Archive of Our Own

March 12th. 

The date where Miya Atsumu would lose the love of his life. 

He was just ten when the mark appeared on his wrist. He had spent hours trying to process it, using his ten years of life experience to try and process what exactly it meant. 

He vaguely remembered learning about in class. Something about his soulmate, he remembered that. Atsumu had fallen asleep during that class, and woke up to the teacher dropping a book on his desk in order to wake him up. 

Atsumu asked his parents what it meant at dinner. They had exchanged a glance, a flicker of sadness in their eyes. 

“Ten is awfully young to get the mark...” His father had whispered. 

“Maybe it’s... surely it can’t be connected to how soon...” His mother trailed off. Atsumu had grown tired of the dodged questions. He stood up sharply and jumped on to his chair. 

“What does it mean?!” He shouted, crossing his arms. His parents jumped in sync, both of them turning with mirrored expressions of shock and guilt. His mother tapped her foot against the floor. His father didn’t meet his eyes. 

Atsumu, being the ten year old that he was, thought little of it at the time. He thought they were just being normal adults, normal parents doing normal adult things. So he continued to stare them down, silently demanding to know what was so special about his mark. 

“Well…” His mother said hoarsely. “Yer...are sure ya have somethin’ on your wrist?”

“Yeah!” Atsumu nodded vigorously. “It says ‘March 12th.’ Right here!” He pointed to the pulsepoint of his forearm.”

“Honey, only ya can see it.” His mother said gently. “I assume ya know it’s yer soulmate mark, yeah?”

“Uh-huh! But I forgot what it means.” Atsumu said sheepishly, ducking his head. His father laughed nervously. 

“Well… it’s the day yer soulmate will die.” He said. Atsumu blinked at his wrist, then back at his parents. He promptly burst into tears. His parents jumped again. His mother pulled him into a tight hug. 

“ Noooo!” Atsumu wailed. “My-my soulmate’s gonna die in a few days!”

“No, that’s not it at all!” His mother exclaimed. “Yer wrist’s mark is still black, right?”

“Yeah…” Atsumu said, sniffling. 

“Than ya haven’t even met them yet.” She said with a gentle smile. “When it turns red, that means ya met them. If it turns white…” Her demeanor darkened slightly. “Then yes, they-they are dead. But don’t worry right now!” 

“I don’t wanna have my soulmate mark…” Atsumu whimpered. 

“It’s okay sweet pea, everyone has them.” His mother hugged him again, patting his bat. 

“Does ‘Samu have his yet?” He asked, tilting his head. 

“Good question.” His father mumbled, so quiet Atsumu almost missed it. 

“Osamu will tell us when he gets it, just like ya.” His mother pulled back from the hug, standing back up. “Don’t worry about it, Atsumu. It’s gonna be okay.” 

“Okay Ma.” Atsumu wiped his eyes, a small smile across his face. 

“Why don’t ya run off and find yer brother.” His father said, patting his shoulder and nudging him out of the kitchen. “I gotta talk ta yer Mama about somethin’.” 

“Okay!” Atsumu scampered off, intent to play with his twin and brag about his soulmate mark. His mother watched him go, then sagged slightly, covering his face with her hands.  

“Don’t tell Osamu about the mark!” His father yelled suddenly. Atsumu sighed, but nodded, not breaking stride. 

“No… the soulmate who corresponds with the mark…. they never live past 25….” His father was talking in a hushed tone. He glanced fervently toward the stairs to make sure Atsumu wasn’t coming back.

“It’s a shame… such a burden to bear, especially for a boy so young.” She agreed quietly, shaking her head. “It isn’t fair to him.”

“I hope...part of me hopes he never meets them. It would be easier that way.” He said, sighing. “Surely there’s someone else he could fall in love with… someone else with a white mark after his soulmate is…” The mother did not reply. She sighed, crossing her arms. 

“I really don’t know.” She whispered. “I just don’t.”

Atsumu had made it up the stairs. He never heard about the conversation. He never knew the fear his parents held for his future. 

If only he never found out.

-

He was twelve when he discovered what the timing of the marks meant. During a health class, no less. The teacher lectured about the marks and what they meant. Atsumu ran out of the class and threw up. Twenty-five. The expected lifespan of his soulmate. Osamu found him in the bathroom. When he asked what was wrong, Atsumu lied.

It was his burden to bear, after all. 

-

Atsumu got into volleyball around the time he got his mark. It was funny, in a way. His life changed so rapidly after both things entered his life.

Atsumu found solace in the sport. The feeling of the ball hitting his fingers and then landing on the other side of the court. The whistle blowing and the point going to them.

He could forget the world. It stood still for him as he played. Time stopped, the earth stopped, his thoughts stopped, and  he was pulled further into the sport, completely transfixed by nothing else but the game.

It was the best feeling in the world. 

Atsumu used the sport as an outlet. His pent up frustration, released. His worries, gone no matter how temporary the relief was. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. 

He knew he was good at the sport. He had worked hard to get to the point he was at in middle school alone, and would continue to work to get even better throughout high school. Atsumu had found a piece of himself in the game, and he would hold on to it. 

In the back of his mind, he hoped he would meet his soulmate in the sport. He talked to so many new people… surely one of them was his future partner?

(The mark stayed black through middle school, despite every person he met, every new soul he laid eyes on. Atsumu eventually concluded that the person wasn’t living in Hyogo, not at this rate. He must have met everyone in the prefecture through the sport; at least, that’s what it felt like. 

He lost a little more hope each day. But he knew he had to keep searching. He wasn’t giving up, not yet.

‘Maybe next time,’ he always thought as he shook hands with the opposing team, with the date engraved on his wrist still dark as the night sky.) 

(He got used to disappointment.) 

-

Atsumu used to like March. The cherry trees started blooming, the pink petals falling like snow. He liked to catch them in his hand and study the pale rosy stalks. Life reborn, the year refreshed.

Now he dreaded the third month. 

 It was ironic. He loved the cherry blossoms, but deep down knew that they signaled the coming of spring… the coming of death. 

Still, he would like to have his first date be under the trees in bloom. As Atsumu stood under the trees of the grove, he watched the pink blossoms fall to the ground, shaken gently by the wind. He could envision a little picnic in the field. 

Despite everything about his mark, Atsumu wanted to fall in love. He wanted to meet his soulmate, no matter how much it burned him in the end. 

-

Atsumu gave little thought to his soulmate after the health class. It crossed his mind every once in a while, but he usually suppressed it going through a normal day. His friends steadily started getting their marks. A scattering of them got the dates at twelve, then most of them at thirteen. 

None of them paralleled his story.

Going into high school, his wrist was still dark. March 12th stuck out to him, the black tattoo standing out sharply. He sighed perhaps he would meet the person at Inarizaki. 

Aran, Sunarin, Kita-san, Ginjima… each of them had already gotten them. Ginjima was the only one like him, stating that he hadn’t met his soulmate either, and his mark was still black. Atsumu found some reassurance in that fact, knowing he wasn’t alone in a search for his other half. 

Osamu’s wrist was, according to him, already red when he got the mark. 

May first was the day. He got it their first week of high school, practically in the middle of class.  He gasped so loudly the teacher noticed, and his brother had to stand up and admit that he got his mark. And that it was red, no less. That caused a lot of grumbling from the class, including Atsumu himself, who couldn’t help but be jealous that his twin brother got his mark late and already met the person. 

Osamu described the color as “redder than the dawn” and promptly stated “there’s no fuckin’ way you could miss this eyesore” when he caught Atsumu checking his wrist for the eighth time that day. 

“I dunno, ‘Samu.” Atsumu said after their first week of high school. His brother glanced up from his homework and blinked at him. He sighed. 

“What now?” Osamu said, crossing his legs as he swiveled the chair to face him. 

“Dontcha think if my soulmate were in Hyogo I would’ve met them by now?” Atsumu said, worriedly looking at the date on his forearm. 

“Yeah.” Osamu said flatly. Atsumu yelped, grabbing his pillow and tossing it at him. 

“That’s not what yer supposed to say, asshole!” He protested, crossing his arms. 

“Whatever. What’d ya want me to say?” Osamu kicked the pillow onto the ground. Atsumu huffed in irritation as  he stalked over and picked it back up, slamming it onto his bed. 

“Ya were supposed to say ‘oh don’t worry, there’s no way we passed everyone in the school yet, don’t give up’ or something reassurin’!” Atsumu snapped back. 

“Why are ya so worried ‘bout it anyway?” Osamu asked, promptly ignoring his retort. Atsumu shifted uncomfortably. He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Well... it’s something that the one health teacher said when she first lectured us about getting the damned thing.” He admitted. 

“Which was?” Osamu prompted, his eyes flashing with impatience.

“The younger ya get yer mark, the sooner the person is gonna die.” Atsumu confessed. “I got mine when I was ten, ya know that. It ain’t common. And everywhere I’ve looked, the person who died on that date with those conditions died before they got to twenty-five. Just like she said.” 

“Oh.” Osamu said, slightly shocked. “I knew ya got it young, but I thought you were twelve, that’s what ya said...” 

“I lied.” Atsumu deadpanned. “Ma said to not tell ya, cause then ya’d get worried and shit.” 

“Well, now I am worried, thanks jackass.” Osamu snorted, rolling his eyes. “Were ya ever gonna tell me?” 

“Dunno. I guess it’s out now.” Atsumu shrugged. 

“Okay, well yer soulmate is gonna die young.” Osamu said bluntly, staring anywhere but Atsumu’s eyes. “What are ya so afraid of, ya already know—“ 

“I’m scared I’m gonna wake up and the date will be grey!” Atsumu slammed his hands against the headboard of his bed. Osamu started. “I’m scared I’m gonna lose them before I even get a chance to say hello. And if I don’t find them soon... who’s to say I’ll get to know them at all?”

“Has it turned red yet?” Osamu said, tilting his head. Atsumu bit his lip, subconsciously checking his wrist. It was still black. Like it had been for five years. 

“No…” He mumbled, glaring at his brother. “I just told ya that, asshole. Quit rubbing it in my face that yours —“

“Can ya do anything about it?” Osamu challenged again, cutting him off. His brother 

“No…not really...” He said again. 

“Then ya haven’t met them yet. Ya will soon, don’t worry.” Osamu said simply with a shrug. “There’s still time. And ya never know, yer soulmate could live longer. Science is wrong all the time, especially with all this fate shit.” 

“True.” Atsumu sighed. “I’m just scared, that’s all.” 

“I get it.” Osamu replied. “It’s gonna be okay though.”

“I guess.” Atsumu said with a sigh. “I could go my whole life without ever knowin’ who it is.”

“Yeah, but at least ya don’t have to search through every person ya ever met to find out who yer destined to be with.” Osamu retorted sharply. “I have no idea where ta begin.” Atsumu shrugged, studying his mark.

March 12th. March 12th. 

The day caused a lot of anxiety for him. He kept his wrist exposed and where he could see it. Atsumu didn’t go to sleep until midnight struck and the day fully passed. 

He didn’t have to stress for a while. They were well into May, giving Atsumu another ten months to find the one before March came again. He resisted the urge to slam his head against the desk just thinking about it. 

“...’Tsumu? Hello? Ya in there?” Osamu’s voice snapped him back to reality. Atsumu jumped, nodding rigorously. 

“Sorry, just...spaced out.” He mumbled in excuse. 

“Ya do that a lot.” Osamu said, laughing slightly. “Ya have a lot of space in that empty brain of yers.”

“Shut up, ‘Samu.” Atsumu said with a scowl. 

“Seriously, ‘Tsumu.” Osamu’s voice softened slightly, a serious air surrounding him. “I wish I knew exactly what ta say, but I promise I’ll be with ya every step of the way. Ya don’t have ta go through this alone.” Atsumu flashed his brother a grateful smile. 

“Thanks.” He replied quietly. 

“Of course. I know ya’d do the same for me.” His brother said, patting his shoulder. “Now help me with this English homework.” Atsumu stood up and stretched, snickering softly. 

“Scared of a little world language?” 

“I hate it.” Osamu hissed, staring at his paper ruefully. Atsumu peered over at it. The two worked together, and he didn’t think about his mark for the rest of the night. 

Thank god he had his brother. Someone to help distract him.

-

Osamu and Rintarou Suna got together a week after their conversation. Atsumu was happy for them.

But he was oh so jealous. 

-

He got invited to the National Youth Camp in his first year. 

Scouts had taken notice of his setting ability during the Interhigh Tournament. The Inarizaki coach received the invite and told Atsumu, who eagerly accepted. He would get to spend a week in Tokyo, training with some of the best high school volleyball players in the nation. The future generation of the greatest members of the game. 

Deep down, he was still hoping to meet his soulmate.

The day before he was to leave for the camp, Osamu told Atsumu not to stress about the whole soulmate thing. Now that he knew the “secret” behind Atsumu’s, he was determined to destress him. 

“Telling me not to stress makes me stress more.” Atsumu said dryly. “Ya should know that.” 

“But—“

“Bro, it’s okay. They’re either gonna be there or they won’t.” Atsumu forced the words out. “Either way, it’ll be fun. I’m going for volleyball, not romance.”

“Why not get both?” Osamu rolled his eyes. “Ya never know.” Atsumu grunted in response, turning his attention back to packing. He haphazardly shoved his practice shirts into his duffel bag, not even bothering to fold them. He grabbed two pairs of shorts and dropped them next to the shirts. 

“What else do I need?” He mused to himself. 

“A toothbrush. Deodorant. Food.” Osamu deadpanned. 

“They’re providin’ us food.” Atsumu brushed over his brother’ suggestions. “But yeah, I probably need the toothbrush.” Osamu snorted. 

“I hope yer soulmate is responsible.” 

“I’m plenty responsible!” Atsumu protested, crossing his arms. 

“Yer unfolded clothes say otherwise.” Osamu knelt down next to his bag, tugging out his clothes and refolding them.

“It’s fine. Everything’ll fit.” Atsumu huffed. 

“Sure it will. Wanna bet?” Osamu challenged. Atsumu eagerly accepted. And to his disappointment, he could not fit everything into the bag. He ended up shelling up 2000 yen to his brother, grumbling the entire time. 

Atsumu didn’t sleep that night. He laid awake, thinking about his soulmate. He had no idea how old they were; assuming they were his age, he had about ten to nine years left with them. It sent shivers down his spine, and he clutched his sheets tighter, rolling onto his side. 

The clock continued to tick, down and down. His stomach flipped upside down. He pushed himself up and stumbled to the bathroom, clutching the counter and staring into the sink. He could feel the anxiety eating away at him, tearing him down slowly, little by little. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath. Atsumu shut his eyes, another wave of exhaustion hitting him. He wanted to sleep, but the fear was still there. If he checked his wrist in the morning, would it be white? Would he be too late?  

He prayed to every deity that the person was waiting for him at the camp.

Atsumu pushed down his nausea and staggered back to his room. He curled up in his bed, fighting off his worry. He had to rest; he was going against some of the best players in the country tomorrow. He forced his eyes shut, and fell into a restless sleep where dreamt of hospitals and death dates. 

-

Atsumu rose with the dawn. He watched the sun turn the sky from dark indigos and purples to rose golds and vibrant pinks. The train to Tokyo left at seven, and he was leaving for the station at six. The current time was five fifteen. Atsumu sighed, stretching as he paced his room. So much time, yet not enough to do anything. 

His mark was still black. One reassurance. Atsumu yawned, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He was too apprehensive to rest. No one else was awake for him to bother. It was just him and his thoughts. 

Atsumu grabbed his pamphlet for the camp. He rifled through it, humming to himself. It would be interesting to see the skills of other advanced players. A new challenge, a new adventure. A full week away from the team, from home. His stomach twinged at the thought. He never took himself for someone to get homesick, but the idea of being gone for so long did make him slightly sad. 

His clock read five-thirty as he dressed. He pulled on his Inarizaki jacket, zipping it up and striding out of his room. Atsumu shuffled down to the kitchen and made himself a quick breakfast. His parents trusted him to make his way to the train station without dying; he wasn’t going to make them get up at the crack of dawn on a weekend. 

Atsumu slung his bag over his shoulder, humming to himself as he pulled his shoes on. He ambled down to the station, enjoying the quiet of the city as he walked. The train ride was uneventful; he actually managed to nap on the way to Tokyo. 

He was at the gym before he knew it. Atsumu shot off a quick text to his family stating he didn’t get kidnapped and made it to Tokyo safely. He sighed as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. When he stepped into the gym, he was immediately ushered to a meeting by the coach. 

The coach droned on about the logistics of the camp, the training, and the goals. Atsumu, who was still exhausted, struggled to stay standing through it all. He rocked back and forth on his heels, biting his lip to stay awake. 

“Okay, we’re gonna send you off to your hotel rooms to prepare for the afternoon practice. It’s right across the way, you can’t miss it.” Coach Hibarida said, clapping his hands. Atsumu snapped back to attention, fixing his face with a dazzling smile. The coach handed each of them their room keys, and Atsumu scampered off toward the hotel, clutching his bag tightly. 

He let out a shocked yelp as he collided with someone. 

The person turned around, brow furled. Atsumu lifted his chin. His eyes are so dark. They were like fragments of a black hole, placed gently on a human's face., His irises were such a deep brown they appeared jet black. His hair was curly and as dark as his pupils, the black strands framing his face. He had two moles above his eyes, shaped just so that they appeared to be perfect circles. He wore a mask, and his jacket provided no indication as to which school he was from. 

“What where you’re going.” He growled out, his voice gravelly. It sent chills down Atsumu’s spine. If he wasn’t hellbent on being an insolent little shit, he would have stepped back. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, it was an accident—“ He started, his tone lofty. 

“You have eyes. Use them.” The boy shook himself off, already walking away. 

“Spare me yer name and position?” Atsumu called. He looked vaguely familiar, like he had seen him in those volleyball magazines or something, but he couldn’t be sure. The black haired boy sighed, turning around and facing Atsumu. 

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” The black haired boy said, his voice stoic. “First year. Wing spiker.” Everything about him was regal, commanding. One of the top spikers in the nation. Cold and calculating both on and off the court. Atsumu smiled to himself. He looked forward to kicking his ass on the court. Taking down kings was something he always enjoyed. 

“Miya Atsumu.” He declared as it became his turn to introduce himself. He shot Kiyoomi— Omi , as his brain decided to call him— a lopsided grin. “Also a first year. Setter.” He laced his tone with his signature cockiness. Kiyoomi leered at him, his eyes wrinkling slightly. 

“You look constipated.” He said dryly. Atsumu gawked at him, indignant. 

“Hey!” He snapped back. “At least ya can see my mouth!” 

“Hmm. Don’t see how that’s a problem.” Kiyoomi tilted his head up. He looked pretty in the lighting, Atsumu thought. His jet black hair gleamed in the lights, and his dark eyes were still scanning Atsumu, scrutinizing him in his judgemental stare. 

“I bet ya would look cuter.” He said, snickering slightly. He hoped he could fluster the spiker. It worked, Kiyoomi’s face turned red, a blush flaring up on his face. Atsumu’s grin grew. “Daawww is Omi-kun all flustered?”

“Don’t call me that.” Kiyoomi said, his voice flooded with disdain. “And maybe I would. I just don’t want to look good for you.” 

“Such a feeble retort.” Atsumu cackled, thoroughly enjoying watching the spiker squirm. 

“You aren’t worth my time.” Kiyoomi said, most definitely sneering under his mask. “See you on the court, Miya. We’ll see where all your talk gets you when you lose to me.” 

“It’ll be great to watch ya eat those words.” Atsumu said with another small laugh. Kiyoomi sniffed, striding away without another word. Atsumu watched him walk, doing his best to not memorize his every step.

Fuck, he’s hot. Atsumu shook it off. He turned and walked away stiffly, already fantasizing at serving a ball directly onto the two moles on Kiyoomi’s forehead. He subconsciously glanced toward his wrist. 

When Atsumu did a double take, yanking his wrist to his face as he gasped slightly. The stark date, once black as the night sky, was now a vibrant, eye-bleeding red. Osamu wasn’t kidding. He stared at it as he crossed the street, hurrying toward the hotel. He had to call Osamu. 

He couldn’t decide if this was a good thing or not. On the one hand, he got his soulmate after five agonizing years of waiting. On the other hand… it was Kiyoomi fucking Sakusa. A prick, if Atsumu ever saw one. He sighed, stepping into the elevator and hurriedly shutting the door. 

Atsumu found his room easily. He opened the door and was pleasantly surprised to see that his designated roommate had not arrived yet. He dropped his bag on his bed, pulled out his phone,  and beelined for the small deck overlooking the city. He dialed his brother, lifting the phone to his ear and gnawing on his lip. 

“Atsumu?” Osamu’s bleary voice sounded through the phone as he picked up. “Whaddya want?” His words were slightly slurred, as if he had just woken up from sleep. Atsumu took a deep breath, ignoring the fact that his brother had been sleeping until noon. 

“Mysoulmatemarkfinallyturnedredandohmygodiwanttofuckingdieihatehimsomuchiveonlytalkedtohimoncebutijust know —“ Atsumu started, speaking so fast it even surprised him. 

“Slow down, ya nimrod.” Osamu snapped. “Start over.” 

“Right. My bad.” Atsumu mumbled. He took another deep breath, shaking his head. “My soulmate mark turned red. I’ve met them. And I know who it is.” 

“That’s good, right?” Osamu challenged. “Isn’t that whatcha wanted?” 

“I hate him.” Atsumu said point blank, not bothering to sugarcoat it. He was mildly annoyed with the universe. First it did him dirty with the early mark, and now he had a soulmate who’s demeanor rivaled his own. “He’s an ass.” 

“You’ll get along perfectly.” Osamu responded flatly, the phone crackling slightly as his brother shifted. Atsumu groaned, resisting the urge to scream in frustration. 

“Shut up, ‘Samu!” He wailed. “It’s not fair! Ya and Sunarin are perfect for each other—“  

“Don’t drag Rin into this.” Osamu said stiffly. “Who is the guy, anyway?” 

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” Atsumu pinched the bridge of his nose, reliving the interaction from earlier. 

“The ace from Itachiyama? With the weird wrists?” 

“Yep.”

“Never mind, you’re fucked.” Osamu said, snorting. Atsumu let out an offended yelp, shaking his head. 

“Traitor. Yer supposed to tell me what to do now since ya have yer soulmate.” He retorted, huffing with irritation. Osamu let out a laugh, that was cut off by a yawn. He paused before answering, the line crackling with an awkward silence. 

“Just go talk to him, ya dumbass.” Osamu said with an exasperated sigh. “It isn’t that hard.” Atsumu shuddered. 

“I betcha he doesn’t know I’m his soulmate.” 

“He probably has his mark. So yes, he probably knows that he has the misfortune of being yer soulmate.” Osamu retorted. Atsumu could practically hear him rolling his eyes. 

“Listen here ya—“ He started to say. He stopped as the hotel door was unlocked. Atsumu sighed. His roommate was here. “Sorry ‘Samu, I gotta go.” 

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare hang up after ya called me in the middle of my nap—“ Atsumu clicked his phone off with a small snicker. He may not have gotten the help he wanted, but harassing Osamu was also fine with him. 

Atsumu stood up and stepped back into the room, shutting the patio door. He fixed his face with his easy smile and waited for the person to open the door. 

He didn’t even bother stopping his grin from vanishing when he saw who it was.

“Fuck.” Atsumu breathed, resisting the urge to put his head through the wall. 

“Oh for the love of-“ Sakusa Kiyoomi stood in the entrance of the room, his duffel bag hanging off his shoulder. His mask was wrinkled (likely with distaste) as he stared down Atsumu. 

“Of all the people...” Atsumu shook his head, flopping against his bed. 

“Shut up, Miya. I’m not pleased with this either.” Kiyoomi shot back. “ Any of this.” Atsumu was, contrary to popular belief, quite smart. And he had enough sense to detect the hidden meaning behind his words. 

“I didn’t ask for ya to be my soulmate!”

“Well, you’re stuck with me Miya. Just like I’m stuck with you.” Kiyoomi dropped his duffel bag onto the other bed. He took off his mask gingerly, setting it onto his bed. He grabbed some cleaning wipes from his bag and hurried to wipe down his nightstand and other items on his side. Atsumu watched him with fascination. 

“Ya know that house keeping took care of that already.” He said, tilting his head.

“I just want to be sure.” Kiyoomi responded, his ears going slightly pink. “I’m not bothering you. And even if I was, I would still do it.” 

“Why?” Atsumu inquired, sitting up on his bed and crossing his legs. Kiyoomi didn’t slow his pace, continuing to clean every inch of his side of the room. 

“Because.” 

“Because why?” Atsumu leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. 

“Because I want to.” Kiyoomi said, standing back up. He didn’t spare Atsumu another glance as he disposed of the wipe. “I have mysophobia.”

“What?” Atsumu felt as if the term was familiar, but he couldn't quite place its definition. 

“I don’t like germs.” The spiker said with a sigh. “It’s simple.”

“Oh, okay.” Atsumu rolled onto his back, grabbing the covers of his bed and tugging them over him. He could feel Kiyoomi’s gaze on his back, full of questioning. 

“What are you doing, Miya?” Miya. Atsumu wanted to ask him to call him Atsumu, but he shrugged it off. He wasn’t supposed to like him. He was irritating and rude; and yet, he was neutral now. His harsh demeanor was receding, and his shell was breaking. Atsumu didn’t mind talking to him. He certainly wasn’t in as bad of a mood as he had been earlier, when he accidentally bumped into him. It made sense-- the mysophobia thing added up. Perhaps he isn’t too bad. 

“Taking a nap.” Atsumu mumbled. “‘M tired.” 

“We haven’t even practiced yet.” Kiyoomi pointed out.

“I came from Kobe. Been up since five.” He retorted with a yawn. Kiyoomi scoffed softly. 

“Fair. Just be up for training, I’m not your alarm clock.” 

“Didn’t ask ya to be, Omi-omi.” 

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m yer soulmate, I’ll call ya whatever I want.” Atsumu said, shutting his eyes. He was still reeling from his discovery, and he still couldn’t decide what he thought of Kiyoomi. He’s an asshole, but not really. His wrist twinged.

The clock was still running. His blood froze when he thought about it. Kiyoomi would be dead in ten years; maybe less. Atsumu clutched his pillow tighter, inhaling sharply. Everything became more confusing, more conflicted. 

Would it be worth it to fall in love with someone he wasn’t even sure he liked? Especially when they were supposed to die in less than a decade? Was Kiyoomi someone he could even fall in love with? The questions circled his head, like birds of prey. They would be answered sooner or later, but for now they left him confused and scared. 

God, he was scared. Atsumu forced all thoughts of it out of his mind. He had to rest. Volleyball was his focus, and that’s what it would remain on. 

Kiyoomi shuffled something in the background. Atsumu peeled open his eyes slightly, watching him organize a few books. His mask was still off, and he moved with an air of uncomfortability. His facial covering was probably a shield. Atsumu could care less; it was his life, and he could do whatever he wanted. Despite his nervousness, he still moved gracefully. Each step was delicate but deliberate, like a dancer. He moved with purpose, with intent. God, he’s beautiful. He reminded Atsumu of a dancer, in a way. 

Kiyoomi must have noticed Atsumu staring, as he turned around and locked eyes with him. They held each other’s gazes for a half second, and Atsumu could swear he felt an electric current strike him from the intensity those eyes held. Kiyoomi cleared his throat, placing one hand on his hip. Atsumu gulped and tore his eyes away, flipping onto his other side. 

Later. He could deal with it later, after he kicked his ass in a volleyball game. Atsumu smiled at the thought. He would win against him. 

-

Sadly, Atsumu was placed on the same team as Kiyoomi. There was no ass-kicking or otherwise that could occur, as Atsumu was still dead set on winning the practice game. He secretly enjoyed setting to the spiker. The afternoon scrimmage left him exhausted, especially after dealing with Kourai Hoshiumi and his… antics. As amusing as he was, he was borderline too much for even Atsumu. 

His legs were aching by the time he returned back to the hotel. Atsumu’s stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he should get some food. He stumbled to the lobby, muttering to himself as he searched for the vending machine. He dug some change out of pocket, examining his choices. 

“There’s nothing healthy in there.” Kiyoomi’s voice startled him. Atsumu sighed, shaking his head. 

“Hello ta ya too, Omi.” He mumbled. He stuck his money into the machine and punched in the number of his chosen snack. “I want sugar. Sue me.” 

“Fair.” Kiyoomi said, tugging on his mask. Atsumu stooped down and pulled the bag out. He leaned against the wall and pulled it open. “Are you going to eat that down here?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu said, throwing some of the MMs in his mouth. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because there’s a room. Where you can sit. Without other people around.” Kiyoomi said slowly. Atsumu tilted his head thoughtfully. 

“True. No offense to Kourai-kun, but I don’t want to get jumped again.” Atsumu shuddered.

“Good, let’s go.” Kiyoomi said, turning around and beckoning him with one hand. He blinked at him, ignoring the sudden knot in his throat. He grinned and followed him. 

The two rode up the elevator in silence. Atsumu continued to munch on his chocolate, humming to himself. Kiyoomi was examining him closely. He ignored the stare, stretching slightly. 

“My legs are on fuckin’ fire.” He groaned, resting his head against the side of the wall. He let out another pained noise as his thighs spasmed again. 

“My wrists snapped again.” Kiyoomi said nonchalantly. Atsumu blinked at him as the spiker stretched his forearms. Atsumu’s eyes widened as a small pop sounded from his direction. His jaw dropped as he stretched his wrists even further than what was normal. He gawked at him, his eyes flitting between Kiyoomi’s arms and eyes. 

“Holy shit--” He gasped out. Kiyoomi’s face turned red. 

“I--”

“That’s so fuckin’ cool!” He exclaimed. “Yer spikes-- no wonder they were so powerful-- the spin ya must get-- oh my god, how do ya do that?” Kiyoomi looked taken aback by the sudden assault of questions. He cleared his throat. 

“I have hypermobility. My wrists are double-jointed. I can bend them further than most other people.” He explained. Atsumu nodded, still staring in mild shock. 

“That’s… that’s so cool--”

“It’s not.” Kiyoomi deadpanned. “I’m more susceptible to breaks than other people. I have to be careful while playing any sport.”

“It’s still amazin’.” Atsumu said awkwardly. He cleared his throat and turned away. He shoved more MMs into his mouth. The elevator dinged and they stepped out in sync. Atsumu followed Kiyoomi into their room. 

“I’m gonna pass out again.” He yawned. 

“How will you survive another week of hardcore training?” Kiyoomi said, tugging off his jacket. 

“Hibernation.” Atsumu retorted. He put his bag of food on the nightstand and climbed into his bed. Kiyoomi laughed. He stiffened, resisting the urge to turn and stare at the spiker. His laugh sounded like bells in the wind, beautiful but loud. He could listen to it all day. 

Atsumu exhaled sharply. Shit . He was falling in love, he was falling in love with the prickly, dark haired spiker. He wanted to hear him laugh, he wanted to make him laugh. He wanted to help him with his hypermobility, he wanted to treat him to chocolate in the evenings. His soulmate mark twinged again.

Maybe the universe knew what it was doing after all.

-

The rest of the week flew by in a blur of training and the slow realization that he was falling in love. Atsumu wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Kiyoomi had his moments where he was insufferable; him and Atsumu could argue like there was no tomorrow. The second night, they got into a heated debate about whether or not setting or spiking was harder. But during the practice games, nothing could break their tempo. 

It was confusing. They also had normal conversations, about food, the weather, or whatever else popped up. Atsumu enjoyed talking to him. He enjoyed being around him. 

And yet he failed to get his phone number. 

“See you around, Miya.” Kiyoomi had said as Atsumu finished packing his bag. It was the last day of camp. He jolted his head up, tilting his head at the spiker. He had already finished packing, with his duffel bag strapped across his shoulder. His hair was curly and still damp from the shower. His mask was obscuring his expression, but he seemed slightly more open then when he first met him. Guess he warmed up to me. 

“Already packed and leavin’?” Atsumu said, leaning on his bed with a smirk. “Can’t believe ya wanna leave so soon.” 

“Yep.” He said simply. 

“Well, it wasn’t all that bad rooming with ya.” Atsumu returned to his packing, haphazardly shoving his shirts into his bag. 

“...same.” Kiyoomi said slowly. Atsumu could feel the tips of his ears heating up. He swallowed back his blush, snickering slightly. 

“Awww, Omi-kun, didn’t know ya would get so attached.” He deflected quickly. 

“Don’t call me that.” Kiyoomi muttered. There was an awkward pause, neither of them speaking. They were waiting, waiting to address it and what to do next. Atsumu zipped up his bag, sighing slightly. This could be the last time you see him. The traitorous voice whispered, reminding him of Kiyoomi’s-- his soulmate’s -- limited time. He pushed it down, shaking his head. 

“Bye, Miya.” Kiyoomi said, his voice sounding slightly off. “See you around.”

“Bye, Omi--” He started. The door slammed shut, and Atsumu was alone. He sighed again. Damnit. He should have gotten his contact information. He should have asked him out. Atsumu slung his bag over his back and walked out of the room, disappointed to see that Kiyoomi was long gone. 

Maybe next time.

-

“How was the camp?” Kita asked. Atsumu paused, his shirt halfway over his head. How was he supposed to answer this? He sighed and tugged his training uniform over his head.

“Weird.” He decided to say. Vague, but not too detailed.

“We heard ya got yer soulmate.” The white haired boy nonchalantly commented. Atsumu stiffened. 

“Yeah.” 

“Good for ya.” Kita patted his shoulder. “I won the bet because of that.” Atsumu gawked at him, his eye twitching. 

“Y’all… put bets on my soulmate?” He said slowly, trying to process. Kita blinked at him without flinching. 

“Yes. Suna won the bet of “ the person would be as insufferable to Atsumu” and I won the “he’s going to meet them at the training camp” part.” He said simply. 

“How much did Osamu tell ya?” Atsumu asked, his voice low. 

“Sakusa Kiyoomi, huh?” Kita said with a smirk, the first change of emotion. “I must confess, according to Osamu, that match does sound a bit hellish.” Atsumu’s ears burned red, a blush spreading across his face. 

“...’e’s not that bad…” He mumbled sheepishly. Kita’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing with curiosity. He tilted his head, stepping closer. 

“Really?” Kita said, sounding shocked. “From the way ya made him sound…”

“He wasn’t too bad once I talked to him a bit more.” Atsumu confessed. “And he’s not bad lookin’ either.” 

“Well.” Kita looked slightly unsettled. “I guess Sunarin doesn’t win the bet after all.”

“That’s where yer mind went?” Atsumu said with a laugh. “The bet? Not my happiness that yer gambling with?” 

“Yes.” Kita deadpanned. “Absolutely.”

“Never took ya for the business type.” Atsumu laughed again. He lowered his voice again, glancing around. “Don’t tell ‘Samu or anyone, but… but I’m not all that torn up about havin’ Omi—“

“Ya gave him a nickname?” Kita snorted. “Damn, ya really did fall for him.” 

“With all due respect, shut up.” Atsumu snapped, the blush returning to his face. “But yeah. And I’m gonna ask him out.” 

“When?” Kita pressed. 

“Dunno. Whenever I feel like it.” Atsumu said breezily. “No way in hell am I tellin’ any of ya scrubs anything else. Don’t need y’all makin’ money offa me.” 

“Fair enough.” Kita sighed. “Come on, we’ve got a practice ta attend.” Atsumu laughed one more time, before following his captain. 

(He ended up letting the team bet on him and Kiyoomi as long as they promised him a cut of the winnings. They all declined the terms.) 

-

Atsumu would be a second year when he encountered Kiyoomi next. It would be at Nationals, specifically the Interhigh Tournament. During his first year, they had to been beaten by another Tokyo school (Fukudorani, that was their name) and had been unable to move on and play the team. 

As the second major tournament of his high school drew closer and closer, Atsumu knew what he had to do. It was oh-so clear. In order to woo Kiyoomi, he had to do one, simple thing. 

He had to beat Itachiyama in Nationals. 

It was a good goal, he thought. Inarizaki was one hell of a team. Each of their players was unique in their abilities, and Atsumu knew how to make each and every one of them work. There was a reason he had been selected for the National training camp, and a reason he would help lead his team to victory. 

“Countin’ down the hours, arentcha?” Osamu teased him on the bus. The team had slowly gotten wind of the fact that he was in fact crushing on Sakusa Kiyoomi. Osamu and Suna in particular were relentless in their teasing. Atsumu ignored them; he had more important things to worry about. 

“Yes.” He admitted begrudgingly. He shifted away from his brother with a yawn. Atsumu rubbed his eyes and stretched. “Are we there yet?” 

“Pretty much.” Rintarou smirked. “Look out the window.” Atsumu pressed his head against the window and stared out of it. The Tokyo skyline greeted him, the slanted gym roof barely visible through the city. The bus turned suddenly and Atsumu’s forehead hit the window with a thwack. Rintarou snickered, and Osamu openly laughed. 

“Ow…” He mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his head. Kita peered back, the captain’s expression slightly disappointed. 

“Atsumu, don’t get a concussion before the game.” Kita chided simply, before turning back to Aran. Atsumu could feel a blush blooming across his face. Osamu rolled his eyes. 

“Yer too excited ta see Kiyoomi again, arentcha?”

“Ya asked me that like two seconds ago.” Atsumu snapped back. “ Shut up, ya scrub.” Rin pulled out his phone, turning the camera on. He sighed, crossing his arms and turning back to the bus window. 

“They’re gonna fight on the bus.” Ginjima voiced the team’s concern, the wing spiker reclining against the bus seat. Osamu smirked, lifting his chin. 

“Rin, save yer camera space. Yer gonna get so much blackmail from you know who today.” He drawled. 

“Oh my god, if you say one more thing--” Atsumu started, balling his hands into fists. 

“We’re here.” Kita called back. “Get yer bags. We’ll be meeting in the gym for the opening ceremony shortly.” Atsumu stuck his tongue out at Osamu before standing up as the bus pulled up in front of the hotel across the gym. Atsumu ended up being assigned Ginjima as his roommate. He supposed he was lucky it wasn’t Rin or Osamu, who were likely plotting his downfall. Current objective: keep Rintarou and Osamu away from Kiyoomi at all costs.  

Atsumu unpacked quickly, heading to the gym after changing into his uniform. Seven. He smiled to himself. It was a good number. Deep down, he hoped to achieve the captain number yesterday. He shook it off. Next year, that was a goal for next year. Right now, he had to win Nationals.  

Kita was waiting for them outside the gym. He counted the members, and once he was satisfied that they were all there, picked up their team sign. Atsumu fell into line, taking his place and fixing his face with a smirk. 

The teams were organized alphabetically. Atsumu’s blood froze when he discovered the fact. The slot next to them was marked for none other than Itachiyama Institute. He could practically feel his eyes popping out of his skull as he stared at the name scrawled upon the floor marker. 

“Shit.” He mumbled. “Fuck, this fucking sucks.” Kita turned back and peered down the line, glaring at Atsumu and mouthing “what yer language” before turning back and facing forward, his face placid. Atsumu could feel sweat trickling down his neck. This will not end will. 

Atsumu stared intently at the doors, waiting for the Tokyo team to come in. He could feel the tension in his shoulders, the anxiety rolling off of him. This would be the first time he saw Kiyoomi since the training camp. He flexed his fingers, forcing his breathing to stay even. 

The doors seemed to open in slow motion. The green and yellow clad team, the champions of the country. The entire gym froze, each of the teams, turning to size up the competition. 

The team with Atsumu’s soulmate. He scanned the ranks of the team, his eyes landing on Kiyoomi. His hair was still the dark curled mess, and his eyes were unreadable. His shoulders and wrists looked more defined than last time, and his expression was even. He looked mysterious, but fucking hell Atsumu could not deny how hot he was. 

Itachiyama took their place next to them, each of them stoic and terse. As Kiyoomi passed him, he nodded once and swept past him. It was rather strange to see him so casual without his mask. Atsumu smiled fondly. He could feel the blush across his face, and he ducked his chin, sheepish. 

Rintarou hummed three slots behind him, loud enough for Atsumu to notice. He twisted and stared at him, shaking his head softly. “Do not.” He whispered. “Do not.”  Rin said nothing, tapping his foot against the floor. Atsumu’s eyes flitted to Osamu, who was scrutinizing Kiyoomi. The black haired spiker ignored the stares his team mates were giving him. If he was bothered, he didn’t show it. 

The ceremony dragged on. Atsumu could feel the stares of Osamu, Rintarou, and Kiyoomi on his back. He mentally crushed his luck, wishing he was further back. He didn’t know if he was hallucinating, but he could have sworn he heard whispers as the announcer drawled on. 

“If you hurt him, I will rip your eyes out.” Osamu whispered loudly. Atsumu flinched, hanging his head. He bit back an irritated yell, wishing he could turn around and slap his brother. On the bright side, Kita also stiffened, indicating that the captain heard what Osamu said. He snickered softly. 

“And with that, we wish you all the best of luck this week during the competitions. Teams participating in day one, please head to the locker rooms to prepare for the first games!” A smattering of applause followed the words. Atsumu stretched slightly as the teams proceeded out, one by one. 

The lobby of the gym was packed. Atsumu lost the rest of Inarizaki within seconds; definitely a record. He sighed to himself, shaking his head. The team jerseys blurred together in a rainbow of colors. 

Atsumu ended up pressed against the wall, a group of third years pushing past him. He yelped slightly, groping for a handhold as he stumbled slightly. His legs wobbled and he felt his knees crack from the awkward position he was forced into. 

Arms grabbed his shoulders and hauled him off the wall and back to the center of the room. He righted himself quickly, breathing a small sigh of relief. Atsumu turned to see who his saviour was. 

“Hello, Miya.” Kiyoomi said breezily. “You were in my spot.” 

Oh. 

“Hey there, Omi.” Atsumu said with a small grin. “How ya doing today?” 

“I’m fine.” He said with a shrug. He glanced around the crowded room with a small shudder. “I don’t like this crowd.” 

“Then come with me.” Atsumu beckoned with his hand, pointing to the stairwell. “I bet yer team is already up there. Or ya can save them seats. One way or the other.” 

“I’m actually playing first. Gotta get to the locker room.” Kiyoomi mumbled. Atsumu nodded, tilting his head. 

“Well, good luck to ya then.” A silence washed over them, the two standing in the center of the lobby as teams and spectators brushed past them. They were muffled, the rest of the world shut out. All Atsumu could see was Kiyoomi. Neither of them broke eye contact. Atsumu wouldn’t blink first. 

He didn’t want either of them to blink. The date on his wrist burned, as if it were on fire. Reminding him of the time he was losing, the time he was wasting. A lump formed in Atsumu’s throat. He bathed in the moment, savoring every second, every moment. 

Kiyoomi cleared his throat, nodding awkwardly. “I should get going.” It was the hotel room all over again. Where Atsumu let him leave, let him walk away. 

Not again. 

“Wait.” He said quickly. “Can I get yer phone number?” 

Kiyoomi smiled. “Yeah.” Atsumu pulled out his phone, punching in the line of numbers he had been told. He felt giddy, more excited then he imagined he would. 

“Smile for the picture!” Atsumu raised his phone and snapped a quick picture of Kiyoomi, who looked shocked. He snickered slightly as he set it as the contact photo and slid his phone back into his pocket. Kiyoomi grumbled something incoherent, but Atsumu didn’t miss the pink that colored his face. 

“Good luck at yer game. I’ll be cheerin’ for ya.” Atsumu said loftily, heading for the stairs. 

“See you in the finals.” Kiyoomi said, before turning back to the gym. 

“See ya in finals.” Atsumu watched him go, unable to keep the smile off his face. He climbed the stairs, taking his seat with the rest of Inarizaki. Osamu smirked at him, but Atsumu ignored him. 

Damn, he was getting in deep. 

-

Inarizaki lost to Itachiyama in the final match. It was a close set, in which Kiyoomi took the final point, his curved spike passing Rintarou’s block. Atsumu was exhausted, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He knew he should be upset, but he was still through the moon. 

Kiyoomi looked good after his win. The small smile on his lips as he wiped the sweat off of his forehead. His eyes sparkled with the exuberance from the win. 

Atsumu thought he looked rather beautiful. 

-

After the narrow defeat at the Internigh, Atsumu mentally swore to himself that he would beat Kiyoomi. Crush or no crush, he would destroy the Itachiyama spiker next time they went toe to toe. 

Atsumu was invited to the training camp again. Consequently, he was rooming with Kiyoomi again. 

He was happy this time. He enjoyed it, he enjoyed the teasing about his naps, he enjoyed the banter, he enjoyed everything. 

And he definitely enjoyed being on the team against Kiyoomi. 

The team that beat him. Atsumu had smirked at him, and Kiyoomi had smiled back. It made his heart spin, and he loved the feeling. He loved the way Kiyoomi made him feel. 

Atsumu made up his mind. 

The soulmate mark be damned. The time limit be damned. He was in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi, and he was not going to let him get away. 

“I kinda wanna go on a date with ya.” Atsumu said after practice one day, his face red. They were on a water break, and he took that time to seek out Kiyoomi. The two chatted for a moment, when, against all his better judgement, Atsumu asked the question. But he didn’t regret it one bit. It was time to get a move on, before it all slipped away. “Ya aren’t that bad Omi-kun. And if we’re soulmates, shouldn’t we get ta know each other besides just texting?” Kiyoomi blinked, his hands tucked into his pockets. 

“Fine.” He said with a shrug. “You’re probably right.” 

“So yer willin’ to go out with me?” Atsumu asked, shocked by the answer. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. 

“That’s what I said, Miya.” 

“Call me Atsumu.” He said with a grin. “I’ll see ya at six, after practice today.” 

“Are we going out?” Kiyoomi inquired. Atsumu hummed to himself with a smirk. 

“Ya’ll see.”

-

“The cherry trees?” Kiyoomi blinked at the grove, staring at it as he pulled his mask down slightly. Atsumu beamed at him, nodding. It had taken ten minutes of walking, sneaking past the hotel management, but it was worth it. The trees were dormant, but their branches were still pretty under the gentle snowfall, coated in the white flakes. The park itself looked like a winter wonderland. 

“Come on, I set it up already.” He hesitantly reached for Kiyoomi’s hand. He was pleasantly shocked when he took it. His smile grew wider and he tugged him gently into the mesh of trees. They walked side by side. Atsumu could feel a blush spreading across his face as he skipped along, apprehensive. He paused in the center, sweeping aside. 

“Ta da…” He said, grinning. He had set up a small picnic, the blanket spread across the snowy grass. He had taken time to lay some food out, which to his immense relief was still there. Kiyoomi blinked at it, and then back at Atsumu. 

“A picnic date, huh?” Kiyoomi said slowly. Atsumu bit his lip anxiously. 

“Yeah… I kinda always imagined my first date ta be under the cherry trees and a picnic dinner… I dunno, it always seemed nice ta me.” He explained, ducking his head. 

“It’s cute.” The spiker said, stepping toward the blanket. “Albeit cold.” 

“The damn weather, always ruining everything.” Atsumu said with a laugh. He settled down a respectful meter or two from Kiyoomi, giving him the space he needed. Kiyoomi stared at the space between them for a fleeting moment, before turning his gaze back to Atsumu himself. The silence remained for another minute, before Kiyoomi cleared his throat suddenly.

“So, what do you think of that setter from Karasuno?” The conversation turned to volleyball, Atsumu and Kiyoomi spending a good twenty minutes analyzing each player. Atsumu supposed that it was probably a good strategy; Kiyoomi wanted to play him as much as he wanted to. Part of that relied on them winning their next games. 

Part of him wanted it to be more romantic. 

He wanted to cut Kiyoomi off, wanted to tell him to stop talking and just fucking kiss him. Atsumu kept the smile on his face, although it was strained. He was getting tired of faking, acting like he didn’t want him. 

Maybe it was the clock in the back of his mind, driving him to move so fast. He was scared, scared his time was going to run out before he could properly fall in love. He already knew his crush had bloomed into so much more, bloomed into true love. He supposed that was the definition of a soulmate… but even just hearing Kiyoomi talk made him fall deeper and deeper in. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, it was still him. 

The silence returned as the conversation lulled. Atsumu ducked his head, studying the snow. The two had bundled up in their team coats, wearing scarves and gloves. The weather was much colder than in Hyogo. He should have packed a better coat as another tremor ran down his spine. 

“Are you okay?” Kiyoomi asked, noting his condition. Atsumu pulled his head up and forced a grin on his face. 

“Y-yeah I’m fine.” He stuttered slightly. He cursed the cold for ruining his speech at that moment. Now he would know something was wrong. He blinked at Kiyoomi, who was looking at him thoughtfully. 

“Come here.” He said quietly. “You’re cold.” He stated it as a fact, not a question. He patted the blanket beside him. Atsumu compiled, scooting closer. Kiyoomi hesitantly wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Atsumu was surprised at how warm he was. He resisted the urge to snuggle closer, knowing it would probably make him uncomfortable. Kiyoomi was still silent, looking anywhere but his eyes. Atsume felt a pang of frustration, feeling a small pout cross his face.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. Kiyoomi turned his attention back to him, blinking suddenly. “Don’t ya dare say nothin’, ya look nervous ‘bout something. If ya don’t want me sittin’ this close, I can move--”

“Can I kiss you?” Kiyoomi asked suddenly, shaking his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but…”

“Yes, absolutely.” Atsumu cut him off. “Ya’ve been like makin’ eyes at me the whole time--” Kiyoomi leaned forward and cut him off, pressing a kiss to his lips. It burned gently, a small fire kindled by the touch. Atsumu was shocked by how pleasant it felt; it was gentle and sweet. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around the spiker’s shoulders. He stiffened under the touch, but didn’t pull away. 

The moment seemed to last for an eternity. Atsumu could have stayed there forever. He felt Kiyoomi’s hand in his hair, keeping him close. Is this going to ruin me? He wondered faintly. He pulled back slightly and opened his eyes, meeting Kiyoomi’s gaze. The pair sat in silence; all Atsumu could hear was his heartbeat, a steady drumming in his ears. 

“I’ve been seeing someone about my mysophobia.” Kiyoomi said suddenly, releasing Atsumu. A gentle flush colored his cheeks, as if he was nervous to admit it.

“Huh?” Atsumu asked, trying to process what that meant. Kiyoomi smiled slightly, rubbing one of his arms. 

“I want to be able to love you, both physically and emotionally. You’re worth it, Atsumu.” His heart fluttered at the words. He smiled at Kiyoomi, trying not to burst into happy tears. Worth it, I’m worth it. 

Kiyoomi was worth it too. Atsumu was in love, and he would make every second of it count. 

“Will ya hold my hand?” Atsumu asked, smiling softly. “If yer comfortable with it ‘n all…” Kiyoomi reached forward and grasped his hand, intertwining his gloved fingers with Atsumu’s own. Atsumu imagined that his hands were warm. He scooted closer, and Kiyoomi made no move to flinch away. 

“I have a confession to make.” He said once he was mere centimeters away from the spiker. Kiyoomi tilted his head, a curious light entering his gaze.

“Oh?” Atsumu gulped, taking a deep breath. 

“I’ve been in love with ya since I first laid eyes on ya. I thought I was gonna hate ya… but ya really aren’t all that bad.” Atsumu blurted out, stiffini slightly. He could feel the heat in his face. Kiyoomi stared at him, and he resisted the urge to duck away. 

“Me too.” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu jolted, staring at him. “You’re loud and obnoxious… but I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re also kind and considerate. Most people make fun of… of my germaphobia, but you didn’t care.”

“Everyone has fears, right?” Atsumu said weakly. “Not my place ta judge ‘em.” 

“People do anyway.” Kiyoomi sighed. He shook it off, turning his attention back to him. “I want to date you, Miya Atsumu. Please—“

“I thought that’s what we were doin’?” Atsumu said, slightly confused. “Like this is our first date n’ all…” Kiyoomi hesitantly wrapped one arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Atsumu laid his head on his shoulder instantly. They fit together perfectly, like a puzzle that had finally been put together. 

“I’m happy you’re my soulmate, Miy— Atsumu.” Kiyoomi said. “I hope I can make you happy.” 

“You already are.” Atsumu murmured. He stared up at the snow covered grove. The ice blues and cool whites coated the city, painting it in winter hues. It was beautiful. He closed his eyes, breathing deep. He envisioned himself taking Kiyoomi back here when the blossoms were in bloom, or to Hyogo into their deep forests full of flowers and spring life. 

He clung to Kiyoomi, burying his face in his jacket. He didn’t push him away, instead holding him tighter. 

“I’m not going to let you go.” Kiyoomi said quietly. 

“Neither will I.” Atsumu vowed. The soulmate mark seemed to burn on his skin as the words left his mouth. He shoved it out of his mind viciously. He was happy, and he was going to stay happy.  This moment was his. Not the future’s, it was his and his alone. “I promise.” He murmured firmly.

Deep down, Atsumu hoped he could keep it. 

-

Atsumu came home for the second youth training camp in high spirits. He managed to not snap at anyone for a week, too caught up in his blooming romance with Kiyoomi. He checked his phone every chance he got, checking to see if Kiyoomi had texted him. He was usually pleased to see he had a message or two. Osamu noticed the change in his attitude, and confronted him about it a week after the camp. 

“What are ya so happy about? Yer acting like a giddy child.” Osamu threw a book at Atsumu’s head to get his attention. Atsumu looked up from his homework (and phone, which he was totally not texting Kiyoomi with) and glanced at his brother. 

“Huh?” 

“Yer in love.” Osamu said point blank. “Ya finally got off yer ass and got with Kiyoomi.”

“Yeah... I am.” Atsumu confessed, ducking his head. 

“I toldja it wouldn’t be that bad!” Osamu snapped, crossing his arms. Atsumu didn’t miss the small smile on his face. He grinned, albeit rolling his eyes. 

“Yer the one who said I was fucked.” 

“It was encouraging ya to prove me wrong.” Osamu retorted. “And clearly it worked.”

Atsumu had no response to that, mostly because he got distracted by a sudden message from Kiyoomi. Osamu merely scoffed, muttering something about lovebirds and walking away. 

Omi: Are you free this weekend?

Me: yes >:)

Omi: I’ll pick you up at six. 

-

Atsumu ended up being chosen as the captain in his third year. He was proud of his achievement, unable to keep the smile off his face. Kiyoomi had treated him to a special dinner that night, even though he had insisted it wasn’t needed. Kiyoomi merely rolled his eyes, saying that this achievement definitely called for it. 

Atsumu took his role seriously. He trained the team, preparing them for the Nationals. They had suffered a rather humiliating defeat to Karasuno last tournament, and he would not be subjected to it again. He perfected the quick with Osamu, and the new first years were promising. 

The next tournament arrived quicker than Atsumu thought it would. He told himself it would be okay, that they were ready. He led the team in, proudly clutching the sign of Inarizaki. He nodded to the Karasuno captain, and smiled at Kiyoomi as Itachiyama passed. 

They beat Karasuno, to his immense relief, meaning they would be moving on to play Itachiyama. Atsumu threw everything he had into the game. 

They won. 

Inarizaki won the Interhigh Tournament. 

The game was narrow, much like the previous Spring National. The quick is what allowed them to win, Osamu’s final spike making the libero miss the ball. It had come to a shock to everyone, the entire stadium silent. The whistle blew, and the cheers sounded. 

Atsumu let out a shout of joy, thrusting his fist into the air. He laughed and pulled his team into a hug, unable to stop the happy sobs that escaped him. He risked a glance over at the other side, seeing the defeated faces of Itachiyama. Kiyoomi had a half-smile on his face. Atsumu broke apart from the hug and walked over to him.

“Hey.” He said simply. 

“Good game.” Kiyoomi murmured. 

“That was one hell of a match.” Atsumu agreed. “It was good ta play ya.” 

“Give me a hug.” Kiyoomi said, wrapping his arms around Atsumu. He laughed and complied, gently kissing his cheek. “Good job, ‘Tsumu.”

“Thanks, Omi.” He said with a smile. 

“Atsumu! Stop hugging yer boyfriend and get yer ass back over here!” Osamu shouted, his voice laced with irritation. Atsumu laughed, pulling back.

“Well, ya heard my brother. See ya later, Omi. Don’t forget our date tomorrow.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Kiyoomi nodded, turning back to his own team. Atsumu jogged back over to Inarizaki, clapping each of the members on the back, beaming from ear to ear.

He only rose from there. 

He signed on with the Black Jackals as soon as high school ended. The team took him on as their starting setter. Each game was exhilarating, each game reminded him why he loved the sport so much. Kiyoomi chose to go to college, but joined him on the Jackals afterward. 

They were unstoppable. The duo couldn’t be stopped, they were too in sync. Combined with the other powerful spikers, the MSBY Black Jackals quickly became notorious for their sheer power and brute force. Atsumu had never been happier. He had everything he could ever want, ever need. 

He got to spend every day with the love of his life. What more could he want?

(He knew that time was chasing them down. He knew it would catch up. But he could fend it off for now. He was okay with living in a dream, if it meant life could be good, if only for a heartbeat). 

“So, when ya going ta propose?” Osamu inquired one day. He had opened up a restaurant, his passion for cooking driving him to be one of the best chefs in Japan (at least, in Atsumu’s opinion). Atsumu hummed in response, staring at the counter. 

“Soon.” He said vaguely, tilting his head. The mark on his wrist twinged. His breath caught in his throat. He bit his lip. Kiyoomi and him were both twenty-three. Time was almost up. Atsumu’s vision blurred slightly, the realization hitting him like a train. He hadn’t put much thought into, too caught up in his happiness. 

But the clock stopped for no one. 

Atsumu wanted to marry Kiyoomi, even if it was only for two years, at best. He was in love, he had gotten in so deep, he couldn’t reach the surface if he tried. 

And that was okay. He wouldn’t trade this love for anything, no matter how much it hurt in the end.

“Soon.” He echoed himself again, trying to reassure himself he still had time. 

-

The next morning, Atsumu woke slowly. It was Sunday, and after their win against EJP  Raijin (much to Osamu’s and Rin’s disgruntle), Coach Foster told them to take the day off. Meian quickly organized a get together for the night, at the Onigiri Miya. Osamu grumbled slightly, but agreed in the end.

Atsumu and Kiyoomi returned to their apartment exhausted. He barely managed to shower, proceeding to collapse onto the bed after changing into lounge clothes. Kiyoomi joined him shortly, and Atsumu rolled over, falling into his arms.

Atsumu fell asleep almost immediately. He dreamed of nothing, too exhausted for his brain to even conjure anything to the front of his mind. 

When he woke up, the sun had long since risen. He was still in Kiyoomi’s arms, his head resting on his chest. He yawned, stretching his back slightly and moving away. 

“Hnrg… don’t move…You’re warm…’m cold...” Kiyoomi protested quietly, his eyes still shut. Atsumu froze mid-yawn, his arms splayed out in front of him. His boyfriend pawed for him blindly, patting his closer arm. Atsumu broke into a smile, flopping back down. 

“Mmm... Omi, I love you.” Atsumu mumbled, wrapping his arms around Kiyoomi’s torso. The black haired man sighed contently, burying his face in Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu snuggled closer, shutting his eyes. 

“Tired.” Kiyoomi said, his voice hoarse. 

“It’s our day off.” Atsumu replied, not bothering to open his eyes. Kiyoomi mumbled something incoherent. “Let’s just stay here.” 

“Agreed.” Kiyoomi’s response was muffled as he kissed Atsumu’s cheek, working his way down his neck and collarbone. He relished in the touch, each kiss reminding him how lucky he was. He curled in closer, listening to Kiyoomi’s steady heartbeat. 

“Omi... I’m gonna marry ya.” Atsumu whispered. He could envision slipping a finger onto his finger, promising him forever as the knot between them was tied. He smiled fondly at the thought, humming to himself. 

“You’re still tired from last night’s game.” Kiyoomi murmured. “You don’t mean it.” 

“Yes I do. I’m gonna marry ya someday soon.” Atsumu declared, opening his eyes slightly. He met Kiyoomi’s gaze, his own lashes fluttering slightly. He was bathed in the early morning light, wrapped up in the sheets and his black hair dappled in gold. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” Kiyoomi kissed him again, holding Atsumu close. 

“Good.” Atsumu said. His wrist’s mark shone in the sunlight, the red illuminated. The familiar twinge of worry was back. He forced it down, pressing his face into the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck. 

He could worry about that later. Right now, he could live in the moment.

-

The after party was in full swing when Atsumu and Kiyoomi arrived. Bokuto greeted them at the door, his own boyfriend at his side. Keiji Akaashi nodded to them, murmuring a small greeting softly.

Atsumu tugged Kiyoomi’s hand and pulled him to the bar. Osamu was cleaning glasses, observing the party with Rintarou at his side. His smile brightened when he saw Atsumu, waving to him. 

“Yer late, ‘Tsumu.”

“Sorry, ‘Samu. Traffic was bad.” Atsumu slid into the empty seat. Osamu rolled his eyes. 

“Then leave earlier, ya dumbass.” Kiyoomi snickered. 

“He does have a point, Atsu.” He pointed out. Atsumu feigned offense, dramatically throwing his hand across his forehead and gasping. 

“Omi-kun! How you wound me so!” He cried, laying across the bar.

“And he hasn’t even had a drink yet.” Osamu shook his head. 

“There, there. It’ll be okay.” Kiyoomi pulled Atsumu into his arms and kissed his forehead with a laugh. Atsumu grumbled under his breath, but kissed Kiyoomi on the lips seconds later. 

“Yer lucky I love ya.”

“Don’t I know it.” Kiyoomi murmured. 

“First round’s on the house.” Osamu declared, clearing his throat. He set two drinks in front of them, giving Atsumu a pointed look. “Assuming ya don’t make out on my bar counter. Then ya pay for everyone.”

“Like ya and Sunarin don’t--” Atsumu started to retort heatedly. 

“Next round is going on Atsumu’s tab!” Osamu shouted, interrupting his speech. The assembled group cheered, while he groaned and buried his head in his hands. 

“I hate ya sometimes.” He mumbled. Kiyoomi simply laughed, patting his back. 

The party was well into the deep confines of the night when disaster struck. Atsumu had been dancing to some shitty j-pop song when Kiyoomi sat down. He tapped out early, sliding back into the bar stool and breathing heavily. 

If only Atsumu had seen it sooner. If only he had said something then, and asked him if he was okay. He hadn’t even thought about it, too tipsy, too far into the dancing to see it.

Atsumu eventually noticed the change, once the song finished and he rejoined him at the bar. It was slow, but there. Kiyoomi’s energy drained even slower than normal. His eyes lost their shine as he leaned against the counter. He even excused himself to the bathroom; he hated public restrooms, and yet he was going there tonight. 

“Is he okay?” Osamu asked when he left. 

“I don’t think so.” Atsumu murmured, biting back his anxiety. 

“It’s March.” Osamu whispered. “Ya… ya don’t--”

“Stop talking, Osamu.” He said coldly. Osamu flinched as if he had been struck, shaking his head. 

“Sorry. Just…”

“I know.” Atsumu whispered hoarsely. “I know.” Kiyoomi didn’t reappear for another seven minutes. Atsumu stared at his glass anxiously, watching the drink contents mingle as he counted off the minutes. The door swung open and his head shot up.

“Atsu, can we leave?” Kiyoomi murmured instantly when he returned, tugging the sleeve of his jacket. “‘M not feeling too good.” Atsumu glanced over at his boyfriend, the concern lacing his features. He looked pale, his eyes hollow. He was swaying slightly, looking as if he might pass out at any second. Atsumu nodded immediately. 

“We’re gonna head out, guys.” He announced, taking Kiyoomi’s hand. Bokuto’s eyes flickered with disappointment. 

“Already? But--”

“Sorry Bokkun.” Atsumu cut him off. “We’re just tired. See y’all at practice on Monday.” With that, Atsumu led Kiyoomi out of the restaurant, taking him to the car. He practically passed out in the seat, shutting his eyes with a small pained noise. His heart twisted as he started the ignition. 

“We’ll be home soon, Omi.” He promised. 

When they arrived at the apartment, he practically carried Kiyoomi to the bed. He was looking slightly better, the color returned to his face. He stumbled to the closet and managed to change without help. Atsumu waited anxiously outside the door, biting his lip. 

He ignored the date on the clock. 

“Ready for bed?” He asked when his boyfriend reappeared, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. He nodded, and Atsumu helped him over to their bed, pulling the covers up. “I’ll be right here if ya need me, I promise.” He said. Kiyoomi made a grabbing motion at him, looking at him with pleading eyes. 

“Hugs?” He whispered. Atsumu smiled. 

“Anything for ya.” He crawled into the bed next to him, bringing the black haired man into his arms. Kiyoomi fell asleep quickly, his breath evening out as he relaxed in his grip. Atsumu stayed awake for at least another hour, his heart racing. 

March. They were in March.

Time was coming for them. Atsumu held onto Kiyoomi tighter, shutting his eyes and letting sleep take him. 

It would be okay. It had to be.

-

“Omi...” Atsumu mumbled, feeling the bed. Kiyoomi’s side was notably absent. He yawned and sat up, blinking at the clock. It read two thirty; Atsumu frowned slightly. 

“Omi?” He called, a little louder. He pushed off the covers and stood up, grabbing one of the top blankets and tugging it around his shoulders. Atsumu stumbled over to the light switch and turned them on. His stomach twisted with worry. 

“‘Tsumu?” Kiyoomi’s voice sounded faintly from the bathroom. He knocked on the door, then pushing it open. Kiyoomi was curled up near the toilet, his skin pale. His eyes were bloodshot, the dark irises streaked with ruby veins. Atsumu took of his blanket and immediately knelt down next to his boyfriend, draping the quilt across him. 

“Love, what’s wrong?” He whispered. “What can I do for you?” Kiyoomi opened his mouth to reply, only to break into a fit of coughing. Atsumu rubbed his back, trying to ignore the tremors. 

March 3rd. The date stuck out in his head. He took a deep breath. Nine days, and they were clear for one more year. Atsumu held his shoulders a little tighter, waiting patiently for Kiyoomi to recover.

“Don’t feel good.” Kiyoomi confessed. “Everything hurts.” Atsumu leaned forward and pressed the back of his hand to the back to his forehead. He inhaled sharply and pulled away. 

“Omi, yer burning up.” He murmured. “Let me get the thermometer.” Atsumu pushed himself to his feet and scrambled to the kitchen, pulling down the thermometer. He quickly returned to the bathroom. Kiyoomi had pushed himself into a sitting position, his eyes bleary. He took his temperature without fanfare. Atsumu reached for Kiyoomi’s hand as they waited for it to register, gently squeezing it. 

“It’s gonna be okay.” He said reassuringly. The thermometer beeped and Atsumu peered at it. He winced. “Ya definitely have a fever.” 

“Great.” Kiyoomi clenched his jaw. He coughed again, doubling over. “Fucking hell.” 

“I’ll take care of ya Omi, don’t worry.” Atsumu gently pulled Kiyoomi to his feet. He guided the spiker back to the bed. He laid him down and pulled the covers back up, biting his lip anxiously. 

“I’ll getcha the Advil.” He said quietly. Kiyoomi nodded, clutching the pillow with a grimace of pain. Atsumu’s heart twisted painfully and he bit back tears. He quickly exited the room and raced to the kitchen, standing on the tips of his toes to reach the medicine cabinet. Atsumu also grabbed a washcloth and ran cold water over it, wringing it lightly. 

“Here.” He whispered, turning on a lamp. Atsumu handed Kiyoomi the pills and his water bottle. Kiyoomi blinked at the pills and shook his head. 

“Hurts to swallow.” He said, his voice scratchy. 

“Ya have ta, baby.” Atsumu murmured, rubbing his shoulders. “Then ya can sleep, okay?” Kiyoomi huffed, but took the fever suppressors. Atsumu watched closely to make sure he swallowed. Satisfied, he sat back and let the spiker lay down. 

“I’ve got a cool cloth if ya want it.” Atsumu said softly. Kiyoomi nodded, and laid it across his forehead, trying to ignore the sweat that lined his hairline and dripped down his face. 

“Am I gonna be okay?” Kiyoomi murmured, his eyes half-closed. Atsumu sat on the edge of the bed, reaching gently for his hand. He was careful to use his unmarked wrist, letting his bare one turn to the low lighting. He squeezed his hand, smiling gently. 

“Yer gonna be okay, Omi. I promise.” Atsumu reassured. 

“I don’t like promises.” Kiyoomi mumbled. 

“Why?” Atsumu asked, tilting his head in confusion. 

“No one ever keeps them.”

-

Kiyoomi was admitted to the hospital five days after his fever worsened. Atsumu didn’t leave his side, holding his hand the entire time, through every test and assessment. Every tremor was a knife to Atsumu’s heart. He had done his best to take care of him, but he couldn’t do enough. He was scared, but he had to be brave. 

Kiyoomi was moved to an overnight room after his condition was deemed unstable. Atsumu prayed it wouldn’t become critical. He refused to look at the calendars, refused to look at his left wrist. March 12th, March 12th, March 12th.

The team was already inquiring as to what happened. They’d known both of them were taking a sick leave, but it had been a week. Atsumu didn’t know what to tell them. Kiyoomi asked to keep it on the down low for now, seeing as it would warrant more visitors if they knew what was going on. 

“I don’t wanna see anyone.” He’d said. “More germs.” Atsumu agreed that it was probably for the best; being away from people meant more time to recover. 

The team was worried. Atsumu spent a good hour responding to concerned texts. He ended up having to release a statement on Twitter, which was essentially telling people to stay out of his and Kiyoomi’s business. 

Bokkun: Tsumu if u need someone to talk to im here for u

Me: thanks Bo

Me: ill try and keep u and the team updated 

Atsumu shut his phone off after that, his full attention on Kiyoomi. He re-entered the hospital room, immediately taking a seat at his bedside. 

Kiyoomi was disgruntled by the attention. He looked bored, his eyes glued to the wall. His hair had lost some of its curl, but it didn’t change how stunning he looked. He noticed Atsumu staring after a few minutes and immediately beckoned him to sit on the bed with him.

Atsumu complied, cautiously hugging the spiker. Kiyoomi melted into his grip, laying his head on his shoulder. There was something weighing on his mind; it was clear. Atsumu cleared his throat.

“This is a stupid question, but are ya okay?” He said hesitantly. 

“Are you going to leave me?” Kiyoomi asked without missing a beat. Atsumu inhaled sharply, trying to process what had just been asked of him.

“What?”

“Are you going to leave me, Atsumu?” Kiyoomi turned slightly, adjusting himself so he could meet Atsumu’s eyes. Atsumu could feel his heart cracking. He was so scared of this that he thought… it hurt to even think about it. Atsumu pressed a kiss to his temple, rubbing his back. He took Kiyoomi’s hand with his free one. 

“I’ll stay with ya.” He said, reclining slightly. “No matter what. I love ya so much—“

“Stop making promises you can’t keep.” Kiyoomi partially gasped out, coughing. He rubbed his throat, wincing. 

“I’ll keep this one, Omi. I’m not going anywhere.” Atsumu insisted fiercely. Kiyoomi’s grip tightened in his own. Silent tears began to trickle down his face, his shoulders shaking.  

“‘Tsumu... you-you don’t understand.” Kiyoomi choked out, shaking his head. He was trembling. Sakusa Kiyoomi, the stoic and proud spiker, was breaking down in his arms. Atsumu blinked at him. 

“W-what...?” Fear colored his voice. This was scaring him, he had never seen this happen before. He didn’t know what to do. Kiyoomi locked eyes with him. His onyx eyes were full of tears, the liquid sadness shining in them and flowing freely. 

“I’m going-I’m going to die.” Kiyoomi whispered. “My immune system... it’s-it’s so bad, if I get the flu, I’m done—“ 

“Ya aren’t gonna die!” Atsumu half shouted. March 9th . He refused to cry, not yet, he couldn’t break down in front of Kiyoomi. He needed him to be strong. “The doctors’ll make ya better, ya hear? They—we— I won’t let ya go.”

“I’m scared.” Kiyoomi whispered. “I don’t wanna die.” 

Me too. “It’s gonna be okay.” Atsumu whispered. “Ya aren’t gonna die, okay? Don’t forget that.” Kiyoomi nodded, his gaze drifting to the window. Atsumu watched him, biting his lip anxiously. 

He loved him more than life itself, and he couldn’t let him go. 

-

Two days passed, each one slower than the last. Kiyoomi continued to deteriorate, faster and faster. His fever never broke, and his coughing grew worse. His skin was pale, and even darker circles appeared under his eyes. The doctors hooked him up to life support within twenty-four hours. An oxygen mask was placed over his mouth, and needles were stuck into his arm. 

Atsumu hated it. He hated to see him this weak, to see him hurting this much. Kiyoomi looked uncomfortable, and every breath was a chore. 

On March 11th, the head doctor pulled him aside. Atsumu could see the pain in her gaze. His heart dropped and he stared at her with anxiety. 

“Miya-san… I’m afraid we have bad news.” She started slowly. As if she could cushion the coming fall. He nodded, unable to speak as his throat was closing up. She took a deep breath, and then handed him a form. 

“What—“ He found his voice, staring at the pages. “What is this?” 

“Sakusa-san‘s state has declined rapidly. It’s been determined that his influenza case progressed in pneumonia. Normally, our treatments would have started to take effect… but it only is making it worse. He is immunocompromised, correct?” Atsumu nodded. She sighed. 

The next words shattered him, causing everything to simply freeze in time.

“Our best recommendation is to take him off of life support. It… it would be the kinder thing to do, at this point.” Atsumu stared at the doctor blankly, his mind struggling to comprehend what she just said. 

“Ya… ya want to take Omi offa… offa life support?” He said slowly, glancing between her and the form. 

“It’s the best—“

“No.” He said, his voice dropped like a stone. “I won’t do it.” 

“Miya-san—“

“He’s still got a chance. I’m not givin’ up on him. Not now, not ever. He’s the love of my life, and I won’t let him go.” Atsumu said firmly, trying to keep his voice from shaking. The doctor rubbed the back of her head, shaking it slightly. 

“Alright. However, I suggest you get ready to say your goodbyes.” She said simply, before walking off, leaving Atsumu with the forms. He stared at it one more time before setting it on the chair and scrambling back into Kiyoomi’s room. He was still sound asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

A few hours later, Atsumu heard a knock on the door. He glanced up, his brow furrowing. “Hello?” He called.

“Hey.” Osamu pulled open the door. There was a small, sad smile gracing Atsumu’s face. His brother held up a bag of food from his restaurant. “I brought ya something. Figured ya hadn’t been eatin’ much lately.” 

“Thanks.” Atsumu mumbled. Osamu set it down on the counter in the room. 

“How is he?” Osamu asked seconds later, pulling up a seat next to Atsumu. He glanced over at his twin, then back at his sleeping boyfriend. The heart monitor beeped steadily, but despite the noise Atsumu could hear how raspy his breathing was.  

“Not good.” He forced out, his voice breaking. “Not good at all.” 

“What did the doctors say?” Osamu pressed quietly. Atsumu’s breath hitched as he stared at the hospital bed. 

“They...” He tried to speak, his voice dying in his throat. A sob built its way into his chest. “They said I-I should get r-ready t-ta s-say goodbye.” 

Osamu didn’t speak. He pulled Atsumu into a tight hug, letting him sob softly. He clutched his brother’s jacket, his shoulders shaking. 

“I can’t-I can’t lose him!” He cried, shaking his head as tears continued to pour down his face. “I don’t-I can’t—“ 

“It’s okay.” Osamu murmured. “I get it. Ya can cry, no one will blame ya.” 

“I gotta be-be s-strong for him.” Atsumu protested weakly. He wiped his eyes hurriedly, desperately avoiding the crimson words on his wrist. He twisted it away. He will not lose Kiyoomi, he will not LET GO.

The heart monitor sang on.

-

March 12th. 

The day was here. Atsumu slept in the hospital, afraid to step away. He was afraid he would leave, and Kiyoomi would be dead. 

The sun rose quickly, the sun illuminating the hospital room. Kiyoomi was already awake when Atsumu pried open his eyes. He smiled at his boyfriend, happy to see him awake. 

“Hey baby.” He whispered, leaning forward and kissing his forehead. Kiyoomi’s response was muffled by the oxygen mask. 

The morning was atrociously beautiful. The sky was bluer than the ocean, and a few lazy clouds dotted the horizon. Birds flitted past the window, as spring had come early that year. Flowers were already blooming in the parks, according to Osamu. Kiyoomi would have loved it. Atsumu stretched up slightly.

Cherry trees lined the sidewalks. Their petals had opened overnight, exposing the pink underneath. In a few days, the street would be coated in them, as if it were in a snow storm. A small cough drew Atsumu’s attention back to Kiyoomi. He was peering past his body, trying to see out the window. Atsumu scooted back immediately.

“Look, the blossoms are-are in bloom. We were gonna go see them this weekend, remember?” Atsumu said, stammering slightly. “I don’t wanna spoil the surprise, but it was gonna be a… a really fun day.” Kiyoomi nodded slightly, his head lulling to the side. His eyes were glazed slightly. Another bolt of fear hit Atsumu. 

He could practically hear the clock in his ears, ticking faster and faster. 

“Baby, I love you, don’t leave me.” Atsumu begged, his knuckles white as he clutched Kiyoomi’s hand. The date tattooed on his wrist was painfully obviously sticking out in his haze of fear. He refused to check the calendar, refused to look at the date on his phone. 

March 12.  

Atsumu could feel an onslaught of tears as he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Kiyoomi’s forehead. 

“Stay alive for me, my love.” He whispered. “I can’t live without you.” 

He got no response. Kiyoomi stared at him sadly, his eyes clouded with pain. Atsumu bit back a sob, watching him close his eyes again. The oxygen mask fogged at regular intervals, the only reassurance that he was still alive. He looked so frail, his body wracked with disease. 

It hurt to see him like this. It hurt to see him suffering. Atsumu listened to the steady beat of the heart monitor, each beep echoing against his eardrums. He kept a hold on Kiyoomi’s hand and reclined against the chair. He didn’t know when he drifted off, when he fell asleep. He only shut his eyes for a minute at most. 

When he woke up, the monitor had flatlined. A singular line, one loud noise. Atsumu jumped up, his breath catching in his throat. No, no, no, no. 

“ Kiyoomi! ” Atsumu screamed as the heart monitor continued to shriek. It was one long, horrid sound, piercing his skull and making his head pound. “Omi, no! Come on, wake up, please !” Kiyoomi was horribly still, his mask unfogged, his chest not rising nor falling. 

“Omi...Omi, please— ” Atsumu begged, pressing his forehead against Kiyoomi’s. “Wake up, come on. We-we have a game tomorrow, ya don’t wanna-wanna miss it.” His voice cracked at the last word. He shut his eyes, praying that when he opened  his eyes, Kiyoomi’s dark onyx ones would be staring back. 

They were still closed when Atsumu pulled away. The heart monitor was still screaming, the lines on it  straight and unyielding. Atsumu kept a hold on Kiyoomi with one hand, covering his mouth with the other as he sobbed, a howl of grief escaping him. He sank to his knees, a keening noise escaping him. 

“ OMI! ” Atsumu screamed, his vision blurred with tears. He was faintly aware of the door opening, of soft murmurs behind him, of someone grabbing his arms and pulling him back. Atsumu let out a yelp of shock and slapped the arms away, struggling back to Kiyoomi’s bedside. 

“You can’t make me leave him!” He wailed, wrapping his arms around Kiyoomi’s still body. He was already cold, the remnants of his life slipping away. He sobbed again. 

“‘Tsumu, come on.” Osamu said quietly. Atsumu shook his brother’s hand off his shoulder. “He...he’s gone.” 

“I don’t care!” He shouted back. “I’m not leaving him!” 

“He had a good life.” Osamu whispered. “He was loved. You have to let him rest now.” Atsumu wailed again and buried his face in his brother’s coat, sobs overtaking him. Osamu guided him out of the room, murmuring something he could not comprehend. 

Atsumu sunk into one of the chairs outside the room, numbly staring at the wall as tears fell down his face. He couldn’t see straight, the tears burning his vision. He could hear doctors talking in Kiyoomi’s room. 

“Sakusa Kiyoomi, time of death: twelve thirty eight PM, March 12th.” 

Atsumu glanced at his wrist. The date inscribed on it was white as snow. 

-

Atsumu stood between Osamu and Rintarou, his extremities numb. His sobs had subsided, until all he could do was silently cry. The medical personnel had handed him paperwork. Paperwork because Kiyoomi was dead, and they had to record it, another person to enter the halls and not walk out. 

“Ya can do it, ‘Tsumu, it’s okay.” Osamu coaxed him quietly. It’s not okay! Atsumu swallowed, doing his best not to shout the words in his brother’s face. He grabbed the pen at the top of the wooden clipboard, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He couldn’t cry, not yet.  

Atsumu began filling out the form with shaking hands. One line after another. One piece of information. 

The date of death was already printed at the top of the form, sparing Atsumu the pain of writing it himself. But he still had to read it, had to see it. Had to remember that Kiyoomi was never coming back . The pen nearly snapped in his grip. 

He couldn’t do this yet. His vision blurred as he lost control, his tears finally bleeding over. His wrist’s date was white, pale as the snow, twice as cold. Another confirmation because Sakusa Kiyoomi was dead. 

“‘Tsumu.” Osamu whispered. Atsumu stepped back, sitting down the partially completed form. 

“I...” He trailed off. “Wh-why do I ha-have to do it?” 

“Yer the only family he has left.” Osamu said quietly. “Ya know—knew him best.”

“Don’t ask me to do this.” Atsumu choked out. “I can’t.” Rin and Osamu exchanged a glance, both of their eyes flashing with mirrored concern. 

“Atsu—“ Rin started. 

“Shut up!” Atsumu hissed, backing away. He felt trapped, like a caged animal. His breathing was growing short. He needed Kiyoomi, he needed him, he could make it better. “Ya don’t know how this fuckin’ feels! Stop actin’ like ya can help me, ya can’t! He’s—he’s been dead for-for a few hours and I already hafta...hafta plan his-his final goodbye, I can’t, I can’t, *I can’t!* He screamed the last words, clutching the wall for support.

“I’m sorry, Atsumu.” Osamu said quietly. “I’m so--”

“I don’t want yer goddamn pity.” He spat out. He slammed the clipboard back on the chair. He didn’t bother looking back as he left the hospital. 

He wandered the city numbly, his breath short. Tears still poured down his face, every little detail of the city reminding him of Kiyoomi. Atsumu paused in front of a TV store. There was a rerun of one of their volleyball games playing in the TV window; he watched Kiyoomi’s elegant spike and slumped against the side of the window and broke down again. 

His phone vibrated. Atsumu pulled it out, scanning the messages. He shut it off, not wanting to read it. Everything hurt, everything seemed to burn. Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi, Omi, Omi, Omi. 

Atsumu found himself back in his apartment. He didn’t know how he ended up here. His legs carried him to it, his arms unlocked the door, and he stepped inside it. The lights were off, and everything was exactly as he had left it. Kiyoomi’s sweatshirt was still draped across the couch, folded neatly. Atsumu beelined for it, bundling it up in his arms and breathing in the scent. 

He pulled it over his head, his head in his hands. His body shook with a fresh onslaught of sobs. The realization that Kiyoomi was gone continued to hit him, over and over again. He forced himself to stand up and walk to the bedroom. He flipped the light on. 

Kiyoomi’s side was untouched, his pillowcase slightly wrinkled. Otherwise, the bed was made perfectly. Atsumu laid down in the center, clutching Kiyoomi’s pillow. He shut his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. 

It didn’t work. 

He was still awake, still crying when his clock read 11:50. Atsumu pushed himself off of the bed and limped to the patio, throwing open the door. He sunk into the seat, staring blankly out across Osaka. The night life was alive, full of vibrance and happiness. 

Atsumu hated it. 

It wasn’t fair. His heart had been ripped in half. He had lost the love of his life, the person he cherished more than anything, but the world still turned on. He could see the cherry blossom grove from his seat. The pink flowers were in full bloom, the petals shining in the street lights. It was early this year, and they were gorgeous. 

His breath caught in his throat. Their first date was stark in his mind, under the winter snow and the slumbering trees. Atsumu let out a grief-filled cry. How was he supposed to go on? 

He stared across the patio. Kiyoomi’s seat was empty. He clutched the side of his chair, sobbing. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t do this. 

Years ago, he had been warned what would happen when he found his soulmate. Years ago, he had been told about what his mark meant. Years ago, he found out Kiyoomi would die, would die young, and Atsumu would be left alone. 

Loving him hurt. But loving him was the best thing that had ever happened to Atsumu. He pushed himself back to his feet and stumbled back inside. The time was 12:01, March 13th. The day had passed. The world moved on. 

Atsumu stared at the clock, his eyes dull. He turned away and exited the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him. He set his phone on the counter in the kitchen. His gaze flitted to the fridge, where images of him and Kiyoomi hung on it. Memories of happier times, before, before, before. 

Atsumu smiled sadly, wiping away his tears. If only he could go back in time. He would go back to the night they met. He would hold onto Kiyoomi and never let him go. He would make the most out of every damned second.

But time was fleeting, and time left him behind. Time stole Kiyoomi, and he would never get him back. Atsumu took in a shuddering breath, fighting back the building sob. He shut his eyes, letting the memories consume him once more. He turned toward the door, refusing to look at the interior of the apartment again. 

“Bye, Omi.” He whispered. He tugged off his sweatshirt and folded it, setting it back on the couch. He grabbed his coat and walked out of his apartment, shutting the door and locking it. 

The world could move on, but Atsumu was already a walking ghost. 

-

March 12th. 

.

.

.

Kiyoomi’s wrist had read March 13th. 

.

.

.

The cherry blossoms were still in bloom, and they surrounded him as his eyes fluttered shut and his broken heart finally came to a gentle halt. 

.

.

.

“The volleyball world suffers from a back to back tragedy, in which two members of the MSBY Black Jackals have been announced as dead…”