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Sunday, March 20th, 2016.
Sakusa Kiyoomi is 20 years old.
He’s been through 20 years of living and breathing and gathering a few objects into his orbit. Most of these satellites come and go. Their own orbits take them light-years away, disappearing and returning on a schedule until they decay and gravitate towards something else.
Komori Motoya may not have been the oldest, nor the first of those satellites to enter the range of Kiyoomi’s gravimetric pull, but he’s the one that stuck around the longest.
He is the one constant in Kiyoomi’s life, omnipresent throughout Sunday family gatherings, birthdays, and the entirety of middle school through high school. Kiyoomi doesn’t resent having Motoya for a cousin, but it counts for something that when he started college and Motoya went to the pros, the widening of Motoya’s orbit granted Kiyoomi peace for the first time since they’d met when they were infants.
The tranquility in Kiyoomi’s system has lasted all of a year and several months - from their high school graduation - only to be disrupted today, of all days, because Motoya has planned a coming-of-age party - in Kiyoomi’s reluctant behalf - to be held at an izakaya where Kiyoomi is now legally permitted to partake in alcoholic drinks.
Why? You may ask?
“Because you’re my cousin and I love you.” That’s what Motoya would say.
It would only be partially true. Only part of the reason Kiyoomi has to bundle up in his warmest black sweater and scarf, and a padded, water-resistant jacket to brave the chilly, end-of-winter, late afternoon instead of staying home as he’d rather be doing. The real reason, which Kiyoomi can guess at but Motoya will never admit in so many words, is the simple fact that Motoya thrives in chaos and truly enjoys jerking the strings of the people around him like they are marionettes to his puppeteering ways. Tonight’s event isn’t a simple coming-of-age party where they do shots, have cake, and hopefully get Kiyoomi to stay out past his self-appointed curfew of 10:00 pm. What Motoya has planned is a party , and that means a scavenger hunt.
A scavenger hunt means that, at the very least, Kiyoomi will not be the only victim of his cousin’s schemes. This is why he is unsurprised and even comforted to find familiar faces and voices, smiling and calling out to him when he pushes into the underpopulated izakaya a few blocks away from his university dorms in Tokyo.
“Hey, Kiyoomi!” Hoshiumi Kourai’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Happy Birthday!”
With that, more familiar faces are turning to greet Kiyoomi with respectful nods and spoken greetings rather than hugs or requests for handshakes, which they know he is averse to.
Seated beside Kourai is his friend and teammate, Hirugami Sachirou, whom Kiyoomi only knows in passing through meeting at matches and by way of Kourai’s long-standing, not-at-all-low-key crush.
Kiyoomi guesses that Motoya asked his friends to bring plus ones to bolster the party population and scavenger hunt teams, seeing as Kiyoomi’s system adds up to a grand total of exactly 5 loosely orbiting satellites. Four of which are already present, while the remaining one is unable to attend due to his status as the starting setter of the Division 1 V. League team, the Deseo Hornets. Busy with a game taking place the same night, Iizuna Tsukasa sends his greetings via Line rather than in person.
One of Kiyoomi’s biggest satellites, in terms of physicality and relevance, his closest friend sans Motoya, Ushijima Wakatoshi, is the only one permitted to greet Kiyoomi with a brief grasping of their sleeved forearms - an illusion of a handshake - after the customary spritz of sanitizer. He brings Semi Eita as his companion, a teammate of his from his high school volleyball club and a college student, like Kiyoomi.
The last of the bodies that have a regular orbit that loops within Kiyoomi’s system - that Kiyoomi considers a friend - is Kageyama Tobio, whom Kiyoomi met and had a rocky start with at the Under-19 All-Japan Youth Training Camp of 2013. They since became better acquainted, connected via more training camps - where Kiyoomi also developed his friendship with Kourai - and via Wakatoshi, who went straight to the pro volleyball leagues after high school to join the Division 1 Schweiden Adlers, the same team Kourai joined a year later, and that Tobio made his debut with this past season. Tobio brings with him a friend from high school as well, although Yachi Hitoka was his Volleyball Club’s Manager, not his teammate. They greet Kiyoomi in the form of a respectful nod and a little smile and wave.
Altogether, Motoya’s initiative has gathered a total of 6 people, creating three pairs or teams for the anticipated scavenger hunt. Kiyoomi takes a seat at the group table to wait out the rest of the inevitable embellishments Motoya is going to add to this concoction he’s been brewing.
“It’s nice to meet you formally, Sakusa-san.” Yachi says from her seat when he sits down. She makes no move to shake his hand, though it is the first time they’ve met formally.
Kiyoomi is thankful that Tobio must have informed her of his habits and dislike of germs. He gives a nod in her direction and addresses the entire table without taking off his perfunctory white face mask.
“Thank you all for the greetings and for coming. I apologize if Motoya coerced any of you into attending, I’m sure you had better things to do.”
This elicits the first round of disagreeable noises from the gathered group for the night.
“We wanted to be here.” Kourai pipes up the loudest, leaning over the table from the far end. “It’s not every year our precious Kiyoomi gets a party, I think this is the first time we’ve celebrated your birthday with you.”
“It is.” Wakatoshi confirms. “In the past, you discouraged us from giving you gifts and partaking in festivities. However, Motoya’s invitation was well-timed. The season is nearly over and we did not have any games this weekend, nor any practices for the majority of the week.”
Both of his teammates nod enthusiastically in agreement.
“I’m just going to skip class tomorrow.” Semi announces, slouching back in his chair, the picture of laid-back delinquency stark beside the rigid posture of his companion.
“I have Mondays free.” Hirugami speaks up from beside Kourai with a raised hand.
“Me too.” Yachi contributes. “Plus, this scavenger hunt sounds exciting.”
Satisfied with their explanations, Kiyoomi turns to his cousin. “Are we starting soon? All my friends are here and the sooner we start the sooner I can go to sleep.”
“Oh, weary winter child,” shaking his head, Motoya adopts his most condescending tone. “Did you think you’d be back in your dorm room before your lame, self-imposed curfew? The things I have planned will keep us out until 2 am, at least.”
Everyone breaks out into specialist conversation and Kiyoomi heaves an exasperated sigh, only the first of many for the long night ahead.
“And besides,” Motoya continues from his seat beside Kiyoomi, voice still audible over the others. “We’re actually missing a few people. I invited my teammate from the Raijins, y’know? Suna.”
Kiyoomi nods in recognition of the name. It makes sense. Kiyoomi himself is also meant to participate in the game, and if teams of two are formed, he’s the odd one out in the current line-up. The game maker, Motoya, must naturally be exempt from gameplay.
“I think we can start eating without them though, they’ll get here when they get here.” Motoya says. He sits up straighter to announce to the table. “The first thing on the agenda is dinner! You’ll need the energy for what I have planned and you can digest while I explain the mechanics.”
The group agrees to the idea and Kiyoomi gets up to use the washroom, Wakatoshi following close behind. They wash their hands in their usual companionable silence and when Wakatoshi finishes first, he places a supportive hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder and declares sincerely, “I hope you have fun tonight, Kiyoomi.”
Kiyoomi gives a minuscule smile in response, which remains unseen due to his mask. Given their closeness, Wakatoshi has grown fluent in mask-speak and can interpret the tiny movement of the fabric. He gives one of his smiles that looks like he's in pain then leaves Kiyoomi to rinse away the last of the suds.
On his way back to the table, Kiyoomi catches sight of the new arrivals. Suna Rintarou is claiming one of the unoccupied seats at the table and beside him is someone Kiyoomi hadn't considered, hadn't dared to hope would be attending.
No. The correction of his own thoughts leaves Kiyoomi feeling a little grateful and a little disappointed. He is not this reserved. And if the fleeting glimpses Kiyoomi has allowed himself to catch over social media and Motoya’s innumerable post-game selfies are anything to go by, he should be blond, not back to his natural hair color. This one is polite. He restrains his movements and his greetings when Kiyoomi returns to his own seat, accepts Kiyoomi’s nod of acknowledgment with grace, and doesn’t unintentionally insult anyone when they strike up a conversation. This is not the one person Kiyoomi has spent days and nights agonizing over. This is the other Miya twin.
They are all settled at the table, having given thanks, and are passing the plates around when He does stroll in. He gusts in with the wind. Six feet tall with a put-together outfit, and effortlessly ruffled hair, he upsets the balance of the gathered bodies like a magnet drawing attention towards him and a flush up Kiyoomi’s neck, which remains unseen thanks to the scarf and face mask he’s still sporting.
The last significant member of the Under-19 All-Japan Youth Training Camp of 2013 completes their roster by waltzing up to Motoya, who stands to reciprocate the one-armed side hug.
“Sorry I’m late, Toya-kun. Let’s get this show on the road.” He greets with a blinding grin and a nod that Kiyoomi responds to with a neutral ‘Miya,’ then turns to greet the rest of the table and locate a free seat, completely unaware of the fact that Kiyoomi has to wait for his flush to fade before taking off his mask.
After hearing out the excuses and greetings of their latecomers, the gathered group pauses all conversation to eat. Motoya, seated directly beside Kiyoomi, excitedly scarfs down his food so that he finishes first, and after a brief moment - where he consults what looks like flashcards out of view of the rest of the table - he gets up to address his captive audience.
“Welcome, all, to Sakusa Kiyoomi’s 20th birthday party. Or as I like to call it, Komori Motoya’s Expansion of Sakusa Kiyoomi's Severely Attenuated Universe." Motoya says, words becoming passionate, yet somehow dripping in sarcasm at the same time. “What I’ve prepared tonight is my life’s work. An accumulation of years and years of letting Kiyo say ‘no’, and ‘I’ll pass’ to any activity that isn’t volleyball or staying at home. A chrysalis I crafted with my own hands and brilliant mind so that my sweet, sweet cousin can finally break out and experience life as it was meant to be experienced-"
“Without the illusion of free will?” Kiyoomi interjects, receiving snorts in response around the table. He checks for the only response he cares for out of the corner of his eye as Motoya glances at him with derision.
“With fun! And camaraderie!” Motoya says. Aggrandizing his movements, he clasps a hand on each shoulder as he makes his way around the table. “We are gathered here today to witness Kiyo’s rebirth into a creature with more than a lousy handful of friends. The tasks I’ve laid out are specifically designed to get Kiyo to do something new, or for you to test your knowledge about him and learn more in the process.”
“The game is going to be about Kiyoomi?” Wakatoshi interrupts for clarification, his urge to win tempered by his need for justice and impartiality. “Would that not be unfair to those who have not known Kiyoomi as long as I have?”
“The length of your friendship doesn’t mean you know him better, Ushijima-san.” Tobio’s competitiveness rears its head in his smug reply. “Sakusa-san and I have a group chat.”
“It’s not a group chat if there’s just the two of you, Tobio.” Too loud to be a whisper, Yachi's advice for her friend is heard around the table, though he doesn't react to being mistaken.
“Apologies, Tobio. I only meant to level the playing field for all participants.” Wakatoshi replies sincerely, waving a hand around the table.
“He has a point,” Semi adds, from beside him. “If the clues are all about Sakusa, then whoever he gets paired with is definitely going to win.”
“So just pair him up with whoever knows him the least.” A bored-looking Suna reasons. "Let's get this over with."
"The teams are supposed to be made up of someone who knows Kiyo and someone who doesn't," Motoya says, considering their complaints. "Thus, the mandatory plus ones, but I hadn't considered Kiyo having an upper hand since a few of the tasks are going to be new for him. However, I am nothing if not a benevolent game maker, so-" he straightens and claps his hands. "How should we settle this? A pop quiz?” he adds jokingly and is surprised when the majority nod in agreement.
Beads of sweat start to form at Kiyoomi’s brow, his body heating up even though he took his jacket and scarf off earlier to eat. Motoya hadn’t informed him that the goal of the hunt would be to force him out of his comfort zone, with practical strangers spectating no less. Things are already looking dour from his point of view, and the game hasn’t even started yet.
“Ok.” Motoya shrugs, fishing for something to ask them. “Let’s start with the easiest first question, when’s Kiyo’s birthday?”
Variations of March 20, 20th of March, and March 20th resound from everyone at the table, except for one response that stands out in misplaced confidence.
“March 21st!”
Every head at the table swivels to look at Miya Atsumu at the end opposite and farthest away from Kiyoomi. His twin, used to such displays of idiocy, is the first to recover and respond.
“Did ya forget yer brain back in Osaka again?” Miya Osamu’s face is a picture of disgust and shame. The identical one facing it is an image of confusion and a little embarrassment. An image Kiyoomi can’t believe he wants to get a better look at.
“Is it not tomorrow? Toya-kun said we’d be out all night.” Atsumu argues. “A midnight coming-of-age party! Ya can’t tell me that doesn’t make sense.”
It really doesn’t make sense, Miya. Kiyoomi doesn’t mean to let his thoughts on the look of confusion he’d missed seeing the last couple of years slip out, but the response yelled back at him from across the table clues him in on his audible blunder.
“But ya totally give off Aries energy, Omi!”
To top it all off an astrology argument, really?
Kiyoomi sighs. “Please don’t call me any nicknames when you don’t even know my birthday, Miya."
“Well, I know it now, don’t I?” Is the mocking rebuttal he gets and before he can retaliate in kind, Motoya puts out a hand for silence.
“If you two are done. I think that settles everyone’s earlier concerns. Kiyo and Atsumu make team number 1.”
Motoya then procures, out of nowhere, two slivers of gold cloth. He drops one each in the hands of the aforementioned Team 1 members then continues in a clockwise rotation around the group, producing more different colored pairs of ribbons and handing them out in the seating order. The teams end up like this:
Hirugami and Kourai: Team 2: Blue ribbons.
Suna and Miya Osamu: Team 3: Green ribbons.
And somehow, because of the late arrivals inserting themselves into the seating, Team 4 is Wakatoshi and Yachi: Pink Ribbons. And Team 5 is Semi and Tobio: Red ribbons.
Yachi claps her hands together and bows her head a little as soon as she receives the partner to Wakatoshi’s ribbon. “I’ll do my best, Ushijima-san.”
“As will I.” Wakatoshi replies, reaching out to help Yachi secure the ribbon around her wrist.
“This should be fun.” Semi announces as he ties his red ribbon around his head like a bandana, which his newly assigned, unlikely partner Tobio attempts to mimic.
“How come Suna-san and Osamu-san qualify as a pair?” Tobio asks in between movements.
“Oh, I tell Suna everything.” Motoya answers cheerfully.
“And I have no choice but to listen.” Suna adds in a voice that audibly demonstrates the tiresome burden (affectionate) of having Motoya as a teammate and friend for a year or two.
“But don’t worry,” Motoya says, “He knows nothing about the hunt. That I keep safely under wraps.”
When no other complaints or questions arise from the audience, Motoya continues with his monologue.
“Next on the agenda, give me your phones.” Protests break out immediately and Motoya raises his palms to placate them. “Relax. I’ll give them back to you. You'll need the maps if you’re going to win. I just need to install an app so that I can track your locations. I’ll also send out an alert when the hunt is about to come to an end. The first team to get back here wins.”
They hand Motoya their phones one at a time until they’ve all been configured.
“We managed to scrounge up 5 teams, but I prepared 6 locations just in case, not including this izakaya." He elaborates, holding up his fingers as he lists the facts. "There is a unique task that must be completed at each location. There is also a monitor of sorts who will judge if you have completed the task correctly or not before presenting you with the next clue.”
“Who did you rope into doing all that?” Kiyoomi cuts in, bewildered at the idea that anyone would willingly sacrifice their time and effort purely for the benefit of Motoya's villainous schemes.
“I’ll have you know that all my accomplices are being well paid for their efforts.” Motoya answers with his nose in the air.
Changing tactics, Kiyoomi asks, “How much money are you blowing on this?”
Motoya’s expression morphs into a wicked grin. “Remind me, Kiyo, how many birthday parties have you skipped?”
Not liking where the conversation is headed, Kiyoomi answers his cousin hesitantly. “All of them since I was 10.”
“Exactly.” Motoya answers simply.
This time, it’s Kiyoomi’s expression that morphs into one of disbelief and unease when he takes a guess at where Motoya is leading. “Did you... guilt trip my mother into funding this ridiculous hunt for you?”
Planting his hands on his hips, Motoya glares and replies in the air of an adult reprimanding a child. “Do you want to play or not?”
“You haven’t even told us what the prize is,” Kiyoomi argues. “What’s stopping me from going back to my dorm and going to sleep like I wanted to?”
“First of all,” Motoya starts, raising his index finger in the air. “You promised. Secondly,” he lifts another finger and aims them at his cousin like a gun. “If I can get your mom to give me a shit ton of money, what else do you think I can get her to do?”
Their audience is silent and makes no move to intrude on the intensifying conversation.
“What did you do , Motoya?” Kiyoomi asks, pitching his voice lower in an attempt to threaten his strange cousin who knows no fear and is literally laughing in the face of impending danger. Motoya’s feral grin glints in the soft lighting of the izakaya as he mimes shooting his cousin with his finger gun, and turns away to address his unwary followers.
“Gather round, scavengers, for tonight’s grand prize is Sakusa Kiyoomi himself.”
A beat of stunned silence passes as Motoya’s audience digests the oddly delivered information.
Tobio is the first to ask, haltingly, “His mother... sold him to you?”
“What? No, no, no.” Motoya amends, shaking his hands frantically. “Look amongst yourselves. What is the common denominator among Kiyo’s friends?”
He begins to weave around their chairs, pointing out the details to help them along. The eagle emblazoned on Wakatoshi’s back. The yellow logo on Suna’s phone cover. The key chain Atsumu is fiddling with, in the shape of a familiar mascot. When Kiyoomi catches on, his desire to fling his cousin into the far reaches of space multiplies tenfold.
“You’re gambling my future.” Kiyoomi says in the same way a person would say ‘I’m going to die.’
Infused with the energy of his cousin's despair, Motoya's grin widens. "That’s right, folks! The winners of tonight’s soiree get to take Kiyo home to their Division 1 League team in a couple of years.”
“Is this ethical?” Wakatoshi asks, and Kiyoomi is thankful that gravity works both ways to stabilize and support orbiting bodies from crashing in on themselves. “I’m sure Kiyoomi already has a team in mind that he would like to join.”
“Is this even fair?” Suna pipes up and Kiyoomi thinks he was right to be so selective in who gets to enter his closed system. “There are three Adlers representatives and only one each for Raijin and MSBY.”
“I don’t really care where ya end up.” Atsumu says, barely looking up from fiddling with his key chain, and Kiyoomi thinks he was naive to consider widening his closed system tonight as Motoya intended. “Take MSBY out of the running. And Since we’re on the same team, if we win, go wherever ya like.” He continues and Kiyoomi thinks it’s strange how the last person he’d expected to depend upon tonight is already proving him wrong.
“Actually,” Kourai starts pensively, and Kiyoomi realizes he should’ve been considering narrowing his circle tonight, rather than widening it. “I wouldn’t want Kiyoomi to join us on the Adlers. You’re an outside hitter and so am I. I’m not afraid of you taking my spot on the team, but if given the choice, I’d rather play against you.”
The group digests Kourai’s answer and even Wakatoshi hums in agreement. “I think I, too, would rather play against you, Kiyoomi.” Kiyoomi thinks that between Motoya and Wakatoshi’s ruthless betrayals tonight, he should forcibly rid himself of whatever pull he has on anything and live in isolation instead. “I once desired for my team to become the strongest by gathering the strongest players, but I have learned the value of facing strong opponents as well.”
Semi suddenly coughs into his fist, something that sounds suspiciously like ‘Oikawa’ and Tobio takes that as his cue to contribute his own opinions.
“I would like us to play on the same team, Sakusa-san.”
It’s this last statement that helps Kiyoomi remember how these people came to be a part of his system in the first place. His friends - and they are friends - may not show much concern for where Kiyoomi himself wants to go after college, but their reasoning and excuses are valid. Nothing takes priority over volleyball, not even friendships and basic human decency.
“Well, Tobio, I’d rather make the choice myself,” Kiyoomi sighs in defeat. “But there’s no stopping Motoya, so I guess, may the best team win.”
“Alright!” Motoya cheers. “How about everyone writes what team they’d banish Kiyo to and I’ll see if the options are skewed or not. We can leave the grand reveals for later.”
He magically procures a pen and notepad and passes a sheet to each qualified attendee. Kiyoomi pauses only for a second - to glance around the table and consider his options - before writing down his answer and signing his name on the page so that Motoya will know who chose what.
“What about us?” Miya Osamu asks. “I ain’t in the V. League, do I at least get a consolation prize?”
“Yeah,” Semi adds. “I don’t think I’ve been given enough incentive for whatever we’ll be forced to do later.”
Motoya absorbs the suggestion for half a second before readily sacrificing more of Kiyoomi’s free will. “I guess the non-pros can ask Kiyoomi for one thing.”
“Motoya…” Kiyoomi groans, holding his palm out to his cousin. “Please return the keys to my life.”
Motoya smacks it with a low five before continuing. “It can be anything. A favor or a baby picture for blackmail or I don’t know, maybe you can figure out what you need from Kiyo after the night ends when you’ve learned all his secrets.”
“A favor?” Yachi echoes. “I could use a model for some of my design projects. Only if you don’t mind, Sakusa-san.”
Kiyoomi assures her it won’t be a problem if she wins, and Motoya tries to steer the conversation back on track.
“The rest of you have the whole night to think about it. Let’s go through the rest of the rules." He says, walking around the table. "The locations are shuffled so teams shouldn’t run into each other. You can’t imitate how one team accomplishes their task. It won’t work anyway because I'll be in touch with the monitors at each location, and they’ll be updating me throughout the night. Each task is either related to Kiyo or is something he’s never done before. You can all get a taste of what it’s like to take Kiyoomi to places and just not have fun, and he can finally earn some experience.” He rests his hands on Kiyoomi's shoulders, which Kiyoomi shrugs off immediately. Unphased, Motoya continues with his monologue. “As for duration, tasks could take from 10 minutes up to an hour and each location is within walking distance. There’s only one task that’s out of the way, but it’s accessible by train. And that’s all I can tell you." He concludes, pacing coming to a stop with a flourish of his hands. "You can have a couple of minutes to digest, discuss strategy, and then it begins.”
A subtle bang sounds and a cloud of smoke rapidly forms where he was standing. When it clears, Motoya is gone, abandoning his audience to disperse into their teams.
Kiyoomi stays where he is seated, while Atsumu approaches to take up the chair beside him. He twirls it and straddles it, propping an elbow on the backseat.
“Toya-kun’s a weird one, isn’t he?” Atsumu says, propping his chin in the cradle of his palm.
“You have no idea.” Kiyoomi says, spraying his hands with alcohol from the bottle he has clipped to the front of his jacket.
“So what team are ya goin’ to join after uni?” Atsumu asks, watching Kiyoomi’s ritual curiously.
“Motoya said not to reveal our choices until the end of the game.” Kiyoomi warns as he fixes his mask back over his nose and mouth.
“Cmon, Omi-kun." Atsumu pleads with a little pout. "We’re on the same team, anyways. I wanna know what I’m playing for.”
It’s not that Kiyoomi is afraid of how Atsumu will react to his answer. Interacting with Miya Atsumu off-court is like throwing things into a black hole. Any information seemingly gained - as long as it’s unrelated to volleyball - only ends up lost, reduced to forms chaotic and useless. Futile attempts Kiyoomi has had tons of experience in, with nothing to show for.
“My actual future is on the line here, so excuse me if I’m not willing to risk tweaking the rules.” Kiyoomi says.
“Damn, ok. I just thought I’d ask.” Atsumu says lightheartedly, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s the Adlers though, isn’t it? You always had a thing for Ushijima in high school.”
Kiyoomi sighs quietly behind his mask. Leave it to Atsumu to misinterpret when affection is being directed towards him, all signals becoming distorted when the chaos devours them.
“All yer close friends are there, too. Ushijima, Kourai-kun, even Tobio-kun.”
Kiyoomi’s thoughts come to a screeching halt when he picks up on the slight edge of Atsumu’s tone. “Are you… bitter that you’re the only one from training camp I don’t consider a close friend?”
“It’s weird, ok?” Atsumu says, shifting in his seat. “I mean, even Tobio? Didn’t ya yell at him in the cafeteria for taking away yer last chance to play Ushijima at nationals?" He's pouting again, chin propped in the cradle of both palms now with both elbows propped on the backrest. “Now, he’s Tobio and I’m still Miya.”
“We got over it at training camp the year after,” Kiyoomi explains, recounting memories from 2 years ago because he doesn’t know how else to respond to this reaction. “Which you would know if you hadn't been too busy moping over your brother quitting volleyball.”
“How did ya know Samu told me about it before Nationals?” Atsumu's eyes narrow with lighthearted suspicion. “Everyone outside the team thinks he told me after Nationals.”
“We were roommates, you complained to me every night.” Kiyoomi answers immediately. This he could deal with. It was just like Miya Atsumu to forget.
“Huh?” Atsumu’s confusion both looks and sounds genuine because it is. “Swear I don’t remember half of what went on that year. Aran graduating, Samu quitting and always making eyes at Sunarin…” He trails off before changing the subject. “If ya won’t tell me where yer goin' in two years, how bout lettin’ me in on where we’re goin’ tonight?”
“Could be anywhere,” Kiyoomi answers honestly, glad that the conversation has steered to neutral ground. “I’ve learned to simply not have any expectations for Motoya. He always does the exact opposite anyway. We’re just going to have to find out.”
“I’m going to become yer bestest friend, Omi-kun.” Atsumu says with his face scrunched into the smuggest smile Kiyoomi has ever seen. One he wants to get rid of with a punch or...
“I can’t stop you from forcing your way into my circle,” Kiyoomi says instead as if he would even consider it. “But I can promise that you’ll never beat Motoya. Look around, do you think you could top this?” He waves a hand around the izakaya, at the pairs huddling in their separate corners, and the team ribbon he knotted around his wrist.
“I love a good challenge.” Atsumu’s smile changes into something feral that has Kiyoomi’s heart pounding in his chest, pumping his blood up into another flush when Atsumu says, “I’ll charm yer pants off, you’ll see.”
The easy way he says it is almost too much. Like that's all it is, another game to win instead of a wish, not quite harbored in secret for over two years. It's an overload, compelling Kiyoomi to turn away so that Atsumu can’t even see his eyes above his mask.
He says, “I don’t think anyone will be doing any undressing tonight. We’re supposed to become friends, not lovers.”
“Ooh, are ya scared of falling in love with me?” Atsumu taunts, leaning in to really rub it in Kiyoomi’s face. This has the opposite effect the previous statement had, it's in Kiyoomi's nature to be blunt, to return the stare, confident that the candor in his own eyes will be lost in translation.
“Terrified.”
His theory is proved correct when Atsumu rolls his eyes at what he thinks is a joke and says, “Relax, Omi-omi. I’m not on the market for a relationship, anyway. Bein’ a starting setter in the pros is hard work.” He props a hand under his chin again.
“Tobio’s doing just fine.” Kiyoomi retaliates as if being petty will make his victory taste like acid any less.
“The guy’s default is being dull and boring, especially when Shoyo’s not around. How can ya tell?”
“Because we’re friends, obviously.” Atsumu’s pout neutralizes Kiyoomi’s reluctant win, so he changes the subject. “But how is it really? The Jackals? What’s Bokuto Kotarou like as a pro?”
The reaction completes and Atsumu’s pout evaporates when Kiyoomi brings up the catalyst that is volleyball. They talk some more about Bokuto, another passing acquaintance from high school volleyball tournaments. Then, Atsumu talks about the rest of his team. About his star players, like Meian Shuugo, most likely to come out as MVP of the season, and Kiyoomi talks about the college circuit in exchange. When the conversation dwindles, Kiyoomi suggests they use the bathroom before the event proper starts. When they get back, Motoya is gathering everyone around the table with a tray of shots.
“Ok, everyone get into your teams, the games are about to begin,” Motoya announces and the participants rush to comply. “For your first task, bottoms up!” He then deposits a shot glass into the hands of everyone above the age of 19. Wakatoshi and Semi get two of the tiny glasses on account of their partners - who get shots of espresso, instead - being below the drinking age. “Let’s all toast to Kiyo’s first legal drink!”
Kiyoomi raises his shot to match Motoya’s and grimaces at it.
“Just do it all at once,” Atsumu advises. “Get it over with. Otherwise, you’ll dread takin’ another sip and we’ll be stuck here for a while.”
“Cheers.” Kiyoomi says before following Atsumu’s suggestion and tipping the whole drink into his mouth and swallowing. They both make faces and gag at the sharp burn of alcohol going down their throats and hastily drink some water to chase it away.
Most everyone at the table coughs or grimaces at the foreign experience. Even Wakatoshi fails to maintain a straight face on his second shot. Only Semi downs both shots in quick succession without flinching once, while Tonio gapes at him.
Motoya smacks his lips in satisfaction before congratulating everyone on obeying his first order with minimal argument. “And now, for the real first task." He begins, dramatically wiggling his rounded eyebrows. "There’s a 7/11 across the street from here and the first thing on my personally compiled list of ‘Things Kiyo's Never Done Before’ is to take something from the store without paying for it.”
“Shoplifting? Really, Motoya?” Kiyoomi complains to Motoya’s face while he still can.
“Oooh, shoplifting.” Suna smiles from where he stands beside Osamu.
“Ya never stole anything from a store before?” Atsumu asks in disbelief. “Not even candy?”
“Sugar is bad for your teeth.” Kiyoomi replies.
“Wow, ya really do need this scavenger hunt.” Atsumu muses, turning back to listen to the rest of Motoya’s instructions.
“You have to clear the convenience store without alerting the alarms or the cashier. I guess you can buy something and steal another so you don’t come off too suspicious. I’ll be watching from outside. Come back to me with your stolen item for the first clue and the next location.”
The group vacates the table and the izakaya - after Motoya assures them he’ll be back to pay and wait out the night - and heads across the intersection to enter the targeted store. Once inside, they split into their respective pairs to do their swiping. Atsumu walks with a genuine confidence that Kiyoomi is faking as they browse the aisles together.
“I’m pretty sure ya have to be the one to do the actual stealing,” Atsumu says quietly, tilting his head closer to Kiyoomi’s to keep their conversation private. “Remember, Toya-kun said he’d be watching. I don’t think it’ll count if I do everything even though we’re on the same team.”
“I don’t want to take anything,” Kiyoomi says nervously. His eyes flick between the cashier and the spherical mirror hanging from one corner of the store. “They’ll see.”
“Ok, ok,” Atsumu stops in his tracks to face Kiyoomi. “I’ll do it for ya, but ya gotta be the one to walk out of here with it.”
The offer is tempting and should satisfy Kiyoomi's hell-spawn cousin.
“Ok, fine.” He grumbles through his mask. “Just don’t pick anything too bulky.”
“Walk with me.” Atsumu says as they amble down the linoleum.
While Atsumu scans the shelves for something to misappropriate, Kiyoomi raises his head over the comparatively short shelves to see how the other teams are doing.
Suna and Osamu are already on their way out, headed straight for Motoya by the storefront. Semi seems to be doing well, although Tobio is standing stock still, failing to act naturally and actually magnifying his suspiciousness. Kourai is speaking loudly at Hirugami rather than to him. Kiyoomi is confident that he and Atsumu should at least be able to finish before that pair. The team that Kiyoomi expects to come dead last is the anxious Yachi and the straight-laced Wakatoshi.
“I got it.” Atsumu suddenly announces, drawing his attention. “You ok with a faux hug? You can keep yer hands in yer sleeves but yer gonna have to hug me back for this to work.”
Kiyoomi hopes the look he gives in response is indecipherable.
“It’s for the task, I swear.” Atsumu promises.
Kiyoomi sighs as if in defeat and spreads his arms out to the side. He keeps his hands covered up by the long sleeves of his jacket, as suggested. Atsumu grins in triumph and steps in close to meet him. His hands slowly go around Kiyoomi’s waist to pull him a bit closer - making Kiyoomi inhale sharply - he then ducks to rest his forehead on Kiyoomi’s shoulder and waits for Kiyoomi to adjust.
With the moment to recover, Kiyoomi tries to make his movements look natural; the curve and angle of his arms as he drapes them over Atsumu’s shoulders, the way he lets the tension ease from his own shoulders and lowers his head onto Atsumu’s shoulder to mirror the inauthentic intimacy. If he didn’t still have his mask on, the hot breaths on his face wouldn’t be his own. That’s how close they are standing. All he has to do is lower the barrier to feel the warmth of Atsumu’s skin on his, to feel more than just a few strands of hair tickling his ear. But a 7/11 is hardly the place to give in to temptation.
Atsumu’s hands are in motion at Kiyoomi’s back, rubbing comforting circles interspersed with strange movements that he can’t make out.
“I’m gonna lift yer jacket.” Atsumu murmurs into his ear, causing the hair on his skin to rise and form goosebumps even under all his layers. He nods once, knowing Atsumu can feel it against his shoulder, knowing his voice would come out unsteady if he tried to reply.
Hyperaware of every movement, Kiyoomi stills when the back of his jacket is lifted and something is shoved into the waistband of his pants. The jacket is immediately pulled back down to cover it, then Atsumu is bringing his arms back around and separating from Kiyoomi with a little smile. He grabs a random object from the shelf beside them and speaks loudly for the benefit of the rest of the store.
“I'm getting this one, Omi.” His voice is steady, its usual confident breeze, completely unaware of the effect he has on Kiyoomi’s system. He turns on his heel and heads straight for the cashier, pulling out his wallet. “Why don’t ya go on ahead to Toya-kun.”
Kiyoomi is still reeling from the whiplash as he exits the store and jumps a little when Motoya materializes beside him.
“Second base already? You sly dogs.”
Kiyoomi’s face reddens for the nth time that night as he reaches behind to distract himself with whatever Atsumu stole. It’s a packet of sanitary wipes, of the same brand as the bottle of rubbing alcohol that Kiyoomi has hooked to the front of his jacket.
“How thoughtful of him.” Motoya says, shit-eating grin widening exponentially.
Kiyoomi refuses to voice his agreement. He had been too distracted to see what Atsumu had stuffed under his jacket, but he’d been expecting something juvenile, something that would align with everything Kiyoomi knew about the Atsumu from high school. That Atsumu would never have been so considerate, so attentive to the needs of the people around him outside of a gym or a volleyball court. This Atsumu is doing just that, looking like an Atsumu Kiyoomi had never met outside of his own imagination.
“Mission accomplished!” Atsumu exclaims in triumph when he exits the store and unwraps what he bought; a single, cola-flavored lollipop. He sticks it into his mouth and rolls it around his cheeks. “Where to next, Toya-kun?”
“You two are headed to wherever this envelope tells you to go.” Motoya flourishes as he produces a red envelope from his person and hands it to Kiyoomi. "Oh, and good work getting the sanitary stuff, you’re going to need it.”
Kiyoomi frowns as he accepts the envelope. “You promised you didn't have anything messy planned.”
“Oh? Did I forget to mention?” Motoya says, faking innocence. “Your team has a special condition, Kiyo. During travel and whenever the task allows it, you and Atsumu, here, have to hold hands.”
Kiyoomi bristles at the instruction. “What? Why?”
He’s always been good at keeping secrets, but with the way the night is going, maybe he isn’t as good as he thinks, at least not when it comes to Motoya.
“Ya have to ask, Omi? It’s because yer always so prickly about being touched.” Atsumu says, pointing his lollipop at Kiyoomi before popping it back in his mouth. “The goal of the night is to get ya outta yer comfort zone, ya know?”
Motoya grins like an evil genius. “You’re 20 years old, Kiyo. You either do everything I have planned tonight, or the plan gets postponed for when you’re 30. Or 40.”
Kiyoomi maintains his frown, dreading his future with his relentless cousin.
“I’ll use the sanitizer every five seconds if ya need me to,” Atsumu offers, turning to face Kiyoomi, lollipop sucked into his cheek. “But ya gotta tell me yer okay with it.”
Inwardly, Kiyoomi scoffs at the offer. How could he possibly say no?
“Yeah, of course.” He says instead. “Anything to get my life out of Motoya’s hands.”
Motoya only smiles sweetly at the internal turmoil he knows he has caused. “Better get going then. Suna’s in the lead.”
“Not if I can help it.” Kiyoomi declares vehemently. “I refuse to step on the same side of a court as you ever again.”
“Love you too, Kiyo.” Motoya twiddles his fingers in goodbye as he goes to meet the next pair that exits the convenience store, a relaxed Semi tugging a robotic Tobio along.
“Alright, let’s see what we got.” Atsumu says, crowding closer as Kiyoomi unfolds the envelope, revealing two 1000 yen bills and a riddle inscribed in black ink, which they read in silence.
*
Silver bells, silver balls
Bet 500 yen each, bet it all
Get five quarters of a hundred until it multiplies by 5
Don’t buy more or you won’t make it out alive
Trade it all back for the next clue
Have some fun before you leave Chofu
*
“Wow, Toya-kun’s really going all out, huh?” Atsumu says after reading the rhyming riddle.
“He tried to establish a scavenger hunting club at school. They let him try one out for a festival, but…" Kiyoomi squirms at the memory. “Let’s not get into it.”
“It’s clearly a pachinko parlor,” Atsumu points out the incriminating lines. “‘Silver bells, silver balls. Bet 500 yen,’ dead giveaway.”
“Chofu tower,” Kiyoomi concludes from the last word. “That’s not far from here.”
“So we just have to go and play.” Atsumu plucks the envelope out of Kiyoomi’s hands to run the numbers. “Five quarters of a hundred is 125. We need to buy 250 in total and play until we get 500, right? Shouldn’t take more than 30 minutes. Less, if yer good at it.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Kiyoomi says dryly, taking the envelope back and refolding it so he can stuff it, as well as the stolen pack of wipes, into one of his many jacket pockets.
“Guess it’s just another thing to cross off yer bucket list.” Atsumu laughs, pivoting in the direction of Chofu tower. Kiyoomi catches his sleeve before he can get very far.
“We need to hold hands.” Keeping his eyes on where his fingers grasp Atsumu’s soft coat, he jerks his head back to where Motoya waits for the next group to exit the store. “Motoya’s watching.”
“Oh, right. Almost forgot.” Atsumu turns back around to face Kiyoomi and holds his hands out in the shape of a bowl. “Hit me with that sanitizer.”
Kiyoomi complies and Atsumu rubs the liquid over his hands, between his fingers, around his wrist for about 20 seconds.
“If yer uncomfortable later, we could always let go when we’re out of sight of whoever is supposed to be monitorin' us. Surely Toya-kun won’t have people followin' us around to report back every second.”
Kiyoomi shuffles on his feet, heart pounding. He’d forgotten how much of a rush it was to fling his efforts into the black hole that was Miya Atsumu and simply brace for the verdict.
He says, “Your logic is sound, but Motoya’s never been a slave to such mundane things as reason and common sense. We should probably hold hands as much as possible, just in case.”
“Ok.” Atsumu agrees immediately like it’s no big deal. He rubs his hands one last time then claps them together twice to announce he’s done. “Let’s go.”
He holds his now-clean right hand out to Kiyoomi. An offering. Kiyoomi reaches back with his left, letting his fingers go in the gap between Atsumu’s pointer and thumb. Such a simple act shouldn’t be so thrilling, so overwhelming. But it is.
Atsumu takes Kiyoomi’s hand in his and it’s an overload to Kiyoomi’s senses.
Then Atsumu smiles and gives their hands a little squeeze and it’s grounding. Enough to grant Kiyoomi the sense to pull out his phone and check the map if they’re taking the shortest route to Chofu Tower.
Atsumu hums around his lollipop as they walk. It’s only about 6:30 pm, so the skies are still lit with a dull, fading glow. The moon is visible, though the stars are not. They won’t be later, either, given the overly bright light pollution of Tokyo. Given that it's a Sunday, there aren’t as many people as Kiyoomi expects to see crowding the streets. With the combination of the minimal foot traffic and the fact that they're both over six feet tall and well-built, they have no problem shaving the walking time - computed by the app - down a few minutes. Only a slightly awkward silence persists as they stick close together, so no one attempts to pass between them and break their holds before they reach their destination.
The chunky neon lettering that spells out ‘pachinko’ is glaring against the evening darkness when they arrive. There are even more lights, flashing and strobing on the inside.
“Here we go.” Atsumu says, stepping forward to push the glass door. He holds it open while they walk in together.
They are instantly bombarded by the sound of the aptly named pachinko balls toppling over one another in the dozens of machines that line the walls of the parlor. The lights, too, are even more overwhelming on the inside, with their brightness and fluorescence to rival even Kiyoomi’s old high school uniform. It’s a different kind of overwhelming than before, but Atsumu is still there to squeeze Kiyoomi’s hand back when his grip tightens subconsciously.
A staff member, Azusagawa, the name tag reads, moves forward to greet them, eyeing the gold tied around their wrists. “You must be Komori-san’s first guests. Please, follow me.”
They are led to the counter where Azusagawa takes their names and they hand over the envelope with the 2000 yen. He explains the rules to them as he exchanges their money for pachinko balls. One thousand yen from their funds gets them 250 silver balls bearings to split. They each get their own pachinko machine to pour the balls into, to play what is essentially a permutation of pinball.
Doubling what they have, as per the instructions, shouldn’t be too difficult. Azusagawa estimates they could be done in a little less than an hour as he carries their trays of ball bearings and leads them to a quieter corner of the venue where all the seats are unoccupied.
“Nice and quiet.” Atsumu says, thanking Azusagawa as he sets the trays down and bows before turning to return to his station. As soon as he is out of sight, Atsumu turns to Kiyoomi. “Gimme the wipes.”
Kiyoomi lets go of Atsumu’s hand and rummages in his jacket for the stolen goods. When he receives them, Atsumu wipes down one of the pachinko machines, including the seat and lever and any place that needs to be touched in order to operate the game. He also takes it upon himself to empty both trays of pachinko balls into the machines’ receivers.
He finishes with a little flourish, lowers his head a little, and says, “Yer throne, my liege.”
Kiyoomi snorts, too dumbfounded to better express his gratitude. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
“We wanna win, don’t we? I live to serve if it’ll get me my prize.” Atsumu says nonchalantly as he takes his seat and tosses his barren lollipop stick into a nearby trash can.
“Figured out what you’re going to force me to do already?” Kiyoomi asks warily, sliding into his seat.
“I’ve been brainstorming some ideas.”
“You can have those?”
“Shaddup.” Atsumu smiles. “Let’s play.”
They settle down and start up their pachinko machines, which come to life with pulsing lights and a funky theme song that gives way to the tinkling of the falling balls. Atsumu watches in horror as Kiyoomi pulls the lever with abandon.
“What are ya doin’ Omi?” Atsumu puts his hands out to stop Kiyoomi, halting before their skin makes contact. “Weren’t ya listenin’ to instructions? Ya can’t just pull the lever any way ya like. Ya gotta wait for the right position,” he traces a ball with his finger over the glass barrier as it falls onto the maneuverable paddle.
“The right timing,” he says as he pulls his lever. “The right angle.” He says as the force of the paddle is transferred to the ball and it shoots across, up to the roof of the container.
“That’s how ya get the ball where ya want it to go.” Atsumu concludes. His lesson is punctuated by the plinking sound of the ball bouncing from wall to wall to the targets that trigger the mechanism to reward him with more balls pouring into his tray.
“So setting?” Kiyoomi simplifies in terms they’re more familiar with.
“Exactly like setting.” Atsumu confirms with a grin. “Just do a couple of free shots to find out where the sweet spot is and you should be good to go.”
The analogy serves its purpose. Kiyoomi quickly gets the hang of it, after closely observing how the ball responds when he pulls the lever and triggers the paddles. They sit in silence, absorbed by their task, and quickly gain more balls than they lose. The reflexes they trained and the experience they’ve earned directing serves, spikes, and A-passes prove their worth in this game of smaller, shinier balls that operate under the same laws of physics. The pachinko machine is no match for the Division 1 setter and collegiate ace.
When each of their trays accumulates roughly twice as many balls as they each had before, they stop the machines and stand up to rub the strain from their eyes. Together, they transfer their winnings from the machine’s built-in receiver back to the trays they were given. When they reach the counter, Azusagawa lets out a little exclamation of surprise that they’ve finished already and takes their trays to the ball counter, which ticks up as the balls are poured in and dings when it’s done. Kiyoomi sanitizes his hands with a fresh dollop of alcohol as they wait. Five hundred and thirty-one, the ticket reads.
“Nice!” Atsumu cheers as Kiyoomi pumps a fist in celebration.
Azusagawa hands them a new envelope, blue this time, and thanks them for coming. They return their own thanks and Atsumu holds open the door again as they exit.
“It is loud in there.” Atsumu says when the door shuts behind him and the cacophonous sounds are deafened, replaced by the sounds of Tokyo they are used to.
“Too bright.” Kiyoomi contributes, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the less strobing lights outside of the parlor.
They gather under a streetlight to examine their new clue. The funds in the envelope are reduced to one 1000 yen bill and one 500 yen bill. The riddle inside reads:
*
It's time to dance
Go put on your fancy shoes
The next task is at Monaco
Define what it means to win or lose
*
Atsumu reaches for the bottle of alcohol hanging from Kiyoomi’s chest and spreads a generous amount of the liquid over his hands. “Oooohhh, Dancing! This’ll be fun.”
“I should've known Motoya would include this.” Kiyoomi exhales, folding the envelope and stuffing it into his jacket pocket.
“Do ya suck at dancing, Omi-kun?” Atsumu asks genuinely, although his face looks ready to break out into snickers and taunts.
“Not this kind of dancing.” Kiyoomi strikes preemptively.
Atsumu raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Where’s Monaco?”
“It’s just around the corner.” Kiyoomi answers, taking Atsumu’s hand defiantly and tugging him along to the familiar place.
It’s only a few doors down, past the turn. The distance to the welcome sign is easily cleared by their long strides and Atsumu holds the door open again as they step in. The neon lights out on the street give way to the equally neon, flashing lights of the nondescript arcade. It’s a simple establishment, empty of adolescents on account of the next day being a school day. The games don’t seem to be that varied or newly acquired. It’s quiet, clean, a little old, and so very familiar, scoring high on all the most important qualities in Kiyoomi's rubric. And the most familiar thing about it, the only game they need, is right before the entrance, in the venues’ prime position. It's lit up with more neon lights and electronic music, primed and ready to go.
“Dance Dance Revolution! That’s even better.” Atsumu exclaims when he recognizes the console and platform. “You good at this, Omi?”
“Come see for yourself, Miya.” Kiyoomi pulls him along to the screen and taps on it a few times to show the high scores.
A set of numbers and names grace the screen, along with the year they were recorded. The date goes back 2 years and to Atsumu’s visible amazement; the username is the same for all the top scores. He gapes open-mouthed at the repeating rows of 'KIYO' in block letters before him.
“No way! This what you were doin’ in high school?”
Kiyoomi smiles smugly. “We’ve got this task in the bag.” He declares, releasing their handhold so he can pop his knuckles and loosen his elbows.
“Not necessarily,” Atsumu reasons, raising a pointer in the air. “These scores are from years ago. Think ya still got it?”
“Are you challenging me, Miya?” Kiyoomi accuses, narrowing his eyes.
“I’m just saying, we both know that to stay in top form, ya gotta keep practicin'.” Atsumu shrugs, nonchalant.
“Oh, it’s on.” Kiyoomi declares, turning to select a vacant chair.
He cleans it up hastily with his wipes before taking off his jacket and scarf, folding them, and piling them on the seat. Atsumu lets out a chuckle, then follows suit, draping his fashionable coat over the back. Kiyoomi wipes down the machine next, paying special attention to the handlebars and the screen of the console.
“Go get some tokens.” He instructs.
Atsumu gives a mocking salute before taking the envelope and obeying. The counter is near the middle of the store, with a single staff member attending. She looks bored but lights up when Atsumu and the envelope appear in front of her. Sakurajima, as her name tag reads, immediately zeroes in on the gold team ribbon around Atsumu’s wrist and greets him enthusiastically. She takes the 500 yen bill from the envelope and Atsumu receives a change of 300 yen and 10 tokens to start with. He returns to the front of the arcade to find Kiyoomi doing some light stretches to warm up.
“Oh ho, someone’s taking this real seriously.”
“I’m not risking a pulled muscle just because I know this’ll be easy.” Kiyoomi says in the middle of extending his calves.
“Ya got me there.” Atsumu says, getting down to do his own routine.
Kiyoomi has to try not to stare at the way Atsumu’s pants tighten when he flexes. He had the foresight to wear athleisure in preparation for the night ahead of him, but Atsumu, in all his vanity, is wearing black pants that fit his form even when he’s not in motion. The way the fabric hugs Atsumu’s thighs has Kiyoomi mildly regretting bringing up stretching and awkwardly turning his head to hide the flush that just can’t seem to go away tonight. When they finish, Sakurajima settles on a vacant chair somewhere in view of their performance and Atsumu inserts half the coins into the slot.
“ You're the reigning champion at this thing, wanna pick the music?” Atsumu offers.
“It makes no difference to me.” Kiyoomi says, letting the familiar startup music wash over him.
“Overconfident much?” Atsumu asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I know what I’m capable of.”
Atsumu shrugs and selects a song at random before getting into position. The opening notes have them bopping their heads in time. Kiyoomi tries to ignore Atsumu on the platform beside him and get in the zone, recalling endless afternoons of coming by when he didn't have volleyball practice but needed the stimulation for his muscles and the exercise for his flexible joints. No one is beating him at his own game.
Yeah, it’s been a year or so, but the memory flows into Kiyoomi’s muscles like water down a slope. His face relaxes into a satisfied smile at the familiar routine. His movements are smooth and he doesn’t make a single misstep, hitting every beat with accuracy. Surprisingly, Atsumu matches him point for point until the very end. When the beat transitions into the triumphant music of a high score, they take a few deep breaths to settle down and stare at each other in mild disbelief.
“You weren’t kiddin'.” Atsumu says first.
Kiyoomi allows himself to smile behind his mask. “You’re not so bad yourself, Miya.”
“Look, we even knocked one of your old scores out of the top ten.” Atsumu points out, crowding the screen to input his own username before Kiyoomi can stop him. He presses enter and a single 'ATSU' joins the rows of 'KIYO' on the screen.
Kiyoomi looks away with another flush, from the exertion, he tells himself and calls out to Sakurajima. “Can we have the next clue now?”
“I’m sorry,” Sakurajima answers with a little shake of her head. “You haven't accomplished the task.”
“Wait, what?” Pure confusion graces Atsumu’s face. “We got top scores.”
Sakurajima just shakes her head again and declines to answer.
“I guess getting into the highest scores isn’t the task.” Kiyoomi deduces. “It is too much to expect that every group could do it one after the other.”
“Yeah, I can’t even picture Ushijima swaying his hips.”
“He does, for lack of better phrasing, have two left feet.”
“What did the riddle say again?” Kiyoomi recites it from memory. “And yer sure he meant DDR?”
“I showed you the evidence,” Kiyoomi waves a hand at the screen. “What else could it mean?”
“This isn’t a ‘something you’ve never done before’ task.” Atsumu contemplates.
“It’s a ‘getting to know something about me’ task, for your benefit.”
“Well, now I know. So we’ve done it. Maybe there is something ya haven’t done, like a new song from an update.”
Kiyoomi’s pretty sure there’s more to it than that but agrees to try it. He scrolls through the list of songs to find an unfamiliar title. When he finds one, he inserts their remaining coins and returns to his side of the dual platform.
The beat is unfamiliar, but the arrows rolling up the screen and the pads lighting up beneath his feet are enough of a guide for him to find his rhythm. They make only a few mistakes on the way, but the numbers are still enough to make the top ten. Atsumu’s score is even a couple of points higher than Kiyoomi’s.
“Losing touch there, mister hotshot?" Atsumu mocks as he replaces another KIYO with an ATSU.
“Losing sight of the actual goal here, Miya?” Kiyoomi spares him a side-eye then looks to Sakurajima. "Did we do it?”
Sakurajima gives an apologetic frown and another shake of the head. No dice.
“Maybe ya need to get a perfect score on this song that ya don’t know.” Atsumu shrugs. “Either way, we’re gonna need more tokens.”
This time, it’s Kiyoomi who takes the money from the envelope and exchanges it for another 10 tokens, limiting himself in the hope that they can finish the task before the other teams catch up to them. When they return, Kiyoomi takes his mask off and pockets it before stepping back on the platform. He feeds the tokens in and starts up the same song. They go through it all over again and this time, the duo are more prepared, more focused on flawlessly executing the required movements, and earning near-perfect scores that are even higher than before, vanishing another KIYO on the list and adding an ATSU. In unison, they both swivel their heads to Sakurajima only to receive the same apologetic shake of the head as before. They both groan in frustration.
“Let me read the riddle again.” Atsumu says, rooting through their things for the envelope.
Sweating from all the exertion, Kiyoomi sanitizes his hands then pulls off his sweater, leaving him in the black compression shirt he has on underneath. He drapes his sweater on the handlebars of the platform, then steps down to fish through his jacket pockets for the handkerchief he always carries and wipes at his neck.
“Can you help me with this?” He asks Atsumu with a nod of his head, gesturing to the handkerchief and his back. Atsumu is quiet where he stands with the envelope in his unmoving hands. “Miya?” He calls again.
“Sure.” Atsumu spritzes his hands with sanitizer before stepping forward and taking the unfolded handkerchief. He moves behind Kiyoomi and lifts the compression shirt a little to slide the handkerchief up Kiyoomi’s back.
The split second where Kiyoomi’s back is exposed to the cold night air makes his skin erupt in goosebumps, which is immediately countered by the damnable flush that goes up to his ears when the tiniest sliver of Atsumu’s bare finger grazes his back, skin-to-skin.
“You want me to leave it there?” Atsumu’s voice is low and deep. "You don’t wanna catch a cold.”
It takes Kiyoomi a second to register that Atsumu is talking about the handkerchief and not his large warm hand, which is still splayed above the handkerchief, keeping it in place.
He clears his throat before responding. “Yeah. Just leave it there.”
Atsumu slips his hand out from under the compression shirt and Kiyoomi waits a moment before turning to face him. By then, Atsumu’s face is indecipherable as he picks the envelope up from the chair, beckoning Kiyoomi closer so that they can reread it together.
Atsumu smells like soap, Kiyoomi observes. Something clean and intoxicating. His face is a little shiny and a few blond strands stick to his forehead from the thin layer of sweat that has formed. He’s wearing a silky, white, long-sleeved button-up - a poor choice for the night - with those form-fitting pants and if the lighting were better and less strobing, Kiyoomi thinks that the way the thin material clings to Atsumu’s skin would be a lot more fatal than it already is. He has a hand on his hip and another holding out the riddle, and Kiyoomi has to crowd close enough to decipher the words in the poor lighting. He forces his own hand to reach out to steady the paper as they read out loud. They lock eyes after reading the last line.
Define what it means to win or lose.
Atsumu begins the discussion. “We already beat a few of yer old high scores and decided that it’s impossible for that to be the goal, considering Ushijima.”
“And Tobio.” Kiyoomi adds.
“Samu can’t dance for shit, either.”
“We also tried competing against each other.”
“Maybe you have to get a higher score than me.” Atsumu suggests.
“Would Motoya really specify which person in each pair has to win? The teams were only made tonight.”
“Good point.” Atsumu concedes. “‘Define what it means to win or lose.’ Maybe we have to get the lowest score?”
“What’s that going to prove? You can do that by not playing at all.” Kiyoomi disputes. “Letting each other win doesn’t make sense either.”
“Wanna keep playing until we figure it out?” Atsumu offers with a smile that is much too near to Kiyoomi’s face.
“We could be here all night.” Kiyoomi scoffs as if the idea doesn’t appeal to him.
“Think ya can’t keep up?” Atsumu taunts, yanking the envelope out of Kiyoomi’s grip and folding it back on top of their belongings. “Don’t be ashamed, Omi, I am a Pro, after all.”
Kiyoomi bristles at the challenge. “Put the tokens in, Miya.”
“Nothing like a good ol’ competition to get ya to agree, huh? Yer so easy, Omi-kun.” Atsumu smiles smugly as he returns to his platform.
“I’ll show you easy.” Kiyoomi threatens, with only a smidge of bite as he flexes his neck to either side and clambers on as well.
Atsumu selects a song at random and shoots his smug grin at Kiyoomi as the game starts up. The first minute or so goes smoothly, both of them matching the beats with precision and throwing in a flourish or two to taunt each other throughout. They’re not really focusing on their scores, but rather on how the other is doing. A genuine grin breaks out on Kiyoomi’s face when Atsumu makes a misstep.
“What are ya laughing at?” Atsumu barks through a yelp and the laughter that soon follows.
“You’re losing.” Kiyoomi tries to say, turning his head the tiniest bit to catch that laugh in full view instead of in periphery.
And that’s when it happens. That damnable laugh that always manages to distract Kiyoomi so that he can’t help himself from twisting to sneak a glimpse causes the tiniest shift, enough to upset the sweater he hung on the handlebars behind him. It slides down to pool over the pads lighting up beneath them. Kiyoomi slips and his feet fly out from under him, going left as his upper body goes right into Atsumu, toppling them both. Four arms fling out in various directions to grab onto something - anything - to save these hapless victims of gravity. The song on the console transitions into the sad tune of missed steps and a low score.
Atsumu’s ass lands on the floor, tailbone getting the brunt of the impact. His head and upper body are saved by the hand that catches the handlebars for a second before the force of their fall pulls it out of his grip again. His legs are still halfway on the platform, underneath Kiyoomi, whose hands caught only air and flimsy silk. Kiyoomi’s knees seem to take the worst of the fall, but his head wins the most uncomfortable landing place. Kiyoomi’s maskless face lands unharmed, cushioned by Miya Atsumu’s crotch.
His well-trained quick reflexes allow Kiyoomi to scramble up on his hands and knees above Atsumu immediately after the landing, his face flushed the deepest red yet. Atsumu’s hands are propped behind him, keeping him upright so that Kiyoomi can see the shell-shocked look on his face.
“I’m so sorry, Atsumu, are you ok?” Kiyoomi has the grace to ask in their awkward positions, admitting his folly.
“Ya didn’t have to knock me off my pedestal so literally, Omi-kun.” Atsumu has the audacity to answer, even as his face reddens to match Kiyoomi’s and he turns his head to the side to avoid eye contact.
That does it for Kiyoomi. In their shared, mortally ashamed states the laughter leaks out of him, first in a sputter that bursts like a dam. He has to shift his position to sit back on the platform and lean on the handlebars to support his weight as his shoulders shake with the hilarity of the situation. It isn’t long before Atsumu’s laughter ignites to join in. They laugh for what seems like ages. Eye contact starting it up again as soon as it dies down. They laugh until Kiyoomi’s stomach hurts and tears leak from his eyes. They laugh until they have to force themselves to sigh so that the large intake and expulsion of breath corrects their breathing enough for them to speak again.
“Yer touchin' the floor.” Atsumu points out.
“Ew.” Kiyoomi says. His face scrunches up in disgust, but his tone is lighthearted as he lifts his hands up off the platform.
“You may use our washroom before you go,” Sakurajima announces, coming up to them with a green envelope. “Congratulations. You completed your task.”
“Finally!” Kiyoomi exclaims at the ceiling before pulling himself up to thank Sakurajima and take the envelope into his own hands. Atsumu dusts his hands off before reaching out to Kiyoomi, who hesitates only for a second before taking Atsumu’s hands in his own and leaning back to pull him up.
“Guess it was about losin'.” Atsumu says, gesturing to the game that still shows their abysmal scores.
“More like failing, spectacularly, I might add,” Kiyoomi says, even though he has a better guess at the real reason they passed. He hasn’t laughed like that in… he doesn’t even know how long.
This is only the second task out of several Motoya had planned. Pachinko had been easy, almost like a smokescreen, a false net of safety compared to the other tasks. If the others turn out to be more like this task than the first…
The thought makes Kiyoomi’s skin itch with anticipation and compels him to turn away from that contagious smile. “I need to wash my hands.”
“You go first. I’ll get us some water.” Atsumu replies, nudging Kiyoomi away.
In the bathroom, Kiyoomi takes a few minutes to breathe in deep, calming breaths, to stabilize his heartbeat as he scrubs his hands with soap and water, and then drags a wet hand across his face. He dries off with paper towels and removes the handkerchief from his back, folding it up and pocketing it. He silences any expectant thoughts before stepping out.
When he exits the bathroom, Atsumu hands him an unopened bottle of water then pushes past him to have his turn. Kiyoomi takes the moment of silence and privacy to pull his sweater back on and does some cool-down stretches before sipping his water.
Atsumu comes out looking a lot less disheveled than when he went in. His silk shirt is tucked back into his pants and his face is less sweaty and less flushed. His hair, which had been matted down with the sweat - a reminder of how he used to style it - is back to being stylishly windswept. Kiyoomi’s silence isn’t entirely voluntary as he waits for Atsumu to draw nearer before opening up the new envelope and revealing its contents. Their funds are now down to 1100 yen and the new riddle reads:
*
Sing a song for the birthday boy
With emotion, be it sorrow or joy
How do your voices sound?
We would like to know
Head on over to the Big Echo
*
“Sing a song for the birthday boy,” Atsumu repeats. “Oh, yeah! This is definitely karaoke! Another walk in the park.”
Kiyoomi had been right to worry. He remains silent as he puts his jacket back on, wraps his scarf around his neck, and loops his mask over his ears. His half-empty water bottle goes into one of his jacket pockets.
The mechanical movements and lack of response prompt Atsumu to ask, “Is this another thing yer secretly good at, or somethin' you’ve never done before?”
“I have done it before, it’s just-” Kiyoomi cuts himself off.
“Not with a bunch of people watching ya?” Kiyoomi nods. “Ya got stage fright, Omi?”
“It’s not stage fright, per se…” Kiyoomi says, unsure of how or even if he should explain it. Motoya’s scheming isn’t forcing him into it, simply providing him with an opening.
Atsumu folds the envelope back in on itself and puts his coat back on before holding his hand out to Kiyoomi, just like he did before. “Wanna tell me about it on the way there?”
This sequence of actions helps Kiyoomi decide. He takes Atsumu’s hand in silent agreement. They call a farewell back to Sakurajima before exiting the arcade. Atsumu fumbles with his phone in his left hand, opening up his maps to search for a ‘big echo karaoke’.
“It’s a 15-minute walk from here,” he announces to Kiyoomi, who is looking down at their feet as they walk, nibbling on his lower lip as he gathers the right words. “Plenty of time to tell me, or not, if ya don't wanna.”
“I’ll tell you.” Kiyoomi voices. “It’s probably the real goal of this task.”
“Whenever yer ready.” Atsumu says, swinging their hands between them as he walks. He looks out for their surroundings, head swiveling this way and that to read street signs and follow anything that catches his eye. Kiyoomi makes use of Atsumu’s distraction to let his eyes linger.
The wind blows and ruffles Atsumu’s already-ruffled hair, those pale blond strands are starker in the darkness and Kiyoomi feels a pang of longing in his chest for when they were darker, dubbed piss-colored, back when they were younger and he’d first discovered what longing was.
Kiyoomi once thought that yearning isn’t a permanent feeling. That you can get over wanting someone if they aren’t around to remind you what you were missing.
Looking at Atsumu under the glare of the billboards and street lights, hand in hand, waiting so patiently for him to be comfortable, he realizes that the admiration doesn't disappear. Even after almost two years, it doesn’t fade into nothingness or collapse in on itself. Instead, it burrows deep down into the darkness until you can’t make it out anymore, can’t be sure it even exists or if it was only a dream. And there it evolves, out of sight so that you don’t recognize it immediately when it reemerges. When it breaks out of the chrysalis into true affection. One that makes the wanting worth the risks you’d been too afraid to take before.
Kiyoomi takes a deep breath then squeezes Atsumu’s hand once before speaking.
His dad loved to sing. The Sakusa household used to hold makeshift concerts whenever the lights went out and they had no other way of entertaining themselves. Extended family gatherings were opportunities to earn money by competing to get the highest score on the karaoke machine. Music and lyrics were a staple at the Sakusa household.
Then, when Kiyoomi was 11, his father passed away. To make things worse, Kiyoomi’s much older siblings shortly went off to university and their mother drowned herself in work. Kiyoomi was the only one left in that big house; cold, empty, and deafeningly silent.
For the first few years, Kiyoomi would sing to fill that silence. He’d let his voice bounce off the tiled floors and pristine walls as if his dad was still there to harmonize along. Then one day, he caught his mother’s reaction when she came home and heard him. Only one word could describe her expression; devastation.
Kiyoomi is almost a flawless reflection of his dad. Almost a perfect reproduction, down to his smooth, melodic voice. His mother couldn’t stand the reminder. Couldn’t bear to hear the echo of her husband when that’s all that was left of him. She never said anything, but Kiyoomi took it upon himself to never let her hear his voice again.
Kiyoomi always had a preference for preventing problems rather than solving them. You don’t have to fix something if it’s not broken. You don’t have to ease something if there is no pain. That’s what he tells himself he is doing by drawing away from his mother when she tries to stop being work-obsessed, by speaking less and with less volume, by wearing face masks to cover up the familiar nose and mouth, protecting them from germs and sad, longing looks. Everything he does, he does keeping in mind that prevention is better than the cure.
“But yer mom’s not going to be there.” Atsumu points out when Kiyoomi finishes. “Ya don't have to worry about hurtin’ anyone.”
Kiyoomi stares back at eyes wide with genuine candor.
“I’m sorry about yer dad and that ya learned to avoid problems instead of fixin’ em.” Atsumu continues after a brief pause. “I know ya don’t like pity, so I won’t pity you. I’m tellin’ ya that you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself, and yer mom.” He barrels on through the look of utter disbelief that Kiyoomi gives him. “I heard what ya said back at Nationals all those years ago. That speech about the meteorite and pity and shit. I can’t believe yer such a hypocrite. There’s no changing what happened, right? Yer dad’s gone, but you’re not, yer mom isn’t either. The pain is inevitable. Ya can't keep dancing circles around each other to hold it off until yer both gone too."
Kiyoomi lets him finish, then sucks in a breath to think. His first instinct is to get mad, to rage at Atsumu for being so insensitive and blunt and preaching about things he doesn't understand. But he has a point, and Kiyoomi knows when he’s lost even if he won’t admit defeat.
“You’re a jerk, you know that?” He says instead and Atsumu smiles like recognizing victory over an opponent is something he’s fluent in.
“Yeah, I do.”
They sink into a comfortable quiet that lasts even until they enter and step up to the counter of the Big Echo, showing off their gold ribbons and green envelope. The staff member employed by Motoya for the scavenger hunt at this location is a young woman named Toyohama. She appears from a back room when her coworkers call for her.
“Follow me.” She says, leading them to the room she emerged from.
It’s a VIP room, larger than regular rooms with the screen hanging behind the designated seating area, a table for snacks directly in front of that, and a simple stage across from it with its own little spotlight.
It is currently being occupied by a seated Semi Eita and a wooden Kageyama Tobio, who is standing on the slightly elevated platform and - for lack of a better word for it - singing into a cordless microphone with as much emotion as he can muster. Which isn’t much without his orange-haired catalyst around to enhance it. Tobio finishes and bows deeply in embarrassment, waiting for the score to tick up on the screen. Semi is half-clapping and cheering with a cup in his hand. It looks like they've been here a while. The table is littered with platters of different snacks and a pitcher of water. It seems this task, like the one before it, won't be as simple as getting a high score.
“I’m sorry, you haven’t completed the task,” Toyohama says to Tobio and Semi as she ushers Kiyoomi and Atsumu into the room. “You’ll have to take turns at the stage since another group has arrived.”
“Looks like another team caught up to us, eh Tobio?” Semi welcomes them in lightheartedly. “C’mon in, guys. You can go next while we strategize.”
Kiyoomi and Atsumu nod as they enter the room and look around.
“I’m not good at this, Semi-san.” Tobio admits, getting down from the platform and setting the mic back on the table.
“Don’t worry about it, Tobio, I’ll help you choose another song.” Semi waves Tobio’s self-deprecating statements away and pulls him closer so they can scroll through one of the song selection books together.
Determined to not end up like the other pair and not have a repeat performance of their own failed dance number, Kiyoomi directly asks Toyohama, “May I ask what the rules or goals for this task are? What are your criteria for judgment?”
“It’s simple, Sakusa-san, you both have to sing.” She answers with a smile. “Your score on the karaoke machine doesn't matter to me, neither does the quality of your voice nor your ability to stay in tune. All I ask is that you entertain me.”
“Entertain ya, huh?” Atsumu says with his own smile. “That’s my forte. C’mon Omi, let's pick a song.”
Toyohama pulls another songbook from the shelf below the flat screen and hands it to them before settling back in her seat in wait. She fiddles with her phone for a bit and Kiyoomi thinks it might be an update to Motoya that they’ve arrived at the karaoke bar.
Atsumu pulls Kiyoomi over to the corner farthest from the other pair and nearer to the stage. The room is spacious enough that the teams can’t hear each other speak, the background music from other rooms and from their own waiting karaoke machine contributing to disguise their conversation. Atsumu wordlessly holds out a hand for the wipes, which Kiyoomi immediately hands over, and they wipe the cover of the book before flipping it open.
“Did ya hear what she said?” Atsumu asks, bringing his head a little too close so that Kiyoomi can’t ignore the way his eyes shine with the idea forming behind them. “We both have to sing, but she never said we had to sing different songs.”
Recognition dawns, bringing a smile to Kiyoomi’s face behind his mask. “We can do a duet and get it done twice as fast.”
“Not to mention singing with a friend is way more fun than singing on yer own.” Atsumu adds with a nod, happy that Kiyoomi also caught on to the loophole.
“It’ll definitely be better than what Tobio just did,” Kiyoomi says bluntly. “Semi’s in a band. He must've passed the judgment, but they’re being held back because Tobio is about as entertaining as watching grass grow.”
“So you agree,” Atsumu says, his grin widening exponentially in satisfaction. “You do consider me as a friend?”
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, though his lips are curving again behind his mask. “I told you my tragic backstory, didn't I?”
Atsumu snorts loudly at that. “Which song should we pick? It’s gotta be something upbeat. Think ya can be lively?”
“You’ve seen me dance. Please stop questioning my capabilities.”
“Just making sure ya don't back out, Omi-Omi. Keep up that energy ya had back there and we’ll be fine.” Atsumu suddenly lifts a finger to jab at the songbook, highlighting a specific song and its code number. “Ha! Let’s do this one!”
Kiyoomi registers the title and artist and considers. It is a good choice, and he is familiar with the song. Together, they could definitely pull it off and be out of there before Tobio has another go at the mic.
“Alright.” He says, breaking out in his own smile when Atsumu lights up even more.
“The birthday boy has spoken!” Atsumu announces, turning to set the songbook on the table and pick up the mics. He takes some time to clean them up first, wiping over the body of the mic and the windscreen thoroughly, before shoving one of them into Kiyoomi’s hand and lifting the other to his mouth to test it.
“Test 1, 2, 3.” He enunciates into it with a few taps and gestures for Kiyoomi to do the same. This gets their audiences’ full attention and Atsumu puts his game face on, a born entertainer.
“Good evening. Welcome to Sakusa Kiyoomi’s 20th birthday. I’m yer host, Miya Atsumu, and boy, do I have a treat for ya.” He tugs Kiyoomi into position on the stage beside him, gesturing as he speaks, charismatic as ever. “Tonight, you play audience to Sakusa Kiyoomi and myself and we’ve selected a song that’ll blow yer minds.”
“A duet? Is that allowed?” Tobio suddenly pipes up, facing Toyohama.
She gives an amiable shrug. “You never asked.”
“Dammit,” Semi curses. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Prepare to be entertained.” Atsumu warns, tossing the remote of the karaoke machine into the air with a flip before catching it and tapping in the code for the song. He stuffs the remote in his back pocket as the machine responds and the lights in the room dim, making the spotlights even more blinding with the contrast.
The screen in front of them goes black for a second, transitioning between random scenery, and the combination of the glare and the darkness creates an illusion that has Kiyoomi stiffening in shock. His hands clam up and begin to tremble under the attention. His throat feels dry as he croaks out, “Atsumu, wait.”
He grabs the remote out of Atsumu’s pocket to pause the song. Atsumu’s expression immediately transforms into one of concern as he follows Kiyoomi, who descends the platform, to avoid the spotlights as he produces his water bottle from his pocket.
“Take it easy, Omi-kun.” Atsumu says, coming down to stand beside him. “No pressure.”
Kiyoomi nods gratefully as he takes his mask off for a sip. The others look away politely from his moment of vulnerability, returning to their songbook and phone screens.
“I don’t think I can do this, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi admits when he catches his reflection again on the darkened screen. It’s startling, the flash of his own dark, curly hair, a pair of moles dotting a forehead that should only be blemished by faint wrinkles. The same, but different. Comforting, but painful.
Everything to do with Kiyoomi’s parents is a study in contradiction and compromise. His mother misses him and his father, but can’t bear to look at either of them. His own plan for his future is following his dreams like his dad wanted him to, but going to university first because his mom doesn’t think volleyball can support him forever.
Nothing is ever simple. Until Atsumu makes it so.
“If ya don’t think you can do this for yer mom or yer dad or even for yerself, then don’t do it for them,” Atsumu says, holding his hand out to Kiyoomi the same way he did earlier as he smiles encouragingly. “Do it for the memories, Omi-kun.”
It’s the kind of smile he gets on-court, not the one he uses when he’s being an ass. The one that illuminates his entire face and has the corners of his eyes crinkling, his cheeks swelling with pure, genuine joy.
Before Kiyoomi discovered the singularity of comparing Atsumu to a black hole, he used to relate Atsumu to something else; the sun itself. That old analogy resurfaces with this smile. This smile that blazes with confidence, charm, and passion hypnotic enough to catch and hold Kiyoomi’s attention with every wave of gold that pulses out.
“Wasn’t your high school motto ‘we don’t need memories?’” Kiyoomi asks, being contradictory on reflex.
“Then, do it for me.” Atsumu says.
Kiyoomi can’t come up with a single reason not to. He picks up the remote, queues up the same song they selected earlier, and puts it back on the table, before taking Atsumu’s hand and turning back to get on the stage.
Semi is already grinning at the iconic, recognizable tune. “Oh hell, no.” He says as the opening notes of the song accompany them up the platform and Atsumu turns back to their audience with a flourish to start the show.
Atsumu’s voice is beautiful. It brings back memories of rare moments when Kiyoomi lingered in the showers at training camp long enough to catch snippets of whatever Atsumu was into. He sings his part with the same energy he gets on-court and sets an atmosphere for Kiyoomi to join in when the music swells. Their voices blend as they face each other on the stage and vocalize in tandem. They put their all into the song, taking advantage of the cordless mics to improvise some choreography on the stage.
Atsumu even convinces Kiyoomi to take his hand and help him twirl a few times for their audience. Kiyoomi lets his voice be heard by ears that aren’t Motoya’s or his own for the first time in years and the smile never leaves his face.
They sing the last words with one hand each on their own mics and the other pair still intertwined, gazing at each other with sheer joy that visibly emanates throughout the room.
Kiyoomi didn't think anything could drown out his anxieties and trump the feeling of playing volleyball, but these moments with Atsumu are quickly climbing up the rankings to change that.
When the last note of instrumentals sound, they break apart and give a joint bow towards the seating area. On his feet, Semi whoops and cheers, prompting Tobio to do the same, though the junior looks uncomprehending of the situation. Toyohama is on her feet and cheering as well.
Atsumu blows air kisses at them and says, “Thank you. Thank you. We won’t be here all night.”
The last part comes out with a pointed look at Toyohama who nods in acknowledgment and reaches into her pocket to produce a pink envelope.
“Congratulations.” She says, coming forward to hand the prize over to Kiyoomi who has to let go of Atsumu’s hand to accept it. “You have completed the task.”
“Should I sing the same song?” Tobio asks Semi, in his still-confused state.
“It’s about the emotion, Tobio.” Semi answers, sitting back down and pulling the songbook back into his lap. “We have to choose a song you’re familiar with. One that makes you feel things.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Atsumu offers, bouncing over to flip the pages of their songbook until he reaches the section he’s looking for. “Try this one if ya know it, Tobio-kun.”
Atsumu points out a title on the page and Tobio nods in response. “I do know this one. Thank you, Atsumu-san.”
“Good luck, goody two shoes.” Atsumu says before following Kiyoomi out of the room. “Don’t stay too long, Semi-kun.”
Toyohama holds the door open for them to exit while Tobio starts the song. They bid goodbye to her and make sure the door is shut before they can hear how the rest of Tobio’s next attempt turns out.
“You know you’re not supposed to help them out, right?” Kiyoomi is still smiling, on the high of their fun performance and easy win.
“It’s just a song suggestion, can’t say for sure if Tobio-kun’s going to pull it off.”
Kiyoomi snorts, then says, “That was fun. Thanks for convincing me to do it, Atsumu.”
“I live to serve the birthday boy,” Atsumu says. “That is, only until I get my prize.” He steeples his fingers and gives an overdramatic evil laugh as they exit the karaoke bar, holding each door open - so that Kiyoomi doesn’t have to - on their way out.
Once they're back on the street, Atsumu immediately reaches for a spritz of sanitizer, rubbing it over his fingers thoroughly. “So, where to next?”
Kiyoomi prises open the new envelope and pulls out the same bills they had in the previous one. Toyohama must have put them in when they weren’t looking, and singing just the one song must have saved them from having to pay a fee for the by-the-hour room that was already occupied. Atsumu reads the riddle out loud while Kiyoomi loops his mask over his ears.
*
Stay an hour, no more, no less
Keep the room clean, don’t make a mess
If it is occupied, you have to wait it out
Hotel Novice is the next stop on your route
*
“Hotel Novice, huh? Sound familiar?” Atsumu asks as soon as he finishes reading. Kiyoomi shakes his head. “I’ll just look it up, then.”
Kiyoomi stuffs the envelope into his jacket pocket and rubs his hands together to warm them up. A quick look at his watch tells him it’s 8:27 pm. They’ve been running Motoya’s maze for almost 2 hours now and they’re only halfway through, with 3 locations down and 3 more to go. Kiyoomi had hoped that the remaining tasks would be as short and easy as what they’d done so far, but the new riddle comes with something the other tasks didn't have; a time limit.
Stay an hour, no more no less. If the other tasks have time requirements tacked on to them as well, they could very well be out until 2:00 am as Motoya promised.
“It’s another 15-minute walk. That way.” Atsumu gestures in the indicated direction and pockets his phone. “Wonder what we’ll have to do there.”
“I hope it’s not anything illegal.” Kiyoomi says, taking Atsumu’s hand in his own as soon as it becomes available while they walk.
“We’re making good time,” Atsumu says, echoing Kiyoomi’s earlier thoughts. “And if the other teams get stuck like Semi and Tobio, we definitely have the best chance of winning.”
“I think your brother’s team and Kourai’s team are the ones we need to look out for.”
“Toya-kun hasn’t sent any updates yet, so we should be good.” Atsumu says reassuringly.
“There’s this task and then there’s the one that Motoya mentioned was a train ride away.” Kiyoomi recalls.
“That one’s gonna eat up a lot of our time.” Atsumu muses. “So’s this one. A whole hour.”
“I guess that’s the point. Motoya wants to mess up anyone who gathers momentum.”
“Maybe we can find another loophole,” Atsumu says, swinging their hands between them again as they walk, a little bounce in his step. “Or we could get there faster.”
“What are you-” Kiyoomi’s question is cut off as Atsumu takes off in the direction of the hotel, tugging Kiyoomi’s hand with him as he lets out an untamed, carefree laugh.
“Cmon, Omi-kun! Race ya!”
They’re already running and Kiyoomi has to hold his scarf down to keep it from flapping into his face. “I'm not letting you win, Atsumu.” He threatens, correcting his posture and stride so that his pace becomes more confident.
Their equally large steps quickly turn the world around them into a blur of motion as they speed down the unusually inactive streets of Tokyo, hand in hand. Atsumu points out the sign for Hotel Novice when it appears, and they put on a last burst that gets them there in a split second.
“That was the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Kiyoomi says when they slow down and catch their breaths. “We can’t determine a winner if we both arrive at the same time because we’re holding hands.”
Atsumu is grinning, that carefree laugh he let out still plastered on his face. “I guess we both win then.” He says, pushing the door open with his free hand, and holding it open to let them both in.
The lobby is a sparse waiting room with simple leather couches and a reception with a covered barrier instead of a transparent one.
“Hello?” Atsumu calls as they sidle up to the counter, easy-listening music playing on the speakers. Kiyoomi unveils the pink envelope from his pocket and holds up the hand attached to Atsumu’s, showcasing the ribbons tied around them.
“We’re guests from the Scavenger Hunt.” He says towards the counter, eyes searching for a recipient; a person, or even a security camera.
“Please sign your names here.” A distorted voice answers out of nowhere, making them both jump.
A clipboard with a pen attached to it slides out onto the counter that reads “Sakusa Kiyoomi’s Birthday Bash!” in flowery writing, confirmation that they are in the right place. They let go of each other’s hands to sign their names, spritzing their hands with alcohol afterward. The protocol of the hotel is a little odd, but Kiyoomi dares to hope that Motoya wouldn’t get them into anything too dangerous.
“The room is currently unoccupied. The countdown will start as soon as the door closes.” The distorted voice elaborates as they fill up the form. “You may not leave the room until the time is up, save for emergencies. Anything you order via the tablet will be charged to the room as well as any other expenses. All other facilities within the room are free of charge.” A key slides out onto the clipboard as soon as they are done signing their names. “Here is your key. Return it after the hour has passed in order to receive the next clue. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thanks.” The pair say in unison as Atsumu takes the key in one hand and Kiyoomi’s in the other. 107, the tag reads and they follow the pointers that direct them to the first set of rooms.
Everything is fine and normal until they reach their room and Atsumu unlocks it, pushing open the door so they can see what waits inside.
The room is… romantically themed. It’s tinged with pink lighting and suggestive music plays from the tablet and speaker on the bedside table. The floor is carpeted with a cream-colored, fluffy softness that is sure to cause static when they remove their shoes in the genkan and set them in the shoe rack, closing the door as quickly as possible to get the digital timer on the nearest wall to start counting down. There is a couch and a coffee table in the center of the room. The other walls are mostly barren, with curtains drawn over the windows and a door on the right that must lead to the bathroom. The worst part is the deep-red, four-poster bed with silk hangings, which appears slightly mussed as if it was used by the team that came before them.
“I’m going to kill Motoya.” Kiyoomi swears in the middle of taking off his shoes. Atsumu is listening to the song playing over the sound system, head tilted slightly in recognition as he makes his way toward the bedside table to check what is playing and confirm his suspicions.
“I knew it! This song-” He exclaims upon viewing the tracklisting. “Sunarin and Osamu were here.” He slowly turns to eye the half-done bed covers and obvious depressions in the pillows with a look of complete and utter disgust. He shudders once, then turns to Kiyoomi and says, “do NOT go near the bed.”
Kiyoomi mirrors his grossed-out expression and goes to check on the bathroom in case there are any more surprises. The tiles in there are pink as well, with different shades for the floor and the walls. There is a standard sink and toilet, and also, a wide jacuzzi, big enough to fit three average-sized people or 2 six-feet-tall men if they were so inclined to enter.
Yep, Kiyoomi thinks. Motoya is so dead for this.
“What kinda hotel room doesn’t have a TV?” Atsumu asks loudly, trying to ease the tension in the room with his complaints. He picks up the tablet and desperately tries to change the music or turn it off. “Even a themed room should have one, it’s only decent.”
“I don’t think they expect their customers to be doing much channel-surfing,” Kiyoomi says, sitting down on the floor by the coffee table in resignation, avoiding the couch just in case. Atsumu pauses from his fiddling to glance at Kiyoomi with a quizzical expression, waiting for him to elaborate. “It’s a love hotel.”
Kiyoomi states what he thought was obvious, and the tablet slips from Atsumu’s hand. A new song blares through the speakers at the highest volume, smooth RnB filling the room with rhythmic beats. Kiyoomi claps his hands over his ears to shut out the sound while Atsumu fumbles with the tablet to lower the volume and change the song. It takes him a second, but he gets it switching to something quieter and not as sensual. His movements are jerky as he sets the tablet back on its stand and avoids Kiyoomi’s eyes.
“We have to stay here for an hour?” Atsumu’s voice cracks at the end of his question.
Kiyoomi gulps around the awkwardness and clears his throat. “I guess.”
“You ever been to one of these before?” Atsumu asks, tone more even this time as he turns to face Kiyoomi, who shakes his head.
“Ya recognized it.” Atsumu points out, face a little pink.
“I’m not an idiot.” Kiyoomi quips, drawing his legs up to hide his own flaming cheeks in his scarf and the bunched-up collar of his jacket.
“In my defense,” Atsumu says, shucking off his coat and draping it on the coffee table before sitting down on the carpet, across from Kiyoomi. “It’s my first time at one of these, too.”
That surprises Kiyoomi and he scans Atsumu’s face as the other makes himself comfortable, drawing his knees up a little as well and resting his elbows on them. Atsumu’s mismatched socks are visible outside of his shoes. He seems to be staring at them, biting his lip and gauging the softness of the carpet through the socks. Kiyoomi sighs and starts to remove his mask to pocket it, going for his scarf and jacket next.
“We don’t have to do anythin’ if you don’t want to.” Atsumu splutters as Kiyoomi folds his jacket beside him.
The nth blush of the night colors Kiyoomi’s face as he replies. “I don’t think Motoya actually means for us to do anything in here.” His voice is shaky with nerves. “How would he even confirm if we did anything or not?”
“Right. Sorry.” Atsumu apologizes profusely with his hands and expression. “I just thought - Toya-kun has the weirdest sense of humor and tonight’s supposed to be about firsts and new experiences…” Atsumu trails off, his face red enough to match Kiyoomi and the rest of the room.
The easy atmosphere they had earlier is gone, replaced by the nervousness of the innocent and inexperienced.
“Wait. Are you… Also…” Kiyoomi trails off, hoping Atsumu will get the gist of his question.
Atsumu turns away again and eyes the bed with a mixture of disgust and embarrassment. “I haven’t exactly had the time for datin'.”
Nor the comprehension to recognize romantic advancements, Kiyoomi thinks even though the answer was a welcome bit of information he’d never had the chance to ask about before.
“I’m a little busy with the pros.” Atsumu adds to his excuse.
“In high school, you never…” Kiyoomi trails off again and this time Atsumu answers with less bluster and defensiveness, maybe even a little insecurity.
“I was setter and captain back then, but no one chooses the jerk instead of the nice guy.” Atsumu’s eyes are still turned away so he doesn’t see how Kiyoomi’s face softens when he recalls, I did. Instead of going into it, Kiyoomi decides to spare them both the embarrassment and changes the topic, fishing out the cursed envelope and riddle.
“The clue doesn’t mention any specific tasks. We just have to stay the full hour and 'don’t make a mess.'” He quotes. “We can use the time to rest, recuperate.”
“Think we should get some food?” Atsumu asks, mortification forgotten and face returned to its regular pallor as he meets Kiyoomi’s eyes.
“It gets charged to Motoya, so go for it,” Kiyoomi says, nodding his head towards the tablet.
Atsumu gets up again to retrieve it and opens up the menu. “Ya want anythin’ specific?” he asks as he scrolls through their options.
Kiyoomi shrugs. “Surprise me.”
He fluffs his scarf and jacket into a pillow for his head and flops backward onto the carpet to look up at the ceiling. There are pink hearts up there that should glow if they turn off the lights. Atsumu is muttering some of the choices out loud as he lowers himself down onto the carpet as well. He maneuvers his body and taps Kiyoomi’s shoulder to get his attention.
“Mind sharing?” He asks, gesturing at Kiyoomi’s jacket pillow.
Kiyoomi nods and Atsumu lowers himself so that their heads lie beside each other, their bodies extending in opposite directions. The tips of Atsumu’s hair brush Kiyoomi’s shoulder and he can feel movements near the ends of his own curls. If he turned his head just a little, they would be cheek to cheek, or nose to nose. Forehead to lips. Upside down with a perfect view.
“Don’t eat too much,” Kiyoomi says quietly. “We’ll need to go to the next location as soon as the timer is up.”
He glances at his watch. Ten minutes since they closed the door. Fifty more to go.
“All done,” Atsumu says, reaching up to set the tablet on the coffee table. “What now?”
“Now, we wait,” Kiyoomi answers, counting the hearts on the ceiling to occupy his mind so that he doesn't think about reaching out into the void.
“Any guesses for the last two locations?” Atsumu asks curiously.
“You’ll find out when we get there, anyway.” Kiyoomi deflects. He has his suspicions of where they'll be instructed to go next, but it would be useless to muddle over it since, as the night is proving, Motoya is full of surprises. He continues staring at the ceiling, there’s a particular pair of hearts in one corner that overlaps weirdly, holding his attention while Atsumu continues his interrogation.
“Not gonna give me any clues?”
“Motoya’s the riddler here, not me.”
Atsumu laughs. “You more of a Batman?”
“A Dick Grayson, actually. He’s one of the Robins, we have flexibility in common.” Kiyoomi says, matter-of-factly.
“Does that make me Batman?” Atsumu questions. “Wait, isn’t Batman straight? I'd rather not be him if he doesn't reflect my sexuality.”
“He seems a little gay to me.” Kiyoomi answers, unsure what Atsumu is trying to imply. All his attention has shifted from the light-up hearts to the more interesting conversation.
“Yeah, it’s those tights.” Atsumu adds, sounding wistful.
“Dick Grayson's bisexual.” Kiyoomi says before he can change his mind. Like always, he can only hope that what he’s really trying to say won’t be misread.
“Are there no superheroes who are twins?” Kiyoomi can only resign himself to the change in topic Atsumu has latched onto.
“I don't know about superheroes, but there’s always Star Wars.”
“I am such a Leia.” Atsumu declares to Kiyoomi’s surprise.
“You don’t want to be a Jedi?”
“Who says she isn't?” Atsumu defends hotly. “Besides, she ends up with Han Solo. I’ll take that over Jedi celibacy any day.”
They say hope is like a spark, Kiyoomi can’t resist stoking it to see if the flame will catch. “I thought you said you weren’t looking for a relationship.”
“I'm not.” Atsumu answers. “But I’m not gonna say no if it finds me.”
Flicking his eyes to the right, Kiyoomi tries to steal the tiniest glimpse of Atsumu’s expression, to see if the same fire that burns inside him will be reflected. All he can make out is the arch of Atsumu’s nose, the shadow of his long eyelashes, the tiny dot of redness that indicates a fresh pimple, the silhouette of his lips.
His face is so close. Kiyoomi could just turn his head a millimeter more and-
The doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it,” Atsumu calls, getting up from the floor, leaving Kiyoomi to avert his eyes back to the stupid hearts on the ceiling as he stays lying on the floor. “It’s the room service,” Atsumu announces. “Or should I say cart service?”
Kiyoomi looks up to find Atsumu pulling a cart through the door. It’s topped with a pair of bottled energy drinks and a few covered dishes. Atsumu wipes down the bottles then tosses one to Kiyoomi who sits up to take a sip then stands to wash his hands in the bathroom. Instead of waiting outside for his turn, Atsumu follows Kiyoomi in, hip-checking him at the sink to get him to move a little so that they can wash their hands side by side.
They both have their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, so Kiyoomi can compare and contrast their forearms. Pale and tan. Speckled with moles and without. Atsumu has a birthmark on his left elbow. A white line, like a faded scar, across the back of his right hand. His nails are trimmed and filed short, befitting of a careful setter. The veins under his skin stand out as he scrubs, mimicking Kiyoomi’s motions so that they finish at the same time and pick up the same towel to dry their hands on. Atsumu tugs on it playfully, to which Kiyoomi rolls his eyes in an effort to tamp down his grin.
His heart pounds as he exits the bathroom and returns to his seat by the coffee table, still refusing to approach the couch. Atsumu comes out with his own grin completely unrestrained. He goes straight to the cart to uncover one of the dishes, presenting it to Kiyoomi with a flourish.
“For energy.” He elaborates on the first platter of onigiri. Kiyoomi takes one and is surprised to find the salty-sour tang of umeboshi on his first bite. “Yer favorite, right?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Kiyoomi offers.
They settle into silence as they eat until the platter is cleared. The next dish is meat because Atsumu says their muscles will thank them later, and they maintain their silence as they empty that platter as well. When Atsumu goes to get the third dish, he stands in a way that blocks it from Kiyoomi’s view, fiddling with it before he whirls around for the dramatic revelation.
In his hands is a birthday cupcake with a little birthday candle on it, lit with the tiniest flame that is reflected in Atsumu’s eyes as he crouches down to present it to Kiyoomi. He lifts it closer to Kiyoomi’s face and whispers quietly so as to not disturb the flame in front of him.
“Happy birthday, Omi.”
Kiyoomi’s breath catches in his throat as he looks back. The candle is level with his lips. Atsumu is clearly instructing him to make a wish. He watches the candle flicker in Atsumu’s eyes, so close, and thinks his wish is as close to coming true as it’s ever been. Kiyoomi’s eyes drift downwards as he inhales slowly and swallows the lump in his throat. The candle isn’t the last thing he sees when he closes his eyes and blows out the flame.
When he opens his eyes again, Atsumu is setting the cupcake down on a plate and cutting it in half, getting rid of the candle. He transfers one half to another plate and produces a pair of forks, handing one to Kiyoomi.
“Bon appetit.”
Kiyoomi gives a genuine, grateful smile he can’t seem to stop producing tonight. This is how he wanted to celebrate his birthday; Somewhere quiet with sweet-smelling cake and a friend. And that’s exactly what Atsumu is to him now. Three years late, but no matter. Thanks to Motoya’s roundabout methods, Kiyoomi’s getting exactly what he wanted. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit more.
Kiyoomi crosses out the mental note he made earlier that reads ‘kill Komori Motoya’ as he shuffles closer to the coffee table and gets a better whiff of his piece of the cake. It’s golden on the inside, with white icing and green sprinkles. There’s a familiar tang in the air, and the explosion of flavor on his tongue confirms his suspicions.
“Lemons.” He says out loud and Atsumu nods with a satisfied grin.
“Sour, like you.”
Kiyoomi’s heart feels like it’s going to explode, but he covers it up with a side-eye at Atsumu, allowing his mouth to quirk only the tiniest bit upwards. The next bite he takes has more icing. Sugar, sweet like this whole gesture. He smiles. The easy silence returns as they finish their cake and clean up the dishes, piling them back on the cart to fulfill the instructions on the riddle, then use the bathroom as needed. When they’re done, Kiyoomi lies back down on his makeshift pillow and Atsumu joins him.
“Were we really roommates at training camp in third year?” Atsumu asks quietly, voice loud and clear from where his head lies beside Kiyoomi’s.
Kiyoomi nods. Even though Atsumu can’t see it, they are close enough for Atsumu to feel the motion of the top of Kiyoomi’s head brushing his shoulder. “For a whole week.”
“And we didn’t become friends because I was moping about Samu?” Atsumu fishes for an explanation.
“And Aran, apparently.” Kiyoomi recalls, reaching back through his thoughts instead of to what lies beside him.
“Aran’s like a rock to me. A pillar for my strength and confidence. Ya can’t blame me.” Atsumu defends his past self, voice light.
“You were too mopey to even ask Tobio about that middle blocker of his. The one you beat at Nationals.”
“Yeah, that was a good game.” Atsumu reminisces. “I heard he’s doing beach volleyball in Brazil.”
“That’s what Tobio says.” Kiyoomi confirms to the best of his knowledge.
“How did Tobio and Kourai become that for you?” Atsumu says, arriving at the goal of his conversation. His tone is wistful. “How did I miss out?”
“You haven’t, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi says pointedly with a little smile Atsumu still can’t see.
“Wait, when did I shift from Miya?” Atsumu finally notices, slow - as always - to figure out anything that has nothing to do with volleyball.
Kiyoomi chuckles. “For someone who promised to become close enough friends with me to earn first-name status, I can’t believe you didn’t notice when it finally happened.”
“For someone who was so annoyed by the nickname I gave ya I can’t believe ya already stopped complainin’.” Atsumu counters, nudging Kiyoomi’s head gently with his own in retaliation.
“If you need me to say it out loud then, fine, I’ll admit it,” Kiyoomi says, faking indignance and proceeding to dry heave. “Miya Atsumu,” another dry heave. “I consider you a-” he screws his face in affected disgust that Atsumu can’t even see and adds more exaggerated sound effects. “A friend.” He ends with one last audible gag. “There, I said it.”
“Oh, Omi-kun, I’m so glad you can finally admit it,” Atsumu says gleefully. “Now I can tell ya all my secrets.”
“You over-shared in high school, I don't think there’s much else I need to know.” Kiyoomi says dryly.
“Oh yeah, prove it. Tell me what ya know about me.” Atsumu challenges and Kiyoomi readily accepts.
“You once gifted your brother a sweater that was already his for Christmas. You washed it, wrapped it, and gave it to him like it was brand new.”
“That's nothing. I bet Motoya’s done that to you.” Kiyoomi laughs in confirmation. “What else ya got?”
“There are code words that’ll get both you and Osamu to duck and run for cover like you’re being shot at.”
“That ain’t a secret anymore, Omi. Not after Suna and Toya-kun filmed a buncha vines of them yelling shit at us to see how we’d react. Try again.”
“You say Aran’s so important to you, but it took you 6 weeks to find out he was dating your old captain.”
“Oof!” Atsumu grunts, more at the reminder than at Kiyoomi choosing a good secret. “I got flamed for that one. Everyone on the team roasted me for findin' out so late. But ya can’t blame me. Aran and Kita-san always act like an old married couple, even before they got together.”
“Or you’re just the most clueless person in the world.” Kiyoomi says.
“That all ya got, Omi-kun?” Atsumu ignores him to taunt. “Don't ya have anythin' juicier?”
Kiyoomi hums and racks through the innumerable memories he couldn’t forget even if he tried, parsing through them something to throw back at Atsumu, knock him down for size.
“Oh, I know.” He says almost malevolently when a specific memory calls out to him. “On the last night of camp, when the coaches let us have some sake at the izakaya after dinner.”
Atsumu stills at his tone, correctly guessing that the story is heading down a vulnerable path for him.
“Your lips were looser that night, more genuine.” Kiyoomi’s voice quiets down, tone softening as he reminisces. “You said you couldn’t imagine loving anything as much as you love volleyball.” A sharp intake of breath sounds to his right as the memory reverberates through Atsumu. “You said that you could never fall in love with anyone who doesn’t love volleyball as much as you do.”
Atsumu blows out a puff of air with his reply. “Boy, I really spilled the beans on ya, didn’t I?”
“I didn’t mind.” Kiyoomi almost rushes to answer. “You fell asleep before I could tell you I agree.”
“Yeah?” Atsumu asks, and Kiyoomi hopes he isn’t deluding himself into thinking it sounds hopeful.
“Volleyball is what I love, so whoever I fall in love with has to love volleyball in order to love me.” Kiyoomi summarises with a shrug, like it’s the simplest thing in the world because it is. “There is no love without a love for volleyball.”
“Yeah.” Atsumu agrees, his voice sounding like he’s had a revelation. “Exactly.”
There’s just something about being known. About discovering that someone can see you past all the walls and mirrors that you put up. When instead of an impenetrable wall or an exact super-imposable reflection of what you want, you get something else; a completely different silhouette with sharper edges, opposing color palettes, and intricate depths of shading.
At first, you think there’s no way this can work out. The edges cut painfully, the colors clash, and the darkness threatens to never release you. But then you zoom in to look at the core, at the absolute center of the system and it matters so much more when that’s where the similarities are.
Kiyoomi gets it now. How wrong he was in comparing Atsumu to a black hole. Atsumu has a system too. He has Osamu, Suna, Aran, and Kita. Even Motoya circles within the radius of his reach. And instead of a sun, the gravitational center common to both Atsumu and Kiyoomi is a volleyball. The bodies they attract into the smallest orbits wouldn’t come as close without a similar affinity for it. Motoya, Wakatoshi, Kourai, Tobio, Iizuna. All distances closed by a shared love for the sport. A sport they both love.
As if the realization compels him to close their distance, Atsumu shifts and gets up on an elbow. His face hovers above Kiyoomi’s, breathing quietly. Lips just a few centimeters away.
Unlike magnets or other charged particles, larger bodies do not experience sudden forces of attraction that can completely switch their courses in an instant. Instead, they experience a gradual pull; a growing affinity that imperceptibly tugs and tugs insistently until they finally veer off course, each abandoning their old familiar orbits to move closer. One head lowering as another rises to meet it. Lips falling open as eyelids droop closed.
A buzz like a taser jolts them apart as the timer on the wall flips to 9:40. They narrowly avoid colliding forehead to chin as they straighten up to gain their bearings. Their time at the love hotel is up.
“We gotta go. Gotta get yer life outta Motoya’s hands.” Atsumu says with a smile that almost seems... sad. Regretful, even.
“Yeah.” Kiyoomi says, shaking his head out of his daze as he stands. They quickly tug their outerwear back on and leave the room to return to the counter.
“Thank you for staying at Hotel Novice. We hope you enjoyed your stay. Please, come again.” The disembodied voice filters through the covered counter as Atsumu drops the keys in the designated compartment.
A purple envelope slides out to replace it. They express their thanks and turn away from the counter before unfolding the new clue. The same amount of funds they entered with are tucked within the creases.
*
Bark, bark, growl, ruff
Where does Kiyoomi go to destress?
Dog cafe ABC, is a good guess
It’s a 20-minute ride away
But remember, you’re not there to play
*
“Yer a dog lover, Omi?” Atsumu asks, eyes bright with the discovery. “Thought ya didn’t like messes.”
“Dogs are actually very hygienic,” Kiyoomi says defensively. “They only sweat from their noses. And any shedding isn’t a problem when I always have my lint roller.” He pats his jacket to support his claim, the hard outline of his lint roller softened by the jacket’s padding.
“What else ya got in there?” Atsumu asks, stuffing the envelope into one of Kiyoomi’s outer pockets. “It’s endless.”
“I like to be prepared.” Kiyoomi shrugs as he spritzes their hands with alcohol, spreading the liquid all over before taking Atsumu’s hand in his.
“You know where to go, then?” Atsumu asks, with a gesture like he’s offering to check his map.
“I do.” Kiyoomi replies confidently. He leads the way to the station a few minutes away. There they use their allowance to buy tickets, then stand on the platform to wait.
The late Sunday evening means the station isn’t overcrowded, but it isn’t empty either. There are tired entrepreneurs in full suits and briefcases. Some people look their age, maybe returning to their dorms after going home for the weekend. These strangers share the same platform and squeeze through the doors of the train when they open.
Kiyoomi finds comfort in the familiar routine of the travel, but the travel itself is nerve-wracking. The mere thought of who has touched these metal poles and plastic seats before him. The visual of a random traveler coughing into his hands, then grabbing a grip hanging from the ceiling to support himself. Another traveler dragging a tired, unsanitized hand down their face.
Kiyoomi pushes through the gaps in the crowd, maneuvering his body swiftly so that the only contact he makes with another is the hand still grasped in Atsumu’s. He pulls his companion along to the middle of the carriage, where they shouldn’t be bothered by the flow of people entering and leaving at the stops that come before theirs. Kiyoomi makes sure that his bare skin doesn’t so much as graze the pole in the middle of the aisle, his long sleeve serving as a barrier from the germs. Atsumu follows quietly until they settle there. Unable to mimic Kiyoomi’s safe grip on the pole with his not-as-long sleeves, he opts to widen his stance for balance and tightens his hold on Kiyoomi’s hand.
“Don’t let me fall,” Atsumu says with a little smile, and Kiyoomi doesn’t tell him he’s been trying to do the exact opposite all night. “When was the last time ya went to the cafe?”
“Finals week last semester. The dogs are fun, but the commute…” Kiyoomi trails off as the train moves and he has to plant his feet to avoid leaning into the pole.
“Don’t think about it.” Atsumu orders, demanding Kiyoomi’s attention. “What’s the place like?”
Kiyoomi is grateful for the conversation that takes his mind off of where they are.
The dog cafe is one of his favorite places, he tells Atsumu. They stay open 24 hours specifically to cater to overworked college kids. You can let the animals nap on you or beside you while you pull an all-nighter. They’re even open on Sundays, like today. There are about 10 dogs of various breeds and sizes, all equally adorable. But again, Kiyoomi keeps a small, closed system, so he does have a favorite. A tiny, golden Shiba Inu named Mao, who favors Kiyoomi as well and isn’t afraid to bark at the other, much bigger dogs to back away. After several months of coming to the cafe on busy, sleepless nights, Kiyoomi and Mao struck up a sort of understanding. Kiyoomi is the only human Mao approaches aside from the cafe owners, and Mao is the only dog allowed near Kiyoomi.
Atsumu seems to marvel at the concept of a dog staking its claim on Kiyoomi. “Did she pee on ya to mark her territory?”
Kiyoomi laughs at the idea and before they know it they’re pulling up at their stop and weaving past the crowd through the station. Only when they arrive at the cafe does Kiyoomi notice that Atsumu’s fingers are intertwined with his. Only after the fact, when Atsumu stops to open the door, does Kiyoomi miss the comforting strokes Atsumu’s thumb was rubbing along his knuckle and pointer.
“Sakusa-san!” a voice greets them before they even take a step inside. A young girl behind the counter comes out to hold open the door. “Happy birthday!”
“Thank you, Kaede-chan.” Kiyoomi replies, familiar as a regular customer with the daughter of the establishment’s owners.
“I was so excited when Komori-san asked us to help with your party.” She says. “Is this your boyfriend?”
There is genuine curiosity in her eyes, which flick between Atsumu and Kiyoomi and their intertwined hands, directly in front of her because of her short stature and their towering ones.
“No, Kaede-chan.” Kiyoomi takes it upon himself to answer as the flush he hadn’t missed returns. “This is Miya Atsumu. Motoya said we had to hold hands as part of the challenge.”
“Oh,” Kaede says, confused. “I don’t remember him telling me that.”
Kiyoomi spares a glance at Atsumu, who doesn’t return it and opts to reintroduce himself to Kaede.
“Ya can call me Atsumu-san, Kaede-chan.” He smiles. “What did Toya-kun tell ya we have to do?”
Kaede stands at attention to recite the instructions she was given. “Komori-san said you have to play with the dogs, but I can’t tell you what it takes to pass.” She smiles even wider, curiosity replaced by something almost reminiscent of her wicked mentor. “You have to figure it out yourselves.”
Kiyoomi sighs, exaggeratedly, so that the young girl won’t take it the wrong way. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell us what the real goal is?”
“Nope!” She pops the ‘p’ loudly and sing-songs. “It’s against the rules, Sakusa-san.”
“Ok then,” Kiyoomi surrenders, handing Kaede some bills for their stay. “Thanks.”
She accepts the money and returns to her spot behind the counter. “Mao missed you, Sakusa-san. Come over again, sometime, when you’re not busy.”
Kiyoomi nods then turns, tugging Atsumu to his favorite seat in the cafe, the kotatsu in the back corner. There are only a few customers sprinkled over the other seats, sipping at drinks and petting the dogs nearest to them. As Kiyoomi and Atsumu cross the cafe, the more curious four-legged creatures crowd around them, nipping at their feet. Atsumu gives a gentle tug at Kiyoomi’s hand in his, prompting Kiyoomi to loosen his hold so that Atsumu can pull away and meet the dogs that have come to greet them. Kiyoomi continues on to the kotatsu where he shucks off his jacket and scarf and pockets his mask. Leaving his outerwear on the table, he returns to Atsumu’s side and joins him in crouching to pet and coo at the animals around him. However, only half his awareness is on the dogs, the other half is on the man beside him with a contented look on his face that squeezes at something in Kiyoomi’s chest.
Atsumu is so gentle. Trying to give each dog his attention. Scratching at their heads just right so they lie down and offer him their bellies. Every time he succeeds in this he looks up at the counter, but Kaede only smiles and gives them an encouraging thumbs up that means ‘good luck’ and not ‘congratulations on finishing the task.’ Atsumu continues anyway, making sure that every dog that comes up to them with perked ears and slow, wary steps trades them for wagging tails and whines for more.
“So which one of these lil cuties is yer best friend?” Atsumu asks when Kiyoomi is sure they’ve been licked and greeted by every dog in their vicinity at least twice.
Kiyoomi points out the smallest doghouse among the line of them against one wall. “That’s where she usually sleeps.”
He then clicks his tongue and purses his lips to whistle a few alerting notes, a signal. A pair of golden ears immediately perk up over the window of the doghouse.
“Mao.” Kiyoomi calls gently, and the ears become a slightly bigger blur, dashing out the door and leaping straight at his face.
Kiyoomi laughs with abandon, not minding at all when a rough, slobbery tongue laps at his nose, cheeks, and even his mouth. He lets his body fall backward slowly so that Mao’s hind legs can settle back on the floor while her forelegs find purchase on his chest and shoulders. His hands go from lifting her body to gently guiding her into calming down. Only when she’s satisfied with the punishment she’s given, does she settle down right on Kiyoomi’s chest, sending another message.
“It’s over now,” Atsumu says off to the side. “She’s never lettin’ ya leave.”
Kiyoomi gives her a moment before wrapping his arms to support her as he sits back up. She yelps once in complaint and nips lightly at his bicep, though her tail still wags a mile a minute.
“I’m 99.9% sure the task involves her,” Kiyoomi says. It’s been slowly dawning on him throughout the night that the team-ups may not have been random. They are not victims of unfortunate circumstances, but rather, victims, plain and simple, to Motoya’s cunning and manipulative schemes. “It’s not my task, it’s yours.”
“I gotta steal her away from ya, huh.” Atsumu says, rising to the challenge, moving closer to the pair, and reaching a hand out.
Mao stills and watches him out of the corner of her eye. When his hand draws nearer, she suddenly lashes out with a bite. Atsumu snatches his hand back with a ‘woah!’ nearly toppling backward with the sudden motion.
Kiyoomi only laughs in response to the aggressive interaction he was expecting. “She doesn’t like strangers.”
He gets up from the floor, carrying Mao with him, and returns to the kotatsu to get comfy. He beckons for Atsumu to join them when they’re settled. This should take a while.
Atsumu obeys and sinks into the kotatsu beside them. Mao begins growling immediately, a low threatening sound that has Atsumu backing away with a hurt expression taking over his features.
“She doesn’t like me.” He complains, to which Kiyoomi chuckles.
“Take it slow,” Kiyoomi explains, calming Mao down with his hands, caressing her soft head with his fingers. A warmth is filling his chest, has been since the moment they entered the familiar cafe. The sounds of the dogs, even the smell of their fur, and most of all the sensation of Atsumu’s hand in his are nothing short of solace. Now, with Mao in his arms and Atsumu looking so determined, that solace crosses over into contentment. “She’s pricklier than I am if you can believe it.”
Atsumu smiles at that, nods once, and goes quiet. He waits for Mao to settle down in Kiyoomi’s lap before inching the tiniest bit closer. She pays him no mind. Kiyoomi scratches her chin the way she likes, distracting her while Atsumu shifts, another centimeter gone. Her eyes close, tongue lolling as she pants, and Atsumu eliminates the last millimeter, pressing his side flush against Kiyoomi’s, elbow to elbow, thigh to thigh.
They share a smile of success when Mao doesn’t notice. She rolls over a little on Kiyoomi’s lap, her ears twitching when they brush Atsumu’s pants, but she stays on her back, letting Kiyoomi scratch her belly as she raises her paws in the air. Atsumu’s hand comes up, hovering just out of reach of those tiny, needle-like teeth.
“Wait.” Kiyoomi says.
He gently turns her over onto her back so that neither party is sacrificing too much. This way, Atsumu isn’t risking his fingers getting bitten, and Mao isn’t exposing her soft belly to this newcomer. Trust, after all, is a two-way street.
Kiyoomi starts to hum, petting softly until Mao’s ears relax, ceasing their twitching. Then, he covers Atsumu’s hand with his own, lowering it onto Mao’s head, bridging the gap of unfamiliarity. Atsumu’s hand is warmer than Kiyoomi’s, wider and rougher, too, but Mao pays no mind. With Kiyoomi’s hand guiding Atsumu’s, showing him where to scratch and where to rub, it isn’t long before Mao is leaning into Atsumu’s hand for more.
Atsumu’s face lights up the way it always does. The way that contests the sun - and all other celestial bodies - in Kiyoomi’s opinion. He doesn’t want it to go away, to fade when the night is over and they have to say goodnight. But he, of all people, is aware that science is infallible. That the sun always rises to obliterate the dark, and the dark in turn, returns to swallow it. They too, are hapless victims of gravity, and when the hunt ends and the night is over, Atsumu is will return to Osaka while Kiyoomi goes back to college.
Still, Kiyoomi guides Atsumu’s hands, watching as his confidence grows with Mao’s positive responses and he adds his other hand. Morning hasn’t come yet, and the moments where Atsumu’s hands collide with Kiyoomi’s own send tingles up his spine. He lifts one hand off of Mao, allowing Atsumu to take over, to ease the still, sleepy body off of his lap and into Atsumu’s. Mao’s body is halfway across, almost there, but the gentle motions of the three hands on her body are insufficient to keep her lethargic. She catches on to what they are doing and gets on her feet as they freeze in position.
“Busted.” Atsumu breathes out, watching Mao carefully.
Her hind legs are still on Kiyoomi’s lap. One front paw is on the forearm that Kiyoomi has bent over Atsumu’s lap in an awkward position. They are a tangle of limbs held in tense apprehension of the little dog before them. Their heads are bowed together, so close Kiyoomi can feel his curls brushing cheeks he’s been wanting to touch. The whole cafe seems to go silent around them, as they wait for Mao’s judgment. As her black eyes seem to gaze into their souls.
It’s startling when she comes to a decision, stretching up to lick Kiyoomi’s face once before whirling to appreciate Atsumu as well. Her tail starts wagging again, a blur behind her as she climbs all over Atsumu’s chest and harmonizes the sounds of her yips with his unrestrained laugh. It’s the most beautiful thing Kiyoomi has ever heard. Pure happiness radiating out of golden forms. Ethereal.
“She’s leaving ya fer me, Omi.” Atsumu teases when he gets Mao to calm down a little.
“Mission accomplished.” Kiyoomi says in response. He can’t blame her.
“Congratulations.” Kaede’s voice comes up from across the kotatsu. “You passed!”
She hands them a new envelope, gold, this time, to match the color of their team ribbons still wrapped around their wrists. The color that haunted Kiyoomi’s memory, is currently overwhelming his vision, and hopefully, will remain to light up his future. They thank Kaede and she returns to her post, giving them the privacy to read the last clue to the last location.
*
Kiyo’s favorite place
Is not on earth, it’s space
Find my last gift to you, dear cousin
Look without and look within
*
“This is the vaguest one yet.” Atsumu says when he finishes reciting the riddle. Mao lies comfortably in his arms, nudging her head further into his warmth.
“To you, maybe,” Kiyoomi says. “I know exactly where to go.”
With that, Kiyoomi beckons for Atsumu to return Mao to him. Atsumu obliges, standing up to rifle through Kiyoomi’s jacket where it’s still folded on the kotatsu to unearth the lint roller. Kiyoomi looks away, burying his face in Mao’s fur so he doesn’t have to witness the truly endearing act of Atsumu rolling over his pants and sleeves to catch the shed fur.
I really can’t blame you. Kiyoomi tries to convey telepathically to Mao. H e’s fucking adorable.
He hugs Mao one last time, in goodbye, then sets her down. She barks at the both of them, turns in a circle, and wiggles her tail before sprinting back to the solitude of her doghouse.
“We gotta come back sometime,” Atsumu says as he hands the lint roller over to Kiyoomi, who almost can’t believe what he’s hearing. Like a date?
“I’ve got midterms next week.” He says carefully. Rolling the sticky contraption along his long limbs and chest. “I usually come by when I need the emotional support to study.”
“I’ve got practice then, I think.” Atsumu replies, holding Kiyoomi’s jacket out for him. “I’ll check my schedule and get back to ya.”
Kiyoomi feeds his arms through his jacket sleeves as Atsumu holds it at his back, then puts his scarf and mask back on as they head over to the counter. He pretends not to notice the mischievous smile on Kaede’s face as she eyes their sanitizing ritual and the intertwining of hands that immediately follows, even after she specifically told them it wasn’t a requirement. They bid goodbye to her and head back to the train station like that, hand in hand, as they have been for most of the night. Atsumu rubs at Kiyoomi’s knuckle again as they navigate the idling people and settle in the middle of the train again. Where they won’t be bothered by the comers and goers.
“There’s somethin' fishy about this last riddle.” Atsumu says when the train moves. “How are the others supposed to know where to go?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Kiyoomi replies. “I think the other groups might have at least one location that’s different from ours. That would explain why we only ran into Semi and Tobio the whole night.”
“But that’s wild.” Atsumu says, dumbfounded at the implications, the amount of planning that must have gone into the whole event.
“Never underestimate Komori Motoya.” Kiyoomi declares, to which Atsumu unleashes his blinding grin again.
“I won’t after tonight.” He promises. “Think we’re in the lead?”
“It depends on how fast the others were and how long this task is going to take.”
“Think it might be difficult? Lookin’ fer yer gift?”
“I have no idea what the gift is.” Kiyoomi admits with a shake of his head.
“We’ll figure it out. We make a good team.” Atsumu says supportively. “Bet ya wish ya hadn’t written the Adler’s on that paper.”
His head is turned to face the entrance so that Kiyoomi can’t make out his expression as he refers to the night’s prize.
“I only wish for things that I want to happen, not things I want to change which have already happened.” Kiyoomi says carefully, recalling what Atsumu had said to him outside the karaoke bar. “Some things are inevitable.”
“Fair enough.” Atsumu turns back to face him. “But don’t tell me what ya wished for or it won’t come true.”
“Ok.” Kiyoomi nods in agreement because with the night they’re having, he doesn’t know what he’ll do if his wishes don’t come true.
They soon arrive at their stop and get off the train. Kiyoomi checks the time as they exit the station, it’s 11:15 pm. They’re on their last task of the night despite Motoya’s promise that they’d be out until 2 am. They could take their time, have some confidence in their ability to win. But something, the adrenaline, or the high of their good luck urges Kiyoomi to grip Atsumu’s hand tighter and turn to him in challenge.
“Race you.”
That blinding smile is back. Their combined laughter echoes into the night and the city comes alive as they sprint. Past buildings and street signs. So fast that lights become streaks. The few people they pass by are yelling at them to ‘watch it!’, warnings lost in the rush of the wind in their ears. They cover the distance so quickly that the moon seems to follow their journey, only coming to a stop when they do, skidding on asphalt in front of steel gates and concrete lettering.
NATIONAL ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATORY OF JAPAN
“This is yer favorite place?” Atsumu asks, only a little winded. “Yer such an astronomy nerd, Omi.”
“And you subscribe to astrology, but we do make a good team.” Kiyoomi smiles, tugging Atsumu to the security booth.
Kiyoomi can practically feel Atsumu’s astonishment when the guard on duty recognizes him, and not from the gold ribbons that were their keys to access the other venues of the night. The guard greets Kiyoomi by name and takes their IDs before letting them off to make their way towards the Main Building. He doesn’t give directions or offer to accompany them because Kiyoomi already knows how to get there.
“Wow, talk about VIP treatment,” Atsumu says as they leave the guardhouse behind. “Come here often, Omi?”
“I am an astronomy nerd, after all.” Kiyoomi replies.
Atsumu holds the door open again as they enter the building. A woman in academic attire waits to greet them, standing up quickly from her seat and eyeing their joint hands, which brings a reserved smile to her bespectacled face.
“Kiyo, happy birthday.” She greets, coming up to place a welcoming hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder.
“Futaba-san.” Kiyoomi returns the greeting. “Thank you. This is my friend, Miya Atsumu.”
At this, Atsumu relinquishes Kiyoomi’s hand to shake Futaba’s, exchanging pleasantries. She introduces herself as an old college friend of Kiyoomi’s mother.
“I’m sure you can guess where Toya left his gift for you.” Futaba says to Kiyoomi afterward.
“The old observatory.” Kiyoomi answers without hesitation.
“You got it. I’ll take you there.” She says, picking up something from the chair she’d been sitting on and heading for the door. “Don’t forget to-” she cuts herself off as she looks back at them. Kiyoomi can see her eyes trained on the space between him and Atsumu, at their hands that immediately gravitated back to each other after they parted. “Nevermind.”
The smile on her face is audible even though she’s turned to exit the building.
Kiyoomi resigns himself to another blush that won’t go away as they follow behind her. “I hope Motoya isn’t keeping you here beyond your work hours.”
“I work with the stars, Kiyo, these are my work hours.” She answers, climbing into an automobile used by the staff to get around the facility quicker. She gestures for them to get in the back seat and starts the vehicle when they settle down. “You’d do well to get used to it for when you join me after you’ve had your fun with volleyball.”
Atsumu suddenly lifts a hand into the air in disbelief. “I can’t believe I never asked ya what yer major is.”
Kiyoomi smiles, lenient. “You’re not in college yourself, it’s a valid excuse.”
Atsumu accepts the pardon with a shake of his head at his own oversight. As they drive, Futaba asks them to hand over their cellphones, replacing them with a simpler device with only emergency contacts and an interactive map of the facility.
“What do you want to do when you get older, Atsumu?” She asks, not taking her eyes off the empty but barely lit road.
“Honestly, haven’t thought that far yet,” Atsumu says contemplatively. “Definitely not going to stray too far from volleyball, though. No volleyball, no life.”
He says the last part with a well-meaning look at Kiyoomi, which Kiyoomi matches when he adds, “No volleyball, no love.”
They break out into a short burst of laughter before Atsumu turns back to answer Futaba. “I’ll probably coach. I can go back to my middle school or high school.”
“What matters is right now, wouldn’t you agree?” Futaba says mysteriously as she parks the automobile at their intended destination, a two-story, domed building.
Atsumu follows in awed silence as Kiyoomi and Futaba take turns relating the observatory’s history and the old telescope housed inside. It’s big, old, kind of out of date with its refractor design, but it’s sufficient for Kiyoomi’s entertainment when he visits just to get a glimpse of celestial bodies as he passes the time. Thus, it should be sufficient for whatever Motoya has planned.
“I trust you not to break anything, Kiyo.” Futaba says, opening up the observatory’s dome and booting up the computer beside the telescope. She leaves after telling them to take their time and inform her when they’re done so she can come back and lock up. They listen to the light rumble of the automobile as she drives back to the main building until silence descends upon them.
Atsumu’s mouth hangs open as he looks around, impressed with the scale of it all. “Ya really think Toya-kun put yer gift up there?” He lets go of Kiyoomi’s hand to raise a pointer to the sky.
“After everything that’s happened tonight, I have no reason to doubt him.” Kiyoomi answers honestly as he types something into the computer, searching for more clues to narrow down his field from the absurd expanse of outer space into something more manageable. They only have a little over two hours until Motoya’s promised curfew, not the whole night.
“He really loves ya, huh?” Atsumu says, taking a turn around the telescope. “Orchestrated all this.”
Kiyoomi’s chest fills with a warmth he vows to never admit to Motoya’s face, and despite Atsumu’s captivation with the environment, he feels the need to hide his expression in the telescope. He fiddles with the lens aimlessly, zooming in and out. Not even a general idea of where to look as he answers, lightheartedly. “No offense to him, but he has way too much time on his hands.”
“Maybe we should get him a date.”
“Oh, he’s only into casual sex. Everyone we met earlier, the monitors at every venue, except for Kaede and Futaba, of course. They’re all his exes, or currents.”
“Wow.” Atsumu acknowledges, coming around the telescope to stand by Kiyoomi. “Doin' good, Toya-kun.”
Atsumu’s voice feels so near that Kiyoomi can’t seem to focus anymore. They’re alone. In Kiyoomi’s favorite place in the world. And with all the changes he’s seen from Atsumu tonight, the progress they’ve made, Kiyoomi can’t help attempting to push further. Explore beyond what he can reach.
“He’s never had trouble expressing affection, or asking for it.” He is still positioned at the eyepiece, looking through a blurred lens, focused on nothing. “Sometimes, I wish I could do that.” He adds softly.
“Omi…” Atsumu breathes.
“Yeah?” Kiyoomi responds immediately, turning his eyes away from the stars to look at Atsumu, who isn’t facing him at all.
“That display on the wall.” Atsumu raises a hand to point. “Can’t see it that well from here, but I’m pretty sure it says Kiyoomi.”
Kiyoomi’s confusion immediately overtakes his disappointment. “Where?” He asks, turning to follow Atsumu’s directions.
That couldn’t be right. Kiyoomi has spent many afternoons in this very observatory; avoiding the crowds at the newer, more accurate telescope, or the crowds at the arcade. When he didn’t have volleyball practice or homework to do at the dog cafe. When his empty home was just too quiet without his siblings, or his mom, or even Motoya. This observatory was a frequently visited refuge. There’s no way-
Kiyoomi’s internal breakdown leaks out externally when his eyes land on the display Atsumu pointed out to him.
Kiyoomi’s Comet (First Sighting: March 20, 1996)
This comet was renamed on its first birthday! In comet speak, it was renamed the second time it passed by earth - 20 years after the original sighting! This body of collected ice, dust, and rock particles falls uniquely between two orbital period categories. Because it only visits Earth every 20 years, it’s both a Jupiter-Family Comet (JFC) and a Halley-type comet! Its ecliptic orbit will take it as far as Jupiter before coming back around...
Kiyoomi can barely read the rest of the text as his eyes blur with tears.
“Woah!” Atsumu breaks the silence, having read the important parts. “Did Toya-kun really-”
“Dammit, Motoya!” Kiyoomi cuts Atsumu off, swiping his sleeve across his face, in vain. He takes off his constricting mask as he stalks back to the computer beside the telescope. At last, knowing what to look for, the coordinates soon flash on the screen and he maneuvers the telescope and lens accordingly.
“You ok, Omi?” Atsumu says, following closely behind Kiyoomi, but not too close to get in the way of the frantic movements. Kiyoomi feels the touch of Atsumu’s hand on his elbow, grounding him. “I think we found the gift.”
“Not the whole thing,” Kiyoomi says through his stuffed nose. It’s only fitting really, that Atsumu hasn’t figured it out yet, consistent with all of Kiyoomi’s interactions with him up to this point. “It comes back every twenty years, Atsumu.”
The realization is visible in Atsumu’s transformed expression. “Down to the date? And the time?”
“Motoya’s never let me down before.” Kiyoomi only realizes the truth of his statement once he says it out loud.
When he finally points the telescope in the right direction, he adjusts the lens to zoom out to the right distance. He looks through it and almost can’t believe his eyes, the comet is making its closest approach to earth.
“Fuck! Motoya!” Kiyoomi curses with affection as the tears flow freely down his face. Having had his glimpse, he pulls on Atsumu’s hand to tug him into position between himself and the telescope’s eyepiece. “Look.” He says and rests his chin on Atsumu’s shoulder.
His hands are on Atsumu’s waist, and they’re so close that Kiyoomi can feel the way Atsumu’s body seizes when he gasps in awe at the figure in the telescope, drawing nearer every second.
“It should come close enough for us to see without the telescope,” Kiyoomi whispers into Atsumu’s ear, and he doesn’t imagine the way Atsumu shivers and tilts his head closer. “We should go outside.”
Kiyoomi reluctantly backs away from Atsumu, letting go of his waist to capture his hand instead. Atsumu reciprocates, intertwining their fingers and following along, gladly. They rush down the steps to burst through the doors. Kiyoomi guides them off the road and the concrete pavement, onto the grass of the viewing field, barren but for the two people who stand hand in hand.
There! Kiyoomi turns them around and points out the comet, streaking across the sky. Slowly burning, leaving nothing but light and stardust behind. Beautiful.
“Woah.” Atsumu whispers in awe and Kiyoomi suddenly loses interest in the celestial body. “Don’t ya just wanna reach out and see what it feels like?”
The comet is majestic against the dark. Contrasting with its fiery tail so that it looks bigger, no more than six feet away, almost close enough to touch. But here, beside Kiyoomi is something better. Atsumu’s hair is disheveled, styled waves unruly from all the running, and the wind blowing through it. There’s a lock falling into his eyes, and Kiyoomi agrees. He does want to reach out and touch even if it burns on contact, or worse, fails to ignite.
“It’s what I’ve been wishing for all night.” He admits, looking right at Atsumu who must be able to see him out of the corner of his eye.
Atsumu, slow-to-realize as always, must think they’re still talking about the comet, because he smiles sadly, eyes still raised towards the sky. “You told me yer wish, Omi. Now it’s not going to come true.”
Kiyoomi releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the hope he’d held onto for years. Motoya would be so disappointed, a whole night of his meddling and hard work with nothing to show for it. Kiyoomi almost lets go of Atsumu’s hand in defeat, but Atsumu tightens his grip and turns to face him.
“Wishes don’t come true unless ya really want ‘em to.”
Atsumu’s eyes are more intense than they’ve ever been. Clear and completely void of doubt or confusion. Like instead of being out on a field watching a comet pass by, they’re on the court watching the ball come down, and Atsumu is just waiting for Kiyoomi to call for the spike he’s already prepared to set.
Kiyoomi hesitates for a second and wonders if they’re talking about the same thing.
“Scared?” Atsumu asks with the same expression he had when he asked the full question earlier. It reverberates through Kiyoomi’s mind, cementing his decision as the two scenes overlay over the same grin and quirked eyebrow. Infinitely softer and more honest, though the message is the same. Are ya scared of falling in love with me?
“Terrified.” Kiyoomi echoes the same answer he gave earlier, with the same surety and none of the hesitancy as he tugs Atsumu’s hand to pull him in for a kiss.
Atsumu gasps into it, but not like he's in shock. It sounds like one of his slow realizations, like he's just learned how to breathe. And it’s like another comet streaking through the night, through Kiyoomi’s dark skies, igniting everything in sight. But not burning, per se. This fire is not destructive because there is nothing for it to burn but oxygen, and there is no wreckage to leave behind but a tail of shimmering stardust.
Atsumu is all-consuming. Stealing the oxygen from Kiyoomi’s lungs and setting his nerves alight. He is desperate and devouring, but oh so soft. His mouth opens immediately and Kiyoomi is quick to reciprocate. The clashing of tongues and teeth is awkward and inexperienced, but Atsumu’s other hand goes to Kiyoomi’s waist to pull him closer. His head leans forward, asking for more. And his tongue, his goddamn tongue, is attempting to explore every corner of Kiyoomi’s mouth. Kiyoomi thinks he could be struck by a meteorite right now and be satisfied with the life he lived. Because he did it.
He finally kissed Miya Atsumu.
It must be poetic justice, or karma coming back around when Kiyoomi feels something land on his head.
And another something. And another.
A torrent of water is raining down on them where they stand.
The cold and wet shock them apart, their heads swiveling to look around at the sprinklers that have just come on to water the field as scheduled. Kiyoomi takes one incredulous look at Atsumu’s equally incredulous expression, breaks into a grin despite their swollen lips, tightens his grip on the hand he’s been holding for the entire night, and promises himself to never let go of, and shouts, “Run!”
They sprint through the grass, the darkness and the spray adding to their disorientation so that it takes them much longer than it should to reach the safety of the dry concrete. They slip and slide a few times before they do, and Kiyoomi even stops to twirl Atsumu the same way he did at the karaoke bar. Their laughs echo around them as they run all the way back to the main building.
Futaba is shocked to find them soaking wet. She explains the timed sprinklers and excuses herself to find something for them to change into.
Kiyoomi’s bottoms are soaked through; pants, shoes, and even socks. His scarf, too, is dripping all over the tiles. Even his facemask is rendered useless. His torso is the only thing protected from the onslaught by his trusty, water-resistant jacket, zipped all the way up to his chin.
Atsumu, however, fares the worse out of the two. His stylish coat is in desperate need of drying, lest it wrinkle and become a fashion disaster. His shoes and fancy pants are just as soaked as Kiyoomi’s. And his shirt, his silky, white shirt has turned sheer to prove what Kiyoomi had been afraid of earlier that night.
When Atsumu takes off his coat, he immediately shudders in a full-body chill, skin rising visibly into goosebumps, teeth chattering audibly, two stiff peaks poking out on either side of his buttons. As a testament to everything they’ve been through that night, Kiyoomi barks out a laugh as Atsumu drops his coat in surprise and crosses his arms in front of him.
“Don’t fuckin’ laugh, Kiyoomi, I’m freezing over here.” He complains and Kiyoomi continues to laugh even as he unzips his jacket and motions for Atsumu to enter the circle of his arms.
When Atsumu complies, the closeness naturally draws them into another breathtaking kiss. Not as desperate as before, nor as intense. It’s slow and just warm enough to still Atsumu’s shivering and make Kiyoomi forget that Atsumu’s wet shirt is pressed up against his dry sweater. They break apart when a clock somewhere in the building chimes. Midnight.
“Happy birthday, Omi.” Atsumu whispers and those lips are the first things Kiyoomi sees when he lets his eyes slide open.
“Don’t forget to thank Motoya later.” Futaba’s cheery voice sounds and their heads swivel to locate her. She’s grinning with a stack of clothes folded in her arms. Kiyoomi makes a mental note to do just that and steps forward to thank her and accept the garments, which they take into the restrooms to change into.
Unfortunately, the only place Futaba could find clean clothes in their size was the observatory gift shop. But the woman has taste, so the clothes they don aren’t that cringey, though Atsumu still whines at having to replace his stylish shirt with a generic black sweater with the words ‘Comet me, bro’ framed by embroidered celestial bodies. For pants, their only option comes in the form of pajamas, identical ones with moons printed over the back pockets. Their wet stuff goes in a plastic bag, into a backpack with a smiling sun on it. Worst of all - in Atsumu’s opinion - the gift shop doesn’t provide shoes. They do, however, provide sensible footwear; crocs.
Atsumu fights and complains every second it takes for Kiyoomi to dry his own feet and pull on several layers of socks before slipping them into the supposedly offending footwear with a satisfied sigh, only to plop down on the bench beside Kiyoomi and do the same thing. Kiyoomi can’t resist pressing a kiss into the side of Atsumu’s head, the loud grumbling diminishing as he does.
When they’re both dried and dressed, they clasp hands again before going back out to meet Futaba. She bids them goodnight and returns their cellphones, along with one last black envelope. She goes back to work as they leave the main building. They get their IDs back at the guardhouse before crowding together under a streetlight beyond the gates of the facility to read the final riddle.
*
Happy birthday, Kiyoomi
I hope you enjoyed your party
If you like the way your life is
Come back and claim your prizes
*
“Let’s go win my life back.” Kiyoomi declares after reading the infuriating ending couplet.
As if in response to the bold declaration, their phones ping at the same time. They pull them out to see the alert Motoya said he would send at the start of the hunt. A map opens up automatically, showing them three different-colored dots matching three of the team colors, including theirs. The dots are spread out but are all about 10 minutes away from the single destination that the arrows on the map point them towards. The izakaya.
The two share a single look before booking it down the street, Kiyoomi shoving their cellphones into his reliable jacket as they run.
And run.
The wind whips their cold-stung cheeks. Their new clothes chafe uncomfortably, though the crocs remain secured by the thick layer of socks between the sole and strap. Everything about this desperate sprint is different from the other times they ran through the streets of Tokyo tonight. Their clothes, their blossoming relationship, the comet still streaking in the sky above and alongside them. The only thing that has remained constant is the warmth of their intertwined hands. The tightness of the grip that grounds Kiyoomi, even as they fly together.
However, as they experienced several times already throughout the night, gravity is a heartless bitch.
Their flight comes to an end upon an impact that rips Kiyoomi’s hand out of Atsumu’s as they try to lessen the blows of their crash down to the pavement.
When Kiyoomi regains his bearings, he identifies that the interfering bodies are none other than Osamu and Suna, scavenger hunt team 2, one of the dots from the alert Motoya sent out. It seems they were running at a similar speed, from a perpendicular direction, their collision inevitable when they were heading for the same destination. All 4 of them are a mess of limbs and fallen objects outside the very 7/11 they stole some of those objects from earlier that night. Traffic and a crosswalk are the only things in the way of Kiyoomi getting his life back from Motoya, who they can see behind the glass window of the izakaya, howling in laughter at the literal turning-point the hunt has taken.
“What the fuck are ya wearin'?” Osamu says, staring at their unconventional outfits as he gets up.
“Why the fuck don’t ya watch where yer goin'?” Atsumu bites back, although he doesn’t stand up to face Osamu when he says it. Kiyoomi gets up on his feet and eyes the timer for the crosswalk across the street, 20 seconds.
“Get up, Atsumu.” He says urgently, holding out his hand for Atsumu to take.
Osamu is pulling Suna up to stand beside him, and several meters away, on the same side of the street as the izakaya, a third pair nears their collective goal. An exhausted-looking Yachi is being piggy-backed by a steadily jogging Wakatoshi, without car traffic in their way. Kiyoomi looks back at Atsumu, waving a hand in his face to get him to look up. When he does, it’s with the most forlorn expression, like they’ve already lost even though there are still 15 seconds on the clock.
Atsumu’s voice cracks when he explains, lifting the empty and deformed bottle of alcohol that Kiyoomi hadn’t even noticed was missing from its place on his jacket. “The sanitizer, Omi. We touched the ground, the germs-”
Kiyoomi cuts him off with a familiar gesture of bringing his fist down in front of Atsumu's face. His eyebrows quirk up in amusement.
Kiyoomi pulls his mask down so Atsumu can see his face while he turns his hand over and reaches out. "Shut up and take my hand, Atsumu."
Atsumu has never looked so glad to be interrupted. He finally reaches back, weaving his fingers in between Kiyoomi’s, who grips it tightly and pulls him onto his feet.
Five seconds left. Osamu and Suna stand right beside them, both teams prepared to cross the instant the timer ticks down to zero. Kiyoomi does the only thing he can do.
“Fox in the hole!” He yells and tugs Atsumu’s hand, hard and against Atsumu’s own instincts, to race alongside him and a confused Suna who lets them get ahead when Osamu doesn’t follow.
Both members of a team need to make it back to the izakaya in order for the pair to win, and a quick glance back tells Kiyoomi that his distraction worked. Reacting on instinct to the code words, Osamu had crouched down for cover when the others ran forward. That split-second of disorientation sealing Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s win as they cross the road first and enter the izakaya ahead of even Wakatoshi running full-tilt with a screaming Yachi on his back, egging him on.
The winning pair skid to a stop in front of Motoya, who has his fingers steepled in front of him and is eyeing their intertwined hands gleefully.
“Congratulations!” He announces, standing up from his chair and looking straight at Kiyoomi. “You get to decide your future.”
That’s the only moment of victory they get before the pink team topples in, energy completely spent, closely followed by Osamu and Suna. Atsumu’s hand is ripped out of Kiyoomi’s again as Osamu tackles his brother in a rage, accusing him of sharing their secrets. Suna already has his phone out. Kiyoomi lets them duke it out and goes to help Yachi and Wakatoshi first, supporting them before they both slump down into their provided seats, exhausted. Motoya, to no one’s surprise after the night they just had, is ordering a round of celebratory shots.
After tending to his friends, Kiyoomi stalks over to Motoya at the bar. With his mask back over his nose and mouth, Motoya must take his furrowed eyebrows for rage. Fearing a reaction akin to whatever Atsumu and Osamu have going on, he waves his raised arms in defense.
“C’mon, Kiyo, don’t-”
Kiyoomi cuts him off with a hug. Roping his long arms around his demonic gremlin of a cousin to shut him up with the warmth and love he promised himself he wouldn’t admit out loud. Motoya reciprocates, bringing his arms around to squeeze and pat Kiyoomi’s back, to share this single moment of peace and heartfelt gratitude before he ruins it with a statement absolutely free of any humility.
“I know, I know. I’m the best cousin ever.”
“I can’t believe you did all this for me.” Kiyoomi squeezes one more time before breaking away to look Motoya in the eye. “With my parents' money, but still, it’s the thought that counts.”
“The experiences, too,” Motoya adds, maneuvering out of Kiyoomi’s limbs and turning to lift the tray of shots off the counter to bring to the group table. “Did you get to do everything you wanted to do tonight?”
Kiyoomi lets his eyes drift back to the twins squabbling on the floor. “Not quite.”
He helps Motoya take the shots to the table before finally going to separate Atsumu from his brother. Suna doesn’t help, but Semi and Tobio enter the izakaya just in time. Tobio is actually smiling, despite finding out that his team lost.
Motoya distributes the fresh shots among the arrivals and reveals that Hirugami and Kourai won’t be joining them anymore. There’s a sinister smirk on Motoya’s face as he tells them Kourai requested to stay in the love hotel for the rest of the paid duration. Groans of disgust sound around the table in unison except for the only other pair that benefited from the place in the same way.
“We should’ve stayed.” Suna yawns into Osamu’s neck, receiving a grunt in agreement.
Yachi suddenly pipes up to say, “we did our best Ushijima-san.”
“I’m proud to have worked with you, Hitoka-chan.” Is the reply she gets, along with a fist bump.
Semi and Tobio then excitedly begin a ‘secret’ hand-shake routine to show off their developed closeness.
Meanwhile, Kiyoomi itches to reach out and take Atsumu’s hand again. They are sitting in adjacent chairs at the table, but Atsumu’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. His hands are in his pajama pockets, out of Kiyoomi’s reach.
“That brings an end to Kiyo’s best birthday party ever.” Motoya announces, almost mournfully, prompting the appropriately aged participants to down their shots with him.
Tobio is free from the obligation and thus, also free to innocently incite chaos. “You mean you’re not doing another one next year?”
Motoya actually gets teary-eyed at that, like he’s finally being appreciated for his brilliance. It only lasts until the gathered groups begin to question him about the specificity and difficulty of certain tasks. Kiyoomi takes the interrogation as a cue to nudge Atsumu’s leg with his own, nodding his head towards the bar. There is a bowl on top of it which Kiyoomi realizes is filled with their responses from earlier. Their prizes. He makes straight for it and Atsumu follows along, slumping on the seat beside him.
Away from the others, Kiyoomi lowers his mask and turns to face Atsumu with a smile. “We won.” He says, lifting the bowl and shaking it a little to jumble the folded papers inside. “What do you want for your prize?”
Somehow, Atsumu’s expression is even sadder than it had been when he’d thought they’d lost outside. He puts out a hand to cover Kiyoomi’s and lower the bowl as he pleads in a shaky voice, “Don’t join the Adlers.”
Oh. The realization hits Kiyoomi like a train, like a sprinting dog or a falling meteorite. Atsumu may not be comparable to a black hole anymore, but interplanetary communication isn’t all that reliable either. They would have to work on that. Kiyoomi gets the sudden urge to burst into laughter again, an occurrence that he expects should happen more frequently in the future.
Instead, he replies as kindly as he can, “That’s such a waste of a request.”
“It’s the only thing I could ask of ya.” Atsumu pleads again, eyes going wider, his hand on Kiyoomi’s gripping tighter at the nonchalant response. “Don’t join the Adlers when ya graduate.”
“I’ll be nice,” Kiyoomi begins teasingly, reaching both hands out to finally touch and hold Atsumu’s face between them. “I reject your request.”
Atsumu shakes his head out of Kiyoomi’s grip so he can wrap his arms around Kiyoomi in his own iron grip. “You can’t.” He whispers softly into Kiyoomi’s neck. “That’s against the rules.”
Kiyoomi heaves what he hopes is the last tired sigh he ever has to heave. “Atsumu, look.”
He gently pushes Atsumu back a little so they can both see the piece of paper pinched between his middle finger and pointer. It reads:
MSBY BLACK JACKALS
And below it, Kiyoomi’s signature in his neat penmanship.
Atsumu gapes in wonder. “You-”
“I thought you‘d caught on by now.” Kiyoomi cuts him off with the laugh he held in earlier. “I’ve liked you since high school. ”
Kiyoomi thinks he can deal with the exhaustion of slow realizations if this is what he gets in return for them; Atsumu’s face lighting up and his eyes widening, so near that Kiyoomi can see his own in them. See the fire reflected, at last.
“This whole night was a strategic ploy to get you to realize just that. To get us together, y’know?” He continues, nodding towards Motoya, the evil genius behind it all.
“So we were supposed to bone at the love hotel?” Atsumu asks excitedly, ignoring all the important information.
“Do not say the word ‘bone’ ever again.” Kiyoomi lowers his voice in an attempt to appear threatening even though there’s a smile on his face.
“Bone.” Atsumu says, sticking out his tongue.
“Do you want your prize or not?” Kiyoomi dangles a different threat this time and Atsumu turns serious, earnest when he asks.
“I can ask ya anything?” Kiyoomi nods. “And you’ll do it?”
Kiyoomi nods again. “Anything.” He confirms.
Atsumu lifts their intertwined hands to press a kiss to Kiyoomi’s knuckles. “Let me love you.”
Kiyoomi smiles then grips Atsumu’s hand tighter, and to make sure that his message gets across undistorted, understood, and reciprocated, he leans in for a kiss. “Ok.”
*
Gravity is the force of attraction that objects have for one another. Coulomb’s Law states that forces of attraction multiply with an increase in size. For example, a greater magnitude of attraction, grown over years of yearning, as well as these few, intense hours of getting to know each other. Forces of attraction also multiply even more with a decrease in distance, with the surety that Kiyoomi will join Atsumu on the Jackals in two years' time.
Gravity keeps the planets and stars and comets in their orbits. Keeps everything from crashing down, collapsing upon themselves. It is gravity that draws Kiyoomi to Atsumu’s lips that night, and vice versa. A force that goes both ways. And in two years’ time, it’s the effort of gravity, of the mutual force of attraction that tugs relentlessly on Kiyoomi’s orbit to direct him to a gymnasium in Osaka. Where his orbit overlaps with Atsumu’s, who meets him there and pulls him in to be a part of the same system, the same team.