Chapter Text
Kiyoomi is learning, day-by-day.
Memories are not like math problems. He can’t calculate why his heart beats like a hummingbird whenever Atsumu enters a room. There’s no logical answer to why his body is flushed with heat whenever he sticks his tongue out at Kiyoomi across the court, or why whenever Atsumu grants him a flash of that blinding smile, Kiyoomi’s own mouth turns upwards without warning. Kiyoomi can’t decipher his emotions, his reactions, his hopes, and his fears.
But he’s learning.
In the beginning, Kiyoomi wondered every day what could have possibly possessed him to be careless enough to let it happen. On paper, nothing was his fault. The other driver was texting and slammed into him going well-above the speed limit. Kiyoomi was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and it uprooted his entire life.
His therapist tells him not to dwell on the past. It’s easier said than done. For the first two weeks, it’s all Kiyoomi did. He beat himself down, asking again and again – why? Why didn’t he wear a seatbelt? Why wasn’t he paying more attention to his surroundings? He doesn’t even remember where he was going that day. All of the ‘why’s and the ‘what if’s swirled around in his head like a tornado and he didn’t know how to stop it.
Healing is a difficult process. Kiyoomi abhors feeling out of control. He fights it any way he can, but to wake up and be told you’re missing two years of your life – he spiraled.
And as he spiraled, there was Atsumu. A constant in this life that he didn’t know – a source of comfort and peace that Kiyoomi didn’t understand, that scared him. Like most things of that nature, Kiyoomi went at him with his teeth bared, despite the fact that every instinct begged him to let Atsumu in.
He’s trying to move past it.
Kiyoomi has been Atsumu’s boyfriend for nearly two months and just like promised, they’re adhering to a brand new timeline. They go on dates, they hold hands, and do all of the things that couples do. It’s something that he would have never been able to wrap his head around before – wanting these sort of things, wanting somebody to take up this much space in his life, but he’s never met someone like Atsumu.
He has a lot of issues with his thought-processes from the past, but letting Miya Atsumu into his life was the right choice. Kiyoomi can’t get enough of him. He wants to kiss him senseless constantly.
It’s sweet and it’s sincere and it feels better than anything Kiyoomi has ever felt.
It also scares the absolute hell out of him.
He knows their story – Atsumu’s videos will be saved on his phone forever, and he watches them when he’s alone, mesmerized by the fact that these memories belong to him and Atsumu alone, even if Kiyoomi can only see them on a screen. For weeks after Atsumu sent the videos, Kiyoomi studied them, pleading with his mind to remember, to unlock even the faintest echoes of his time with Atsumu, and for weeks, he was left disappointed.
It’s more like watching a beloved television show – Kiyoomi is invested in the story, could watch it over and over again, but he’s detached from it.
His therapist told him getting his memories back is going to be like putting together a puzzle, but some of the pieces are missing from the box. They fell out when he was carrying it inside and they lay scattered around his rooms, in the streets that he walked, in all of the places he went. Kiyoomi has to look around to find them, and it may take time, and it may be frustrating, but eventually, Kiyoomi will find them all. One day, he’ll put that final piece of the puzzle into place.
His doctor is confident that his memories will return. Apparently, the fact that he only lost two years is a positive sign – he has a better chance than someone with an entirely clean slate. Atsumu talks like it’s only a matter of time, and Kiyoomi is so scared of disappointing him.
Atsumu never pressures him to remember. He’s conscious, now, of the difference in their knowledge of their relationship, and so both of them treat it like it’s something new. It is – it’s brand new to Kiyoomi, and there are adjustments, but he’s happy. He’s happy with Miya Atsumu. Sometimes, there are slip-ups and Atsumu falls back into routines that only he is privy to. Kiyoomi doesn’t fault him for it, but it’s a painful reminder of the fact that he is still not whole.
He brings it up one night because he’s trying to be more communicative about his problems, rather than just running away from them. They all know how that went the first time around.
“If they never come back, will you be okay with that?”
“If who never comes back? The characters in this series – ‘cause I think they’re gonna, and I don’t wanna hear yer negative energy about it. Just because it looked like they died off-screen –”
“What?” Kiyoomi scrunches his nose up. “No. My memories.”
“Oh,” Atsumu swats at the air. “Are ya even payin’ attention to the show?”
Kiyoomi gives him a dry look and Atsumu huffs. “I told ya, I don’t care if ya ever get them back, as long as I have ya. And I do, right?”
“You do,” Kiyoomi confirms.
It goes like that, usually. Kiyoomi hates insecurity – it’s a new emotion for him, and not one he’s fond of. He isn’t sure if he ever felt it with such prominence before, but it’s a constant presence now, always in the background of things. He doesn’t burden Atsumu with it, and he believes him when he tells him that he doesn’t care. It would be impossible not to – Atsumu loves with all he has. It’s something wondrous to behold and breathtaking to be on the receiving end of. He adores Kiyoomi in exactly the way he needs. He’s cautious, careful not to ever take things too fast or to overwhelm him but he never leaves any doubt that he will love Kiyoomi always, memories or not.
It breaks his heart to not know if he was ever worthy of Miya Atsumu. Judging by the videos, he wasn’t, but Atsumu will insist that it isn’t true. Sometimes, when Kiyoomi is by himself, he’ll just think – willing himself to remember what was going on in his head for the past year. He can’t imagine hiding Atsumu from the world. It was selfish of him – cruel, and he doesn’t even know his reasoning for it.
He dips into his college mind. He was never privy to relationships, preferring loose arrangements that could be broken off at any time. Kiyoomi kept himself guarded, on a path to his own goals, and never changed for anyone. Motoya used to tease him for it when they were younger. ‘We all know you’re a lover, Kiyo – why do you keep all of the love locked away?’
It was true. Kiyoomi loves too easily, and he knew he couldn’t keep everyone he laid his eyes on. He got attached, and it often ended in pain, so it was always better to just...not.
He doesn’t need to wonder what made Atsumu different. He could never stand a chance against this type of care. Atsumu downright drowned him in love. Kiyoomi would be powerless to it, but he knows he would still try to keep his distance. If Kiyoomi had to guess, he would say he maintained control by telling himself he was keeping Atsumu at arm’s length. If there wasn’t a title, a declaration of love, actual whispered confessions of feelings, then Kiyoomi could never lose him.
If he could go back in time, he would slap his younger self.
He would tell him to let Atsumu in, to never let him doubt Kiyoomi’s feelings, to never force him to go through the pain he went through alone.
Losing his memories feels like a lesson that he deserves.
He makes up for it the best he can now. He showers Atsumu in love, to the point of clinging, but Atsumu doesn’t seem to mind. It’s an odd relationship, filled with bumps and blunders, miscommunications and tension, but there is so much love.
Enough that Kiyoomi can’t believe he would ever keep it to himself. He wants to tell the entire world how lucky he is to have somebody like Atsumu.
Well, the world certainly does know, now. The moment Atsumu sent that picture out, both of their phones blew up. Kiyoomi worried they may freeze entirely from the sheer volume of notifications that were coming in at record-breaking speed.
“Should we turn them off?” Atsumu asked, scrunching his eyebrows together in horror at the non-stop vibrating. Kiyoomi considered it. He tried to scroll through – most of it was incoherent key-smashing from the MSBY Black Jackals. Several messages were from Motoya, congratulating him on finally getting himself together – Kiyoomi owed him a much more coherent explanation, preferably with less sobbing. There were a handful from Osamu and an unknown number – which Kiyoomi inferred was his boyfriend, Suna Rintaro. He and Atsumu were apparently in a group chat with them now, one that involved lots of sarcastic comments and rolling eyes emojis.
“We should, for now,” was Kiyoomi’s final decision. “We can worry about them tomorrow. I want to focus on you tonight.”
It was romantic, sappy, but maybe Kiyoomi was that kind of person now – at least around Atsumu. He wouldn’t fight it.
They turned off their phones and spent the rest of the evening wandering around Tokyo, trying new places, learning things about the other. Kiyoomi brought Atsumu to an ice cream shop with over one hundred different options for toppings, and when Kiyoomi got a combination of sour gummy worms, sour patch kids, and cookie dough on his, the horror on Atsumu’s face showed that how Kiyoomi ate his ice cream was new to him.
Kiyoomi smiled at the thought of being able to surprise him, still, even if he did have to endure a full twenty-minutes of incredulous teasing for the choice.
When they were both dragging their feet with exhaustion, Atsumu led them back to their hotel, and when he collapsed into his own bed, Kiyoomi followed him down.
“Omi?” he asked slowly, staying still and stiff and watching Kiyoomi like any sudden movement might startle him away. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, choosing to close them instead.
“Mine is too far,” Kiyoomi replied, even though his own bed was a mere ten feet away. He opened one eye to gauge Atsumu’s reaction and found him beaming. Kiyoomi wrapped himself around him and brought their faces together. He watched as Atsumu’s eyes filled with a myriad of emotions – thrill, fear, love, and then he kissed him until they fluttered closed.
Kiyoomi felt a warm sense of familiarity spread over him, and then he was somewhere else entirely – in his own apartment, with snow falling outside of the window he always kept the blinds open on. He watched it with his head against Atsumu’s chest – warm, content, home.
He startled and Atsumu pulled away. “What’s wrong, Omi?”
“Be my boyfriend,” Kiyoomi muttered to him, urgently. His heart raced.
“A-absolutely,” Atsumu whispered back, a little shaky, but fully affirmative. Kiyoomi kissed him again, clinging to the small piece of their old life that came back to him, playing it over and over so he wouldn’t forget again.
They woke up to chaos in the form of MSBY knocking on the door to their hotel room, demanding answers.
“I’m not ready for this,” Kiyoomi admitted. He and Atsumu didn’t bother falling asleep on opposite ends of the bed this time, and Kiyoomi woke up tangled up with him. Even with the pounding on the door, it was a pleasant way to wake. It was the first time since the accident that Kiyoomi had awoken with warmth and elation instead of dreary confusion. It was something he could get used to. “I want them to know, but I’m not ready for it.”
“I’ll do all the talkin’,” Atsumu promised in a low grumble. Kiyoomi paid special attention to the way Atsumu spoke. He wouldn’t forget the way his voice sounded when he spoke to Kiyoomi again.
“I want you to tell them everything,” Kiyoomi decided. “About the whole relationship.”
“Omi, we don’t have to – ”
“I wanted to start over, but I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. All of those stories – they were real. I want them to know the truth.”
Atsumu laughed a little at that. “I don’t think they’d appreciate havin’ to hear all of the stories, but sure, we can tell ‘em a few.”
They ignored the knocking for a few more moments, mostly because Kiyoomi wanted to kiss Atsumu more, and secondarily because he needed to brush his teeth and put a shirt on. Once the pounding reached a fever pitch, Atsumu grumbled and threw himself out of bed, yanking the door open with the force of one of his serves.
“What if we were sleepin’?” he snapped, and Kiyoomi peeked over his shoulder to see...the entire team. Meian led the pack, with Inunaki and Hinata on opposite sides of him – Hinata looking like a child on Christmas and Inunaki looking like he just witnessed a murder.
“You lost the privilege to sleep,” Meian told them, “when you decided to turn the entire V league on its ass and then disappear from the face of the planet.”
“You know, I expect this kind of behavior from Miya,” Tomas said. He was laughing, failing entirely at being authoritative. “But not from you, Sakusa!”
“Can I just say,” Hinata began, stars in his eyes. “That I called this, and that I am so happy for you.”
“You almost ruined it,” Sakusa pointed out and Hinata deflated.
“He’s just making a joke, Sho,” Atsumu translated. Hinata reanimated and nodded, like of course, he knew that.
A thought invaded Kiyoomi’s head – one of his early days as a part of MSBY, with four of them in the gym, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive for an away game. Hinata, who was entirely too awake for the early hour, was trying to rouse them by playing ‘Would You Rather?’
Kiyoomi didn’t participate at first, choosing instead to doze on the floor against his backpack, but he felt compelled to answer when Hinata asked, “Would you rather have incredibly strong fingers or an incredibly strong sense of smell?”
“Fingers,” Kiyoomi had said. “It works out perfectly. I would be even better at you all than I already am, and I wouldn’t have to smell how disgusting you are after practice.”
Hinata, Bokuto, and Atsumu all turned to stare at him and then burst into laughter.
“You know, Omi, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard ya joke around,” Atsumu pointed out. Kiyoomi remembers very distinctly that his heart fluttered.
Memories. He’s recalling things that have actually happened to him. He’s finding pieces scattered on the floor, brought back into the room by Atsumu, by his teammates.
“It’s so cute,” Bokuto declared, gleeful, pulling Kiyoomi back to reality. “Two teammates falling in love.”
“Did you know we’re trending on every social media right now?” Meian interrupted, irritated. “We’re getting interview requests like never before. They’re making up couple names for you.”
“Ah, yeah?” Atsumu blurted. “What’s the name?”
“Is that important?” Meian bit. Kiyoomi thought it was, but he didn’t say so.
“Explain yourselves,” Tomas demanded, but he was still smiling. Barnes would’ve been a better option for Meian’s back-up, but he’s far in the back, staying out it. “I want the whole story.”
Atsumu looked to Kiyoomi, as if asking him for his permission. He answered him by running his fingers down his arm and intertwining them. All eyes followed the movement and Kiyoomi clocked a mixture of joy, disbelief and maybe slight horror in their expressions.
“Go ahead and tell them everything,” Kiyoomi said. “From the beginning.”
“I’ll tell ya, but yer not gonna believe it,” Atsumu sighed.
“Try us,” Bokuto challenged. “Why wouldn’t we believe you?”
“Come in, and you’ll see.”
They all piled into the small hotel room, draping themselves over beds and settling onto the floor, and Atsumu retold the story that Kiyoomi already knew so well. By the time he finished, Inunaki had collapsed with his hands over his eyes, Bokuto and Hinata were practically vibrating, Barnes and Tomas seemed like they couldn’t compute, and Meian appeared to be having a stroke.
“A year?” he asked faintly. “You two were dating for a year and didn’t think to tell anyone about it?”
“Well, yeah, it would’ve been weird,” Atsumu answered. “And we were only kinda datin’, I told ya. It was a...situation, for sure.”
“I made Atsumu keep it a secret,” Kiyoomi explained. “I’m sure I had my reasons, but I can’t think of them now so they aren’t valid to me. I apologize for going behind all of your backs with this.”
“We’re datin’ for real now,” Atsumu added helpfully, squeezing Kiyoomi’s hand.
“I think I’m having an aneurysm,” Inunaki said, finally sitting up. “So you two...pretended to hate each other...for over a year...just so we wouldn’t catch onto the fact that you liked each other?”
“Mmm, yup.”
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “We used to put you in hotel rooms together and make bets on whether or not you’d kill each other, and the whole time you were – no, I can’t think about it.”
“I hope ya lost lots of money on yer bets, ya dick,” Atsumu snapped.
“You two were...really convincing,” Barnes said. “Although, I did always wonder how you managed to keep up such a level of teamwork when you were always at each other’s throats. Now I know.”
“I took a theatre class in college,” Kiyoomi offered. Atsumu snorted and laid his head on his shoulder. Everyone stared for a moment before Hinata burst into laughter, and Bokuto joined in.
“I think it’s sweet!” he boomed. “I love it. I’m so happy for you two. Omi, do you not remember any of it?”
“I remember some parts,” Kiyoomi responded. He knew this question would come and that his teammates would only be the first ones to ask it. There’s never enough preparation for it, though, especially now, when he’s begun to get glimmers of recognition from his old life. “But it doesn’t really matter. We’re together now.”
“Yeah, Omi asked me to be his boyfriend,” Atsumu bragged, holding tight onto his hand.
“Did nobody know?” Hinata demanded. “Man, I thought I had you all figured out, but I was way off the mark. I thought you were just stupid and crushing on each other and used the angry rivalry trope to hide it.”
“That sounds oddly specific, Sho, like ya’ve got experience with it?” Atsumu taunted, and Hinata turned redder than his hair. “But nah, nobody knew. Didn’t even tell Samu, and it sucked, so now we’re tellin’ everyone important. We won’t be gross about it, and it doesn’t change anythin’ – which we can prove since it didn’t change anythin’ before. So, please accept us, or whatever.”
“You could be more apologetic,” Meian grumbled. “This is going to be all anyone talks about for who knows how long. All of the interviews are going to center around you two.”
“Got it handled,” Atsumu replied. “I love to talk about myself. But we’re not gonna tell everyone about the past, alright? As far as they’re concerned, this is a new thing. We’re startin’ over, but we figured ya’ll should have the truth.”
“A year later,” Inunaki reiterated, still pale. Kiyoomi thought he might actually faint. He was not confident in anybody on the team’s medical abilities and he knew he would have to be the one to rescue him.
“We said sorry!” Atsumu cries. “We were young and dumb.”
“I have no recollection of it, so I can’t be held responsible.” Kiyoomi shrugged. It was going to be a lot less fun when he couldn’t use the amnesia excuse anymore.
“Would you have told us if Sakusa hadn’t lost his memories?” Tomas wanted to know, and Atsumu froze, unsure. He looked to Kiyoomi, like he was asking for help, but Kiyoomi didn’t know the answer either.
He realized it was up to him to speak up, though, and so he did. “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking, but whatever it was, I was stubborn about it. This definitely made things more...urgent.”
Atsumu gripped his hand tighter, and Kiyoomi took it for what it was – an acceptance of Kiyoomi’s apology.
“I’m shocked,” Barnes admitted after a brief silence. “I really didn’t think Sakusa liked many people. I counted myself lucky to be in your good graces.”
Kiyoomi shrugged. “I like everybody on the team. I just don’t show it the way you all do. I like Atsumu the most, though.”
Half of the team burst into groans while the other half squealed in happiness. It was such a simple reaction and Kiyoomi recognized that he’d heard it before. His heart beat a little faster and he wondered if his brain was finally mending.
After MSBY got out every possible question they could think of (and there were a lot – some that Kiyoomi wished he had never been subjected to), they moved down the line. Kiyoomi called Motoya next. He knew bits and pieces of the story, told through thick tears, and blessedly, he hadn’t questioned much then. Once he picked up on Kiyoomi’s calm, he proved even more relentless than MSBY. Kiyoomi told him everything, except for the brief memories that he had encountered over the past few days. It felt too dangerous to say out loud, like the universe may hear and take it all away from him again.
After Motoya, he called his parents, which was even more unpleasant than he’d expected. They made him repeat his admission several times. They interrogated him about Atsumu – his family, if he had a degree, his earning potential. They asked if it was a side effect of the amnesia, if he was just confused, and Kiyoomi nearly hung up.
Visions of his mother, stoic and calm, asking him over and over again if he was sure about choosing volleyball as a career, wondering aloud if it was beneath him. He remembers the argument before he moved to Osaka, and with startling clarity, his entire thought-process for picking MSBY comes to him.
Atsumu did have something to do with it after all, but Kiyoomi thought he already knew that.
He reiterates that thought-process now, keeping up his conviction while Atsumu sits nearby and holds his hand. He tells his mother that this is his decision and in the end, she begrudgingly accepts it.
Atsumu’s family was much more accepting about the whole thing. His mother’s accent matched his, and every word that came from her mouth was filled with warmth. She asked if she was on speakerphone once Atsumu finished the story, and when he said yes, she spoke directly to Kiyoomi.
“Yer just as much a part of our family now as the boys,” she promised him. “Make sure ya come visit soon. I’ll cook ya somethin’ good and we can get to know each other.”
Kiyoomi smiled and said that he would.
Dealing with the media was the worst of it. Kiyoomi wouldn’t mind if all of his memories of interviews, variety shows, and the paparazzi stayed repressed, because they’re awful. As if Kiyoomi wasn’t enough of a spectacle to begin with, now the tabloids had even more of a reason to latch onto him. They were told they had to participate in some interviews because from a purely public relations standpoint, staying silent would be suspicious. Atsumu took the brunt of it, but in every interview, they descended upon Kiyoomi like vultures, asking him not only about his lack of memories but now about Atsumu.
Most were friendly. The news was overwhelmingly positive. Kiyoomi zeroed in on the negative because that’s who he is.
He inhaled headlines that called Atsumu a whole set of nasty names – manipulative, swarmy. He hate-read them, eyes glazing over at lines that declared Atsumu was taking advantage of Kiyoomi, that he couldn’t make his own decisions, like he had no agency.
Atsumu frowned at him whenever he caught him.
“Omi, I don’t care what they say about me,” he promised, but Kiyoomi knew it was a lie. He may not know Atsumu as well as Atsumu knows him, but he’s easy to read. In just a few weeks, Kiyoomi picked up all of his tells, from the way his eyes widen when he’s caught doing something he shouldn’t, to the way he tries to shake unpleasant thoughts out of his head, and the way his voice dips in volume when he’s bothered. Atsumu may act like he’s unaffected by everything, but Kiyoomi knew he took peoples’ opinion of him to heart.
Two days after the news of their relationship breaks, Kiyoomi agreed to a solo interview. He didn’t tell Atsumu about it because he knew he would insist on being there, and this was something Kiyoomi had to do alone.
He sat down and immediately had a flash of another time – of a sweltering studio, bright lights shined in his face and his leg tapping nervously. Next to him, like always, was Atsumu, taking every question with ease. He remembers interviews with Atsumu – the way they were paired up constantly, the way they would ask leading questions meant to embarrass Kiyoomi, and Atsumu would swoop in and answer before he got the chance. He remembers having to fake smile at reporters who weren’t as charming as they thought they were, and how easily Atsumu pulled it off.
Kiyoomi remembers.
All by himself, Kiyoomi spoke directly into the camera and told thousands upon thousands of viewers how much he adored Miya Atsumu, and that there needed to be no speculation on his capacity to decide that. Then he told them that the relationship actually began a year prior and that Atsumu had been imperative in his healing process.
When it was over, Kiyoomi felt like collapsing, but Atsumu called him immediately, blubbering, incoherent through his tears.
“Ya didn’t have to do that, Kiyoomi,” he cried, nearly hysterical. “I thought ya didn’t wanna, I thought – ”
“I was tired of them saying awful things about you,” Kiyoomi replied, shortly, with no room for any misinterpretation. “Now they know.”
The interview blew things out of proportion again for a while, and more questions came, but eventually, like all things, they settled.
The team continues to make fun of them every single practice, but it’s good-natured, and Kiyoomi is a lot more open to smiling these days. The group chat with Osamu and Suna became a permanent fixture in their lives and Kiyoomi quickly got used to how often it went off. He has decided that Suna Rintaro is going to be his best friend. They have the same taste in memes and skincare, so it’s a match made in heaven. Atsumu grumbled about his jealousy at this discovery, but Kiyoomi isn’t sure if he was jealous of Suna or jealous of him for taking Suna away from him.
They met up for the first time when Atsumu brought Kiyoomi with him to Tokyo on one of their weekends off. They checked into their hotel and went straight to Onigiri Miya, finding Osamu behind the counter.
As soon as he walks into the door, Kiyoomi recalls endless stories about Miya Osamu – rants from Atsumu after one of their petty arguments, admiration for his success, nonsensical tales from their childhood. It’s a rush, and enough to make Kiyoomi feel like he’s known Osamu for his entire life.
When he’s done sizing Kiyoomi up, Osamu tells him to be careful with his brother and seems satisfied when Kiyoomi assures him that he’s in therapy, and working on setting Atsumu up with his own sessions. He claps him on the back then, and asks him what he wants to eat. Suna promises that Osamu won’t poison him, at least not without reason, and Kiyoomi is pretty sure he’s joking, so he laughs.
It’s an easy familiarity to fall into.
Kiyoomi picks up missing pieces all over the house. He finds them in Atsumu’s sleepy smile, in the way he wakes before Kiyoomi and snuggles up to him, only to fall right back asleep, in the way he puts on his socks before anything else. He finds them in the paths they walk to and from practice, the music they listen to, their picks for movie nights. The puzzle begins to resemble an actual picture, and the fuzziness that has surrounded Kiyoomi’s brain for so long slowly begins to clear.
More memories come – in flashes of Deja Vu and feelings of understanding. When he and Atsumu stop into one of their old favorite restaurants, Kiyoomi will remember with complete clarity his order and he’ll be able to read it off to the cashier without even looking at the menu. They’ll come in dreams that Kiyoomi was once sure were just fantasies. Sometimes they’re faint and they’re fragmented, but other times, they’re as clear as day.
He remembers more and more, but he doesn’t tell Atsumu – not yet. He’s still afraid. Though the memories come with more frequency, more brightness, he still fears a total reversal. His therapist tells him it’s ridiculous and implores him to accept this for the positive news it is, but Kiyoomi struggles.
The new and the old bleed together and Kiyoomi has a hard time differentiating them.
But isn’t that what he wanted? This relationship – what he and Atsumu have – it’s exactly what he wants. It’s his Atsumu – his Atsu, who he knew from the moment he woke up that he loved. Now Kiyoomi knows that he’ll love every version of him.
He startles awake one morning when it’s still dark outside. He had been dreaming – a long, drawn-out dream with no real linearity to it. This dream was different than the others – not just a spark in the distance, but an entire raging fire. The images don’t fade now that he’s awake, and he clings to them.
Rolling his eyes. A rapidly beating heart. Hiding a flushed face in the gym. Backing Atsumu up against a locker. Watching him across the table at their favorite ramen restaurant. Laughing on the kitchen floor. Whispering to each other in the darkness of Kiyoomi’s bedroom.
Stolen moments in early mornings and late nights. Festivals and fairs and colorful adventures.
Raised voices and hurt feelings. Broken admissions that Kiyoomi refused to speak aloud. Fear, uncertainty, regret.
Love. Kiyoomi remembers so much love.
Tears gather in his eyes. They don’t fall yet.
“Atsu,” he whispers into the darkness. Atsumu is right there, always at his side, through anything. Kiyoomi didn’t know he could ever love a person as much as he loves Atsumu.
Atsumu shuffles closer to Kiyoomi to bury his face in his neck. “Yeah, baby?” he mutters.
Kiyoomi is ‘Omi’ less these days. He’s ‘baby’ or ‘love’ in the quiet moments when they’re alone. He’s ‘darlin’’ when Atsumu has had too much to drink, ‘Kiyo’ when they’re laughing, ‘sweetheart’ and ‘Kiyoomi’ when they’re tangled together underneath the sheets.
“I love you,” Kiyoomi says. It’s the first time he’s said it in the present tense – not just in this new relationship, but ever, to Atsumu. He tries to convey it in all of his actions – through every kiss, every giggle, every night spent curled up together on the couch, or sitting across from each other at a restaurant. Kiyoomi’s heart has never done anything but scream with love for Miya Atsumu, and now he no longer has to hold back in speaking it aloud.
Atsumu shifts suddenly, sitting up. “Yeah?” he asks, voice a pitch higher than usual. His eyes search blindly for Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi smiles to himself.
“Yeah.”
Warm hands cup Kiyoomi’s face. Atsumu radiates warmth, like his own personal sunshine. They find each other in the dim lighting.
“I love ya more than I’ve ever loved anythin’ in my life,” Atsumu says, and he kisses him. Kiyoomi gives back, opening his mouth and twisting himself around Atsumu like he needs him for survival. They fall together like this often. Atsumu only has months to make up, but Kiyoomi has years. He explores Atsumu’s body, carefully, meticulous, every time. He takes his time, no matter how much Atsumu whines and begs. Kiyoomi could never get tired of it, could never get tired of anything Atsumu.
“What brought this on, sweetheart?” he murmurs against Kiyoomi’s lips.
“Nothing,” Kiyoomi lies. Not yet. He won’t tell him just yet. “I just do. I love you so much.”
Atsumu lets out a broken sob and kisses Kiyoomi’s pulse point.
He sheds his sleep clothing and presses himself to Atsumu’s bare chest, absorbing all of his heat. His hands rub down his back, land on his hips and he shifts so that they drag against each other.
For once, Kiyoomi doesn’t want to go slow. He licks into Atsumu’s mouth once more, and lets him take control. They become a mess of sweaty, writhing bodies, but through the whole time, Atsumu is whispering sweet things in his ear. It takes Kiyoomi apart. It squeezes at his heart. He closes his eyes as Atsumu carries him over the edge, trailing kisses down his neck, and he’s assaulted with images. More memories. A year in his life with Miya Atsumu.
The tears fall after. Atsumu startles when he brings his hand up to Kiyoomi’s face and wipes them away.
“Baby, why are ya cryin’? Did I hurt ya? I didn’t hurt ya, did I?”
Kiyoomi gasps, touches his own face, and tries unsuccessfully to hold the tears back. He turns to Atsumu and presses their foreheads together, breathing deeply. “I remember, Atsu. I remember it all.”