me live. Even though you hurt me... I prefer you to anyone else I don't care about.

Atsumu swallowed hard.

"I'll come back another day, okay? You need to rest," she said, getting up gently, unable to fully meet his eyes. If she did, she would break down again.

But Sakusa raised a hand and placed it on her wrist.

—When I'm discharged… I want to have a date with you.

And then Atsumu, for the first time in a long time, smiled. Not a forced or bitter smile, but one that contained light, disbelief, and hope in equal measure.

—We'll see about that, Omi-kun… we'll see about that.

A couple of hours passed before Komori arrived at the hospital. Her entrance was noisy, filled with fury and worry, like a storm that couldn't be contained. The first thing she did was push open the door and start talking nonstop.

"Are you crazy, Kiyoomi?! What were you thinking?! Now you want to...?!" He cut himself off before finishing the sentence, shaking his head as if banishing a dark thought. "What if no one had found you in time?!"

Sakusa didn't answer. He remained lying down, thinner, with deep dark circles under his eyes and paler skin than Komori remembered. But his gaze was still, as if his cousin's storm hadn't touched him.

His eyes were fixed on the window, following the slow fall of the leaves, indifferent to the rage that stirred within Komori.

Kiyoomi's silence made him even more desperate.

"You can't keep doing this. You can't keep hurting yourself like this," Komori finally murmured, as the anger melted in her chest, turning into exhaustion. She slumped into the chair by the bed, weak and breathless.

Then Sakusa slowly turned her head and slipped a trembling hand under her pillow. She pulled out a crumpled, badly folded sheet of paper with awkward pencil lines. Komori raised an eyebrow in confusion until she got a better look at it.

It was a sketch. A ring.

It was simple, elegant. It had a small stone in the center, surrounded by a tiny inscription on the band. Komori felt something tighten in her chest.

-This...?

"Could you do it?" Sakusa asked, her voice rasping. "I don't care how much it costs. I want it as soon as possible."

Komori pressed her lips together, unsure what to say at first. She watched him, observed his stubborn gaze, the pallor in his cheeks, the absurd fragility of his body... and yet, that gesture held more resolve than anything she had seen in a long time.

She wanted to scream at him that it was stupid, that he couldn't go back to the same thing, that Atsumu wasn't ready, that this was just another way of groveling after someone who had already said no. But Komori knew Kiyoomi. And deep down... she knew she couldn't stop him anymore.

So he just nodded.

He said nothing.

Because, at the end of the day, Sakusa was still that lovestruck idiot.

Two weeks had passed since Sakusa was discharged from the hospital. The first few nights at home were difficult; his body was still weak and the fatigue lingered, but each morning spurred him to get up with one fixed idea:  I want to be well for him . He had no time to lose. When the ring finally arrived, he knew he couldn't wait any longer.

That night, he showed up at Osamu's house. Atsumu was waiting for him at the entrance, his hair neatly combed, wrapped in a simple yet elegant jacket. His smile lit up the night as if all the bad things were behind him.

Dinner was quiet, almost surprisingly simple. They laughed. They talked about trivial things, fond memories, silly jokes. As if they had finally granted each other a truce, or perhaps a second chance.

When Sakusa paid the bill, she saw him waiting outside, his scarf wrapped around his neck, covering his cheeks, which were red from the cold. He was beautiful. Even in the simplicity of the moment, Atsumu seemed to belong to a universe where everything was warmer, more genuine.

"Would you accompany me somewhere else?" Sakusa asked softly.

—Of course —Atsumu replied without hesitation.

He drove calmly, avoiding noisy streets, heading leisurely toward a destination that had been etched in his soul for years. Atsumu didn't realize where they were going until the car turned and the hill appeared before them, like a lingering memory. Getting out, he stood motionless for a few seconds, recognizing the place, but unable to understand how Sakusa could remember it too.

The wind was gentle, and the city, spread out beneath her feet, twinkled like an ocean of lights. Sakusa took a breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and then knelt down.

Atsumu stared at him, paralyzed. His heart was pounding so hard he felt it was going to burst out of his chest.

Sakusa took a small box from her coat. She opened it carefully, revealing a simple ring, without gold or precious stones. 

"It's not a wedding ring," she said, her voice firm but trembling. "It's a promise ring. I want to promise you that in all my lives, I will love you. That the 'me' who asked you for a divorce in that other reality was an idiot, and that all I will do in this one is try to repair everything I broke."

Atsumu's eyes widened. He swayed slightly.

"Omi...? How do you know... about the hill ...?" he asked, barely a whisper.

But Sakusa didn't answer that part. She just held up the ring and added:

—I don't know how much time we have. I don't know if this will work. But I know there's no version of me that doesn't love you. And if this is my only chance to choose you, I will. I always will.

Atsumu couldn't help it. A tearful laugh escaped her, followed by a sob. She fell to her knees in front of him and hugged him tightly.

"You're an idiot, Omi. An idiot who's late and yet... yet..." she laughed through her tears. "I love you. God, how I love you."