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“We’re late.”
“We’re right on time,” Atsumu disagrees, grabbing the door for Kiyoomi.
In the first place, these kinds of things are useless. They have nothing to do with volleyball. Worse, this is exactly how creepy parasocial relationships form. As if some strangers should not only hold, but also feel entitled to details of his personal life. Kiyoomi doesn’t care if they call themselves his fans. His contract supports him well enough; he’ll survive without any bonus sales.
Be that as it may, it doesn’t mean Kiyoomi will tolerate being anything other than the perfect guests. And that’s true even if Coach Foster hadn’t staked his gym access on this damned interview.
“Late, Miya,” he snaps.
“Sheesh, already, huh?” Atsumu mumbles. Trailing his hand around Kiyoomi’s hip to give a quick squeeze, he assures, “Listen, Omi, baby. It’s gonna be fine.”
They bypass the elevator with shared disdain to take the stairs. “We’re going somewhere we’ve never been, full of people we don’t know,” Kiyoomi illustrates, keeping the other one step ahead of him because otherwise Atsumu will take the opportunity to smack his ass. “There’s no telling what we’re walking into.”
“We’re walkin’ inta Tsukino Himari’s studio,” he smiles over his shoulder. “Ya love her show!”
Tsukino Himari is a decently popular internet personality who hosts mini-interviews with various lower tier celebrities, playing games and exposing them to wider audiences. Her style is casual, with low-stakes and a homestyle feel to it, which is an environment Atsumu would thrive in, which is the only reason Kiyoomi is even vaguely tolerable of this ridiculous assignment that’s been forced upon him.
Apparently, Tsukino is the cousin of the boyfriend of the sister of the Jackal’s PR team leader’s husband’s aunt’s best friend. If he had known about that confusing connection beforehand, Kiyoomi wouldn’t have been so foolish as to declare he would only do an interview if Tsukino offered him one.
“I’ve seen, like, two episodes—”
“And ya loved ‘em,” Atsumu asserts, applying chapstick from the bag slung across his chest.
“—but that doesn’t tell me whether or not I’m going to get tetanus just from being on her set.”
“Yer gonna get tetanus fer sure,” he nods, popping his lips. Atsumu’s country drawl is so familiar and comforting, and yet he insists on saying the shittiest things. Kiyoomi will never truly understand it. “Ya pro’ly already got it just standin’ next ta me.”
“Can you at least pretend to take me seriously for once in your life?”
This is why Kiyoomi makes it a point to avoid thinking charitable things about Miya Atsumu. He’s supposed to be his liferaft in here, but he’s such a little shit. Irredeemable, bitchass jerk.
“Don’t pout. ‘Specially not when I can’t see it,” he teases, snapping the elastic of Kiyoomi’s disposable face mask. “Ya dressed and prepped appropriately for this already so don’cha start tryna make a mountain out a molehill now, Omi.”
That’s technically true. None of his skin is exposed and he has two safe changes of clothes in the car for any worst case scenarios. Kiyoomi still doesn’t like to hear Atsusmu say so. “Tch.”
He laughs, “Fix yer face ‘fore the cameras catch ya, sourpuss. We’re here.”
Kiyoomi flips him off, hiking his mask up higher. Unfortunately, bickering with Atsumu has managed to calm his nerves slightly, though he is still annoyed about their tardiness. Taking a deep breath for luck, he nods and Atsumu opens the door.
No one notices their entry at first, which gives Kiyoomi time to notice a half dozen people cleaning the set with familiar, trusted products. He lets out a quiet, pleased hum and of course Atsumu hears. Laughing loud and victorious, he throws an arm over Kiyoomi’s newly relaxed shoulders.
This catches the attention of the nearest woman, smartly dressed in all black as she taps away on an iPad. “Oh! You’re early.” She frowns, looking down at her schedule again. “Or maybe we’re running late.”
“Same difference,” Atsumu shrugs, smugly glancing at Kiyoomi. “S’fine—Omi woulda wanted to see y’all cleanin’ anyways. We in the way?”
“No, no, of course not,” she assures. “We’re just finishing up. Please, come in!” She lifts the lanyard at her neck, showing them her badge. “I’m Kira, and I’m in charge of keeping this ship sailing. See me about any questions, comments, concerns.”
A short man appears at her side. “Hand sanitizer? We have your preferred brand, Sakusa-san.”
“Just Sakusa is fine, thank you.” He takes off his mask and tosses it in the trash, accepting a healthy dollop of sanitizer. “And thank you for having us.”
Atsumu leans heavily against him, teasing. “That a smile, Omi-kun? We’re swoonin’.”
“Shut up, Miya,” he pushes back reflexively. “Where do you want us, Kira-san?”
“With me!” Tsukino Himari makes her grand appearance, a middle aged woman with smile lines and dark eyes. She greets them warmly but quickly, continually moving toward the interview seats, her sundress flowing behind her. Kiyoomi appreciates her task orientation. “Are you boys ready to get started?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Atsumu salutes, separating from Kiyoomi.
“Ma’am?” She waves her hand, her laughter rich and loud. “I’m Tsukino Himari. Don’t tell me you came here without knowing my name, Atsumu-kun! You’ll make me feel self-conscious about all the research I did for this interview.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Himari-chan,” he promises with his signature wide grin. He tells Kiyoomi, “Omi, I think I’m gonna love her. Ain’t she great?”
“Of course. She’s a professional, Miya,” he rolls his eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, Tsukino-san.”
She smiles, tilting her head in a shallow bow. “Oh, you know the pleasure is all mine, Sakusa. Please, take your seats.”
The couches Kiyoomi is familiar with from other episodes have been replaced with stylish standalone seats, wooden and curved with wide armrests. He can still smell the cleaning products. Between the three chairs is a small table topped with fresh flowers and a wicker basket of 3D puzzles. There’s also a tissue box—a new addition that hopefully doesn’t signify on Tsukino’s part any intent to make them cry, but given Atsumu’s flair for dramatics, who knows?
“I’ll run through the intros we’ve prepared for you two really quick to start, and then we’ll just have some conversation,” she explains, settling in.
“That sounds great—”
Kiyoomi cuts through the niceties. “Is it really going to be that… open ended?”
“There are a few viewer submissions of topics I’ll bring up if it feels natural,” Tsukino expands, “but it’s nothing to worry about. You’ll also have a chance to review and request cuts to the final footage, should you feel the need to do so. Okay?”
“We’re ready whenever, Macchan,” Atsumu assures her for them both. “Just push him off the deep end.”
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and Tsukino takes Atsumu’s advice, signaling the camera crew. The set settles into their proper roles—the final checks for lighting and equipment or whatever it is that needs to be done. Kira signals for the countdown.
There are a few cameras, but Tsukino focuses on the one in the middle. She provides the usual spiel to introduce Kiyoomi and Atsumu, one that their PR team has approved. Young athletes, starters for the Jackals, reigning champions, blah blah blah. Kiyoomi enjoys the familiarity of it, trying to get in the right headspace.
“Quite impressive, aren’t you?” Tsukino winks. “I’m glad you could grace me with your presence today.”
“We’re even gladder ta be here than Mari is ta have us,” Atsumu winks back, predictably responding to her teasing in kind.
Their laughter compliments each other well while Kiyoomi smiles obligingly. After all, Atsumu isn’t wrong, so—
“So don’t mind Omi’s stiffness,” the bastard continues, making scorn pinch Kiyoomi’s features together. “Grumpy’s just his natural state. He’ll defrost in a bit.”
Kiyoomi sighs through his nose. “Ignore him, Tsukino-san. Thank you for having us. Miya and I are glad to be here with you,” he assures stiffly. “For our fans.”
“Omi, yer fans already know ya hate this kinda stuff.” He straightens up, tapping his fist against his other palm to mimic him. “Volleyball fans should only care about our volleyball matches.”
If Atsumu knows that, why does he terrorize his boyfriend so? Because he’s a bastard. Kiyoomi glares, “That’s your voice for Wakatoshi, not me.”
Atsumu claps his hands together and bows his head. “Sorry, Ushiwaka! Yer much better’n Omi ‘bout this side’a pro ball. Ya’ll pro’ly never see this, but my bad.”
“When I kill you—”
“When seems a bit harsh, don’t it?”
“When I kill you,” Kiyoomi promises, “no jury in the world will convict me. In fact, the list of people willing to help me get away with murder is unending, Miya.”
“Nuh-uh. I got generations’a prayers keepin’ me safe,” he sticks out his tongue. “Yer so extra, Omi, and it’s fer nothin’. I’ll live forever.”
“Osamu is on my list. Your blessings will cancel out, don’t worry.”
“Yer scarin’ me with how much ya’ve thought this through,” he leans away. “I’m tellin’ Ma ta uninvite ya from our monthly dinners.”
He smirks. “Heh. You can try.”
“Yer not her favorite just ‘cause yer a clean freak like her!”
“No, it’s also because I—”
“LALALA! Ya jerk, we got an interview ta do,” he grumbles. “Quit yer yappin’ already. Yer upsettin’ our lovely Mari!”
“Far from it,” Tsukino laughs. “Should I get some snacks and sit back? I think I’d enjoy that,” she contemplates. “Now I’m even more excited to have you both here today.”
Trying to even the score, Atsumu squeezes in another unprovoked dig. “Omi’s not much fer fun, but I’m here ta make up for his wet cardboard personality.”
“Miya is here to steal pieces of your set,” Kiyoomi corrects. He uses a tissue to pluck out a star puzzle from the centerpiece, pressing it into Atsumu’s hands. “Here. Work on this instead of my nerves.”
“I’m no thief, Macchan, honest.” Kiyoomi folds the tissue dirty side in while Atsumu defends, “Omi just handed this ta me, so he’s my accomplice if I really do forget ta return it.”
“You two are as lively as to be expected from the Internet’s favorite volleyball players,” she hums. Kiyoomi finds the title a bit gratuitous but, naturally, Atsumu preens. “How did you grow so close? From my understanding, Atsumu and Sakusa, you started out as rivals. Now you have one of the most well known bromances in the sport.”
“Right, our bromance. Ever since high school, I’ve been workin’ on this guy.” Atsumu lazily swirls a piece of the puzzle in the air, like he’s conjuring up the next foolishness he wants to force the rest of them to hear. “Guess we’re somethin’ like enemies ta lovers.”
Kiyoomi’s face crumples in immediate distaste. “More like enemies to sole survivor.”
“Sure, then I won.” Atsumu aims that stupid, smarmy smirk at him—as if he was waiting for that exact rebuttal. “I made it ta startin’ lineup on a pro team first.”
“No. I went to university,” he argues. “I didn’t lose.”
“Didn’t win though, did ya?”
Clearly, they’re still in the enemies phase. Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. “I should’ve signed with Adlers and wiped the floor with you.”
“Ya couldn’t’ve, not with them. Tobio-kun’s not the worst setter, but—”
“He beat you out for—”
“Omi, careful now, ‘fore ya say somethin’ ya don’t mean.”
“And I’m—”
Atsumu presses the back of his wrist over Kiyoomi’s mouth, muffling his speech. “Guess we’ll never know who ended up as yer precious sole survivor since we’re on the same team now.”
Kiyoomi jabs him in the gut, forcing Atsumu to release him. “I’m beating you in service aces.”
“Hah?” He stops moaning and groaning immediately. “No, yer not.”
“You haven’t even been keeping track,” he smirks. “You’re just talking out of your ass. But I have been tracking it, and my stats are better than yours. I’m winning.”
“Nah, yers can’t be better’n mine,” he points a puzzle piece at him, staunchly refusing to believe. “Quit tellin’ stories.”
“I’m serious,” he grins. Kiyoomi finds it ridiculously endearing, this habit of Atsumu’s. Growing up, Atsumu wasn’t allowed to accuse anyone of lying; to this day, he rarely uses the term liar or any of its derivatives. Unless, of course, he’s cursing someone (Osamu) out. “Look it up, Miya.”
“I will!”
“Do it now,” he smirks. “I want everyone to catch your reaction when you see that I’m right.”
Atsumu freezes, turning to look at Tsukino—who is now, for the record, eating caramel popcorn from a ceramic bowl. “Sorry, what was yer question again?”
“You know,” she laughs, covering her mouth, “I think you’ve answered it. By the way, what’s it like dating Sakusa-san, Atsumu-kun?” Tsukino tosses a kernel in her mouth like punctuation.
“Huh?”
“Sorry?”
Atsumu looks at Kiyoomi with a raised brow, the pair of them awfully surprised. Atsumu even returns the puzzle, incomplete, to its place in the centerpiece. Tsukino’s research might have really been that thorough, which means she deserves the entirety of their attention right now.
But Kiyoomi is uncertain. Why would she direct her question only at Atsumu?
Tsukino isn’t interested in providing any clarification, too busy laughing to herself. “It was a popular viewer submission when we teased this video, so I figured I would ask. I thought you might slip up again if I asked casually enough, Atsumu.”
Kiyoomi’s confusion outgrows his surprise. Tsukino’s research skills might not be as amazing as he previously thought, and he’s not giving out freebies. He frowns, “Again?”
“Yeah,” she shrugs, glib. “I know it’s been years since he last divulged more than he intended, but you never know.”
“I’m not following,” he scowls, growing annoyed. Kiyoomi hates being out of the loop.
It’s been years since Atsumu last slipped up, so it’s been years since everyone else in the world became aware of… whatever Tsukino is talking about. Should Kiyoomi take comfort in the fact that this is the first he is hearing of it?
No. He can’t; he’s irritated now.
“Yeah, what Omi said,” Atsumu echoes. “What d’ya mean, Mari?”
Her mirth dries up as she looks between them. “Are you,” she hesitates, like she can’t believe what she’s asking, “is this a bit? Or do you really not know?”
Frustrated, Kiyoomi snaps, “Know what?”
She startles. “Oh—sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult, it’s just…” She takes a deep breath, cautious and squinting. “You two are at the center of the Internet’s favorite crackpot shipping scandal. Are you truly unaware?”
“Truly,” Atsumu nods. He’s too stunned to say anything more, sitting pretty with a wide eyed look.
Scandal echoes around Kiyoomi’s head, his face turning white. He’s at the center of a scandal with Atsumu? No. No, there’s no way. There’s no way.
“It would help if you gave us all the context at once,” he says, very carefully measuring his words. Tsukino isn’t the type to set them up—Kiyoomi knows that, it’s just taking a second more to believe it. He’s getting there, however, calming down slowly but surely all the same. “We’re not infants. We don’t need to be spoon-fed miniscule morsels of information.”
“Easy there, Omi Omi,” Atsumu says, reacting to the bite he hasn’t quite managed to subdue in his tone. He takes Kiyoomi’s hand and squeezes some sanitizer into it, giving the both of them something to do besides clench their fists. “Yer right, but use words for us regular folks.” He leans toward Tsukino and complains, “This scrub thinks he’s Oscar Wilde or somethin’, I swear. Ya think this is bad, try puttin’ up with him fer—”
Kiyoomi cuts through the sloping way Atsumu meanders through his words with a sharp, “Miya.”
“Robo-Omi, that’s what I call him.” Atsumu takes his hand again, this time to squeeze moisturizing cream into it, ignoring him otherwise. Such a mother hen. As not to be wasteful, Kiyoomi sighs, rubbing it in. “Reads the terms and conditions but likes his conversations short and ta the point. Never wants ta have no simple, casual chats—that’s why I can’t bring him nowhere. Now, yer tellin’ us somethin’ ‘bout a scandal? I don’t even do nothin’ scandalous but my heart’s still in my ass, Mari. I got no idea what’s goin’ on.”
“No, no. This is my fault, I’m sorry. My apologies a thousand times,” she folds her hands together in contrition. “I thought we were going to laugh, I didn’t expect the question to hit you both so hard. It’s called the Sak-chan scandal, but it’s nothing serious, really. It’s just—well,” she stops, flustered. “Let us just show you. Kira, will you queue the video, please?”
The tension in the room drops at once, Kiyoomi and Atsumu calming slightly simultaneously. Finally, they can get some concrete answers about this debacle. Kiyoomi realizes at this point that the situation likely isn’t so terrible as it was shocking, and he’s over the shock now. His curiosity still abounds, obviously, but he can keep his cool.
“There’s a video? Great,” Atsumu smiles. “Omi, ya oughta do yer research ‘fore ya freak out.”
“This is your scandal, Miya,” he seethes. Atsumu often telegraphs and translates Kiyoomi’s thoughts and feelings—and, sure, maybe it saves others from some emotional whiplash trying to keep up with the striker, but he can’t say he always appreciates the exposure. It’s enough that Atsumu keeps up with him. “I don’t know how you dragged me into it, but rest assured, I will extract the appropriate compensation once I fix it.”
“Macchan already said it’s not serious,” he waves his hand. “We trust ya, Mari, don’cha worry. Omi’s calmed down now, he’s just annoyed this might be a black mark on his almost perfect record—”
Almost? Kiyoomi scornfully corrects, “My record is perfect.”
“Well, aside from yer antisocial personality. But don’t worry! Yer either at home or the gym, so it’s pro’ly not really yer fault.” Atsumu rushes to add, “Not that it’s mine—”
“Oh, it most certainly is your fault,” he corrects with a huff of laughter, merciless. Kiyoomi refuses to enable his boyfriend’s attempt to escape proper accountability. “Unlike me, you do stupid shit all the time. I bet something has finally caught up with you. Tsukino, I’m a victim, mark my words.”
Tsukino shakes off her bout of timid embarrassment and ventures, “Well, I don’t know if stupid shit is the best way to describe it, but—”
“I knew it,” Kiyoomi crows.
“Don’t double team me,” Atsumu whines. “Just get on with it and roll the clip!”
They laugh at him first, but said clip is played for the athletes soon thereafter.
The video is from four years ago, a film crew filming promotional shots of the Jackals training. They happened to catch Atsumu and a few others chatting amongst themselves in the background as they left the locker room.
“… ‘cause my partner’s so smart,” he was bragging.
“Yet chose you,” Inunaki snickered. “How’d you manage that?”
“It’s almost been a year since we became official, ya jerk,” Atsumu shoved at his teammate. “We might still be mostly long distance fer now, but we’ve been locked in since high school. It was only a matter’a time ‘til my charms worked their magic.”
The teasing he was subjected to then is indistinguishable now, the voices layered and muddied. Atsumu didn’t even pretend to be bothered, preening in the thick of it. He must have driven the team all crazy with how much he talked about Kiyoomi back then—which might explain the reception the striker got when he joined MSBY that following year.
Kiyoomi huffs under his breath. Atsumu’s such a hypocrite. He acted so cool during that phase of their relationship, ruthlessly teasing Kiyoomi when Motoya exposed him for his lovesickness. Yet only one of them has proof of their simping posted online for the whole world to see, and it’s not Kiyoomi.
“Wait, am I the last one to know about this?” Tomas had looked at Bokuto and Inunaki after their teasing died down a bit. “Someone who knew you in high school is still putting up with you today, Atsumu? Who is this saint?”
“Sak—”
Atsumu stopped short of outing their relationship because Bokuto hit his shoulder, gesturing to the cameras in a show of truly shocking awareness. “Tsum Tsum, wait!”
“Oh, good lookin’ out, Bokkun. Ya almost got me,” he called, his voice rich with mocking laughter as he pointed at the nosey cameraperson. “We’re stayin’ down low right now. Respect our privacy,” he stuck out his tongue.
That’s the end of the clip, the team going to do their stretches just as the screen goes black. Tsukino doesn’t immediately say anything, letting the pair absorb what they’ve seen.
Unable to help himself, Kiyoomi laughs. “Heh.”
Atsumu whistles, “We were just pickin’ on Wan-san’s haircut at practice the other day, but—”
“We forgot it used to be so much worse,” he finishes with a mildly devious smirk.
“We’ll have ta remind him later,” he snickers. “Now let’s start figurin’ out this scandal stuff.”
“Well,” Tsukino gestures. “This is the scandal. That’s it.”
Kiyoomi recoils. “That’s it?” Tsukino calling the scandal ‘nothing serious’ is a major understatement. That was nothing. Though he supposes he should say that’s relieving, he’s rather disappointed in such an anticlimactic conclusion. “Miya is taken, Inunaki’s haircut sucks, that’s it? Where’s the rest of it?”
“Macchan, yer tellin’ me I drug Omi inta this?” Atsumu frowns. “How so?”
“This is how everything started,” she backs up. “It’s become a core part of your Internet lore, but that took time and trolling. We only call it a scandal to tease about how secretive you were and continue to be about your partner, Atsumu. It’s always been a joke.”
“A joke?” Dubious, he wonders, “So when’s it get funny?”
Tsukino chuckles, the sound seemingly surprised out of her. Graciously, she expands, “It’s a fan favorite, but I suppose that doesn’t mean it’ll land with you. On the plus side, it has endeared a larger audience to you both. Everybody likes a bit of harmless gossip.”
“Guess that’s why nobody told us ta fix it,” he shrugs. “But,” he strips his teeth, “I dunno.”
Atsumu glances at his partner, and they’re on the same page. That pathetic half syllable uttered in the video shouldn’t have been enough to implicate Kiyoomi. “And as for me?”
“The trolls got you, I’m afraid,” she laughs. “The Internet nicknamed Atsumu’s partner Sak-chan, derived from how he cut himself off.” Tsukino elaborates, “A few weeks later, people started hypothesizing that Sak-chan referred to Sakusa.”
“Oh. So everyone thinks we’re dating.” Kiyoomi is begrudgingly impressed by how well their fans stuck the landing after wildly jumping to conclusions. He snorts, “Good job, Miya.”
“Ah, ya know.” Atsumu winks, “Any time, Omi.”
Kiyoomi can’t help it; he chuckles lightly, more a breathy twitch of his lips than anything else. He knows the double meaning of Atsumu’s jest is that he’s ready to confirm their relationship status whenever Kiyoomi wants.
He muses his curls and considers their options. They’re already here, and Tsukino is a fine host. Upper management would’ve appreciated some forewarning, but this could be a two birds, one stone type deal too good to pass up. Kiyoomi is fairly certain that Tsukino would be glad to break the news to the Internet. It’s not like Kiyoomi and Atsumu could be bothered to do so themselves, however little they mind going public in theory.
Over the years, discretion for the sake of their fledgling careers has all but fallen off the couple’s list of priorities altogether. Officially coming out will be bothersome, absolutely, but not insurmountably so. There’s only room for two in their bed, so it won’t matter how insistently fans might attempt to stick their noses where they don’t belong. Surely Atsumu and Kiyoomi can scrounge up two to seven business days of patience and grace for those busybod—
“No, no,” Tsukino waves her hands. “Sakusa-kun, the camps are actually split between your two sisters. Naturally, there are other dark horse candidates, but they are the most widely supported.”
… What?
“The camps’re… split ‘tween Omi’s big sisters,” Atsumu repeats. A shit-eating grin lights his face up. “I take back what I said. This is funny. It’s hilarious.”
On second thought, the foolish, invasive public does not deserve to know a damn thing about Kiyoomi’s private life with Atsumu. “They think Miya is dating Kiyoko or Konomi,” he scowls. “I thought I’d be relieved to know the whole story, but that’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”
“Mari-chan did say this was a crackpot shippin’ scandal,” Atsumu suddenly recalls, the set ringing with his raucous laughter.
“Is something wrong?” Tsukino tilts her head. Kiyoomi’s mood swing and Atsumu’s insufferable amusement have discombobulated her. “Is the rumor of Sak-chan being your sister worse than—?”
“Mm, well,” Atsumu giggles, “I mean, ‘least it’s a proper scandal now!”
Kiyoomi massages his temples to self-soothe. “This is your fault, so you should keep quiet, Miya.”
“Yer always blamin’ me, Omi,” he wipes his eyes, “but I couldn’t’ve carried this by myself all these years. Right, Mari?” Atsumu knows exactly what he’s doing when he feigns an innocent affect. “D’ya mind startin’ from the beginnin’? Explain it ta me fully, Macchan. Spare no detail.”
Tsukino gladly takes the opportunity, she and Atsumu leaning toward each other like children whispering in class. What was it she had said? Everybody likes a bit of harmless gossip.
“The reason people connected Sak-chan to the Sakusa family so quickly was because you were spotted at Sakusa’s university matches, alongside his sisters,” she explains, Atsumu nodding along. “Over the years, the more you two were seen together, the stronger the Sakusa family’s claim to the Sak-chan mantle became, so to speak.”
“Ha!” He leans back and claps his hands together once, smirking over at Kiyoomi. “So yer ta blame, too, Omi-kun!”
He ignores him, twisting to face the central camera directly. “The Sakusa family forfeits that mantle. We want nothing to do with this Sak-chan nonsense.”
Atsumu makes an X with his arms. “Denied! It’s too funny, so we’re in this together, Omi Omi.” He ignores the murderous vibes Kiyoomi sends his way to ask Tsukino, “But how come Omi-kun ain’t a potential Sak-chan?”
He groans, “Why, Miya? Why do you do this to me? This isn’t Pokémon—you don’t get to collect all of the Sakusa siblings just to feed your ego.”
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Atsumu shakes his head, presenting his case before his captive audience. “We’re crackpot shippin’ and all I get is monogamous straight ships? That ain’t very crackpot, now is it? And beyond that, it’s heckin’ weird that everybody saw me with this black swan all the time and decided I must be datin’ one’a his sisters.”
Because she hates Kiyoomi specifically, Tsukino tilts her head and blinks, “Black swan?”
“Ya ever seen him spike one’a my sets? S’real nasty, ya know, majestic like. He’s mean and snappy, likes his personal space, big fan’a violence,” Atsumu lists on his fingers. Eyes twinkling with mischief, he adds, “Yer always hissin’, Omi, ya notice that? Like a hornets nest.”
“Miya, I swear to God,” he snarls, Tsukino and her crew laughing around them. “I can’t stand them half the time, and still I would never wish you upon my sisters. Every member of the Sakusa family that I respect deserves compensation for this.”
“What, so less’n ten folks? Sounds manageable,” Atsumu hums. Totally serious, he grabs Kiyoomi’s shoulder and promises, “I’ll get right ta work on that fer ya, Sak-chan.”
“I’ll kill you. Don’t go there, Miya.”
“I’m absolutely gonna go there,” he cackles, immune to Kiyoomi’s glacial stare, “but ya can’t kill me yet. It’s so rare that I get ta bully ya.” He cheeses, “And I gotta know more ‘bout my shippin’ wars.”
Don’t punch him. Do not. Don’t do it. Kiyoomi pretends not to see Tsukino reach for her popcorn bowl. He makes a very conscious effort to unclench every muscle in his body. Do not punch Atsumu in his stupid, pretty face.
“You’re having too much fun with this,” Kiyoomi manages.
“Yer not havin’ enough,” Atsumu dismisses. “Sorry ya were never in the runnin’, Omi, but hush. Me and Macchan’s havin’ a blast now.”
He’s going to punch the smug bastard. “You—”
“Y’all go on and edit him out later,” Atsumu suggests. He leans forward and taps his fingers against the table between them in a drumroll. “Let’s hear the evidence!”
The evidence is pisspoor. Kiyoomi is not only offended, but appalled.
“From the jump, I had a feelin’ it’d be like this,” Atsumu rapidly taps his feet in an outburst of glee. “And y’all did not disappoint!”
He already claimed that his partner is smart and that they’ve known each other since high school, two facts which are easily twisted to fit both Kiyoko, a popular architect, and Konomi, an astrophysicist. Kiyoomi’s sisters went to almost all of his matches, so of course photos have resurfaced of them with Atsumu here and there. Even compared to Motoya, his sisters were especially meddlesome—they saw themselves as matchmakers even before Atsumu and Kiyoomi themselves saw each other as anything more than vaguely attractive nuisances.
Apparently, the general public watched Kiyoko and Konomi’s matchmaking efforts and subsequent basking in victory and ran with it in the opposite direction. For years, outsiders saw Atsumu and Kiyoomi growing closer and concluded that they were attempting to rebuild their antagonistic relationship for the sake of Atsumu’s imaginary relationship with one of Kiyoomi’s sisters.
“This is the funniest thing ta ever happen ta me,” Atsumu gasps, curled over in his seat. “Folks think me and Omi’re only friends ‘cause I was tryin’ ta get close with my partner’s family? And Omi followed me ta the Jackals ta placate his sisters? That contrary bastard would never!”
An amused twinkle in her eyes, Tsukino prompts, “You look beat, Sakusa. Did we break you?”
“When you sprung this on us, I regretted my decision to mute all searches with my name in them,” he admits. “I never saw any harm in it before; most of the team does it, and I like it. It keeps my feed free of tabloids and other nonsense that might get into my head or undermine my volleyball performance.”
“I get that,” she hums, nodding along. “No need to get bogged down in the celebrity part when your focus is volleyball. There are far more reliable sources you can personally turn to for information pertaining to your career when necessary.”
“Yeah,” he drips condescension, “you would think so, wouldn’t you?”
Atsumu cackles, “Come ta find out, we’re starrin’ in a scandal that’s been ongoin’ fer the last four years! And nobody told us nothin’.”
“Four years,” Kiyoomi underscores. “It’s embarrassing how long this has gone on while we’ve been unaware. Before you had explained everything, I was genuinely concerned about what that could mean.”
“And now?” Tsukino asks, barely keeping herself together. Her voice trembles with the force of restraining her laughter. “How do you feel, Sakusa?”
“I will never question my own judgment again. I want to go back to the person I was before I learned about this.” He speaks directly into the nearest camera, pointing, “You all need to go outside and touch some grass. First of all—”
Atsumu whoops, pumping his fist. “Aw, yeah! Y’all done activated Nerdy Omi!”
Teasingly, Tsukino wonders, “Are we in for a lecture?”
“No,” Kiyoomi snaps.
“Absolutely,” Atsumu assures at the exact same time.
“It’s not a lecture,” he grumbles, miffed. “There’s just some glaringly obvious flaws in the logic—”
“It’s a joke, Omi. It’s not s’posed ta be logical, that’s not what crackpot means.” Atsumu leans toward Tsukino and stage whispers, “He’s even more fun at parties, trust me. He’ll get twitchy if he can’t get it all off his chest, so he’s gotta lecture us, Mari-chan.”
Atsumu is the leading expert on getting under Kiyoomi’s skin. No one else has ever done it so fast; no one else has settled in and made home there. It’s with the full weight of their history that Kiyoomi can confidently say that he has never wanted to strangle this man as much as he does right now.
“He does have that vibe,” Tsukino hums, nodding at Atsumu as she looks Kiyoomi over. “If you were a professor, Sakusa, your classes would always be full,” she winks.
“Full’a auditors,” Atsumu snickers, meeting Tsukino with a high-five.
Kiyoomi decides it’s in his best interest to ignore them both. “Look, shipping discourse in and of itself is whatever, I don’t care. But if you’re going to present this information like a fact,” he trails off with a violent shake of his head. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”
“Omi,” Atsumu smiles, leaning back in his seat. “Just get up on yer soapbox and tell ‘em all what’s wrong with their scandal. Didn’t ya say ya were gonna fix it fer me earlier?”
“It’s fine,” he lies, stiff as a board. “It’s hardly that big of a deal.”
“Yer fibbin’,” he accuses in a singsong.
He doubles down, “I’m not going to say anything.”
Tsukino pleads, “No, please do. The stage is yours, Professor. This is what the people want to know.” She blocks her mouth from the camera’s view but doesn’t lower her voice, admitting, “It’s me, by the way. I’m the people.”
Atsumu laughs at the corny line, elbowing Kiyoomi some more. “C’mon, Omi. Ya know ya love correctin’ folks.”
“Until we get the real deal, I doubt anyone will let go of Sak-chan,” Tsukino piles on. “Not to mention, your family is entangled in this. Think of your sisters!”
“Plus, my lover’ll get pissy if all this ain’t cleared up soon.” Atsumu bats his lashes in an overblown act of coquettishness. “Yer not really gonna leave me ta the dogs like that, Omi, are ya?”
“Fine,” he relents, palming Atsumu’s face to push him out of his personal space. “But you’ll owe me.”
Batting Kiyoomi’s hand away, he scoffs. “Fer talkin’ ya inta somethin’ ya already wanna do?”
“I never said I would fix this for you for free,” he reminds him. “I explicitly demanded compensation.”
“Twice now,” Atsumu grumbles under his breath. He turns to Tsukino. “Omi’s the baby in his family, so he’s always like this. They all spoiled him rotten, I’m tellin’ ya.”
That’s probably true. It’s because Kiyoomi was an accident. A very special surprise, as his parents like to say. They thought the truth would hurt his feelings, so they did their best to keep him happy, especially when he was younger. He has used this to his advantage many times, and he will continue to do so.
“Woe is you, eldest child,” he rolls his eyes. “Though why you think to claim that title when you’re a twin with no other siblings is beyond me.”
“Oh, let’s not get off track now that Atsumu has written you a blank check,” Tsukino directs, ignoring Atsumu’s offended denial that he has done no such thing. “Sakusa! Enlighten us, please.”
Atsumu keeps squawking in the background, but Kiyoomi pays him no mind. “There are two main reasons why the Sakusa family is giving up the Sak-chan mantle. The first is simple. Kiyoko and Konomi are too old to be Miya’s partner.”
Tsukino blinks, apparently not expecting the most obvious point. She rests her elbows on her armrests and leans forward, engaged fully. “Is the age gap the biggest issue?”
“It’s up there, fer sure,” Atsumu nods, compliant for once. “His sisters’re a lot older’n they look.”
“Konomi and Kiyoko are ten and twelve years older than me,” Kiyoomi says, watching Tsukino’s mouth make a perfect O. Her crew is probably doing the same math she is as he continues, “They’re almost like my second set of parents, and I’m really close to them. So the idea that they would willingly choose someone who is not only my age, but also one of my most immediate peers to begin a romantic relationship with—”
“Oh, yeah. Ew,” Tsukino wrinkles her nose while Atsumu hums the start of the Law & Order: SVU theme song. “Ew. Jail. Immediately,” she flicks her wrist, “it’s jail.”
“That’s not even mentioning the fact that they’ve known him since he was a teen and, for the Sak-chan allegations to hold true, would have begun dating him when he was freshly twenty and they were thirty and thirty-two,” he rants. He cannot believe that he has to defend his family like this. “My sisters are not predators.”
“Aww, see? Yoko! Kono! Omi does love ya,” Atsumu grins, making a heart with his hands at the central camera. “Now’s time fer the funny part.”
Tsukino looks as worn out as Kiyoomi had felt earlier. Doubtful, she asks, “There’s a funny part?”
With a stern glance around the room, Kiyoomi clarifies, “The second reason why this divide is too atrocious to continue is the fact that you can’t even reliably tell my sisters apart.”
“Bring out the pictures again, please! We’ll learn y’all somethin’ real quick.”
Kira walks over two iPads, one filled with the mad ramblings of Kiyoko’s shippers and the second a crazed red string corkboard for Konomi’s. The crew had used them as teaching aids as Tsukino unveiled this utter nightmare for her guests, so the devices are still primed to go.
Atsumu wipes them both down and sets one in front of Kiyoomi, waiting expectantly. He sighs but does as he is bid.
“One delu—camp argues that my eldest sister is the only one who has been spotted spending time with Osamu, getting to know her partner’s twin,” he summarizes, disdainfully rolling his eyes. “Those on the other side propping up Kono say she’s the only one who has been spotted alone with Miya.”
Gleefully, Atsumu offers the punchline. “And yer both wrong.”
Their audience makes frantic eye contact with each other, the crew trying not to get picked up on the microphones. Tsukino vocalizes her surprise but forms no distinguishable words, at a total loss.
“Start with this Onigiri Miya photoset. Kiyoko eats with Osamu here, as expected.” Kiyoomi zooms in on the next image. “ But this is Konomi. As are the next four pictures on this page.”
“They love that scrub’s restaurant,” Atsumu preens, smug for a dozen senseless reasons. He often feels the need to brag about all three of their collective siblings. “Kono’s a big foodie so she and Samu get on like a house on fire. Yoko’s the one who got Samu the hookup fer the fixtures—chairs and tables and the like.”
Kiyoomi scowls, “How is that going to help people tell them apart?” He clarifies in a PSA, “Kono-nee’s face is rounder and Yoko-nee is shorter.”
“Now that you’ve pointed it out,” Tsukino says, studying the images intently, “I’d be embarrassed that I couldn’t catch that myself if only I could at least see it now.”
Atsumu snorts out a laugh. “Don’t sweat it, Mari. It takes a lotta practice.”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s just difficult to use these stalker stills,” Kiyoomi grumbles with distaste.
Atsumu ignores him and invites Tsukino to do the same. “Yoko and Kono are nearly twins, ‘specially on their own. Sakusa genes’re real strong. Right, Omi?”
“I suppose,” he sighs, reading Atsumu’s look that asks him to play nice. “We take after our father.”
He beams, “Their mama looks like a golden retriever next ta ‘em, but she’s where they get their attitude.”
Tsukino leans back, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. “I’m not convinced. I think you’re trying to troll me.”
“I wish,” Kiyoomi mutters. He sees the amused twinkle in her eyes, proof she’s teasing them, but he knows Atsumu won’t. This is about to become a matter of pride.
Affronted, Atsumu gasps, “Mari, we wouldn’t lie ta ya.”
She doesn’t budge. “It’s almost scary how well you two riff off each other. You can’t blame me.”
“We can quiz ya, if ya’d like. Then ya can see we’re tellin’ the truth!”
“I don’t see how,” she laughs. Tongue in cheek, she returns, “Who likes quizzes, Atsumu-kun?”
Kiyoomi does. And it’s a great suggestion, for the record, so he puts it in a language she’ll understand. “Tsukino, let’s play a game.”
“That’s my line, Sakusa,” she pouts, her unimpressed act falling.
“We’ll quiz you on how well you can sort the pictures of my sisters shopping with Miya.”
“C’mon, Mari,” Atsumu baits when she hesitates. “Ya seen us do it with the first set.”
“I think I liked it better when you two talked yourselves through this interview while I ate my snacks,” she grumbles. Still, she takes the offered iPad and smiles. “Prepare to give me full marks, teach.”
“Let’s not revisit that educator roleplay nonsense,” Kiyoomi says, pursing his lips.
She aims two thumbs down at him. “Boo!”
“Yer no fun at all, Omi,” Atsumu co-signs.
“I’m being cautious of my digital footprint.” He side-eyes him. “You should try it, Miya, before you entrench us in another ridiculous scheme.”
He turns to the staff behind the cameras. “Y’all see what I put up with?”
“The consequences of your own actions,” Kiyoomi supplies.
“Anyways,” Atsumu rolls his eyes, kicking at his boyfriend’s foot. “Yer distracting Mari, so hush.”
“Feel free to continue,” she waves her hand, not looking up from her screen. “I might need an excuse when I lose this game.”
“It’s not that difficult,” Kiyoomi assures.
“Ya grew up with ‘em, Omi, ‘course it’s not so bad fer ya.” Atsumu’s eyes turn sly, smirking, “But I bet yer not gonna get ‘em all right, either.”
He narrows his eyes. “Excuse you?”
“And when I’m right,” he grins, “ya’ll owe me one.” Atsumu takes the Onigiri Miya iPad and taps around a bit until he pulls up the shopping photoset. Victorious, he presents it to Kiyoomi, drawing his attention to a certain picture. “This is Kono.”
“No, it’s not.” The image mostly depicts the back of her head and it’s blurrier than the others, but Kiyoomi is confident. “I got that hair clip for Yoko-nee for her birthday.”
“Yeah, and Kono borrowed it from her, ya know, permanently and without permission. Yoko thinks she lost it and is scared to tell ya, so she’s lookin’ fer a replica ta replace it. Look,” he enlarges a different picture. “That’s me and her right there lookin’ fer it.”
Kiyoomi takes a few seconds to process and accept this information. Then, he schemes. “Is there anything I want that she can give me?”
“Ya wanted yer granny’s picklin’ jar. Fer yer plums,” he says after brainstorming briefly.
He scowls, turning to mention in an aside to catch the others up, “She’s using it as a statement piece for her fake flowers at the dining table.”
“She has a pollen allergy,” Atsumu snorts, contextualizing, “she can’t use real flowers.”
“Excuses,” Kiyoomi dismisses. He wants that jar.
“Brat,” Atsumu huffs. “But we knew that. More importantly, let’s talk ‘bout that favor ya owe me now.”
“Your black shirt,” he says. Atsumu’s eyes light up, and he knows he has him. “Kono has it.”
Kiyoomi will raise the issue with Kiyoko about how she must not have liked his gift. Kiyoko will revamp her search, thereby indirectly pressuring Konomi. Atsumu will trade his silence on the matter for his shirt. Kiyoko won’t find her hair clip and, with a perfectly timed word from Atsumu, she’ll gift the desired pickling jar to her brother’s waiting hands as an apology. It’s foolproof.
He smirks, “Simple math, right?”
Atsumu needs no words; he grins and the deal is struck. “Lemme paint the scene fer all y’all just tunin’ in. I have a very sexy titty window shirt. I’m talkin’ the works—black, fitted, slightly cropped,” he lists, stars in his eyes. “And then Samu, that good-fer-nothin’ jerk, steals it and gives it away! Says I oughta be grateful fer his intervention. Omi’s sisters bully me, talkin’ bout how I don’t even have tits fer the window, but look at me, I—”
That’s enough of that, Kiyoomi thinks. “Assuming this will go live on Sunday like usual, that gives us about a week. It’s not much, but as long as you, Miya, pull your weight—”
Atsumu rears back in full offense. “Pull my—” Deeming Kiyoomi unworthy of his time, he turns to Tsukino and her crew. “See how he’s always naggin’ me? We’re tryna clear his family of Sak-chan allegations, and Omi’s sittin’ here naggin’ me.”
If she’s surprised to be so suddenly invited into their back and forth, Tsukino gets over it quickly enough. “You lost me, I fear. All I got is that Sakusa regularly watches our show.”
Actually, he knows their schedule because he researched her show before agreeing to appear here. He’s seen a few videos here and there, and he likes it well enough, but Kiyoomi is far from an active fan. He has enough PR training to keep that information to himself, however.
“Omi’s just makin’ me his accomplice in some light emotional manipulation,” Atsumu waves his hand while Kiyoomi nods along, the pair nonchalant. “Nothin’ major, so don’t let it distract ya from how bad yer bombin’ yer quiz now.”
She makes a playful tsk sound and tosses the iPad in their direction to check her work. “For the record, I put that picture in my Konomi-san row even before you said anything.”
It takes only a cursory glance, leaning over Atsumu’s shoulder as he screenshots her attempt, to see, “Both rows begin with a picture of Kono.”
“What? No! Well—it’s your fault,” she decides, crossing her arms as a few chuckles can be heard from her staff. “Your chatting distracted me, Mr. Judgy Professor. This was hard, you guys! I wanna see somebody else try.”
“You didn’t do all that bad, Mari,” Atsumu placates, presenting the correct answers with a flourish. He tilts his head in a shallow bow as the room applauds, feeding his ego.
“Well,” Kiyoomi hums. “Six of ten isn’t all that good either.”
“D’s get degrees, Omi Omi!”
He sneers, “The saying is C’s get degrees, and it’s a terrible standard.”
“M’kay, Omi, ya can tell us all ‘bout the educational crisis today’s youth face in a sec,” Atsumu shushes. “Save yer threats against my life, too, please! We gotta put ta rest all this stuff with my shippin’ war first.” He puts his right hand over his heart and raises three fingers on his left hand. “I swear that I’m not dating neither one’a Omi’s sisters. ”
Kiyoomi lets his disgusted stare do all the work rather than correct Atsumu’s horrendous pose. For his own sanity, he only adds, “So leave the Sakusa family out of this Sak-chan nonsense. Better yet, retire the whole thing.”
“Ya don’t gotta go that far,” he immediately backtracks, once more ignoring his boyfriend’s death stare. “But I’m not sayin’ nothin’ else ‘bout it. My lover likes ta keep things private, ya understand.”
“We understand,” Tsukino laughs at their antics, respecting Atsumu’s privacy but not Kiyoomi’s burgeoning migraine. “It was convenient while it lasted, wasn’t it? Maybe your partner didn’t mind allowing the Sakusa sisters to be your cover.”
Kiyoomi snorts. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
Atsumu scrubs at the back of his head, “We prefer ta stay livin’ under a rock as much as possible fer this kinda stuff, so neither me nor my partner coulda known. I’m sure ta get an earful at home,” he laughs, winking at the camera. “My lover’s the jealous type.”
That’s not true, and Kiyoomi resents the accusation. He rolls his eyes and declares, “Miya’s partner is doing the country a great service by locking him away from the rest of the world.”
“My partner’s just so amazing, I don’t wanna go nowhere,” Atsumu gushes in turn, smiling wide. “I’m not locked up, I’m exactly where I wanna be. Rest’a the world can’t have me.”
“The rest of the world doesn’t want you,” he amends, trying to let some air out of that big head of his. “But even if it did, your lover wants you more. I doubt anything could change that.”
Atsumu freezes, staring at Kiyoomi in silent shock. Is that what we’re doin’?
“Aww,” Tsukino gasps. “That took a surprisingly wholesome turn. You’re like a real life Sour Patch Kid,” she coos. “You’re secretly kinda adorable, Sakusa-kun, aren’t you?”
“Are the cameras still rollin’? Tell me y’all caught that,” Atsumu pleads. “Kindness? From Omi? In public, with witnesses?!” He presses the back of his hand to his forehead like a frail woman in a period piece, despairing, “Omi, yer freakin’ me out. I can’t tell if I oughta drag ya out ta more’a these things or keep ya far, far away from ‘em. Lord, I gotta call Ma and tell her the creek’s risin’.”
Kiyoomi explains, “His heart can’t handle it when I’m nice, and Coach Foster said I’m not allowed to kill Miya before he signs a replacement setter.”
“I’m irreplaceable,” he interjects immediately, yelping it over Tsukino’s laughter. At the butt of it for what feels like the first time, he’s put out. “We’ve given ya so much exclusive content today, Mari,” he schmoozes. “We gotta get outta here ‘fore Omi starts accidentally spillin’ state secrets.”
“It’s about that time,” she agrees knowingly, trading a look with Kiyoomi. “Before we wrap up, I’d like to commemorate the end of Sak-chan as we know them. Are there any last insights you want to share? You seem to know the real Sak-chan pretty well, Sakusa.”
“Heh,” he snickers. Atsumu pouts from his seat but doesn’t interrupt. “You could say that. They’re very well suited for each other, Miya and his partner. Everyone who knows them agrees. The couple really is private, despite Miya’s apparent best efforts—”
“Hey!”
“—so that’s all I have to say on the subject.”
“And what about you, Sakusa?” Tsukino raises an eyebrow, a sly grin stretching her lips. “Anything you want to share about your own love life?”
“After Miya’s Sak-chan debacle?” He snorts, “No.”
Atsumu smells blood in the water and acts accordingly. “Omi likes ta keep his partner all ta himself. He’s real possessive,” he surmises, “that’s why he don’t think nothin’ of the way my lover is.”
Tsukino claps her hands together joyously before Kiyoomi can interject. “So there is someone? One door closes on Sak-chan and another opens for your partner, Sakusa-kun.”
He has no time to deal with her teasing. “Miya Atsumu,” he tries to press the brakes. “Don’t you dare.”
“His lover should be called Mi-chan, get it?” Atsumu’s smile is packed with entirely too much self-satisfaction, the petty bastard, smarmy and obnoxious. “Just like my Sak-chan.”
Kiyoomi was a fool to think that Tsukino had truly switched to his side after only a few moments picking on Atsumu together. He should have known better. She’s a professional entertainer; her actions are dictated primarily by what will be most entertaining.
“That’s a terrific idea, Atsumu!” She concedes, “I think he’ll kill you for it, though.”
“Nah. Omi loves me,” he smiles, rightfully secure in his standing.
“Yeah, I do,” Kiyoomi says, because he’s not a coward and he won’t deny it. The shock that ripples through the set is an added bonus, of course. However much Atsumu’s influence might have exaggerated parts of his personality, Kiyoomi has always been an instigator at heart.
“So it is what we’re doin’,” Atsumu grins. “Guess ya get one state secret after all, Mari.”
With his lover’s soft laughter in his ears, Kiyoomi smiles, “Thanks for having us, Tsukino.”
“Wait.” She blinks, frowning slightly as she processes what just happened. “Did you just…?”
“What he said. Macchan and Kira and the rest of y’all—it’s been a blast!” Atsumu blows a kiss at the camera, winking, “Wish us luck in love!”