Chapter Text
Atsumu's first girlfriend was one of the liberos on the women's national team. He'd already been vaguely aware of her as a fellow colleague, but he hadn't really paid much attention to her until one national training camp several seasons into his professional career.
Prior to that, he'd mainly stuck to flings and casual relationships as he made his way up the ladder in the world of professional volleyball. It wasn't difficult to find people that were interested in a romp or two when you were young and fit, and being an athlete certainly didn't hurt. Atsumu never let anyone get too close though; he was busy establishing his career and feelings were messy things.
In a way, it'd come completely out of left field. That was probably why it'd been able to happen, though—because he wasn't expecting it.
"Hey, look over there," Hoshiumi said one day during their water break. Atsumu turned to follow his gaze to the spectator balconies, where a few people were observing the practice.
"What?" he asked, not getting what he was supposed to be seeing.
"You see the second girl there? The shorter one with light hair?" Atsumu squinted, then nodded when he saw who Hoshiumi was describing. Hoshiumi continued, "I think that's Ueno Riku-san, one of the women's liberos. She's been coming to our practices the past few days."
Atsumu had no idea why Hoshiumi was telling him this. "Okay? She's probably watching the plays or something, or maybe she knows someone on the team."
It wasn't that strange. The men and women's national teams trained at the same gyms when they had domestic training camps in Tokyo, and the women had the same access to the facilities as they did. But Hoshiumi rolled his eyes like Atsumu was being particularly obtuse.
"No, she's watching you."
Atsumu scoffed. He opened his mouth to retort, but felt an itch climbing in his throat that he cleared before he spoke. "How do you know that? She could be watching anybody in here. Or maybe she's just watching the volleyball, genius."
Hoshiumi's face scrunched up like one of those meat buns. "Someone told me, okay?"
Atsumu stared. "What? Who? Did she tell you that? Because otherwise how do you know—"
"I heard it from Shouko-neesan, alright?! I ran into her and she asked if you were seeing anyone—which how the hell would I know! Then she—you know what, this is stupid, it's none of my business anyway, just forget it." Hoshiumi huffed, then very resolutely turned away to signal the end of the conversation.
Huh. Hirugami Shouko? She was the women's captain, and Atsumu distantly recalled that Hoshiumi seemed to be close to the Hirugamis. He played on the same team as Hirugami Fukurou, after all, and always seemed to be posting him on social media. Or, wait. There was a third one, wasn't there? He'd been in Hoshiumi's year at Kamomedai. Was he the one on Hoshiumi's Instagram? Regardless, it made sense that Hoshiumi would know something like this if the women's captain told him herself.
He wasn't really looking to get into anything right now though. The most recent girl he'd been messing around with—one of the local idols—was already getting too clingy. He'd been trying to get rid of her by ghosting her on LINE, but she just switched to bombarding his DMs on Instagram. That was annoying enough; he wasn't looking to add even more to his plate.
The itch in his throat returned, and Atsumu stifled a cough into the back of his hand just as Coach Hibarida blew the whistle to signal the end of their break.
Hoshiumi shot him a mildly concerned look. "Ew, you're not getting sick, are you? Coach'll kill you if you spread that around the team before the games start."
Atsumu groaned. "God, I hope not. I mean, my throat did feel a little weird today but I thought maybe it was just dry or something."
"Well, if it doesn't get better you should get it checked out," Hoshiumi said as they gathered around the coach to resume their practice.
Atsumu hoped that he wasn't coming down with anything. Getting sick was the worst, especially if he had to sit out of practices or games because of it. But it seemed that luck wasn't on his side this time, because he woke up the next day with a hammering in his head in addition to his sandpaper of a throat.
At first he thought he could power through it without telling anyone, but by lunch it was clear that he'd definitely caught something. Sakusa had been shooting nasty looks at him all morning every time he so much as sniffled, and after he fell into yet another coughing fit when it was his turn to serve, Ushijima came up to him and bluntly told him he should go see a physician before he accidentally infected the entire team with the next new strain of COVID or something.
"Good idea," Coach Hibarida said. "Better safe than sorry. Miya, take the day off. One of the staffers will take you to the hospital so you can test for anything serious and get some medicine. The sooner you get it checked out the sooner you can get back on the court."
Atsumu knew they had a point, so he excused himself and went to gather his things by the sidelines.
As he made his way to the locker rooms, he heard the sound of someone approaching in the empty halls of the training centre. Expecting to see some staffer coming to follow up with him, Atsumu looked up instead to find a shorter girl with silvery blonde hair making her way towards him.
Atsumu tried to recall whether he knew her from anywhere, and that was when he registered the national team tracksuit she was dressed in.
"Ah… Ueno-san…?" he tried, hoping he was remembering it right from when Hoshiumi had pointed her out the day before.
She bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement, and Atsumu breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't gotten her name wrong. But before Atsumu could say anything else, she said, "I hope this isn't too presumptuous of me, but I've wanted to have a chance to say hello to you, Miya-san. You inspire me a lot as an athlete, even if we don't play the same positions."
"Oh. Thank you!" Atsumu said. It seemed like what Hoshiumi said yesterday maybe had some truth to it after all, but it was strange. Atsumu was no stranger to flirting, but he'd never been approached in this manner before. In fact, if not for the previous context he had, there was no way he would've thought this was anything but a regular professional compliment. Even if it did seem unusually bold for a woman he's never spoken to before.
It made it difficult for Atsumu to respond the way he normally would to advances—either throwing back a flirty proposition if he was interested, or flippantly shutting it down if he wasn't. Frankly, he wasn't even entirely certain Ueno was making an advance at all.
There was the sound of plastic crinkling, and Atsumu looked down to see that Ueno was holding out a plastic bag with a pharmacy logo on it.
"Miya-san is always working hard, but I hope you're taking care of yourself. If nothing else, please accept my well-wishes for your good health. I look forward to seeing you play at the Nation's League." Ueno handed the bag to him, bowed, and took off all before Atsumu could get a word in edgewise.
The whole interaction left Atsumu completely flabbergasted. Was that a confession? It didn't really seem like one, but if what Hoshiumi said was true, then it might have been? Usually, the expressions of interest he was used to ranged anywhere from coy to brazenly flirtatious to flustered and stuttering, none of which could be used to describe what just happened.
Ueno wasn't shy, or coquettish, nor did she ask him out. It didn't really seem like she was angling for anything other than to express her admiration and give him a gift. But if she wasn't interested in him like that, why did Hirugami Shouko want to know if he was single? It certainly couldn't have been for Hirugami's own benefit, everyone knew she had a boyfriend that she loved posting cheesy couple pics with.
Atsumu looked into the bag to find several supplements and vitamins that promised various health benefits. There was also a pack of tissues and a bottle of Calpis Hot Lemon.
If Ueno really had been coming to watch him, she probably noticed that he was sick. Did she go out of her way to buy him this stuff or did she just happen to have this lying around?
Atsumu reached for the Calpis and took it out from the bag. Once, years ago, he'd been sent home from practice with a cold, much like now.
It'd been a much more simple time. Back then, Atsumu hadn't been anyone important, and the biggest goal had just been to win the Spring High Nationals. He'd still spent every day with his brother—two peas in a pod—jostling at practice, racing to the showers, staying up past curfew playing video games. He saw Aran at every practice, where he always had the perfect comeback, and there was always a warm meal waiting for him at his parents' house just a bus ride away.
Then, Atsumu had stubbornly gone to practice one day despite not being able to breathe out his nose. He was promptly scolded for not taking care of himself. Afterwards, when he went sulking to the locker room, he'd found a care package. It hadn't been anything fancy—just mostly stuff you could find at any local convenience store: umeboshi, throat candies, a bottle of Calpis Hot Lemon. And a handwritten note with his name on it.
In the car on the way to the hospital, Atsumu Googled Ueno Riku on his phone. Briefly scanning her profile, he realized the club she played for was also based in Osaka. Maybe she'd been to one of his games, he thought. Was that how she'd noticed him?
The next day, when Atsumu came down to the dining room in the Athlete's Village for dinner, he saw Ueno sitting alone at one of the tables. It was funny, how these things worked. You could go ages without ever noticing someone in your orbit, but once you do, you suddenly saw them everywhere.
Atsumu approached the table. "Hi, Ueno-san. Mind if I join you?"
Ueno paused in the middle of picking up some rice with her chopsticks, saw Atsumu standing there with his tray, then shook her head. Atsumu took a seat across from her once he got the permission.
"Thanks for the stuff you brought me yesterday. Uh, I hope you didn't go out of your way," Atsumu said.
Ueno took the time to fully chew and swallow her food before replying. "It was no trouble. Those supplements always help me feel better when I'm ill, so I keep extras around."
"Well, thanks for sharing them with me then." Atsumu watched as Ueno delicately sipped her miso soup. She moved in a rather easy, methodical way, and there was something soothing about it.
"Of course. Supplements can't fix everything though, it's still important to see the doctor if you're sick."
"Yeah, I went yesterday and got medicine. Gotta make sure it's nothing serious, 'cause they can't let me back in here if I turn out to be a biohazard. It's just a cold though, which is good news for everyone except Tobio-kun, probably. If I was carrying some new type of flu then he wouldn't have competition for the starting spot anymore," Atsumu quipped as he picked at his congee.
Ueno didn't respond to that, but the corners of her lips twitched like she was trying not to laugh. Atsumu decided she was cute.
Ueno Riku was the first real relationship Atsumu ever had. They'd spent that training camp casually getting to know each other, and texted regularly for the rest of the summer while playing internationally with the national team. When the international season ended and they returned to their respective clubs in Osaka, Atsumu asked her out.
Ueno was direct, to-the-point, and a little aloof, but she gave her all to things that were important to her. This included volleyball, of course, which they had in common, but it also apparently included Atsumu.
Ueno wasn't the type of girlfriend that clung to him or showered him in flowery declarations of love, but she would stay to practice with him if he was frustrated with his serve. She listened to his problems and didn't judge him for it, and never complained even when they were both busy travelling for games and couldn't see each other often. Even when he threw tantrums over childish things, she would patiently wait for him to come around, seemingly endlessly tolerant of his temper.
They went on dates around the city, went to each other's games, and Atsumu bought omiyage to give her every time he travelled to a new place. She made him bentos when she had the free time, and he sent flowers to her games when he couldn't be there.
Eventually, they'd been dating long enough for Atsumu to bring Ueno to meet his brother. Osamu had heard about her, of course, but Atsumu had never introduced a partner to him before.
"So it's serious then?" he'd asked when Atsumu called.
Atsumu shrugged. "More serious than the others."
"Huh." Osamu was silent for a moment. "Well, I'm looking forward to it. Can't imagine what kind of person would put up with your insufferable ass."
Atsumu wanted to come up with something to refute that, but found that he couldn't. Osamu was right—Atsumu knew he was difficult, and whoever was willing to put up with him for the rest of their life probably had to be nothing short of immaculate.
When Atsumu was in high school, he met the most perfect person in the world.
Before Kita, Atsumu was a staunch believer that there was no such thing as a perfect person. After all, people suck, and if there was something you didn't suck at, you'd suck extra hard in some other way.
For example, Atsumu didn't suck at volleyball, so he sucked extra hard at school and making friends. Osamu didn't suck at cooking, so he sucked at not being a bitch. His father was good at performing card tricks, so he sucked at not working overtime. His mother had an incredible memory, so she sucked at telling jokes, and so on and so forth.
The starting setter had graduated the year before Atsumu started high school, and by the Inter-High it was clear Atsumu was better than both of the senior setters older than him and the other setter in his year. Inarizaki was a place where seniority meant nothing in the face of skill, so despite being only in his first year, Atsumu was able to clinch a spot on the starting lineup relatively quickly.
At 15, the only measure of worth to Atsumu was how necessary you were for the team to win. And Atsumu, of course, was nothing short of integral to the team's success.
This meant when some no-name, painfully average benchwarmer had the gall to come up to him and give him notes, completely unprompted, Atsumu hadn't even waited until he was out of earshot to start scoffing audibly to his brother.
"Who does he think he is? 'Don't just focus on the immediate results, try to look at the big picture'? I think he's the one that's focused on the wrong thing. Maybe focus on getting off the bench before trying to tell me what to do, yeah?" Atsumu rolled his eyes.
Osamu jabbed an elbow into his ribs. "Shut the fuck up, do you want him to hear you?"
"Like I'd care." Atsumu eyed the direction the benchwarmer had left in. He was probably too far away to hear now.
"You might not care, but I do. I suffer reputational damage just from being related to you. And I dunno," Osamu paused, "I think he was just trying to help. I mean, I dunno what he meant by it exactly, but I feel like he said that because you were clearly getting mad pissed even though it's just a practice game and you haven't synced with the non-regulars yet."
Atsumu frowned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the middles he'd just played with sitting alone on the sidelines with a towel over his head. He was another first year named Suna who wasn't a starter, but Atsumu had heard he was scouted from out of the prefecture, so he'd assumed he must be good at something. It hadn't really seemed like it though in that practice game just now. After the second quick that Suna flubbed, Atsumu had snapped, Did you just learn to hit last week or something?
Suna hadn't even acknowledged him, which just pissed Atsumu off even more. He made it a point not to set to Suna for the rest of the game if he could help it—not even out of pettiness or anything like that, but because he preferred not to set to liabilities, thank you very much. And frankly, he'd been expecting more from someone who'd specifically been scouted to play volleyball. Why the fuck was Suna here if he couldn't even hit a quick in a practice game?
It wasn't until a few practices later, when Coach Kurosu ordered a scrimmage between all the reserve players, that Atsumu was able to really watch Suna play as an observer. This time, paired with one of the senior setters the reserve players usually practiced with, Suna was like a completely different player.
"How the hell is he doing that?" Atsumu muttered as Suna blew by yet another block like it wasn't even there. "He hasn't gotten stuffed once."
"He's unconventional. It's his range, it seems wider than most people's," Osamu replied.
"Yeah, genius, I noticed that, thanks," Atsumu grumbled. "I'm asking how he's able to get a wider range."
Osamu just shrugged, like the useless clown he was. "Bet if you knew you wouldn't have missed when you were setting to him."
"Ugh, excuse you, I wasn't the one who missed, he was," Atsumu said, but it was lacking the heat and they both knew it. Suna was unconventional, and Atsumu hadn't accounted for that. If he had known, he would've adjusted until they found the perfect set for Suna to maximize whatever "unconventional" skill he had, and they probably would've scored. A lot. The way Suna was scoring now.
"Hm. Must've been why he was scouted," Atsumu said.
"Yeah. He's from Nagoya, did you know? How nice… I'd love to have authentic Nagoya miso katsu. And hitsumabushi…"
Atsumu tuned out the rest of Osamu's drooling over the highlights of Nagoya cuisine. He was much more interested in figuring out Suna as a player than his backstory or hometown or whatever. He tried to simulate in his head what he'd have to do in order to sync with Suna on the court and take advantage of his abilities in a game, just as Suna's team made a dig and the set once again went right to him.
The other team's blockers hadn't even been able to touch any of Suna's previous attacks, and predictably, didn't this time either. Suna breezed past the double block like he had all set long, but unlike the previous times, he didn't score.
A player on the opposing team dug the ball, and the rest of Suna's team was clearly unprepared for the attack that followed. At first Atsumu had thought it was luck, but as they got to the end of the set, it became clear that it was anything but.
Suna's team had been too reliant on him—they were thrown off the moment the other team started picking up Suna's spikes. And almost every time, it was the same player that was doing it.
Atsumu zeroed in on him. He hadn't noticed this player before now. He wasn't the libero, in fact, he seemed to be an outside hitter. As an attacker, he was rather middle-of-the-road, but he was practically carrying the floor defence on his team, and was the only one capable of picking up Suna's hits.
How strange. Did they have someone on the team this reliable on defence this whole time? Why hadn't Atsumu ever noticed before?
The rotation changed, and the outside hitter rotated to the side of the court Atsumu was sitting on. And now Atsumu could see that the player single-handedly stopping Suna with his digs was the same benchwarmer that'd come up to him to give him critique a couple days ago.
"Who's that?" Atsumu asked the third year sitting the closest to him.
The third year looked at the player Atsumu pointed out and said, "Oh, Kita? That's Kita Shinsuke, he's a second year. Hardworking guy. In fact, he's pretty much a robot."
"A robot? What, does he not make mistakes?" Atsumu chuckled. He'd meant for it to be snarky, but the third year didn't laugh.
"No, not really," the guy replied without the hint of a joke in his tone. "Honestly, I don't think he has any weaknesses. Never even seen him lose his cool."
Atsumu stared. Yeah, right. How was it possible to not make mistakes or have weaknesses? Kita was probably just another poser who acted all goody-goody to make himself look better.
Looking back to the court, where Kita's team had managed to come from behind to take the game thanks to his ability to neutralize Suna's signature attack, Atsumu had thought: There's no way. I can't wait for him to slip up.
Over ten years later, and Atsumu was still waiting.
Atsumu's impression of Kita had gone from skeptical disdain to petty resentment to intimidated respect in under a year. Six months, even.
At first, Atsumu refused to believe that Kita wasn't faking the diligent, model student act. No one was perfect, least of all high school boys. Everyone had something they didn't want or like to do, especially teenage boys that ran primarily on hormones and base instincts.
For some people, it was the difficult, exhausting practices and drills they had to wake up at the ass crack of dawn for. Atsumu lived for volleyball, so he never minded, but he sure hated having to clean his room or do his homework, so he kind of understood why people who lived for other things might feel that way about practice.
However, ever since he heard about Kita Shinsuke's purported lack of flaws, he couldn't help but notice that Kita was always there despite seemingly lacking the unquenchable thirst for the game. Inarizaki was a powerhouse school when it came to volleyball, so there was no shortage of students that took the sport seriously. Him and Osamu, Aran, and plenty of others all wanted to play at even higher levels, so it made sense to Atsumu that they were always among the ones going all-out when it came to this.
But even Atsumu's passion for volleyball wasn't without exceptions. Atsumu loved volleyball, but he also loved sleeping in and disliked tidying up, so he always came to practice barely on time and dragged his feet when it was his turn to clean up the gym.
Not Kita though.
Kita was always the first one at practice—earlier than even the captain. This was not something Atsumu could've known until their first overnight training camp, where Kita was always the first one up and setting up in the gym before anybody else had even finished breakfast. Kita was also often one of the last to leave practice, sometimes doing extra drills, sometimes strategizing with the coaches, and usually cleaning up after everyone.
Atsumu hadn't noticed Kita much before, but once he started, it was impossible to stop. He hated to admit it, but he was starting to see what they meant by the guy never making a mistake. It was like Kita ran on an algorithm—he never cut corners, never put a foot wrong, and did everything to the letter.
Within a couple of months, Atsumu could tell that he was wrong about it being an act. It was just the way Kita was.
It was obvious in the way Kita was exactly the same whether anyone was watching him or not. Often, Atsumu would stay behind even after everyone else had finished up their extracurricular practices to work on his serves. On those days, he'd find himself alone in the gym, more often than not with Kita, who would be busy wiping down the balls, organizing the equipment room, or sweeping the locker room floor.
It became a lot harder to convince himself Kita was doing this for recognition then. There wasn't anyone around to impress—the coaches, the upperclassmen, everyone had long left apart from Atsumu. And once, on a day when Atsumu had left with everyone else instead of staying late, he'd forgotten his water bottle and doubled back just to find Kita scrubbing the locker room bathrooms alone.
It was also evident in the way Kita never sought out praise for his efforts. Atsumu wouldn't have known he was doing any of this if he didn't witness it himself or hear it from their teammates, because Kita never mentioned it. Even when fellow team members or coaches thanked him for helping out, Kita never reacted in a way that suggested the acknowledgement was what he was doing it for.
"It's nothing. I just like the routine," Kita would say.
Kita never played in any official games, but he'd practiced like he would, even when no one was watching. He was never late to practice, he never skipped, he never slacked, and he did it all while being top of his class.
It was hard not to respect someone like that. Even at 15 years old, Atsumu knew that Kita may not be gifted in volleyball, but he certainly didn't suck, and he was definitely better than Atsumu in every other way that mattered.
He came to this resounding conclusion one late evening, when after a full week of nonstop practice, he finally started being able to reliably aim his new jump float serve at a target. After the fifth empty bottle in a row that he'd managed to knock over, he was startled out of his silent celebration by the sound of quiet applause ringing out behind him.
The noise made Atsumu jump. He'd thought he was alone here, in the gym. Turning around, he saw Kita standing by the doors with his shoulder bag.
Atsumu glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 9 p.m. now, maybe Kita was here to kick him out.
But that wasn't what Kita said.
"That was great, Atsumu. Your jump float is looking really good now. Soon, you'll probably be the strongest server on the team."
The praise, if possible, shocked him even more than Kita's sudden appearance had. Atsumu could feel a visceral, violent flush burning its way from his neck to his face.
"Th-Thank you." Atsumu swallowed. "Kita-san."
Kita tilted his head towards the wall with the clock. "Don't stay too late now. You've been working hard all week, and a good rest is just as important. I'll be heading out, so make sure to lock up."
Atsumu rushed to bow as Kita turned to leave. "Okay. Good work, Kita-san."
Kita nodded back. "Good work. See you tomorrow, Atsumu."
Atsumu just stood there for several seconds staring at the door Kita left through. Then, he turned around and began picking up the balls on the ground.
Atsumu replayed the moment over and over in his head as he shagged the balls. Kita often cleaned or did inventory while Atsumu practiced, and he'd noticed that. Did what happen just now mean Kita had been noticing him too? Kita complimented his serve as if he knew this was what Atsumu had been working on all week. Did that mean Kita watched him practice?
Atsumu pushed the ball cart back into the equipment room and went back out to take down the net. Even if Kita did keep tabs on him, why had he said anything? They didn't know each other well, and hadn't really talked before. Well, aside from that one time. Kita said he'd be the strongest server on the team soon. Did he mean that?
Atsumu has known Kita long enough now to know that Kita never did anything with the expectation that he'd gain something in return. The first time they'd talked, Kita had tried to give him advice.
Atsumu's father always said the simplest answer is often the right one. He'd always been kind of skeptical, but this might be one of those situations his father had been talking about.
He's been trying to master the jump float, so he'd been staying behind to practice it. Kita knew this, so when he saw that the success of the serve had improved just now, he'd commended Atsumu's efforts.
Nothing more, nothing less.
As Atsumu laid in bed that night staring at the ceiling in the dark, he realized something: Kita may not be as successful as he was as a volleyball player, but he was far, far more successful at being a human being.
And that was significantly more difficult to achieve than simply being necessary for your school volleyball team to win.
The revelation that Kita was probably a better person than he'll ever be made Atsumu feel, well, contrite. Next to Kita, Atsumu couldn't help but be extra conscious of his own shortcomings. Atsumu tried hard at volleyball because he wanted to be the best, Kita tried hard at everything simply because it was the right thing to do.
This made Atsumu especially sheepish whenever he remembered his first interaction with Kita. He didn't know for certain that Kita had heard him bitching, but Atsumu wasn't a particularly subtle person and he hadn't been doing anything to hide just how little he thought of Kita and his opinion back then. And on top of that, Kita had been right—Atsumu had been upset because Suna failed to score twice in a row, and because he'd jumped to conclusions he'd immediately written Suna off as a liability instead of examining why he wasn't scoring.
Knowing Kita now, he hadn't said that because he thought he knew more than Atsumu, which was what he'd originally assumed. Kita had just known Suna better as a player, probably because they were both reserve players who practiced together while Atsumu was playing with the regulars. He'd been trying to help Atsumu see Suna's strengths so that they could be more successful on the court, and Atsumu had turned his nose up at the feedback simply because he thought he didn't have anything to learn from someone who was on the bench.
If Atsumu was Kita, he'd definitely hold his own attitude against him. Hell, Kita was both his senior on the team and older than him; Atsumu knew that if he had been in Kita's position and some upstart first year repaid his genuine attempt to help by badmouthing him the second his back was turned, he'd have chewed them out on the spot. Just another way Kita was better than he'll ever be.
Still, Atsumu wouldn't be surprised if Kita secretly disliked him. Even though Kita has never done anything to indicate that was the case, Atsumu couldn't help but feel like he'd already fucked up whatever impression Kita may have of him.
It didn't help that other members of the team seemed to get along with Kita just fine. Atsumu would often see Kita stretching with Aran, practicing with Suna, or doing the inventory with Ginjima. He even saw Osamu chatting with Kita in the locker room like long-lost friends, which made him feel a type of envy he rarely truly felt towards his brother. He'd always known people tended to like Osamu more than him, and it's never mattered before. Why did it matter now?
"Have you tried, I dunno, talking to him?" Suna asked, but in a way that sounded like he couldn't care less about the topic. "Pretty sure that's the first step to getting to know someone."
"It might not be that simple," Osamu said around his mouthful of food. Which ugh, gross. "You weren't there when he told Kita-san to focus on—"
"—Ahh! Shut up, shut up, shut up, stupid Samu! Nobody fucking asked you!" Atsumu threw a balled up napkin at his brother, and when that didn't work, threw his empty milk carton, then the banana that came with his lunch.
Osamu snatched the banana and Atsumu realized he wasn't going to get that back. Dodging Atsumu's further attempts to silence him by ducking behind Suna, Osamu continued to open his big, fat mouth: "—when Tsumu told Kita-san to focus on getting off the bench before trying to tell him what to do!"
Ginjima audibly gasped. Suna winced. Atsumu could feel the blood rushing to his face, and wanted nothing more than to kill Osamu and himself, in that order.
"You said that? To Kita-san?" Ginjima sounded horrified.
"Yikes. Not sure how you can recover from that, to be honest," Suna added helpfully.
"I didn't say it to him okay, I just… said it where he could overhear it," Atsumu mumbled into where he's buried his burning face in his folded arms.
Osamu sat back down where the four of them have pushed several desks together to have lunch around and started peeling the banana. They usually ate in Osamu and Suna's classroom, a decision that had happened because Osamu and Suna couldn't be bothered to move and Atsumu didn't have friends aside from his brother.
But ever since he'd seen sense and sucked it up to ask Suna to practice together so they could sync, Suna started just showing up when he went to find Osamu for lunch. That was also around the time Atsumu had been assigned class duty with Ginjima, and after bonding over being on the volleyball team together, Atsumu went from having one person to eat lunch with to three—and two of them weren't even biologically obligated to hang out with him.
All in all, not too bad. In fact, maybe the only thing that could've made his first year even better was winning the Spring High. Finding a way to redeem Kita's first impression of him might be a close second, though.
But obviously, Atsumu couldn't have everything. Clearly, not having all his teammates hate his guts was the most he could ask for, because Inarizaki wasn't able to bring home the gold medal at the Spring High Nationals that year. Atsumu wasn't too torn up about it though. It was only his first year, after all.
In the aftermath of their elimination from Nationals, the team was abuzz with rumours and speculation of who would be taking the places of the graduating third years. Several spots on the starting lineup would be opening up, so naturally everyone was curious to see who would get the honour of being promoted to a regular.
Atsumu, starting setter in his first year, couldn't be less interested in the gossip.
"As long as they're good, I don't really care," he said when Ginjima asked for his thoughts on the matter.
Ginjima nodded like he'd expected Atsumu's answer. "I feel like Suna's a lock. He's definitely the best middle, other than Oomimi-san. I hope I make the cut, but I'm not sure if I will."
"I think you will." Atsumu grunted as he stretched out his hamstrings. "Don't sell yourself short, Gin."
Ginjima perked up from where he was stretching next to him. "Thanks! Hey, what about the captain? Who do you think it'll be?"
Atsumu paused. He ran through several candidates in his head, before settling on a possibility: "Maybe Aran-kun?"
"Really?" Ginjima sounded surprised. "I think it's obvious that it'll be—"
Atsumu never found out who Ginjima thought it would be, because at that exact moment the gym doors slammed open and produced the bane of Atsumu's existence.
"Atsumu! I know it was you! How dare you, it was the last one, the last one! You knew I was saving it, you knew I've been looking forward to it all day!"
Atsumu barely had the time to think Oh, shit before he was scrambling to get out of the path of the raging predator that was his brother on a starving rampage. He made it about halfway across the gym before getting violently bodied to the floor.
Contrary to Osamu's belief, Atsumu hadn't known that it was the last one, or that his brother had been saving it. He'd merely gotten to the club room early, saw that Osamu had one of those new viral trendy ramen noodles in his locker, and decided it was fair game since Osamu had left it in there. He'd inhaled the thing right there in the club room while Osamu had been busy with class duty or getting extra English help or whatever it was that his sucker of a brother was doing instead of coming right down to practice. The ramen was alright; Atsumu kind of saw the hype, but it wasn't anything groundbreaking. And anyway, if Osamu really wanted to keep it safe he should've put a lock on his locker. Otherwise, anyone could just open it and take whatever they want.
Atsumu tried to express this to Osamu, but unfortunately his brother was another person entirely when he was blinded by hunger-induced rage. This was definitely Atsumu's mistake—Osamu was typically much more willing to forgive when Atsumu ate something he wasn't supposed to as long as 1) it wasn't the last one and 2) he wasn't actively hungry. As it was, Osamu had definitely been planning on having that ramen as his pre-practice snack, so it was all Atsumu could do to protect his face from Osamu's blows while he tried to get enough leverage to kick his brother off of him.
Vaguely, Atsumu could hear shouts in the background of his and Osamu's scuffle. It was probably Ginjima freaking out, but Atsumu didn't have time to worry about that when he was in real danger of getting choked out by Osamu for his ramen-related crimes.
Not wanting to die before winning Olympic gold, Atsumu was starting to wonder whether the benefits of kneeing his brother in the nuts as hard as he could would outweigh the consequences when suddenly Osamu's weight disappeared, and Atsumu could breathe properly again.
"Atsumu! Are you alright?"
Lying on his back on the gym floor, Atsumu stared at the person who'd come to his rescue. Kita was looking down at him with a concerned expression on his face. Backlit against the bright gym lights, his entire person seemed to glow, his silvery hair shining like a halo around his head.
An angel…
The angel frowned, then turned away so that Atsumu could no longer see his face. "Osamu, that was incredibly dangerous. You should never resort to violence in a disagreement, not to mention you could have seriously hurt him. If Atsumu has done something wrong, please use your words to communicate with him instead of your fists. This sets a very bad example for the team, and I'm very disappointed by this behaviour."
Kita turned back to where Atsumu was, and seemed worried to see that Atsumu was still lying there and gawking at him instead of getting up. Coming closer, he knelt down next to Atsumu and reached out to check on him.
"Are you okay, Atsumu? Are you hurt?"
Kita's hands came to brush Atsumu's hair out of his face, seemingly looking for signs of a bump that could indicate Atsumu had hit his head somewhere. His touch was gentle as he felt around Atsumu's head, the brush of his fingers against Atsumu's forehead unusually cool in the face of the aggressive flush Atsumu could feel taking over his skin.
"I—I'm fine, Kita-san." Atsumu scrambled to sit up, dislodging Kita's hands on his head. "It's gonna take more than that scrub to take me down."
Now sitting up, Atsumu made eye contact with Osamu, who was still visibly stewing but clearly holding his tongue because of the scolding he'd just received. His brother responded instead with a nasty glare.
Another touch to his cheek startled Atsumu out of his stare-down with Osamu.
"You're hurt here. Come, I'll get you an ice pack." Kita stood, then waited for Atsumu to do the same before starting to head for the coach's office.
On the way out they ran into Coach Kurosu, who was probably on his way to the gym to begin practice. Coach took one look at Kita, then at Atsumu trailing behind him, and said, "Christ. What happened out there?"
"A disagreement between brothers," Kita responded. "I'm here to get some ice for Atsumu."
Coach Kurosu let out a world-weary sigh. "I'll leave this one to you for now then. Atsumu, come see me after practice."
Atsumu mumbled a sheepish affirmative. Coach Kurosu waved them off, and Atsumu followed Kita into the office.
Kita gestured for Atsumu to sit down in one of the chairs as he got an ice pack out from where they kept them in the freezer. Wrapping it in a spare towel, Kita handed the ice pack to Atsumu and indicated for him to press it against his cheek.
While Atsumu did that, Kita went about looking for the first aid kit. Once in possession of the first aid kit, Kita came to sit by him.
"Does it hurt?"
The cold from the ice pack made Atsumu's face numb. He shook his head. "Samu doesn't hit that hard."
Kita sighed. Opening the first aid kit, he took out a small tube of bruise cream and a few bandages. "Why were you fighting?"
It seemed silly to say out loud, but then most things he and his brother fought over were. "I ate the ramen from his locker. He was really looking forward to it, I guess."
Kita didn't say anything to that, and when Atsumu looked at him from the corner of his eye, he couldn't tell what he was thinking. Kita's expression was as blank as ever, the only indication that he'd heard Atsumu at all was the tight purse of his lips. Was he upset? Most likely he was disappointed by how childish he and Osamu were.
"Sorry, Kita-san," Atsumu mumbled into the quiet.
Kita's brows rose. "For what?"
"For fighting." Atsumu's legs were too long now, but he had the urge to swing his feet like a kid.
"You know, I have a brother too."
Atsumu looked up from his feet in surprise. Kita continued, "He's younger than me, so it's definitely not the same as having a twin, but we have our fights every now and then. Fighting is natural. I'm not gonna tell you never to fight again, but there is a time and place for disagreements, and hurting each other won't solve the problem. The team is an environment where working together and respecting each other are the most important qualities for every member. You and Osamu aren't exempt just because you're brothers. Okay?"
Chastised, Atsumu nodded. Kita reached out to take the ice pack from him. Atsumu let him examine the damage, hoping that he didn't look too banged up.
"Besides, it'd be such a pity if you got a shiner on that handsome face. You were lucky this time."
It wasn't the first time Atsumu had ever heard someone call him handsome. Usually, the people who called him handsome were doting older aunties, or sometimes shy girls during confessions. But the way Kita said it was so calm and matter-of-fact. Like it wasn't a compliment, just an objective truth.
Atsumu flushed. He knew it happened only because his face suddenly went from very cold to warm, which was probably undoing the effects of icing it in the first place.
It was then that Atsumu realized he'd never been alone with Kita for this long before. In the chaos of his row with Osamu, he'd forgotten that he was supposed to be trying to find a way to rehabilitate his image in Kita's eyes. Logically, brawling with his brother in the school gym should've set him even further back on that front.
But sitting there in the slightly dusty office with Kita, holding his breath as Kita leaned in and gently applied bruise cream to the welt on his cheek, Atsumu couldn't help but feel—special.
He couldn't stop thinking about the way Kita looked at him in those first few moments after breaking up the fight, worry written all over his face. The way Kita reprimanded Osamu for hitting him, even though Atsumu kind-of-sort-of started it by stealing his brother's food. The way Kita's fingers had felt in his hair, checking Atsumu for injuries. The way Kita called him handsome, the way he rubbed the bruise cream onto Atsumu's face and put a bandage on it, even though it wasn't even an open wound.
It was silly. Stupid, even. Atsumu wasn't delusional enough to believe he was getting preferential treatment, or anything like that. But even if that hadn't been Kita's intention, it didn't change that Atsumu felt special when Kita focused that piercing gaze on him. As a person, Kita had an exceedingly grounded aura about him, and nowhere was that more apparent than in his eyes. They were the colour of warm earth—solid, deep, and glowing with a burning intensity that gave off the same feeling as touching the sun-baked ground on a hot summer day.
And this close, Atsumu could make out the flecks of gold in his irises.
"There you go." Kita smoothed the bandage out once last time to make sure it was sticking properly. Once it was in place, he straightened his posture and began packing the first aid kit.
Atsumu grazed his fingers over the bandage on his cheek as he watched Kita put away the ice pack and the first aid kit.
That day, Atsumu was spacey when he got back to practice. In between plays and drills, he'd find his mind drifting back to that dusty office. Sometimes, he'd catch himself looking at Kita, diligent as always in his drills across the gym.
Nobody really called him out on it, because he and Osamu were still giving each other the silent treatment and news of their fight had clearly become common knowledge. Aran smacked him a few times and told him to focus, but otherwise no one had the guts nor the will to get involved in the perceived twin drama.
After practice, Atsumu shelled out his allowance to fund Osamu's stop at the convenience store by way of an apology. When his brother came out, he handed over one of the pudding cups and bumped his shoulder against Atsumu's.
A routine resolution to a run-of-the-mill conflict. It wasn't the first time they'd fought over something like this, and it certainly won't be the last. All in all, an unremarkable day in the grand scheme of their lives as twins.
But Atsumu remembered this day with startling clarity, even years later. Not the fight itself, but what'd happened after it. Kita's unwavering, concentrated attention, and how it'd felt to be on the receiving end of it. The gentle, steady feeling of Kita's hands on his face, and the way Kita's words and his voice remained benevolent even in the face of Atsumu's immaturity.
It wasn't anything special. But Kita was a peer and a teammate. And from those, Atsumu usually expected—derision. Ostracism. Contempt. Especially when Atsumu did or said something unlikeable.
And Atsumu has been unlikeable all his life. Suna and Ginjima might tolerate him, but Atsumu couldn't shake the feeling that they were mostly Osamu's friends who hung out with him by association. His best and only friend has always been his brother, and even Osamu got sick of him. The only difference was Osamu didn't have a say in whether to stick around.
But somehow, Atsumu hadn't felt unlikeable the whole time in that office with Kita. Even though he'd caused trouble, Kita had still fussed over him. He'd scolded Osamu for him, taken care of him, and gently patched him up.
And Atsumu craved that attention like a flower growing in a dank, dark corner craved sunlight. Maybe it was just Atsumu's past talking, but he found himself longing to experience the burning warmth of Kita's attentions directed at him again and again.
So when a few weeks later, Atsumu showed up to practice with a nasty cold and almost immediately gets sent packing by Kita's dismissal, he would be lying if he said he wasn't a little butt-hurt. Kita had been so nice when he was hurt, why was he so unsympathetic now that Atsumu was sick?
But coming into the locker room, Atsumu was once again faced with the reality of Kita's benevolence: umeboshi, throat candies, a bottle of Calpis Hot Lemon, and a note with Kita's pretty handwriting.
And just like the first time, Kita's quiet kindness filled Atsumu with an all-encompassing heat that spread through his entire body to flood out through his eyes.
That was when Atsumu came to the life-changing conclusion that Kita wasn't just a successful human being. He wasn't just better than Atsumu, either. He was a singular, one-of-a-kind, unrivalled type of existence.
Kita Shinsuke was perfect.