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The words come out of nowhere one day. Kiyoomi has just arrived home, helping himself to a glass of water, Atsumu on the sofa laughing at yet another episode of Spy x Family.
“I want a divorce,” Kiyoomi says, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
Atsumu’s laughter stops. And then it starts back up again, because there’s no way that Kiyoomi is being serious.
“Hilarious,” Atsumu chuckles, reaching over to grab the remote so he can skip to the next episode.
“I’m being serious,” Kiyoomi replies, moving to stand in front of the television, “I’ve already spoken to a solicitor. I want a divorce.”
Atsumu swallows, slowly shifting his hold on the remote so he can turn the television off, sitting forward on the couch.
“What? Since when,” he asks, eyes narrowed, “we’re… fine.” Okay, maybe they’re not. They barely speak, Kiyoomi has been coming home later and later, Atsumu can’t remember the last time they ate together, let alone had a date night. But it’s been like this for months, and Atsumu just assumed that’s how life gets after four years of marriage.
Atsumu swallows, Kiyoomi just looks on, face blank.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
Kiyoomi sets down his glass. “Ive spoken to Motoya about moving in with him. I’m off work this weekend, so I’ll aim to be out of the house by Sunday.” There’s no emotion in his voice. Atsumu doesn’t know whether to laugh or vomit.
He laughs. Because of course he laughs. Kiyoomi’a face sours.
“Ya can’t be serious,” Atsumu says, finally standing. He’s not sure what to do with himself, with his hands. He’s smiling on the outside, trying to make it seem like he’s not bothered, but the familiar feelings of abandonment are swirling in his gut. The thoughts Kiyoomi helped dispel four years ago creeping back in to his brain: ‘am I not enough? No one wants me. I’m just a stepping stone to someone better.’
His smile falters a little. If Kiyoomi notices, he doesn’t comment.
“We both know this isn’t working out, Miya. I’m surprised you didn’t see this coming.”
Miya. Fuck.
“Omi,” Atsumu says, taking a few steps towards his husband. His husband of four years. The man he promised to spend his life with, “we’ve not… yer…” He curses the fact he can’t make his brain work fast enough. He’s Miya Atsumu, for fucks sake. Known for his sharp tongue and witty responses. But the thoughts are too loud they’re distracting. Omi’s expression doesn’t shift.
“We haven’t even talked about it. We’re married, we’re s’posed to work on this sorta shit.”
Kiyoomi just shrugs. “I don’t see what’s left to work on. We’ve been drifting apart. I’m…” Kiyoomi sighs, façade finally cracking, enough for Atsumu to hold on to some hope that maybe he’s not as unbothered as he’s letting on, “I’m not in love with you anymore.”
‘Oh,’ Atsumu thinks.
“Oh,” he whispers.
He flops down on to the couch, blood cold. He feels like he’s in a dream, and he pinches his arm, willing himself to wake up. He doesn’t see the way Kiyoomi’s face twists when he does so, eyes firmly planted on the floor.
“So… that’s it,” Atsumu mumbles. Kiyoomi nods.
“That’s it.”
A couple renowned for their arguments and insults, known to tease and insult until they’re falling in to each other’s arms. Divorcing without even an argument.
“A month,” Atsumu whispers. Kiyoomi makes a face.
“What?”
“Give… gimme a month. I won’t… I won’t argue with ya. I won’t try change yer mind. Shit, I’ll sleep in the spare room. Just… gimme a month. We’ve been at this fer four years… gonna need some closure.”
Atsumu looks up at Kiyoomi and tries to laugh. His eyes are wet.
Kiyoomi swallows, “Miya, I really don’t see the point. My mind is-“
“Is made up. I get it,” Atsumu interrupts, rubbing his hands together. It was always something he did when he was nervous. He can’t remember the last time he sat here and did it. “And don’t call me ‘Miya’. You’re Miya too…” He lets out a shaky breath “I get that ya… ya don’t love me anymore. But I still love ya, Omi. And if ya even feel… I dunno. If ya even still like me a little, yer would give me this. Cause I can’t just quit ya cold turkey, Omi. Yer addictin’.”
Kiyoomi swallows. Atsumu knows it’s because of those words. ‘Yer addictin’.’ He must have whispered them a thousand times in to Kiyoomi’s ear.
Kiyoomi pauses, slipping his hands in to his pockets. He has to look away, because Atsumu is crying now. He’s trying to pretend that he’s not, a smile still on his face, but Kiyoomi knows better.
“Fine,” he says eventually, and Atsumu’s shoulders sag. “But I want to set ground rules.”
Atsumu nods eagerly, heart panting. “Kay,” he chokes around the blockage in his throat.
“No more ‘Omi’. And I won’t call you ‘Miya’. Separate beds. And don’t… don’t try and convince me. This is for you, my mind is made up. I’ll be out this time next month, and I want no arguments on signing the papers.” His voice is clear, like it always is. Void of emotion in a way that Atsumu hasn’t heard directed to him since they were strangers in high school.
“Kay,” Atsumu whispers again. It’s all he can manage. He has to swallow down a sob that threatens to bubble up his throat.
Kiyoomi nods. He turns towards their bedroom (though Atsumu supposes it isn’t that any more). Half way there, he looks back. “Don’t… don’t tell Osamu.” He knows it’s selfish, that he has his cousin so it’s only fair Atsumu has his twin. But the other Miya is terrifying when it comes to protecting his brother, and Kiyoomi isn’t sure he can put up with passive aggressive remarks and thinly veiled threats for a month.
Atsumu whispers another “kay,” which surprises Kiyoomi. He expected that to be the thing to cause a fight. He almost wanted it to be… he says nothing, though, simply moving towards the bedroom.
“Goodnight, Atsumu,” he says, before shutting the door behind him.
“Night, Omi,” comes the broken whisper of his husband.
***
The next morning, Atsumu is already in the kitchen when Kiyoomi wakes for work. His husband gives him a weird look, but says nothing as he makes his way towards the fridge.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” Atsumu says, sounding so normal Kiyoomi does a double take.
Atsumu says nothing more, sliding three fish waffles on to each plate.
Kiyoomi blinks, because they ran out of the waffles yesterday. They’re Kiyoomi’s favourite and… it takes him a moment to realise Atsumu must have gone to the shops. So that’s what they’re doing. Pretending nothing has changed, and Atsumu is going to be sweet and attentive in an attempt to win Kiyoomi back. He knows him too well.
“I’m not hungry,” Kiyoomi says before he can help it. He’s not going to let Atsumu get his way, not when Kiyoomi just wanted a clean break. “I’ll get something on the way to work.”
He doesn’t miss the way Atsumu’s face drops. Kiyoomi’s heart clenches a little but he doesn’t say anything.
“Oh… okay. Got ya,” Atsumu whispers. He doesn’t turn to look at Kiyoomi. Instead he just stares at the fish waffles sitting happily on the plate. He looks… lost.
Kiyoomi just makes his way to the door, sliding on his coat. It’s only seven, half an hour before he needs to leave. But he is hungry, so he’ll need to stop by the conbini. “I’ll be back late,” he tells his husband (ex husband? What is he even supposed to call Atsumu now?), “don’t wait up.”
Atsumu nods, and it’s only when he hears the door shut that he finally allows the tears to fall, right on to their breakfast plates. His breath comes out ragged, the thoughts screaming in his head. For a few moments, he feels like he can’t breathe. He’s going to die.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad…
Only once he’s done does Atsumu text Osamu. He tells him that he has a headache and that he won’t be coming in to the restaurant today. Osamu makes him promise that he’ll work on the new menu design from home, which he does.
He cleans the whole apartment from top to bottom, to Omi’s standards, not his own. It takes him hours, and he promises himself that, after the main bedroom (their bedroom), he’ll work on the menus. He doesn’t. He collapses on to their bed, hugging Kiyoomi’s cushion and sobbing.
He stays like that for three hours. He has to wash the bedsheets so Kiyoomi won’t tell he’s been in there.
He never gets the menu done.
***
Atsumu does wait up. Kiyoomi usually finishes work at the Volleyball association at six. Sometimes he stays until eight, if there’s a big match coming up.
It’s ten o’clock. The food is going cold.
Atsumu cooked Kiyoomi’s favourite: Miso soup, rice and mama Miya’s special takoyaki. It was ready for six. Atsumu still hasn’t eaten, determined.
Atsumu is cleaning the same part of the kitchen for the fifth time when Kiyoomi finally arrives home at eleven. The man stops in the kitchen doorway, staring at Atsumu for a long moment.
“I told you not to wait up,” he tells him, before moving to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. He notes how clean it looks, even to his standards. He doesn’t comment on it.
“I made yer favourite,” is all Atsumu says in response. Kiyoomi sighs and turns to look.
After a moment he says “I already ate,” not even waiting to see Atsumu’s face fall as he makes his way to the bedroom.
Atsumu stands there for a moment. Then, he spends the next two hours cleaning again. He doesn’t eat.
***
The first week bleeds in to the second, and they follow the same routine.
Atsumu wakes early to make breakfast (not that he really sleeps. He hasn’t slept alone in four years, and it’s all sorts of wrong). Kiyoomi doesn’t eat it, instead choosing to buy breakfast from the conbini. Atsumu knows this because he gets the notification from their shared bank account. He tries not to let it hurt.
Atsumu started making bentos on day three, like he did when they were engaged. He adds animal facts to post it nods that he sticks on top, knowing Kiyoomi will enjoy them.
Kiyoomi never takes the bentos. He gets lunch in the work cafeteria. Kiyoomi hates the work cafeteria.
Atsumu makes dinner, too. Always Kiyoomi’s favourites. He’s always back late, and he’s always full from eating out. Atsumu only eats when Kiyoomi is gone, standing over the sink with his plate and trying not to choke on the food as he sobs. He can’t fathom sitting at the dinner table without his husband, even if they haven’t eaten together for weeks.
***
By day five, Atsumu stops making jokes. He still made attempts, up until that point, as Kiyoomi left for work, or during the weekend when they were forced to exist in the same space.
By day eight, he sticks to his script.
“Good morning Kiyoomi.”
“I made ya breakfast.”
“Have a good day, Kiyoomi.”
“I made ya dinner.”
“Goodnight, Omi.”
He’s getting bad again, he knows. He’s pretty sure Kiyoomi knows too. That the thoughts are starting to overwhelm him and the panic is clawing at his throat more often than it’s not.
The fact Kiyoomi does nothing about it hurts, but he supposes he shouldn’t have to. This is for Atsumu, after all. Kiyoomi has already made his mind up. He will have known that this would happen, and he’s probably already made peace with it.
Atsumu doesn’t sleep on night nine.
***
Atsumu texts Osamu on day eleven that he’s taking a week off. He apologises and sends money to hire a design assistant to do the menu’s Samu has been asking for. Samu threatens to come round and Atsumu simply says he’s still got the headache and Omi is looking after him.
Osamu messages Omi, and Omi must have lied for him because he tells Atsumu to ‘rest up’ and ‘drink’ plenty.
Atsumu does the former, burying himself in to his sheets.
Atsumu doesn’t wake up to make breakfast on day twelve. He’s shivering in bed, freezing cold as he sweats. His breath comes out in quiet pants as he tries to catch enough air. He’s fairly sure Omi doesn’t notice.
***
It’s the night of day fifteen, half way through their month together, when Kiyoomi finally makes his way in to the spare bedroom.
He’s spent ten minutes knocking on the door, growing more and more irritated at Atsumu’s lack of response.
He’s not coming to check on Atsumu, though. No, he’s pissed.
He should have known this behaviour wouldn’t have lasted. That Atsumu would give up and become complacent, as he always does.
And now Kiyoomi has just drunk expired milk. Sure, only by a day, and it didn’t taste particularly off, but his gums hurt from all the brushing he’s just done to get the germs out of his mouth. And, to top it all off, he couldn’t even throw the bottle away because the trash is full of all the meals Atsumu has thrown away. It pisses Kiyoomi off to no end and, after a moment, he finally shoved the door open, ready to face what is undoubtedly an apathetic Atsumu.
That’s not what he’s greeted with, though. The room is dark, and it stinks. Kiyoomi gags, reaching in to his pocket to pull out the mask he’s started carrying again. He slips it on, heart beating as his eyes focus on the lump hidden under the covers.
His heart drops, immediately thinking the worst. He knew Atsumu was getting bad, and he didn’t do anything about it. He stopped him from talking to Osamu about it and now… Kiyoomi manages to lift his shaky hand to the light switch, and the quiet groan from his husband is the sweetest sound he thinks he’s ever heard.
“Fuck,” he whispers, rushing to Atsumu’s side. He looks… awful. He’s pale, clammy. His hair is matted and mouth is open, practically gasping for air. He knows Atsumu told Osamu he was sick, but Kiyoomi didn’t think he meant it.
“Tsumu,” he whispers, not even thinking about the nickname as his hands hover above his husband. He doesn’t know what to do, so he presses his hand to Atsumu’s head, flinching back immediately. He’s hot. Hotter than should be possible for a human being.
He strips the bedsheets off and Atsumu whines. That’s when Kiyoomi notices that he’s wet himself.
Kiyoomi is pretty sure he’s going to be sick, and not from the smell this time. He let Atsumu get like this…
“Omi…” Atsumu whispers, voice hoarse. Kiyoomi notices the way his lips are cracked, and the corner of his mouth even starts bleeding when he moves it. Kiyoomi just cups Atsumu’s cheek, shushing him and frantically looking around for a drink to give him.
“Omi… ya…” Atsumu gasps again, “yer gonna… get sick. Ya… can’t. Ya need to go.” And that breaks Kiyoomi’s heart. Atsumu would never let Kiyoomi around him when he was sick. He’d seen Kiyoomi at his worse, where his hypochondria was so bad he couldn’t be in the same room with someone who coughed. Atsumu was the one who helped him through it, but he’d still protect Kiyoomi when there was a real danger of him getting sick. And the fact he’s doing it even when like this…
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Kiyoomi whispers. It’s all he can whisper. He stands, immediately making his way to the closet, searching out the bag he swore he’d never touch again. Atsumu helped him pack it away, with the promise they’d keep it around, just in case.
As he pulls out the various medical equipment, he’s glad they did.
He places the oxygen monitor on Atsumu’s finger, presses the thermometer in to his ear. He’s full of anxiety, but not because of the risk of infection, no. It’s because Atsumu’s heart rate is 120, his oxygen is 91% and his temperature is 40.1°. Atsumu needs to go to hospital, now.
“You’re going to be alright, baby,” Kiyoomi whispers, typing out an SOS message to their group chat with Osamu and Motoya and Suna. He’s pretty sure he can’t phone anyone, not like this. He can barely breathe.
Atsumu whimpers out a quiet “Omi,” before his eyes roll back in to his head again, and Kiyoomi swallows. He picks up the last device, one he used three times a day when he managed convinced himself he was diabetic.
It feels unfamiliar, pressing the needle to Atsumu’s skin and drawing blood. He lets it drip on to the test strip, heart pounding as he watches the three dots bounce across the screen.
1.9.
Atsumu’s blood sugar is 1.9.
Kiyoomi calls an ambulance.
***
Atsumu spends two days in the ICU, and a further three on a level one unit.
He’s delirious for most of it, crying out and begging for Kiyoomi to stay every time they pull apart. Kiyoomi is a mess.
The doctors ask him to make medical decision on Atsumu’s behalf, because they’re married and that’s what husbands do. In sickness and in health.
They tell him Atsumu’s kidneys were failing because of the dehydration, he’s started on a nasogastric feed for the malnutrition and a bag of glucose coupled with insulin to bring up his blood sugar. They put a catheter in because he can’t control his bladder. He got a chest infection from laying in bed for three straight days, which he’s now on strong antibiotics for.
Kiyoomi wants to die.
Kiyoomi confessed to Osamu. He tells him everything. From the divorce to the cooking to the fact he didn’t check on Atsumu even when he could tell his depression was getting bad again. He tells him Atsumu could have died and Kiyoomi wouldn’t have even noticed.
Osamu doesn’t yell or threaten or beat up Kiyoomi like he deserves. Instead he just holds him as he sobs, for what feels like hours. Listens to him cry about how scared he is, that Atsumu could have died, that he can’t lose Atsumu. He almost gave up and walked away, what if he never went in to his room? What if that was it, four years of marriage that ended in the death of the love of Kiyoomi’s life.
Osamu holds him, strokes his back, allows Kiyoomi to cry himself cry. He has a headache, but it’s nothing compared to what Atsumu is going through.
“I don’t want a divorce,” he whispers after ten minutes of silence.
“I know ya don’t,” Osamu says simply, “no one who cries like that over their husband wants a divorce.”
Kiyoomi just swallows and nods.
“What if he-“
He’s cut off quickly. “He doesn’t. He talks about ya like yer the one hangin’ the moon and the stars. He might get in his head and withdraw, but ya gotta talk it through. He ain’t good at talkin’, neither of ya are, but ya can’t just go and threaten divorce when things are gettin’ hard.”
Kiyoomi nods. Osamu is right. It’s what makes him so scary.
The nurse emerges from the room with her colleague and nods to Kiyoomi, who stands immediately.
“I’ll kill ya,” Osamu says as he starts making his way towards Atsumu’s room. Kiyoomi turns, eyes wide and a little scared, “If ya hurt him again, I’ll kill ya.”
Kiyoomi can only nod, before half running in the direction of his husband’s room.
Atsumu is more awake when he enters, sat up in bed and clean from his bed bath. He’s holding a beaker of water, straw in his mouth. The tube is still hanging from his nose, but Kiyoomi can’t help but feel hopeful that, now Atsumu is awake, it might be able to come out.
Atsumu’s eyes are lidded, tired when Kiyoomi approaches him. They’re still bright, though, and he whispers a quiet “Omi,” before his face drops. “I-I mean-“
“No,” Kiyoomi whispers, taking his hand, “Omi is good. It’s… it’s so good.” His own voice is just as hoarse as Atsumu’s as he kisses his hand softly, eyes closed.
“I wasted it…” Atsumu whispers, closing his eyes. He looks like he wants to cry, but nothing comes out. Like he’s…. Defeated. It breaks Kiyoomi’s heart. “I wasted our month…”
“I’m so sorry,” Kiyoomi whispers, breathing already shaky again, “I’m so sorry, Tsumu.”
Atsumu opens his eyes, looking to his husband, confused.
“I did what we promised not to do. I gave up when it got hard. You were right. We should have talked about it. But I just… left you. And I was so ready to let you go I almost lost you for real and-“ Kiyoomi’s sob startles even him, and he looks to Atsumu with teary eyes. “I don’t want a divorce. I *love* you. You’re my everything, I can’t lose you.”
Atsumu is smiling when Kiyoomi looks up, and his heart slips a beat. His eyes are watery but he’s smiling, and it’s the most beautiful sight in the world.
“So yer saying I won ya back?” he asks, and Kiyoomi snorts, resting his head on his husband’s chest (though light enough that he can still breathe).
“You didn’t have to. You never lost me… I was just being an idiot,” Kiyoomi tells him.
Atsumu rolls his eyes and kisses his hair. “I coulda told ya that.” After a moment, he sighs. “I’m not mad at ya. I’m just… I’m grateful. That ya gave us another chance. Cause you’re my everythin’. I can’t loose ya, Omi-Omi.”
Kiyoomi looks up, eyes wet again. Atsumu presses a kiss to his nose.
“I love ya. For better or for worse.”
“I love you too. For better or for worse.”