Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

early february, a little over four years later—

“Is this okay?” His partner asked, breath warm against Kiyoomi’s ear. 

“It’s fine.” And it was. 

Fine, mediocre, boring—an insignificant hookup on a night when Sakusa Kiyoomi was feeling particularly self-loathful. A night when he couldn’t get Miya Atsumu’s face, his laugh—the sound of his voice when he’d told Kiyoomi that he loved him—out of his head. Granted, he spent most of his nights longing for something he had lost, but tonight’s decision to bring a stranger into his apartment had been exacerbated by a text from his cousin. 

Within the last year, Motoya had started sending him screenshots from Miya’s “Finsta” (“A fake Instagram,” his cousin had explained) that he had gained access to through his teammate at EJP, Suna Rintarou. Most of them were stupid, just images of him and his V. League teammates, or old pictures of himself from high school. 

At first, Kiyoomi hadn’t understood why Motoya was sending them to him, if not to make him more miserable than he already was. He quickly realized, though, that the pictures weren’t what was important. It was the captions: Typically a string of lyrics from a song Kiyoomi had to google (Miya really liked the album Red by Taylor Swift), or philosophical quotes about what it meant to find your soulmate. 

Motoya accompanied each screenshot with a message that said “TALK TO HIM” followed by Miya’s phone number—also obtained through Suna. 

The image he’d received tonight, which had sent him into his present spiral, had been one of Miya Atsumu without a shirt, standing in front of a gym mirror. The caption read “missing him 💔” and the location was tagged at a hotel in Tokyo. Motoya’s accompanying text said: “If you don’t text him, I’m giving Rin your number and he’s giving it to your beloved.” 

Kiyoomi had been prepared to murder Motoya and Suna over the entire ordeal, and he barely knew the latter. 

It had been four years, but he was still unsure how to approach Miya. The circumstances surrounding their relationship hadn’t changed; Kiyoomi wasn’t going to apologize for running away when he knew that going back would resurface everything he’d fled from. 

Why should his soulmate love him now, like he’d claimed to four years ago? Kiyoomi knew he had done nothing to make himself worthy of Miya Atsumu’s love. The goose hadn’t bothered him since that night either. Kiyoomi took that to mean the creature had also given up, that even a magical goose couldn’t force these two strangers together. 

Which was why, instead of answering his cousin’s message, he’d told himself that he needed something to make himself fall out of love with the man whose face had been mapped onto every corner of Kiyoomi’s consciousness. 

It was the reason why, at present, Kiyoomi closed his eyes, buried his face further into the pillow, and pretended like the stranger thrusting into him actually made him feel something. 

His plan was failing. 

Kiyoomi grimaced when his partner moaned into his ear; a sloppy kiss placed on his neck made him shudder. 

He’d only had one night like that before—when his self-loathing had reached its pinnacle—at the start of college. His partner, another nameless, unrecognizable face, had been loud. And emotional. As if he were about to receive the best fuck of his life from an inexperienced Kiyoomi. 

Kiyoomi had found him disgusting, and had kicked him out without ever letting the stranger kiss him on the lips. The no-name had been mad, but Kiyoomi hadn’t cared. With his apartment quiet, he’d washed his sheets, took a long shower, completed an exhaustive skincare routine, and had promptly slept until noon the next day. 

Tonight was only going better because his partner hadn’t cried. Still, Kiyoomi’s uneasiness toward unfamiliar touch was quickly overriding his desire to have his feelings for Miya Atsumu fucked out of him. He’d been prepared to cut the night short when a crash at the window, followed by insistent honking, did it for him. 

Unbelievable, he thought. 

Aloud, he said, “Alright, I’m done” before gently pulling himself away—his partner mid-thrust—from the new no-name.

“Baby, what the fuck?”

“You have three minutes to get out, one if you call me ‘baby’ again.” Kiyoomi said it with his back turned, shifting his position until he was able to sit with his feet dangling off the side of the bed. He grabbed the sheet to cover himself, unwilling to move until the stranger left the bedroom. 

He felt uneasy, the sounds of his own self-loathing quieted only by the goose’s honking that came from outside of his apartment’s window. 

“Fuck you,” the no-name said. “Didn’t even let me finish.” 

Kiyoomi listened to him continue to complain as he dressed and cleaned himself up. It only took two minutes for the no-name to leave the bedroom, giving a final swear as he went. Kiyoomi didn’t move, though, until he heard the apartment door open then promptly slam shut. When he was certain the stranger had gone, Kiyoomi rose and let the sheet slip off of him, standing naked in his bedroom as he assessed the scene. 

He wanted a hot shower, to burn his sheets, and to call Motoya to complain. 

He began with the shower, turning the temperature up until his skin resembled that of a lobster. Kiyoomi used careful movements to scrub his hair and his body. He wanted to rid every trace of the stranger from his skin. Any sort of pleasure he’d felt was gone, replaced by a looming dread over the conversation he was going to have with Motoya when he finished with his shower. 

After he dressed himself in sweats, the sheets came next. Kiyoomi didn’t burn them, but he did put in extra detergent when he slipped them into his in-apartment washing machine. He’d paid extra for his unit so that he wouldn’t have to be reliant on a public laundromat where strangers’ unwashed clothes could mix with his. 

With the sheets running their cycle, Kiyoomi wandered with slippered feet to the kitchen to find a champagne flute and an unopened bottle of Prosecco. He poured himself a glass and walked back to his bedroom to grab his phone before settling on the couch in his living room. 

It was 11:12 at night, but he was certain his cousin would still be awake. He searched his contacts for Komori Motoya (Best Cousin!!!!!) —Motoya had been the one to change the name—and hit the button to FaceTime. 

Kiyoomi was greeted with a “Kiyoooooo, hey!” almost immediately. 

“Are you drunk?” He asked his cousin dryly, taking a sip from his flute. 

Motoya grinned at him. “Nah, I’m only like five shots in. I’m startin’ to feel good, though.” He then turned to look at someone off-screen and said, “Oi, Rin! Guess who it is? You owe me 2,000 yen.”  

Kiyoomi should have known better than to FaceTime his cousin on a Friday night when EJP didn’t have practice or a match the next morning. Of course he and Suna would be together, and of course they would be drinking. Still, he figured that if he confided in his cousin and his cousin’s acquaintance —he didn’t know for sure what they were—while they were drunk, they would be less likely to remember Kiyoomi’s woes in the morning. He took another sip of his champagne when Suna appeared on-screen. 

“Have you talked to that bastard yet?” Suna asked him, taking hold of Motoya’s phone. “Because I swear, Sakusa, if I have to see another goddamn heartbreak post from him, I will lose it. It’s been five years of this shit.”

Kiyoomi scowled, having heard the same story from Suna before. The first thing he had said to Kiyoomi when Motoya had introduced them to one another was, “Oh, it’s the guy Atsumu never shuts up about. Now, I wanna see that wrist thing you do up close.” Apparently Kiyoomi had been the talk of the Inarizaki locker room at one point. Or, Miya Atsumu had done the talking and everyone else had been forced to listen. It also meant Suna knew about the goose.

(This piece of information—about the goose moving out of his immediate circle—had been what had led Kiyoomi to his first failed hookup.)

“He’s in town,” Kiyoomi said presently. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Motoya took the phone back. “What do we want you to do about it? Obviously go talk to him. You have his location.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“So?” His cousin asked. “You called us, so clearly you were thinking about it.”

Kiyoomi finished his drink and stood up to walk back to the kitchen to get himself a second glass. “The goose came back,” he said as he propped his phone against the backsplash behind his kitchen counter. He needed both hands to pour the champagne. 

“Ha! That’s another 2,000 yen, Rin,” Motoya said before turning his attention back to Kiyoomi. “Sorry, what I meant to say was ‘oh darn, what a shame.’ If only there was a magical creature meant to lead you to your soulmate.” 

Kiyoomi’s eyes narrowed. He stood at the counter, taking quick sips from his champagne flute and trying to process what his cousin had said. Not the part about the goose, but the part about Motoya and Suna betting on him. He hadn’t realized his love life—or lack thereof—was such a hot topic of conversation. He should have known better. “I’m not going out tonight,” he said. 

“Come on, Kiyo, don’t be lame. But you know why he’s in Tokyo, right?”

To make my life worse? Kiyoomi thought to himself. “Why?” He asked. 

“MSBY’s got a match tomorrow. Rin said he’s there for the weekend.” 

Everything was starting to fall into place. 

“And lucky for you,” Suna said with a schemer’s glint in his eye when he reappeared on-screen. “You’re gonna go.” 

“Find the Onigiri Miya booth tomorrow morning. Osamu’ll be outside the arena. He’s got your ticket.” Motoya looked too happy explaining the directions.

It took everything in Kiyoomi not to drink straight from the half-empty bottle of Prosecco sitting on the counter beside him. “Unbelievable.”

“You’re welcome,” Motoya said. 

The call ended.  

Kiyoomi stood there for a moment, hands gripping the edge of the counter. So this was it. Four years of forced silence—of coaxing himself into moving on—would come to an end. 

He was going to see Miya Atsumu again.

His hands found hold of the Prosecco and he brought the bottle to his lips. For courage. 

⭐️

Just after noon the following day, Kiyoomi stood outside of the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium with his hands in his coat pockets and a scowl worn behind his mask. It wasn’t his first time back at the venue—having been there for college tournaments—but it would be his first time back in the gymnasium at the same time as Miya Atsumu since high school. It was a lot to take in.

Behind him stood the goose, in front of him stood Miya Osamu. 

“Hopefully y’all can get some clarity from this,” Osamu said in a cool tone. The way he spoke wasn’t uninviting per se, but there was nothing to suggest he felt any amiableness toward Kiyoomi. Still, Osamu handed him his ticket then reached behind the counter to grab a neatly wrapped onigiri. “It’s umeboshi. And before you ask, I prepared it special for ya.” 

“Oh.” It took Kiyoomi a moment to gather his thoughts long enough to grab the onigiri from Osamu. “Thank you.”

He didn’t bother to question how Osamu knew that umeboshi was his favorite. Motoya had probably told him as another form of bribery—because apparently his cousin, Suna, and Miya Osamu were all pals, or something like that. 

What he wanted to question was Osamu’s second comment about the preparation of the onigiri. Motoya could have easily been the one to mention that, too; but something in Osamu’s expression evidenced that it had been his brother who had told him. 

Kiyoomi felt a dryness in his throat. 

“Enjoy the game,” Osmau said a second later, his indication that he wanted Kiyoomi to stop holding up the line for other customers. 

“I will.” 

Then Kiyoomi turned and began to walk into the building without further thought. 

You can do this, he told himself. You have to. 

It was weird to be back. Nothing about the physical building had changed, but the way Kiyoomi felt navigating the lobby reminded him that he was not the same person he had been in high school. When he looked down at his ticket, though, and felt his heart surge upon realizing where he would be sitting, Kiyoomi wondered if he hadn’t changed after all. 

His seat was at the end of the first row behind the net on the side where the MSBY Black Jackals were currently warming up. The perfect spot to watch Miya Atsumu play. He was absolutely going to murder Motoya, Suna, and Osamu for this. 

Kiyoomi tried to focus his attention on the other players, decidedly not letting Number 13 hold his attention any more than he already had. He saw Barnes, Inunaki, Tomas, and Meian—all highly skilled athletes, the kind Kiyoomi could see himself competing alongside. Athletes he wanted to compete alongside. 

A familiar “HEY! HEY! HEY!” sounding from down below reminded him of another player he would share the court with if he were to try out for the Jackals. Bokuto Koutarou was an old high school rival who could present a challenge to his sanity, but Kiyoomi knew he could handle the loudmouth. The former Ace of Fukurōdani was nothing more than a minor inconvenience to him. 

The major inconvenience was the man who had just turned to walk to the back line when the referee signalled that it was time to begin warmups for serving. The man who made eye-contact with Kiyoomi, winked, then promptly turned back around after taking four steps from the endline. 

Miya Atsumu served the ball out of bounds. 

Kiyoomi hated how much he found the moment endearing. He wanted to call down to Miya in mockery, telling him that he thought he was a better server than that, but Kiyoomi bit down the remark. He wasn’t there to flirt. In fact, he didn’t know why he was there at all.

Seeing Miya again proved to Kiyoomi that he still had feelings for him, probably would go so far as to say that he was still in love with him. But did it matter? The meddling trio of Motoya, Suna, and Osamu seemed to think Miya felt something, too; but the foundation of their relationship remained unstable. It didn’t matter, Kiyoomi decided as he felt himself sitting straighter when he saw Miya complete a perfect jump floater, how much “love” they felt for one another. 

They’d kissed twice, gone on one horrific date, and had spent the last four years not speaking. Every problem from before threatened to come back. If they were going to make anything work, Kiyoomi realized that they needed to start with friendship—something Kiyoomi was not good with, but something he had been slowly working toward. He had two friends—his cousin and Wakatoshi—and had formed an acquaintanceship with Suna Rintarou. So he was getting there; he was learning how to make friends after twenty-one—almost twenty-two—years.  

Goose be damned, saying “I love you” could wait. Kiyoomi decided that he wanted to like Miya before he loved him, which meant them actually getting to know one another. 

He also decided that he would wait for Miya after the game to offer his proposition. Of course, this was all riding on his soulmate not hating him for what he’d done four years ago. He needed to be prepared for the fallout, at which point he would go home and form a new plan to execute four years in the future. 

Kiyoomi was distracted throughout the entirety of the first set, and the reason was Miya Atsumu. The combination of his thighs, his improved hairstyle, and the way he played the game kept Kiyoomi’s attention away from the rest of the players. He was a fool who had to remind himself that he needed to befriend Miya first, that he couldn’t rush into things (again) just because the other man was hot. 

He needed to be realistic, pragmatic. He wouldn't make the same mistakes he did as a teenager. 

Solace came in the second set when the teams switched sides. The change meant that he now got to watch the Schweiden Adlers from close range. It was nice to see Wakatoshi play again; Kiyoomi also took note of how much Kageyama and Hoshiumi had improved since high school. The Adlers were not off the table for teams Kiyoomi wanted to try out for after graduation, but sometimes there were players he liked competing against more than he liked competing alongside. Wakatoshi was one of them. 

By the third set, Kiyoomi had become accustomed to seeing Miya again and was able to observe the rest of his team’s performance. The more he saw MSBY’s playing style, the more he realized that they were the team he hoped to play for. His feelings aside, Kiyoomi saw how talented Miya Atsumu was, how much he had matured since high school. He demanded the best from his hitters and put everything he had into each play. 

It was admirable. Kiyoomi wanted Miya to bring out the best in him, just as he wanted to give his best to Miya. 

When the match ended—the Adlers having won—Kiyoomi realized Miya was walking across the court toward where he was seated. He hoped his soulmate wasn’t about to make a scene in front of the fans already beginning to congregate with pens and papers and demands of an autograph. Many of them bent over the side of the railing to try to get closer. It didn’t matter if his team had lost, Miya was still a celebrity in the eyes of the fans wearing jerseys with his number on it. 

Kiyoomi tensed at the sudden swarm of people, uncomfortable with the crowd. He stood up and made brief eye contact with Miya before navigating his way to the aisle. The other man gave him a nod, an unspoken gesture that let Kiyoomi know he wouldn’t press him to stay. He hoped that this would bode well for their eventual conversation. 

“Make sure to get yer Onigiri Miya before headin’ home. The owner’ll give ya a discount if ya tell ‘em Tsumu sent’cha.” Miya said it just loud enough to be suspicious, and Kiyoomi took the hint. 

They would meet outside of Osamu’s booth. It was a small kindness—the act of not talking to him in front of a crowd of strangers—but one that Kiyoomi was grateful for. He’d never told Miya about his uneasiness amongst crowds, which meant that his soulmate must have picked up on it on his own. The realization was a lot to think about as he navigated his way back to the Onigiri Miya booth outside of the arena. 

As he approached, Kiyoomi saw Osamu closing up the shop for the day. He turned customers away with apologies of being sold out. 

“Unbelievable,” he heard Osamu grumble to himself. “Talkin’ ‘bout me givin’ out discounts to his fans.”

“The umeboshi was good,” Kiyoomi said by way of greeting. This caused Osamu to stop and look up at him. 

“Glad ya liked it,” Osamu responded, slinging the towel he’d been using to wipe down the counter over his shoulder. “I would’ve offered ya another one, but his squealin’ fans cleared me out.” 

“My squealin’ fans are givin’ ya money, Samu, so shut the hell up and be grateful for me.”

Kiyoomi turned to see Miya Atsumu walking toward the booth, his official MSBY jacket unzipped and his jersey still worn underneath. He looked like he’d run a marathon just to reach that spot. 

“How—?” Kiyoomi had started to ask when he was cut off.

“I told ‘em I had to shit so I couldn’t do press. Bokkun’s coverin’ for me, which means I’ll get a lecture from Meian-san later. We’ve got five minutes, Omi-Omi.” 

Behind his mask, Kiyoomi’s lips parted in shock. His eyes narrowed. He had no idea how to react to anything Miya had just said to him. 

His heart twisted at the sound of “Omi-Omi.”

Osamu spoke first, announcing that he was going to be “anywhere but where the two of you are” before walking towards the arena’s entrance. He called out to his brother to watch the booth as he disappeared through the door. 

So this was it. After four years, their first exchange had started with Miya Atsumu lying about having to “take a shit” and Kiyoomi struggling to find anything to say to him in response. It seemed fitting. He wondered when the goose would reappear to bring everything full circle.

“What’d ya think?” Miya asked when Kiyoomi had taken too long to fill the silence. “I’m damn good, right?” 

“You’ve improved, but so have the people you’re playing with.” 

“Dense as ever, Omi-kun.” 

“You did miss that serve during warmups, too.”

“You distracted me!”

“Hmm,” Kiyoomi said, his shoulders relaxing. The conversation was going better than he had anticipated, though neither seemed to be willing to address the obvious. He knew he should be the first to say something because the silence had been his fault (again), but the words wouldn’t come. 

The easy banter with Miya was something he had missed. He didn’t want to give that up so quickly. 

“Look, Omi-kun,” Miya’s expression hardened the slightest bit. The banter was over. “I don’t have much time, but I wanted to tell ya some things before you get all weird and run off again.”

He deserved that one. 

“Okay,” Kiyoomi said. “Talk.”

“I did some thinkin’ and a lot of wallowin’ and I wanted to say that you were right. I thought if I told you that I loved ya, that it would all be fine; but truth is, now I’m just confused.” 

Oh no. 

The tension returned to Kiyoomi’s shoulders. He had been prepared to speak when Miya held up a hand to signal that he had more he needed to get out. 

“I couldn’t get a read on ya all night, so I thought by actin’ like a dick, I would be able to figure out if ya liked me or not. Samu would say I was just bein’ myself, but I was makin’ an effort at first. Then you started actin’ weird so I was weird right back. And right when I was about to give up, you decided to make out with me. So I said I loved you, and I believed it, too. Then ya ran away and I haven’t heard shit from you since.” 

“So what’s your point?” Kiyoomi asked, voice harsher than he’d meant for it to be. He figured he was once again ruining everything, but he didn’t know how to fix it. 

“My point is that maybe this whole soulmate thing is bullshit and I let the goose get to me, too.”

Fuck. He knew he deserved this, but the truth still stung. 

“But,” Miya added. “That doesn’t mean we can’t try. Don’t get me wrong, Omi-kun, ya really keep pissin’ me off with all this runnin’ away, but you look like you need a friend more than a boyfriend right now. So consider this my application to be yer goose pal.” 

“Goose pal?” Kiyoomi repeated. His head was spinning. 

“Like a pen pal, but I added the goose because…you know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m tryin’ to be a good person here.”

Kiyoomi considered it. Really, he should be grateful that Miya was acting this way toward him. If the roles had been reversed, and Miya had been the one who kept running away, Kiyoomi realized that he would have a hard time treating the other man with anything other than malice. After all this time, Miya had been the one to change; Kiyoomi remained the same. 

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be your ‘goose pal,’ but I’m not calling it that.” 

“Good, now gimme yer phone.” 

“What?” Kiyoomi took a step back. 

Miya smirked at him and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out his own device, gesturing for Kiyoomi to take it. “I’m gettin’ yer number today and you can’t stop me.” 

He was hesitant to let this still-stranger take his phone. Kiyoomi knew, though, that it was an exercise in trust: Something he needed to do to show Miya that he wouldn’t run away again. That he would be his friend first. That anything that came from their goose pal-ship would be built from a foundation they had formed on their own. 

It was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

Kiyoomi reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, unlocking it and handing it to Miya. “Here,” he said. 

They traded phones. 

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me, Omi-kun. You’ve only got six contacts in yer phone and one of them is Samu?”

“Suna had me add him last night in case I couldn’t find his booth. He gave me the ticket to the match.” 

“Suna?” Miya gave a dramatic sigh. “Yer absolutely killin’ me! You’ve been talkin’ with my own brother and… Sunarin, but not me?” He didn’t seem hurt, just bewildered. 

Kiyoomi tried to ignore him, focusing instead on adding himself into the other’s phone. He gave himself the generic contact name of Sakusa Kiyoomi and saved the entry before offering the phone back. 

When he held his own device in his hands again, Kiyoomi had to stop his heart from spilling from his chest. He looked down at the seventh contact in his phone: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️. 

“What the hell, Miya?”

“Just so ya don’t forget who I am, Omi-Omi,” Miya said with a toying grin on his face. “And from now on, I’m Atsumu to ya.” 

“Why?”

“Because this is my fuckin’ olive branch of friendship, so I want’cha to treat me like a friend.” 

“Oh.” 

His friend, Atsumu, began to turn around. “I gotta go before Coach chews me out again, but I’ll text ya the whole bus ride home.” 

Kiyoomi gave a slow nod of his head, watching Atsumu retreat back into the arena. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but when his phone buzzed with two incoming messages from MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️, the faintest trace of a smile began to spread itself across his lips. 

FROM: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

2:57: Glad you didn’t run away this time

2:57: Now prepare to get destroyed in 8 ball 😈

TO: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

2:58: I won’t lose. 

Kiyoomi won the first round of 8 Ball, and the second. After his third win, Atsumu sent him a request for Mini Golf with a message attached that said he had been going easy on Kiyoomi and that Mini Golf was where his true strengths were. Kiyoomi won the first round of Mini Golf, too. 

They spent the rest of the day playing iMessage games with one another, throwing in little texts here or there to comment when the other lost. By the time Kiyoomi got the notification that his phone had low battery, it was nearing midnight. 

He had spent the whole day talking with Miya Atsumu.

As he settled into bed, his phone plugged into the charger in the wall beside him, Kiyoomi felt a happiness he seldom experienced. Falling into a friendship with Atsumu felt easy. In the five years since their first meeting, nothing had been as simple as sending requests for iMessage games back and forth. They’d stopped living with the expectation that they had to fall in love; everything they did from that moment onward would be on their own terms. 

Kiyoomi, though, was also cognizant of the fact that playing iMessage games wasn’t a solution to all of their problems. It wouldn’t erase the past and the scars Kiyoomi knew he’d left behind. But in that moment, it felt nice to finally build something that was his own. He and Atsumu weren’t living for a goose, they were living for themselves. 

And even if his feelings for the other man hadn’t lessened, Kiyoomi told himself that it was okay. Learning what it meant to fall in love with someone platonically was just as important as romantic love. He would be Atsumu’s friend first, and let anything beyond that happen naturally. 

When he sent a message to Atsumu that said he was going to bed, the other responded with, “Sweet dreams, Omi-Omi.” 

Kiyoomi fell asleep with a smile on his face that night.

It was nice to have a friend. 

Playing iMessage games and sending a-little-more-than-friendly texts to one another became their routine in the week that followed. Whenever Atsumu wasn’t in practice, or whenever Kiyoomi wasn’t busy studying for his exams, they were texting. 

Kiyoomi had never known a point in his life where he had talked so frequently with another person. His and Wakatoshi’s conversations were brief, infrequent, and exclusively about volleyball. Even with Motoya, the amount they talked didn’t compare to how often he and Atsumu had communicated over the course of the week. It was something new for Kiyoomi, but he liked it. 

He liked Atsumu. Liked talking to Atsumu, that is.

On Sunday morning, one week and one day after receiving Atsumu’s number, Kiyoomi woke to a missed call from him. The timestamp read 6:32 am, but there had been no voicemail or follow-up texts. The instance was just weird enough that it piqued Kiyoomi’s attention, which was why he slipped out of bed, shoved his feet into his slippers, and called him back. 

Atsumu picked up after the first ring. “Well this is new, Omi-kun,” he greeted. 

“What?” Kiyoomi asked, putting the phone on speaker and holding it in front of him as he walked to the kitchen. “You called me first.” 

“I did?”

“Yes, at 6:32 this morning.” 

“I was definitely still asleep. Must’ve sleep-dialed. Guess I just can’t get enough of ya, Omi.”

Oh.

Kiyoomi quickly recovered, not allowing himself to reflect too long on the implications of Atsumu’s statement. They were friends and that was just Atsumu’s personality, nothing more. “Well if it’s nothing important, I’m going to hang up.”

“Actually—” Kiyoomi froze when Atsumu said it. “I did wanna talk to ya about somethin’ if yer free.”

“I guess I can make time for you.” He’d regained enough of his composure that he could move, but still chose to lean himself against his kitchen counter for support. 

On the other end, Atsumu laughed. “Some things never change with you, Omi-Omi. Anyway, I know the last time we talked about this, we ended up fightin’, but since graduation is comin’ up for ya—”

“I’m still planning to join a team.” 

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“But that’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”

Atsumu huffed. “Well, yeah.” There was a pause, then: “It’s yer choice and all that, but we’re holdin’ tryouts in April. A long time ago I told ya I wanted us to be teammates one day, and I still mean that.” 

Kiyoomi remembered. It had been right after Itachiyama had defeated Inarizaki to advance to the Finals, when he and Atsumu had stood with only a net between them for a beat longer than their teammates. Kiyoomi had made a joke about not wanting to play on the same team until Atsumu had gotten better at his setter dumps.

Atsumu had improved. 

“Maybe I’d rather play against you than with you,” Kiyoomi said, his tone teasing. He had already been in contact with Coach Foster; MSBY was the team he wanted to play for. Kiyoomi took satisfaction, though, in riling his new friend up. 

They were definitely not flirting. 

“Just think about it, okay?” 

“I will.” 

“And if you need someone to pick ya up in Osaka—”

“I’ll ask Osamu, I got it.” 

“Yer killin’ me!”

They continued to talk until Kiyoomi announced that he was hungry and needed to finish getting himself ready for the day. Atsumu ended the conversation with a promise to sleep-dial him again the next morning. 

Kiyoomi caught himself smiling when he set down his phone and opened the refrigerator to grab the ingredients to make a smoothie. 

It was really nice to have a friend. 

It took until the middle of March for the honeymoon feeling to falter. He and Atsumu had been friends—officially—for a little over a month, texting every day and calling each other on Sunday mornings to chat about their weeks. Everything, Kiyoomi realized as he sank into his couch after getting off the phone with Atsumu, was going too well .  

It made him suspicious. 

His own self-doubt was the reason he called Motoya immediately after hanging up with Atsumu. He stared at his cousin’s contact name and silently begged for him to pick up. 

“You’re up early,” Motoya greeted after three rings. 

“Why does he want to be my friend?” Kiyoomi asked in response, ignoring his cousin’s greeting.

He heard a sigh from the other end. “I figured this was coming.”

“I don’t get it,” Kiyoomi said. “We haven’t fought once. He just acts like the past never happened.” 

“It’s called being the bigger person, Kiyo. Or maybe it’s just ‘cause he likes you.” 

Kiyoomi adjusted himself so that he could lay across his couch. He put his phone on speaker and set it against his chest. “I never apologized to him for what I did. Not that I should have to. I meant what I said about soulmates being bullshit, but he should hate me for everything else, right?”

“I’m starting to hate you,” Motoya huffed. His tone of voice indicated that he was joking, but only just so. “I think you need to let whatever happens happen, and if you’re so worried about this, maybe try talking to him?” 

Motoya made it sound so easy. And in theory, it was. The fear remained, though, that if he tried to open himself up to Atsumu, the conversation would end with one of them running away—the same as it had each time before. If they couldn’t make their friendship work, Kiyoomi knew that it would be the end of them. It didn’t matter if the goose followed them around for the rest of their lives; they would just have to dodge the creature like they dodged each other. 

“I can’t,” Kiyoomi said aloud. 

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t talk to him about this.” 

There was a long, drawn-out groan from Motoya. “Then you don’t get to complain to me anymore, Kiyo. All I’m gonna say is that people don’t spend every hour of the day talking unless they like each other. Stop trying to ruin your own happiness.” 

Was that what he was doing? He knew he was happy now that he had Atsumu in his life, and yet he still let his own fears override the newfound feeling of excitement that tinged his body whenever a notification from his friend came in. He was self-sabotaging himself, and he didn’t know why.

Maybe it was still the goose and its expectations. Or maybe it was just the notion that a friendship like his and Atsumu’s was still so new that he didn’t think he was worthy of building something that lasted. 

“You want to be happy, don’t you?” Motoya asked a moment later. 

“I guess.” 

“Then do what makes you happy.” 

The conversation ended with Kiyoomi feeling more frustrated and confused than when it had begun. 

Happiness was a fragile thing for Sakusa Kiyoomi, something he always seemed to lose too quickly. Perhaps it was because he equated happiness with love, and love meant vulnerability. Every time he began to lower the walls he’d placed around himself, something in him said to build them back up. It was an endless cycle of acceptance and sabotage. Always one step forward, three steps back. 

He recognized the signs: Taking a little longer to respond to Atsumu’s texts even when he had nothing else to do; saying something meaner than his typical sarcastic comments to see if Atsumu would grow tired of their friendship. Finding happiness and taking it away. A constant push and pull. 

Do what makes you happy. Motoya’s voice echoed in his head as he remained there on the couch, not moving until he felt a vibration against his chest several minutes later. He sighed and reached for his phone. 

FROM: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

9:12: If you could be any drink, what would it be?

9:12: If it was your last day on earth, what would you eat?

9:13: If you could only receive one gift, what would it be?

Kiyoomi stared at the texts, bewildered. He’d started to debate with himself over how long he should wait to respond when Motoya’s voice returned to remind him to do what made him happy. Talking with Atsumu made him happy, so that’s what he was going to do. For now.

TO: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

9:14: What is this, a game show? 

FROM: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

9:14: Just answer the questions 🙄

Kiyoomi thought his responses over. The first two were easy. His favorite drink was a White Russian and he would eat anything containing umeboshi as his last meal. He told as much to Atsumu, who sent back several eye-rolling emojis at Kiyoomi’s choice of drink. The last question was harder. 

Kiyoomi was not good with gift giving or gift receiving. For as long as he could remember, every year for his birthday his parents had given him money and told him to pick out whatever he wanted. It was a habit he’d picked up from them, offering cards with some money in them on the off-chance he was invited to celebrate someone’s birthday. Usually that meant Motoya, or one of his other cousins. 

He didn’t know what he would choose if he could receive anything from someone. A new gym bag might be nice, or an expensive watch, but those were things he could buy for himself. There was nothing personal about them. 

TO: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

9:21: My gift would be to do something that I enjoy.

FROM: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

9:21: What the hell kind of answer is that Omi?

9:22: Ur the fucking worst sometimes 

TO: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

9:23: I don’t think the perfect gift exists, so I would want to do something that I’d enjoy in that moment. What I want now might not be what I want tomorrow. 

FROM: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

9:23: So what do you want now? 

Kiyoomi set his phone down. You, he wanted to say. He wanted Atsumu to make the trip from Osaka to Tokyo so that they could spend time together. He wanted to laugh until his sides ached over some stupid joke Atsumu made. He wanted happiness and love and vulnerability. 

TO: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

9:29: I want to be happy. 

FROM: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

9:34: I really do hate you sometimes 🙄

9:34: That was a joke

9:34: I don’t hate you

9:35: Anyway, wanna play chess?

TO: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

9:36: I bet you don’t even know how to play chess. 

How easy it felt to fall back into rhythm. How much Kiyoomi wanted to let that moment last. 

⭐️

When he woke on the morning of March 20, Kiyoomi was prepared to treat it like any other day. He knew he wouldn’t be able to escape the ambush of texts from Motoya wishing him a happy birthday, and maybe a message from Wakatoshi; but he hadn’t told anyone else that he had been born exactly twenty-two years ago today. 

He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. 

It was the reason why, when Atsumu asked him if he was doing anything special that day, Kiyoomi told him that he might go to the gym and then finish writing a paper before spending his evening in his apartment with a book. It was believable enough: He graduated in less than two weeks and MSBY’s tryouts were coming up shortly thereafter. In fact, it was the truth. 

He’d made no plans for his birthday. Motoya was in Nagano—over two hours away by train—and his parents had been gone for the past month in a country Kiyoomi couldn’t remember. It wasn’t like he would ask his older siblings to do anything, either. 

So he planned to treat it like any other day. He readied himself and texted Atsumu. He went to the gym to lift and texted Atsumu some more. He watched a video message from Motoya wishing him a happy birthday while he ate lunch at a spot near his campus. Then he spent several hours in his campus library pouring himself into a final paper about nationalism and cinema in post-war Europe. He’d taken the class because he’d needed more credits, but had come to appreciate the thoughtful discussions led by the professor. He also liked arguing with his classmates. 

By the time he was ready to hit submit, it was just after seven. He checked his phone on the walk back to his apartment to find several missed texts and two phone calls from Atsumu. Nothing Atsumu had said in the texts seemed pressing enough and he hadn’t left any voicemails, so Kiyoomi put his phone back in his jacket pocket and continued walking. 

His heart nearly stopped when he reached his unit. 

There, sitting outside the door to his apartment with a large grocery bag and a single balloon, was Miya Atsumu. And next to him was the goose. They appeared to be cohabitating. Kiyoomi didn’t bother to question how the creature had gotten there, knowing its existence alone defied any rational explanation.

“Happy Birthday, Omi-Omi!” Atsumu said, standing up and taking hold of his parcels. The goose honked. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Fuck, too harsh, he thought to himself. “I mean, how did you—”

“Motoya-kun. We’ve been plannin’ this for weeks.”

“You don’t mean…”

“The one day Kiyo left his apartment just had to be today.” He heard Motoya’s voice and what sounded like two other pairs of footsteps rounding the corner. A moment later, Motoya, Suna, and Osamu appeared carrying additional bags of groceries. 

“Oh good, the goose made it, too.” Motoya added with a chuckle. 

Apparently Sakusa Kiyoomi had just been late to his own surprise party. 

He stood there, hands fumbling for the key in his pocket, as he tried to process what was happening. The Miyas had come from Osaka—over three hours by train—and Suna and Motoya had come from Nagano. All to celebrate with him. Never had he been the center of so much attention on his birthday before. 

“Well unlock the door, Omi-kun. Samu’s makin’ us dinner and I’ve been stuck out here for an hour! M’surprised yer neighbors didn’t try to call the cops on me. Senshi only bit me once, so I think we’re friends now. Right, Senshi?”

The goose gave another honk. 

Kiyoomi couldn’t believe Atsumu remembered the stupid name he’d given the goose five years ago. Then again, Kiyoomi had remembered it, too. 

“We invited you to come to the store with us, dickhead,” Suna said. “You chose to stay behind with the goose.”

“And because you annoyed the hell outta me the whole ride up, you can make yer own dinner,” Osamu added. “I’ll cook for everyone else.”

A lot was happening. 

With cautious movements, Kiyoomi took out his key and went to unlock the door, gesturing for everyone to enter and remove their shoes. He glared at the goose to let it know it was not welcome; the creature gave a hiss before waddling away. 

When Motoya passed him, the expression on his face evidenced worry. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have set up the surprise, I know you don’t—”

“It’s fine,” Kiyoomi said back. And he found that he actually meant it. 

Hearing waves of laughter and the Miyas already bickering with one another as they found their way into the kitchen was a welcome sound. His apartment was usually silent; the noise was nice. Comforting, even. Sakusa Kiyoomi was grateful for each of the four men trying to fit into his too-small kitchen. 

Even if he’d begun the day not wanting anyone to acknowledge his birthday, he couldn’t deny that he was grateful for his friends. So long as they didn’t destroy his apartment. 

Once the ground rules had been laid and they’d all settled more comfortably into the space, Motoya and Suna were quick to pull the vodka from one of the grocery bags. They began rummaging through Kiyoomi’s cabinets—without permission—to find enough glasses for the group. Apparently they had named themselves the evening’s “designated bartenders.” A frightening thought. 

“Rin,” Motoya said, “find me directions on how to make a White Russian.”

Kiyoomi watched from afar as the two poured different liquids in the glasses. He doubted they had any regard for the directions on Suna’s phone; the drinks looked heavy on the alcohol and light on everything else. 

Just the sight of them made Kiyoomi’s head spin, which was why he quickly abandoned watching their attempts at mixology in favor of joining the Miyas in the kitchen. 

The twins had laid out all the ingredients and Osamu was instructing Atsumu on where to plug in the appliances he’d brought with him when Kiyoomi approached. The two seemed oddly cooperative, working in tandem the same as they’d done on the court years before. 

It was a nostalgic sight, interrupted only when Atsumu turned around and asked, “Come to say hello, Omi-kun?” He wore a sly smirk on his lips, the one that caused Kiyoomi’s heart to beat just a little faster.

“Actually, I wanted to ask your brother something.”

“Oh.” The smile wavered just enough for Kiyoomi to notice. “You’ve got a pupil, Samu.”

Kiyoomi waited for Osamu to give him his attention before he asked, “I was wondering if you would teach me how you form your onigiri? I would feel more comfortable if my hands were the only ones that touched my meal.” 

“Sure,” Osamu shrugged. If he was offended that Kiyoomi wasn’t accepting his offer to cook for everyone (except his brother, of course), he didn’t show it. 

Motoya interjected then, entering the kitchen with two drinks in-hand. “What if you taught us all how you make your famous onigiri?”

“Well, it’s not really famous, but—”

“It’ll be fun!” Motoya urged. 

So they formed balls of rice and drank too-strong drinks, turning the night into one of umeboshi onigiri and White Russians. 

After the meal, the night progressed into one of Atsumu trying to host an arm wrestling tournament that ended 10 seconds after it had begun because Motoya—who had spent the better part of his evening doing shots of the leftover vodka with Suna—knocked over a glass of water and soaked the table. 

It became a night of Atsumu and Osamu arguing about who was the better cake decorator as they attempted to put the finishing touches on the birthday cake they’d baked for Kiyoomi. Really, Osamu had done all of the work. Atsumu had spilled flour on the counter and Kiyoomi had glared at him until he’d cleaned up his mess. 

Motoya and Suna had spent more time eating the strawberries than they had placing them on top of the shortcake—the one task they’d been assigned in their inconceivably intoxicated states. Kiyoomi placed his own strawberries on the piece that would be his. 

Eventually the cake was set in front of him and a song was sung; then Motoya called for a round of shots.

“To my baby cousin!” He said as he held up his shot glass to down the alcohol. 

“You don’t get to call me that,” Kiyoomi responded, throwing back his own drink. He’d barely been affected by the alcohol he’d consumed that night, only indulging himself far enough to feel his edges begin to fuzz. He never wanted to reach a point where he didn’t feel in control of himself. “And I’m cutting you off before you ruin the rest of my furniture.” 

Motoya looked offended.

“I’ll take care of these two,” Osamu interjected. He gestured between Motoya and Suna, the two drunkest members of the party. Kiyoomi noticed that he hadn’t said anything about Atsumu, who appeared even more sober than Kiyoomi. “Whenever ya want us to leave, we’ll head out. We booked a hotel for the night figurin’ this would happen.” 

“We’re not leaving,” Motoya said. “Kiyo’s gotta open his gift first!” 

This was the part of the night Kiyoomi had been dreading. He’d figured that the party had been his gift, and that alone had been more than enough. But he couldn’t stop Motoya from reaching into one of the grocery bags sitting on the floor of the kitchen and bringing him a card. 

“Open it!” His cousin demanded. “It’s from us. Well, most of us. Atsumu said he had something else, so he didn’t sign the card.” 

He had what? Kiyoomi’s eyes shot over to Atsumu, who had just feigned a cough and was now staring at the ground. 

“You weren’t supposed to say anything, dumbass.” Suna glared at Motoya. “It was the big surprise. He was going to—”

“I’m never lettin’ the two of ya around that much alcohol ever again,” Osamu interjected. “Sorry ‘bout them.” 

Motoya and Suna began to bicker with one another while Kiyoomi surveyed the room. His eyes lingered the longest on Atsumu, who still wouldn’t look at him. He felt his insides twist as he forced himself to focus on the gift in his hands. 

Slowly, he opened the envelope and pulled out the card. It had a generic design on the front with some saying about getting older. 

His breath caught when he saw what was inside.

There were three handwritten messages of varying lengths—Motoya’s being long and sappy; Osamu’s being short but thoughtful; and Suna’s saying “Congrats on living another year, I guess.” The messages were touching, but they were not what had grabbed Kiyoomi’s attention. 

It was the three pieces of paper that had been added to the card that Kiyoomi fixated on. He set the card on the table to examine the papers one by one. They were addresses: Two in Osaka and one in Nagano. 

“What the hell—?” He started to say before he was interrupted by his cousin. 

“So that’s where Rin and I—and basically Osamu, too—live in Nagano. The other one’s Osamu’s place in Osaka where Rin and I basically also live. And the last one’s Onigiri Miya.” 

Kiyoomi wasn’t following.

“Toya said ya don’t like big, flashy gifts,” Osmau began to explain. “So we wanted to show ya that you’ve always got someplace to go whenever yer in town.” 

The papers slipped from Kiyoomi’s hand. He remained there, unable to form anything coherent to say aloud. He’d never received a gift like that before. 

“Shit, he hates it,” Motoya said. “Maybe we should’ve gone with the watch.”

“No.” Kiyoomi looked at his cousin. “Thank you.”

He turned his attention to Suna and Osamu next, giving each of them his thanks. Kiyoomi knew Osamu even less than he knew Suna, but the two of them had welcomed him into their lives. Into their spaces. It meant a lot coming from them. 

They were Atsumu’s brother and close friend, two people Kiyoomi knew he’d indirectly hurt when he’d run away from Atsumu four years ago. He was the subject of every heartbreak post, the source of years of Atsumu’s wallowing. Kiyoomi had never done anything to show them he was sorry for what he’d put Atsumu through, and yet their gift felt like forgiveness. 

Kiyoomi was grateful, but a large piece of him questioned if he deserved it.

“He’s got the look on his face,” Suna said, pulling Kiyoomi away from his thoughts. “2,000 yen, Toya.”

“Dammit, Kiyo! Don’t look like you don’t deserve this.” 

“But I don’t,” he responded. “I’m trying to understand it. Shouldn’t you hate me?” He looked from Osamu to Suna. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Atsumu still staring at the ground. 

Suna gave a single “Ha” before saying, “That bastard needs to be humbled sometimes.”

Osamu’s expression was more serious. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t a fan of you for a while. Tsumu came home from that camp talkin’ nonsense about a goose and how this boy there was his soulmate. He annoyed the hell outta me sayin’ all this stuff about how standoffish you were but that he couldn’t wait for Nationals because he was gonna ask ya on a date. I couldn’t figure out what he saw in you, no offense.”

Kiyoomi stiffened, but told himself to relax. This was what he needed to hear: A new perspective on how his actions had affected someone else. He could hear Iizuna’s voice in the back of his head telling him to consider the emotions of others. 

“I’m standin’ right here, shithead,” Atsumu chimed in. When Kiyoomi looked at him, though, his eyes were to the ground. 

“And it’s my turn to talk, so shut up, scrub.” Osamu turned his attention back to Kiyoomi. “I really wasn’t a fan after Nationals the following year when I had to deal with his cryin’ for weeks. He was unbearable, but I’d never seen him that upset over anything before. I knew he’d been hurt, and I blamed you for it. Hell, I hated you for it.”

Kiyoomi gave a slow nod of his head to let Osamu know he was still listening, that he was prepared to accept blame for what he’d done to Atsumu. 

“Things were real awkward the first time Rin introduced me to Toya and I found out y’all were related.”

At this, Motoya laughed, likely recalling the memory. “After that shock wore off, we spent the whole night talking about how stubborn you two are,” his cousin said, gesturing between Kiyoomi and Atsumu. 

“I think that was the first time I really got a sense of who you are.” Osamu looked at Kiyoomi. “And what you’d been through, too. I still don’t get this whole soulmate goose thing, but I’m startin’ to see how it could mess with you. Point is, I can tell ya mean somethin’ to my brother—regardless of if a goose is makin’ him act like this or not—so, I wanna give you a chance, too.” 

A chance. Not total forgiveness, but the opportunity to prove that he was worthy of it. 

“Way to make me sound like a baby, Samu!” Atsumu finally looked up, though his eyes were on his brother, not Kiyoomi. 

“Am I wrong?” 

Before the twins could enter another argument—of which they’d had many over the course of the evening—Kiyoomi stepped in. “I’m sorry,” he said, letting his gaze move from Osamu to Atsumu. “I never apologized because I didn’t see anything wrong with what I said, and I still mean it. I think soulmates are bullshit, but that doesn’t excuse everything else.” He paused, trying to find the right words. The whole apology thing was new to him and he wanted to make his statement count. “I don’t know what Motoya said about me to get you not to hate me anymore, but—”

“C’mon, Omi-kun.” Atsumu cut him off. “Don’t get all sappy on us. It doesn’t suit you.” 

“What?” 

“We’re here to celebrate yer birthday, not listen to ya mope.” 

“I’m not moping,” Kiyoomi defended himself. 

Atsumu winked at him, then said, “I think that’s enough soul searchin’ for one night. Samu, Sunarin, it’s been a pleasure, but if y’all would kindly fuck off, I still need to give Omi-kun his present. Motoya-kun, I’m sure you wanna go with the two of ‘em, too.” 

“You can’t just kick us out. It’s not your party, dumbass,” Suna said with an eye roll. “Just because you want to—”

“Do you need us to clean anything up before we leave?” Osamu quickly interjected. Kiyoomi had been too busy trying to process the exchange between Atsumu and Suna that he’d nearly missed what Osmau had asked. 

He shook his head. “I’ll clean everything.”

“He’ll clean everything,” Atsumu repeated. 

“We don’t take orders from you, Atsumu.” Came Suna’s response, the alcohol clearly still affecting him. Tonight was the most personable Kiyoomi had ever seen him. 

“Rin,” Osamu warned. “We should go.” 

“One more round of shots!” Motoya begged. “Kiyo actually showed some emotion tonight so we gotta celebrate.” 

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes. “And you showed that you can’t handle your alcohol. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Motoya stuck out his tongue as if he were a child who wasn’t getting his way. “One of these days we’ll get you drunk, Kiyo. Get you to live a little.” 

“No thank you. I’m not careless like you.” 

“I’m not careless, I’m fun.”

The two continued their back-and-forth until Osamu put his hand on Motoya’s back to usher him toward the door. His other hand was against Suna’s back. Kiyoomi walked with them to the genkan and thanked them again for the gift as the three put their shoes on. His thanks earned him a cheer from Motoya, who was then gently moved through the door by Osamu. Suna went next. 

Before Osamu left, he turned back to Kiyoomi and gave him a slow nod of his head. Kiyoomi knew the gesture. It was one that said: ‘I’m placing all of my trust in you not to mess this up, and if you do, remember that I keep a shovel by my door.’ 

Kiyoomi nodded back in understanding. 

“Tsumu,” Osamu said. “You know how to get to the hotel, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll figure it out.” 

The five exchanged one more round of goodbyes before Kiyoomi was finally able to shut his door. The space felt empty with only him and Atsumu standing there, silence refilling the apartment’s walls. He didn’t know how to restart the conversation; his suspicions as to why Atsumu had insisted on staying rendered him speechless as the two gravitated back toward the kitchen. 

Once there, Kiyoomi began to piece the room together. He made a separate pile of things he would return to Osamu. When Atsumu started to help, Kiyoomi waved him off. 

Cleaning was something he wanted to do on his own; the routine nature of washing dishes and putting them away gave him time to think. He offered a chair to Atsumu and ordered him to sit.

The other man obliged. 

“Sorry ‘bout tonight,” Atsumu said after a moment. “Samu’s always tryin’ to embarrass me.” 

“He has every right to hate me.” Kiyoomi put the last dish needing to be dried back in the cabinet before turning to face Atsumu. “And so do you.”

“Are you really still on that?”

Kiyoomi nodded. “I didn’t talk to you for four years, Atsumu.”

“Well that part did suck.”

“Then why—”

“Because I care about you, okay?” Atsumu sat up straighter. “And maybe I shouldn’t keep givin’ ya all these chances, but I do. Kita-san and Aran-kun always tell me I rush into things, but yer not like that. So this is me doin’ my best to be patient and let’cha take yer time to figure yerself out.”

“I don’t understand how you can keep defending me to your brother.” Kiyoomi moved to sit in the chair opposite Atsumu.

The other man sighed. “Samu just wants me to be happy, and for a long time I wasn’t. He saw you as the reason why I wasn’t happy and we ended up fightin’ about it a lot. There was one time where we didn’t talk to each other for a whole day because of it.” 

“What changed?” 

“I think Motoya-kun had somethin’ to do with it. But,” Atsumu said as he folded his hands on the table. “Like I said, Samu just wants me to be happy.”

So that meant—

“I make you happy?”

“Yer so dense!” Atsumu laughed. Then he paused for a moment before unfolding his hands and letting them lay palm-up on the table. Kiyoomi wondered what would happen if he reached out to place his hands on top of Atsumu’s: Would the other man dissolve underneath his touch? His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Atsumu add, “Can I ask you a question, Omi-kun?”

Kiyoomi nodded. He tucked his own hands safely in his lap. 

“Are you happy?”

He didn’t have to think about it. Without hesitation, Kiyoomi gave his single word answer: “Yes.”

“Good.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You told me that if you could have any gift, you wanted to be happy. Glad I could get that for ya, Omi.”

Oh.

“Those stupid questions…” His voice trailed off. Everything about the evening came back to him: The White Russians, the umeboshi. Atsumu had been planning everything out with the goal of making sure Kiyoomi was happy. “You did all of this for me?”

“Surprise…” Atsumu said, though his voice was hesitant. Scared, almost. Vulnerable.

Kiyoomi couldn’t stand it. He wanted to lean himself across the table and grab Atsumu by the shirt, pulling him closer until their lips pressed together. He wanted to let the other man unravel him, wanted to come undone as he told Atsumu over and over that he loved him.

Instead, he remained seated. His eyes began to gloss over as he watched the four walls of his apartment dissolve around him. Reality crumbled as his consciousness moved—trance-like—toward a daydream. 

Fuck. He was in love. 

Atsumu cleared his throat. “I have some other things to say.”

“Huh?” Kiyoomi said. All at once the apartment came back into focus. The daydream withered. “Go ahead.”

“I’m not one for carin’ ‘bout what other people think of me, and I don’t usually think about the consequences of my actions,” Atsumu began, closing his hands until they resembled fists. “Actually, that gets me into trouble a lot. That said, I value you a lot, Omi. Which is why, even though everything in me wants to kiss ya right now, I’m not gonna do it.”

What? Kiyoomi didn’t know if he’d said it aloud or merely thought it. The embers began to spark, passing through each synapse and system until an unforgiving heat had spread across every inch of his skin. The world around him burned; his mind was on fire. Miya Atsumu—his best friend, the love of his life, his soulmate —wanted to kiss him? But he wasn’t going to? 

Rest in Peace, Sakusa Kiyoomi, he thought to himself. You’ve dug your own grave. 

“Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost, Omi-kun, so let me explain.” Atsumu waited until Kiyoomi gave a nod to indicate he was still listening before offering his explanation. “I say stupid shit and rush into things, which is how it began with us. And see what happened? I don’t care if the goose follows me around for ten more days or ten more years; I want to build somethin’ between us that lasts. I know you think soulmates are bullshit, and maybe they are, but I do know that I want’cha in my life. Even if I never saw that damn creature again, I wouldn’t change my mind.” 

Kiyoomi parted his lips to speak, but no sound came out. 

“Anyway, I should get back to the hotel so that—”

“Please stay.” 

“Huh?"

“I want you to stay. With me. Tonight.” He held Atsumu’s gaze. It was his turn to render the other speechless. “I fucked up, Atsumu. I’m not good with considering how other people feel, so I was only thinking of myself. I thought if I ignored the problem it would go away. Motoya and Suna gave me so many chances to contact you, but I wasn’t ready. It’s my fault.”

To his surprise, he saw Atsumu smirk. “I know.”

“Know what?”

“Oh Omi-kun,” Atsumu said, pulling his hands from the table and bringing them behind his head as he leaned against the chair. If he leaned too far back, he’d probably tip over. “You really think Sunarin cares that much about our relationship? He was kinda like my middleman. Motoya-kun was in on it, too.” 

Kiyoomi wasn’t following, and Atsumu must have taken note of his confusion because he continued his explanation. “All those posts they sent’cha were because I told ‘em to. I was lettin’ ya take yer time, but I wanted you to know I hadn’t given up.”

“Then why did you act surprised that I had Suna’s number?”

“I’m a professional actor, Omi-Omi.” Atsumu winked at him before his expression hardened. He brought his chair forward. “Don’t get me wrong, what I said was true. You were my first and second heartbreak, actually my only two heartbreaks; but they always say third time’s the charm. I was willin’ to wait for ya to figure yerself out. Samu told me I was an idiot for months because I wouldn’t let’cha go. And maybe I am an idiot with real shit luck, but—”

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi brought his hands up to grip at the edge of the table, hard enough that his knuckles turned white. “I know what I want.”

I want you, came his unspoken confession. 

“Yeesh, Omi-kun. At least take me on a date first.”

“What?” He relaxed his grip. 

“I wasn’t jokin’ when I said I wanted to take this slow.”

Kiyoomi let go of the table. “Oh,” he said. “Well then…would you like to watch a movie with me? Right now?”

“Only if I get to pick.” 

“If you pick something bad, I’m kicking you out.” 

“What a terrible way to treat yer date, Omi-Omi.” The grin on Atsumu’s face could only be described as shit-eating. 

In the end, they settled into Kiyoomi’s bed with the length of a pillow between them. Atsumu had gone to the couch first, only to be quickly reassured by Kiyoomi that he had a television in his room. That the bed was more comfortable than the couch anyway so it just made sense that they spend their evening there. He’d also made an off-hand comment about how Atsumu couldn’t fully appreciate the comfort of the bed in his jeans, so he’d offered the other man a pair of his sweatpants. 

“I can wear yer clothes?” Atsumu had asked. 

Kiyoomi’s response had been a simple, “Jeans are uncomfortable.” 

Really, he’d wanted to see Atsumu in something of his. 

The look on Atsumu’s face when he’d returned from the bathroom clad in his borrowed sweatpants was an invitation for Kiyoomi to try something else. 

After they’d settled into the bed, Kiyoomi handed Atsumu the remote and told him he could select anything on Netflix. This was new for him—not just laying in bed watching a movie with someone, but letting that person make the decision on what they would watch. Kiyoomi’s life had always been a series of doing things because they’d benefited him, of making choices based on his own interests. 

Handing Atsumu the remote was his way of showing his soulmate that he wasn’t the same person he used to be, or that he no longer wanted to be that person. 

“My taste is impeccable, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu said as he scrolled through the options.

“It better be,” came Kiyoomi’s teasing response. 

It took over twenty minutes for Atsumu to choose a movie, going back and forth between seven different options. Yes, seven. 

“I told you I’d kick you out if you picked something bad. My offer still stands if you don’t pick anything, either.” Kiyoomi crossed his arms over his chest and looked over at Atsumu with a mock-pout on his lips. Really, he didn’t mind: The longer it took to choose a movie, the longer Atsumu would stay. 

“I’m takin’ this seriously, Omi-kun. I’m not ruinin’ date night.” 

“That one looks fine,” Kiyoomi wasn’t even looking at the screen, too busy studying the man sitting a pillow’s length away from him. He knew he wouldn’t pay attention to anything that happened in the movie anyway. Not when he had Atsumu like that. 

“Shrek it is.” 

Kiyoomi didn’t have time to change his mind. Atsumu pressed play. 

They settled into themselves as the movie began, the pillow’s length distance between them slowly shrinking as the opening credits rolled. Touch was not something Sakusa Kiyoomi often found himself seeking out, but something about the man beside him laughing at an ogre going about his day while All Star by Smash Mouth played in the background drew him in. 

He’d once thought of Miya Atsumu as an uncharted territory that he didn’t know how to navigate, and that was still the case. There were so many unknowns surrounding his soulmate left to be uncovered. The difference this time, though, was that Kiyoomi knew he wanted to learn every inch of the man whose shoulder he’d just allowed his head to rest against. 

He wasn’t surprised when he felt Atsumu flinch. 

Kiyoomi’s touch was rare, and he seldom let it last. He was slow to give it out and quick to take it away. Much like love, he saw his touch as a sign of vulnerability. It was the reason why the two times he’d brought strangers into his bed in an attempt to forget the man whose face had etched itself across every corner of Kiyoomi’s consciousness had ended abruptly. Had ended with Kiyoomi kicking them out then scrubbing his body until no trace of them remained. 

The nameless, faceless strangers were not worthy of his touch. 

The moment was also different from the kisses that now felt like lifetimes ago. The first had been an obligation; Kiyoomi had pulled Atsumu into his bed because he’d thought it was the only way to end a relationship that hadn’t even had the chance to begin. Even as desire built that first time they’d kissed, Kiyoomi hadn’t been ready to open himself. Hadn’t been ready to be vulnerable. 

The second kiss had stemmed from desperation; Kiyoomi had rushed into the moment without considering the consequences. It was impulsive and reckless and had led to four years of silence as punishment for his mistake. With the second kiss, he’d thought he’d been in love, and really, he had been. But even as those three words—those I love you’s —waited on his tongue, Kiyoomi still hadn’t been ready to open himself fully. He realized that now.

Things had begun to change since then. As he lay there, head resting against Atsumu’s shoulder, he knew that he was ready to be vulnerable. 

Kiyoomi resting his head against the other man’s shoulder was new and scary, but it was what he wanted. The gesture told of every word they’d exchanged and the silence that had grown between them. It was of two ill-fated kisses and the single tear Kiyoomi had shed. But his head on Atsumu’s shoulder was also every text message they had sent, every laugh that Kiyoomi had let escape him during their Sunday morning phone calls. It was happiness and trust and vulnerability; an apology and forgiveness. 

It was a reminder that the past couldn’t be changed, but that they could hope for a future of their own design. 

It was love. 

“I don’t want’cha to force yerself into anything, Omi. I told ya we’d take this slow.” 

Kiyoomi sat up, pulling away just enough to look at Atsumu. “I want this.”

“Are you sure this is okay, though? Me bein’ in yer bed and all?”

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi said as he brought his head back down to rest on his soulmate’s shoulder. “If I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here.” 

“You trust me?”

“Yes, I do.” 

He felt Atsumu bring his arm around him, pulling him closer to his chest. “I trust you, too.”

That night was the first Sakusa Kiyoomi had ever fallen asleep with someone in bed beside him.

He woke the following morning to the shape of Atsumu carved into his mattress. It was only the shape of him, though—the imprint of the place where his head had touched the pillow all that remained. Kiyoomi processed Atsumu’s absence slowly, blinking back the last traces of sleep and adjusting himself to the early morning light that came in through the window. It couldn’t have been later than seven, a time Kiyoomi seldom was awake to see. 

But the time didn’t matter; Atsumu was gone. He’d left without saying goodbye. 

Kiyoomi figured he deserved that.

As he sat himself up, he tried to recommit to memory what it had felt like to have his soulmate curled up beside him. He wanted to remember the faint trace of sandalwood he’d picked up on when he’d buried his face further into Atsumu’s neck. He could still hear the noises Atsumu had made that night, his mouth continuing to run even as he slept. Fragments of conversations Kiyoomi wondered if he was meant to hear. 

He sat there a little longer, eyes fixed on the empty half of the bed. He’d been so focused on memorizing the shape of his soulmate that he missed his bedroom door opening. 

“Shit, I thought you’d still be asleep.” 

Kiyoomi looked up to see Atsumu—now back in his jeans from the night before—holding a piece of paper in his hands. 

“This looks bad,” he added when Kiyoomi didn’t say anything. “Samu’s up my ass because we missed the train. There’s another one leavin’ in twenty that we’ve gotta catch, and you were sleepin’ so peacefully I didn’t wanna disturb ya…” His voice trailed off. 

Kiyoomi couldn’t help but smirk at how flustered Atsumu had gotten trying to explain his situation. “I don’t want to keep you.” 

“Believe me, Omi-kun, I would much rather still be here, but I promised Samu I’d help at the restaurant today and we’re already runnin’ late, and—”

“Atsumu, relax.” Kiyoomi pulled back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. With light footsteps he walked over to where his soulmate was waiting in the doorway. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Then, he reached out and took the piece of paper from Atsumu’s hand. 

“It’s embarrassin’…”

“To my goose pal…” Kiyoomi frowned and looked from the letter to Atsumu. “I thought we agreed not to call each other that.”

“I was rushed.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes but continued reading the letter aloud: “I know this looks bad, but I promise I wanted to stay. Samu sucks and I may have overcommitted myself to helping him out today but I promise this won’t be our last sleepover ;) You’re stuck with me for good this time. Love, Atsumu.” 

“Told ya it was embarrassin’.” 

“It was,” Kiyoomi admitted, already folding up the paper in preparation of tucking it in a drawer somewhere safe. “But I look forward to our next sleepover, too.” 

He watched the way Atsumu’s face became engulfed by a grin, an all-encompassing smile that rivaled the way Kiyoomi felt on the inside. How he wanted to bottle that feeling up and keep it for eternity. 

“Would love to stay and chat, Omi-kun, but—”

“Go,” Kiyoomi said, already ushering Atsumu through the apartment toward the genkan. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Yeah,” Atsumu nodded as he bent down to put on his shoes. “Soon.” 

It was a promise. 

⭐️

One week and four days after his birthday, Sakusa Kiyoomi graduated from University. It was a Saturday. As he took his diploma in his hands, he scanned the crowd to find his parents giving their silent nods of approval. Kiyoomi could tell, even amid their silence, that they were proud. And as he finished his walk across the stage, he felt proud of himself, too.

Beside his father, Motoya sat with both of his fists raised in a silent cheer: A gesture to show that he, too, was proud without attracting unnecessary attention to Kiyoomi and his accomplishments. They’d argued about what Motoya was and wasn’t allowed to do during the ceremony in the days leading up to graduation. Kiyoomi was pleased his cousin had actually listened to him. 

Beside Motoya sat Atsumu. His smile was brighter than the sun. 

Kiyoomi had known Atsumu was planning to attend graduation—he himself having been the one to invite him—but he still felt his heart surge when he saw his soulmate give him a thumbs-up. The gesture was so ridiculous, so Atsumu. 

Kiyoomi gave him a small thumbs-up in return as he walked back to his seat. He wanted to feel a little ridiculous, too. 

Rounding out the guests there to celebrate his achievement was the goose. Kiyoomi had thought he’d seen the creature waiting outside of the venue when he’d first arrived, but decided not to strain himself looking for it. He didn’t need a creature to draw himself to Miya Atsumu anymore. 

He’d made his choice. 

It was the reason why, after the ceremony ended and he felt himself turning in circles trying to navigate his way through a crowd of bodies all holding diplomas that matched his own, seeing Atsumu push toward him felt like witnessing that first sight of land. A sigh of relief knowing that hope had come. 

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu called, offering up his hand for Kiyoomi to take. “Can I get’cha outta here?”

“Thank you,” was all he said as he grabbed onto Atsumu and let the other man guide him away from the throng of people. His breathing steadied under his soulmate’s careful touch, the world beginning to turn again in the way it was always meant to. 

They kept their hands interlaced until Kiyoomi saw his parents and Motoya come into view. When their hands fell back to their sides, though, it was not Kiyoomi who let go, but Atsumu. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t say anythin’ to ‘em about our, uh, situation,” Atsumu leaned in close to Kiyoomi so that he could whisper in his ear. “I’m just a friend from high school who happens to be in town, but I’m headin’ back to the station now.” 

Kiyoomi turned to look at him. “You’re not staying?” 

“You want me to stay?” 

“My lease isn’t up,” Kiyoomi shrugged. He wanted to appear nonchalant, the antithesis of how he felt on the inside at the thought of spending another night alone with Atsumu. “You could spend the night.” 

“A sleepover?” Atsumu grinned at him. “You strike a hard bargain, Omi-kun.” 

“Well?”

“We could watch Shrek 2…”

“Is it a yes or a no, Miya?” 

A sly grin began to spread itself across Atsumu’s face, causing Kiyoomi’s cheeks to flush. He realized his mistake too late. “Miya?” Atsumu teased. “Not Atsumu? Well, Sakusa-san, perhaps I can stay for one night. In the name of Shrek 2, of course.” 

“Don’t ever call me that again.”

“If I recall, there was a time when that was all you wanted me to call ya.”

“And you never listened.” 

“Part of my charm.”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi said as they began to walk toward the rest of his family. “It is.” 

⭐️

In the month following his graduation, Kiyoomi received an offer to join the MSBY Black Jackals after what he knew had been a stellar tryout. 

“We’re going to be teammates, Atsumu,” he opened the conversation with. His soulmate was the first person he called after hanging up the phone with Coach Foster. Motoya and his parents could wait.

“I told ya we’d be together, Omi-Omi.” 

“You’re lucky you got better,” Kiyoomi baited, recalling their high school promise. “DESEO looked really appealing, and I could have played with Iizuna-san aga—”

“I knew you’d pick me. I’m irresistible.” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I picked your team.” 

“Just hurry up and move down here.” 

⭐️

He moved from Tokyo to Osaka in early May. The Jackals were technically in their off-season, but Kiyoomi wanted to get himself accustomed to a new city before he also had to become accustomed to a new team.

(Maybe the thought of living in the same city as Miya Atsumu also had something to do with his hasty move. His lease had been up, but Atsumu definitely played a substantial part in the decision. Not that he would ever tell his soulmate that. Kiyoomi needed to keep him humble.)

Both of the Miyas helped him set up his new apartment. He’d had the option of living in the MSBY dorms with a few of the other athletes, but Kiyoomi valued his privacy and personal space too much to take up that offer. So he chose a small one-bedroom a block north of the dorms. Atsumu lived one block in the other direction, two blocks from Kiyoomi. 

It was the perfect excuse to spend the day together unpacking boxes and moving furniture. Even though he would have preferred it to have been just Atsumu helping him settle into his new space, Osamu proved to be a bigger help than his brother. At least Osamu listened when Kiyoomi instructed him that plates went in that cabinet, not the other one. 

Atsumu had no sense of direction and had a hard time following instructions. And even though Kiyoomi tried so hard to be patient—tried so hard to be appreciative of the extra help—eventually it happened. He snapped.

And the problem was, Osamu seemed to have no issue stoking the fire Kiyoomi let burn. 

“Have you never made a bed before?” Kiyoomi asked, eyes narrowed as he studied the mess of sheets covering his mattress. On one side of him stood Atsumu, a retort no doubt waiting on his tongue. On the other side was Osamu, who simply laughed. 

“Tsumu? Makin’ his bed? You can’t even get him to wash his sheets more than once a month let alone make a damn bed.”

Kiyoomi turned to Osamu in horror. “Once a month?”

“Oh and that scrub used to slip his sheets in with mine so that I would have to do my laundry and his.”

“I’m right here!” Atsumu interjected, but it was too late; the damage had been done. 

Osamu and Kiyoomi began to swap stories about Atsumu’s habits until he gave an exasperated sigh and announced that he was going to go find dinner for ‘you ungrateful bastards.’ 

Once they’d heard the door slam shut, Osamu turned to Kiyoomi and said, “He acts like he’s mad, but I bet he’ll spend a fortune pickin’ out dinner for us. That’s just how Tsumu is.” 

“He cares,” Kiyoomi added. “Even if he says people’s opinions on him don’t matter, he still tries to bring out the best in them.” 

Like he’s brought out the best in me, Kiyoomi thought to himself. He knew that now, how Atsumu had caused him to think about relationships in a new way. When he had someone in his life who was ready to give him his all, Kiyoomi knew he wanted to give his all back. 

That was what it meant to love Miya Atsumu. 

“I know I give him a hard time, but deep down he’s a good person,” Osamu said after a minute. “He can be a shit, but he deserves happiness just like the rest of us.”

Kiyoomi turned to study the other man’s expression. There was a stiffness in his jaw that evidenced Kiyoomi had yet to fully earn Osamu’s trust. Despite their jokes and the ease with which they’d made casual conversation throughout the day, the fact remained that Kiyoomi could still feel the scrutiny under which Osamu watched him. As if he anticipated another heartbreak for his brother.

“He seems to think you’re the source of that happiness,” Osamu continued. “I hope he’s right.”

Kiyoomi met his gaze. “I’m not leaving.” 

He watched Osamu’s features soften, shoulders slouching forward when he exhaled. “Good.”

There was nothing left to say after that. They returned to piecing together the apartment until Atsumu returned with dinner. 

That night the three of them sat cross-legged around the coffee table in Kiyoomi’s new living room, joking with one another in between mouthfuls of take-out. Osamu had been right: Atsumu’d gone to great lengths to pick out a personalized meal for everyone there. When he handed Kiyoomi his food, Atsumu assured him that his meal had been prepared separately from everyone else’s. 

Apparently he'd given the staff a real hard time about cross-contamination. Kiyoomi found the gesture thoughtful. 

In addition to the dinners, Atsumu had bought sake and what looked like an expensive set of glasses. 

“What?” Atsumu asked when he handed one of the glasses to Kiyoomi. “We need to enjoy one of life’s true pleasures, Omi-Omi.”

“I’m just thinking,” Kiyoomi responded, accepting the glass and bringing it up to his face to inspect. It looked like jade. 

“Well don’t think too hard, we’re s’posed to be havin’ fun.”

Kiyoomi didn’t care about fun; as long as he was in Atsumu’s presence, that was enough. 

They each only drank one glass before Osamu announced that, if there wasn’t anything else needed of him, he was going to head out. When Kiyoomi looked to Atsumu to see if he would also be leaving, his soulmate smirked and asked, “Shrek 3 tonight?”

Kiyoomi couldn’t think of a more perfect way to start his life in Osaka than with his body curled against Atsumu’s as the sound of Shrek 3 played in the background. 

⭐️

Two weeks after the move, Kiyoomi called Motoya. 

“I’m in love with him,” was the first thing he said. He didn’t even give his cousin the chance to greet him, too wrapped up in his own head at the thought of Miya Atsumu being real. A tangible thing Sakusa Kiyoomi had the pleasure of knowing, had the pleasure of loving. 

On the other end, Motoya scoffed. “You’re just now realizing that?” 

“It’s different this time. It’s not an obligation anymore.”  

“And you’ve told him this?”

“Not yet,” Kiyoomi admitted. “We’re taking it slow.”

That earned him a groan from Motoya, who then said, “Well, I’m happy for you, Kiyo, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when you call me ten years from now to say you finally said you love each other. Maybe fifteen years…I’d hate for you to rush things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Please, seeing you two together is like watching some weird game where you try to test how close you can get before pulling away at the last second. Like that episode of Voltron where they’re supposed to pull their lions up just before they crash into the ground. Frankly, it’s exhausting.” 

“Fuck off. And don’t mention that show again.” 

“Love you, too.”

The call ended, but Motoya’s words left him with a lot to consider. 

As he wandered his apartment, moving from his bedroom to his kitchen then back to his bedroom, Kiyoomi weighed his options: To confess, or to hold off. The benefit of holding off, he knew as he crawled back into bed, was that a poorly timed confession could shatter the sturdy foundation upon which they were building their relationship. It had happened before, and even though neither of them were the same as they’d been when they were teenagers, the fear remained that the roots of their love might not be as deep as Kiyoomi thought. 

But then he remembered their texts and their phone calls and their sleepovers. It was the ghost of Atsumu’s touch that lured Kiyoomi toward a confession. That featherlight feel of his soulmate’s chin on his head as they tangled themselves in the sheets drew Kiyoomi in. They hadn’t kissed, hadn’t done anything beyond soak in the presence of the other, and yet it was enough.

The goose had nothing to do with his desire to confess, the creature merely a witness to the kind of thing that happened when two people found themselves drawn back to one another no matter the time they spent apart. No matter what words they spat or the ones they let die on their tongues. 

Kiyoomi was in love, and he knew what he was going to do. 

When he went to send Atsumu a message to invite him over—the embers of a confession ready to catch fire—his phone flashed with a series of notifications. 

FROM: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

10:32: Good morning, sunshine 

10:32: If you’re even awake 🙄

10:33: Anyway…… do you have plans for tomorrow night? 

TO: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

10:33: Are you asking me out?

FROM: MY BEST FRIEND ATSUMU ❤️❤️❤️

10:34: Maybe 😁

10:34: There are some people I want you to meet 

Kiyoomi didn’t know what his soulmate meant by ‘there are some people I want you to meet,’ and the thought of spending his evening with an undetermined number of strangers made his heart twist—not in a good way. But he told himself to go, that it would be okay, because he would have Atsumu by his side. 

Besides, he figured he could go one more day without saying ‘I love you.’ What was twenty-four hours when he was prepared to spend a lifetime at Atsumu’s side? 

⭐️

Apparently waiting twenty-four hours would have its repercussions.  

Kiyoomi felt his world come to a halt two weeks and one night after the move. It was a Saturday. He sat next to Atsumu on an unfamiliar couch while the roar of laughter circling the living room caused his body to still. He felt unwelcome. 

He knew that wasn’t the case, that Kita had welcomed him into his home with a sly grin that said: ‘Ah, so you’re the one.’ He knew that Aran had been nothing but kind to him, that Osamu and Suna had brought Motoya along just so Kiyoomi felt more at ease.

But still, he felt like an intruder.

There was a natural amiableness in the way the others interacted with one another, something that Kiyoomi hadn’t figured out how to blend into. He wasn’t a natural, didn’t know how to insert himself into conversations without making a comment that came off as a little too rude. One that would cause friendly laughter to dissolve into nervous chuckles. 

The way others perceived him hadn’t mattered in the past, and that was still mostly true. But as he sat there, listening to jokes he wondered if he would ever be a part of, Kiyoomi realized that the people surrounding him were different. They meant something to Atsumu.

Kiyoomi kind of wanted them to mean something to him, too.

He knew he couldn’t blame the Inarizaki alumni for fitting together so seamlessly. What stunned him was how well his cousin meshed with the other five. If it were his first time meeting him, Kiyoomi would have guessed that Motoya had been their former teammate, too. 

His cousin had the luxury of making friends wherever he went, something Kiyoomi hadn’t realized how much he envied until he watched Motoya put his hand on Aran’s shoulder as if the two had been friends for years. They laughed together over a comment Kita had made about carrier pigeons. 

Kiyoomi slouched forward and studied the floor, trying to laugh at the joke, too. 

“Let’s play a game!” Atsumu announced to the room once the laughter died down. Kiyoomi looked over at him with discomfort spreading on his face. He was not in the mood for games. 

“You always pick the worst games,” Suna shot back. 

“Yeah, remember that time ya tried to get us to play Truth or Dare back at Nationals all those years ago?” Aran asked. 

Suna pointed at Atsumu, a menacing grin on his face when he said, “He got so red when Gin grilled him about his first kiss.”

That got Kiyoomi’s attention.  

“Y’all can just fuck off,” Atsumu said, though his words were muffled by the sound of his own laughter. “I don’t think Omi-kun wants to hear about that…”

“Actually, I do.” 

The room quieted. 

Atsumu looked mortified, and Kiyoomi began to wonder if he’d made a mistake.

“You were there.” 

“What?”

“Didja never realize you were my first kiss?” Atsumu asked him. “First and second. Actually, yer the only person I’ve ever kissed.” 

“I—” Kiyoomi’s voice trailed off. He’d never thought about it before. All those years of knowing Atsumu and he’d never stopped to think that his lips might have been the only ones his soulmate’s had touched. Then again, he’d never considered the converse either: That Atsumu had spent their time apart kissing lips that didn’t belong to Kiyoomi. 

He’d only been thinking of himself. Again. 

“Atsumu,” Kita’s voice drew Kiyoomi’s attention. “What was the game?” 

“Oh, yeah. It’s called Pictionary.” 

Kiyoomi tried to listen to Atsumu describe the rules of the game, but his soulmate’s voice was drowned out by the realization that a part of him would always be Selfish Sakusa Kiyoomi.  

Some things just couldn’t be changed. 

It took some time for the group to agree on teams, but eventually they divided themselves in two. Atsumu, Motoya, and Kita made up one team. Kiyoomi had been placed with Aran and Osamu—whose energy fed off of one another in a way that often happened with lifelong friends. 

Suna offered to officiate. 

When they began to play, Kiyoomi did his best to participate, but his enthusiasm was lackluster. Where the others were loud and triumphant, Kiyoomi was quiet and despondent. His teammates were kind to him—Aran was especially patient when Kiyoomi attempted to guess what he’d been drawing—but it didn’t change the fact that he felt like an intruder. 

Whatever emotions that had been building since the evening began—jealousy? hurt? frustration?—reached their pinnacle when the game ended. From the other side of the room, Kiyoomi watched Atsumu pull Kita first, then Motoya, into an embrace. His team had won. 

Beside him, Aran and Osamu shouted their taunts at the winners, already staking their claims of foul play. 

Kiyoomi stood up and excused himself. 

His phone was out before he reached the bathroom, a ride share pulled up by the time he locked the door. With the knowledge that he had someone coming to take him home, Kiyoomi sat on the edge of the bathtub and let himself think. 

He thought about Atsumu, but also about himself. The image of how freely his soulmate had given out his touches lingered even when he tried to force the memory out. 

Kiyoomi knew he had Atsumu, so why did the sight of him wrapping his arms around Kita, around Motoya, make him uneasy? How could he be jealous when he knew that his lips were the only ones Atsumu’s had touched? That, no matter what, Atsumu had chosen him just as he’d chosen Atsumu?

Perhaps it was because Atsumu loved in a way Kiyoomi never could. His love was loud and open, the antithesis of the quiet and private love Kiyoomi expressed. He wondered then, as he sat there, if Atsumu was holding back—sacrificing a piece of who he was to accommodate the person Kiyoomi wasn’t.

The revelation came to him the longer he thought about touch. The gradual acceptance of letting his body fall into place beside the other man’s had been a process of not only trusting Atsumu, but of trusting himself. What if there came a day when Kiyoomi’s careful touches were no longer enough? 

He stopped thinking of them as soulmates whose lives had been woven together by a goose. They were two people, and they had their own wants and desires for the future. 

Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

Miya Atsumu. 

The relationship they’d been building for months was one of their own design. He told himself to accept that there could come a day when they drifted apart, just as there had been a day when they’d drifted back together. 

It was just realistic, and Sakusa Kiyoomi was a realist. 

An alert flashing on his phone ended his self-reflection. The driver would pick him up in five minutes. Kiyoomi gave a sigh and stood, slipping his device into one of the pockets of his joggers before walking to the door. He unlocked it and followed the cacophony of laughter back to the living room. 

The others were getting on just fine in his absence. 

When he reached the nexus of the noise, Kiyoomi felt a dryness settle in his throat. There, seated with both arms draped across the back of the couch, was Atsumu. On one side of him sat Aran. Kita sat on the other. 

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu greeted, stretching his arms up before he brought them into his lap. “I thought you’d gotten lost! I almost made Kita-san send a search party.”

“I was in the bathroom,” Kiyoomi responded evenly. “I think I’ll be heading home now.”

Conversation stopped; six pairs of eyes turned on him. 

“But we—”

He cut Atsumu off. “I called for a ride.” 

Kiyoomi knew what the other man had been prepared to say: But we came here together. He couldn’t stand to hear him say it, not now. Not when his thoughts were being strung together in a language Kiyoomi didn’t know. The only word that came through was Atsumu. 

“Thank you for the evening,” he added, giving a small bow in Kita’s direction. Kiyoomi turned then and walked toward the genkan before someone could convince him to stay. 

He had time to put on one shoe before he felt Atsumu’s presence behind him.

“What the hell was that for, Omi?”

Kiyoomi ignored him long enough to put on his other shoe, then he stood and faced Atsumu. “I need some time to be alone.” 

“Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“No. I just want to think things through, and I can’t do that here.” 

Atsumu narrowed his eyes. “What’s there to think about? How much ya suck a Pictionary?”

“I’m not doing this right now,” Kiyoomi said, turning around and walking toward the door. The metal doorknob was cool to touch. “Go have fun. I’ll call you in the morning.”

He opened the door and stepped outside, welcoming the warmth of the late-May night as he went. A pair of headlights neared the house.

“Somethin’ pissed ya off, and if it was me, I want’cha to say so.” Atsumu had joined him outside. The door slammed shut behind them. 

“What are you sacrificing to make this work?” Kiyoomi asked with his back turned. 

“The hell are ya talkin’ about now?”

Kiyoomi began to approach the car that had pulled into the gravel driveway, ignoring Atsumu until he’d opened the door to the backseat. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. Then he slipped into the vehicle without another word. 

The only company he wanted to be in was his own. 

As the car drove him back to his apartment, Kiyoomi realized what he’d been ignoring for months. He’d created a microcosm for his relationship with Atsumu to exist in—a world alone where they were the most important thing in each other’s lives. Or, the only thing in each other’s lives, rather. The evening had proved how foolish he’d been to think that Atsumu would have only ever been his alone.  

Buried beneath his folly was a self-directed hatred at the realization that, just because he was careful with his touches and who he chose to love didn’t mean Atsumu had to be that way. He couldn’t control another person’s feelings. 

Stupid, selfish Sakusa Kiyoomi. He’d never been good at sharing. 

When the car dropped him off at his building, Kiyoomi walked with haggard steps up to his unit. More than anything, he wanted to sit in his shower and let the water trickle down his body until he found it in him to migrate to his bed. Then he would curl up and sleep. Alone. 

He would think of ways to be a better person in the morning; tonight was one for selfishness. 

(When wasn’t it? He thought cynically.) 

He’d made halfway to his bedroom when he heard three things at once:

One. An insistent pounding against his front door.

Two. The honking of a goose. 

Three. The sound of Miya Atsumu’s repeated swearing, followed by: “Omi-kun, please—fuck—open the—shit, dammit—door.”

For the smallest fragment of a second, Kiyoomi contemplated letting Atsumu remain outside of his apartment. The desperation in his voice, though, ended that thought before it had the chance to fully form. Kiyoomi left behind his hopes for a night of solitude in favor of walking down the hall to let in the man whose fate would forever be entwined with his. 

He felt his heart stop when he opened the door. 

Kiyoomi took in the sight of Atsumu slowly: The red-rimmed eyes from the tears he must have shed; the runny nose he hadn’t yet wiped up. The most noticeable thing about him, though, was his leg, fully visible beneath his shorts. 

“You’re bleeding,” Kiyoomi commented, nodding to the gash above his right ankle. 

“Huh?” Atsumu looked down. “Oh yeah, our friend got me good this time around.” 

“The goose did that?”

“Yeah, I followed ya home after you stormed off,” Atsumu began with a shrug. “Senshi was waitin’ on yer doorstep and had his fun with me before ya opened up. I dunno where he is now, though.” 

Kiyoomi didn’t know how Atsumu could sound so nonchalant. He was bleeding, after all. Then again, he’d always been that way when it came to the goose. 

“We should take you to the hospital,” Kiyoomi decided, knowing that’s what he would have wanted if the situation was reversed. Hell, that’s what he’d almost done five years ago. On the day they’d met. Officially.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I know you’ve got enough chemicals to fix me up, if you’ll let me in.”

There was a hesitation in Atsumu’s voice when he said it: If you’ll let me in. It was the slightest waver in his tone that evidenced a part of him believed Kiyoomi would run away again. 

See what you’ve done, Kiyoomi thought to himself. 

Aloud, he said, “Wait there. I won’t let you get blood on my floor.” Then he turned and began the walk to his kitchen, leaving Atsumu standing on his doorstep. 

“Omi-Omi, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me!” Atsumu called out to him. “I show up like a wounded duck and this is how I’m treated?” There was a humor in the way he said it that made Kiyoomi’s lips twist upward. 

It was a reminder of all he wanted to fight for. 

Kiyoomi rummaged through his kitchen drawers until he found a cloth he didn’t mind ruining. He quickly ran it under the sink and wrung it out before walking back to the entryway where Atsumu waited with a pout on his lips. He seemed more composed than when Kiyoomi had first opened the door, though. The snot was gone from his nostrils at least. 

“Apply pressure and follow me,” he said after he’d handed the cloth to Atsumu. “And I’m serious about no blood on my floor.” 

“Aye, aye.”

They walked with slow steps through the apartment. Atsumu was nothing short of dramatic the further he hobbled along, bent over to keep a hand pressed to the cloth he held against his leg. His nonchalance was gone, any composure he’d built back up vanished; one would have believed the world was ending. 

Kiyoomi thought he was acting like an attention-seeking child, as if he wanted nothing more than for Kiyoomi to kiss his wound and make it better.

It was probably the truth. 

“I’m not going to pity you, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi said once they’d settled themselves in the bathroom. He began to go through his cabinets while the other man took up a seat on the edge of the bathtub. 

“A little sympathy wouldn’t hurt, would it, Omi-Omi? I just got bit by a goose, y’know? Again!”

Kiyoomi sighed. “I’m very sorry the goose bit you,” he said as he continued searching for a box of latex gloves, a spare cloth, some ointment to prevent an infection, and a roll of gauze. 

When he completed his search, Kiyoomi handed the ointment and the gauze to Atsumu with instructions to hold onto them. He then slipped on a pair of gloves and ran the new cloth under the sink, adding soap and rubbing the fabric together until bubbles formed. 

“I’m going to ask you to do something that will be difficult for you,” Kiyoomi added when he came to kneel next to Atsumu’s injured leg. “I need you to sit still.”

“Anything for you, Omi-kun,” Atsumu said with a wink. 

The process of cleaning and bandaging the wound was slow-going. In part, because Kiyoomi was careful with his movements during each step of the process; but also because Atsumu could not sit still. 

“Are you a child?” Kiyoomi questioned when he felt Atsumu flinch. He’d switched out his gloves with a fresh pair and had begun applying the ointment when the other man shuddered under his touch. 

“It just felt funny,” Atsumu answered. “And I told ya to have a little sympathy!” 

“The bite wasn’t even deep. You’ll live.” 

“I bet you’d be actin’ the same way, Omi-kun.”

Atsumu wasn’t wrong, Kiyoomi knew that. Still, he needed to keep the other man humble.

“Whatevs,” came his response. 

A comfortable silence settled between them while Kiyoomi finished cleaning up the bite. It was as if both of them had forgotten the reason Atsumu’d shown up in the first place. They seemed content to keep the other’s company, nothing more. 

Kiyoomi should have known it wouldn’t last forever. 

“Why’d ya leave?” Atsumu asked after a moment. He looked down at Kiyoomi from his spot at the edge of the bathtub. “I thought we weren’t doin’ that anymore.” There was a noticeable hurt in his voice, a tone reminiscent of the night Kiyoomi had run away.

The night Atsumu had told Kiyoomi he loved him. 

Kiyoomi sighed once he’d finished wrapping Atsumu’s ankle in a gauze. Then he stood and removed his gloves, tossed them in the trash, and went to wash his hands, all the while considering his response. “I needed time to think. I got jealous, I guess.”

“Now what do you have to be jealous of?” Atsumu stood, too. 

“I see the way you act when you’re around other people, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi turned to face him. “It’s not how you are when we’re together.”

“So?”

“So, I guess I’m realizing that, no matter what, I can’t give you what you need. I’m not loud...I’m not—”

“No, yer not,” Atsumu said with a laugh. “That doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“What?” He was certain he’d said it aloud, but the words didn’t feel real as they passed through his parted lips. Atsumu loved him?

Another laugh, this one with a nervous edge to it. “This wasn’t the way I imagined I’d say it,” Atsumu began. “But I love you, Omi. I have for years. I kept downplayin’ it ‘til I knew the time was right. See? I can be quiet, too. I know how to be patient sometimes.”

“But—”

“I love a lot of people. The way I feel about Samu, or Kita-san and Aran-kun, or even Sunarin, ain’t the same way I feel about you, though. Yeah, I love ‘em, but that’s my brother and my best friends. You mean somethin’ different. I wanted tonight to be a chance for me to have all the people I loved in one place. That's why I invited you.”

Oh.

Words were impossible to form. Instead, Kiyoomi watched in silence as Atsumu took a step closer, the man before him reaching out with hesitant hands. He refrained from touching skin until Kiyoomi gave a nod of approval. Slowly, Atsumu brought his hands up to cup Kiyoomi’s face. They were warm, like the first rays of sunlight coming through the window. The sign of a new day. 

“I love you in a ‘I wanna kiss ya on the lips and take ya on fancy vacations and spend every mornin’ wakin’ up next to ya’ kinda way. If that’s alright with you?”

It took a minute for Kiyoomi to react, head going light when he recalled everything Atsumu had said. He wondered if he would crumble underneath his soulmate’s careful touch. 

“You love me?” Was all he could manage. 

“You really are the densest person I’ve ever met,” Atsumu said as he began to run a thumb back and forth against Kiyoomi’s cheek. “You haven’t made it easy, and maybe it's against my better judgement sometimes, but dammit Omi, I love you.”

Kiyoomi felt a laugh building in his throat, a triumphant noise slipping from him before he stumbled out an “I love you, too.”

Then he closed his eyes and brought their lips together. 

The kiss was patient as their mouths became reacquainted, their touches hesitant. It was like they thought of the other as glass; one misstep and the moment would shatter beneath them. Kiyoomi’s hands shook when he brought them around Atsumu’s waist, and a soft moan escaped him when their lips parted only seconds after they’d come together. 

For a moment they stood there, Atsumu with his hands on Kiyoomi’s face, and Kiyoomi with his hands around Atsumu’s waist. There was a shyness in their mirrored smiles—like they were seeing each other for the first time.

“I love you, Omi,” Atsumu repeated before tilting his head upward to place a soft kiss against Kiyoomi’s forehead. “Have I mentioned that?”

“I love you, too, Atsu.” 

Their third kiss hadn’t been one of obligation or desperation. It was love, and that was enough. 

“Think we can do that kissin’ thing again?” 

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, but tugged Atsumu closer. “Yeah, I think we can.” 

He lost track of the kisses they shared that night, stopping the count somewhere after he’d pulled Atsumu into the bedroom. It was there, behind closed doors, that they solidified their commitment to one another. Clothes graced the floor, bodies were explored in ways not yet seen as they took in the other’s naked form. 

They were careful with the way they touched. Kiyoomi’s movements were attentive—delicate—as he helped Atsumu onto the bed. He left featherlight kisses against his soulmate’s collarbone, against his chest, before receiving permission to go further. 

Kiyoomi shifted his weight off of Atsumu only to pull open the drawer next to his bed. He fumbled around for what he was looking for, breath catching when his hand found hold on a piece of paper: The note Atsumu had planned to leave him after their first sleepover. He let it remain tucked away in favor of pulling out a condom and a nearly-full bottle of lube. 

“Have you done this before?” Atsumu asked, looking over at Kiyoomi with hazy eyes and a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Not like this,” Kiyoomi admitted. He set the objects on the bed before bringing himself closer to his soulmate. “There were two, but I never gave them the chance to finish. They were disgusting,” he added with nonchalance. He didn’t want to think about the strangers now. 

All that mattered was Atsumu.  

Kiyoomi brought his legs around to staddle either side of him before leaning down to greet Atsumu with another kiss. He would take things slow, guiding his soulmate through the process as much as he was guiding himself. 

Their kiss deepened, and a heat grew between them as bodies clashed together. Warmth filled the room. When Kiyoomi pulled away, he ran a hand across his saliva-slicked lips before asking “Are you ready?” in a soft tone. 

Atsumu nodded.

“I’ll go slow,” Kiyoomi promised as he reached over to grab the bottle he’d let rest beside them. He took a breath and readied himself, giving a slow exhale when he readjusted their positions. He nudged Atsumu’s legs open and moved his own body between them. Kiyoomi felt his heart jump when Atsumu’s hands gripped his ass. 

Things were new and they were scary, but Kiyoomi found himself enthralled by the man lying beneath him. The one who tilted his head back—eyes closed—and let out a faint moan when Kiyoomi began to run a hand down his body. 

He prepped Atsumu with care. His slicked-up fingers were gentle as they made their way down his soulmate’s length, his words encouraging when he slipped the first—then the second—finger into Atsumu. 

“Relax,” Kiyoomi whispered upon adding a third. 

“I’m nervous,” Atsumu admitted. It was one of those rare displays of vulnerability from him that caused a thin smile to spread across Kiyoomi’s face. “I’ve been waitin’ years for this and—”

“I’m nervous, too.” 

They were shy and cautious that night, fumbling over one another with their words of apology whenever they thought they’d done something wrong. When Kiyoomi slipped himself inside Atsumu, he noticed the tears forming in the corners of his soulmate’s eyes. 

“Is this okay?” Kiyoomi asked. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Atsumu. Never again, he told himself. 

“‘M just really happy,” the other man responded. 

And Kiyoomi knew that he was really happy, too. 

He continued with a gentle thrust until they’d both been spent, bodies seeping over with their devotion to one another. His motions were equally as gentle when he pulled out and flopped down beside Atsumu. A warm arm pulled him closer. 

Kiyoomi nuzzled his face against Atsumu’s neck and said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He thought his answer over carefully. For being patient, he wanted to say. For giving me time to figure myself out. For not giving up on me even after all the mistakes I’d made. He knew, though, that none of those statements could convey the gratitude he felt for the man now tracing lazy circles along his arm. 

Instead of searching for the words that wouldn’t come, Kiyoomi placed a soft kiss to Atsumu’s neck and murmured “For everything,” before rolling onto his back. 

“Now let’s clean up so I can go to bed,” he added a moment later. 

They began with the shower. 

There was an intimacy that came with washing one another’s hair that Kiyoomi hadn’t experienced before. He pulled Atsumu closer to him, pressing their lips together as he began working his shampoo-covered fingers against the other man’s scalp. 

The moment progressed naturally. One minute Kiyoomi let Atsumu run his hands down his body with a bar of soap; the next he found himself leaned up against the shower wall, soft curses slipping from him when he felt Atsumu’s lips nipping at the inside of his thigh. He looked down only to see his soulmate taking him in. 

Kiyoomi had to wash his body twice that night. 

After the shower came the sheets. 

They dressed themselves in Kiyoomi’s clothes before pulling the sheets from the bed and carrying them to the in-unit washing machine Kiyoomi had once again paid extra for. The cycle began, the low hum of the linens turning over the only sound to fill the apartment as they gravitated to the couch. 

Atsumu pulled him close when they sat down. Kiyoomi knew he would have been content to stay between those arms for an eternity. 

“Do ya think Senshi’s gone for good?” Atsumu asked eventually. 

“Who cares about that fucking creature?” 

“Hey, hey, don’t talk about him like that. We’ve been through a lot together.” 

Kiyoomi huffed. “I never want to see a goose again.”

Atsumu merely laughed before placing a kiss to the top of Kiyoomi’s head. The sound of the washing machine filled the silence once more. 

When it came time to remake the bed, Kiyoomi marveled at the fluid motions with which Atsumu was able to drape the top sheet over the mattress. 

“You’ve improved.”

Atsumu grinned at him. “I’ve been practicin’ on my own bed. I’m not gonna let’cha ridicule me for it anymore, Omi-Omi.” 

“Whatevs,” Kiyoomi said. 

They finished making the bed only to climb back into it, bodies drifting together naturally underneath the covers. Kiyoomi yawned into Atsumu’s chest when the other man pulled him close. 

“Hey, Omi?” Atsumu asked once they’d settled in. 

“Hm?”

“We forgot to turn off the light.” 

“Fuck.”

Kiyoomi rolled out of Atsumu’s embrace and left the bed with a series of groans as he made his way to the light switch. He flipped it off before stumbling back into bed, back into the safety of his soulmate’s arms. 

“I’m not getting up again,” he grumbled. 

“Me either,” Atsumu said into the darkness. “We’re right where we need to be.”

Yes, we are, came Kiyoomi’s unspoken thoughts.

He closed his eyes then. 

When he did, he was met with a series of memories that led up to the present. He saw the goose at the station, could feel the frustration that had built the first time he’d bumped into Atsumu—a time when he would have said with confidence that he hated the man now curled up beside him. There was the first kiss and the second; the fight and four years of silence. The reunion. His birthday. Graduation. 

Saying “I love you” and meaning it. 

Interspersed with memories of Atsumu, though, were images of Kiyoomi playing at Itachiyama alongside Iizuna, of him laughing with Motoya while they vented about their problems. It was the confluence of memories that caused him to realize something. 

A goose had brought him to Atsumu, he knew that. What he hadn’t realized was that the creature had given him more than that. It had given him a friend in Motoya, and new perspectives on who he was and who he wanted to be. 

He wasn’t perfect, and he knew he never would be. The walls he’d let down around Atsumu—around Motoya—that had once guarded his heart could easily be built back up; his need for control could shatter the easy nature of the moment he found himself in. Having people in his life who accepted him despite his flaws, though, made Kiyoomi realize that it was okay to accept himself, too. Imperfect as he was. 

That’s what it meant to love. 

It was still a new feeling for him, loving others; but it was one he wanted to nurture and grow. He’d spent so much of his life alone, so many of his days had been lived within the fortress he’d built up around unshared secrets. There had been no room for love behind the fortified walls concealing his heart.

Then, by some string of fate—or, webbed feet of fate, rather—Kiyoomi had learned to love. And he learned to love in different ways: Familial love toward Motoya; a passionate, romantic love toward Atsumu. Perhaps even more important than either of those loves, though, was the love Kiyoomi had begun to feel toward himself. It would be a gradual process—loving himself—just as it had taken time for the other loves to build, but Kiyoomi wanted to try. 

Though, he still couldn’t believe a goose had led him to this point. The Soulmate Goose of Enforcement, no less. It went against everything he’d once believed. 

Kiyoomi’s stance on soulmates hadn’t changed. He still didn’t believe in their existence—at least not in the traditional sense. The idea that the universe had predetermined a single person to bind him to was laughable. There were too many people in his life now that he couldn’t live without. Too many people whose fates had been entwined with his because of a goose. 

No, that wasn’t quite true. Everything—bumping into Atsumu, finding a friend in Motoya, beginning to accept himself—might have come about because of a goose initially; but Kiyoomi knew that what he was building now was of his own design. He couldn’t explain why the universe had chosen him to endure five long years of self-discovery at the hands of a webbed-footed menace, but there was a part of him that couldn’t hate the cosmos for giving him that extra push.  

I can take it from here, he wanted to say. I—

In the darkness, Atsumu’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Omi,” he said. “I want’cha to know that even if a goose hadn’t knocked ya into me, I still would have chosen you.” 

And the thing was, Kiyoomi knew he still would have chosen Atsumu, too. 

It didn’t matter if soulmates or soulmate geese were real. He and Atsumu had found their way back to one another, and they had built something of their own. 

And that was enough.