Chapter Text
Atsumu Miya was close to losing it. He'd endured two periods and twelve minutes of one of the most frustrating hockey games he’d ever played. It should have been a glorious win at home for his Tokyo Akita against their archrivals, The Boston Bears. Instead it had been a grueling humiliation, and the score stood at 4-1 for Boston, with less than 9 minutes left on the clock. Atsumu had no less than 5 scoring chances to take the win. He’d taken shots that could never miss but they had and it was because of Sakusa Kiyoomi, conducting his team like they were soldiers at war. Sakusa Kiyoomi even though he was from Tokyo, Japan he has slowly become the most hated man in the Tokyo hockey scene. The near century old rivalry between Japan and America Hockey Team had, over the past 6 seasons, become personified by Atsumu and Sakusa. Their intense animosity was clear even to the fans in the farthest, cheapest seats. Miya bent at the face-off circle now, facing Sakusa as the referee prepared to drop the puck after scoring his second goal of the game.
“Having a good night?” Sakusa asked, a small smirk and his dark green eyes sparkled under the fluorescent light. He had that face he always did when he was always talking shit.
“Fuck you” Atsumu snarled, his english barley comprehensible between his Kansai accent and his mouth guard.
“Still time for a hat trick, I think” Sakusa mused, locking eyes with Miya, the tension growing.” Should I do it now, or wait until the last minute? More exciting that way, yes?” Atsumu gritted his teeth around his mouth guard and didn't answer, he was gonna cuss him out if he opened his mouth and he didn't want to be penalized.
“Last warning you two.” The referee said and that made Sakusa stay quiet but he managed to piss off Atsumu in an even more effective way. He winked.
And then he won the face off.
“FUCK” Suna Rinatrou, The Akita’s Vietnamese-Japanese defenseman, hurled his stick at the wall of their dressing room. Suna never lost it but his parents were in the stands and his best friend had finally made time to watch the game.
“Suna that's enough” Atsumu said and dragged his hands across his face. There wasn't any real threat behind it. He wasn't in the mood to fight or even argue anymore. He slumped against his dressing room stall and let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding in. Atsumu left wing line man. Aran Ojiro sat on the bench next to him, as always.
“You all right Atsumu??” Aran asked and took a swig from his water bottle.
“Sure,” Atsumu said flatly. He tipped his head back until it met the cool wall behind him and closed his eyes. His mind was all over the place, he was pissed and humiliated. He wanted to disappear.
Using the word “Passionate” to describe Tokyo hockey fans would be an understatement, in Hyōgo there were barely any fans, more like it was really only Suna, Atsumu, and Aran who liked the sport. Most people preferred baseball where they’re from. Tokyo loved the akitas to the point of insanity. Their arena was one of the toughest places for visiting teams to play, because not only are they facing the Akitas, one of the strongest team in the leads, tied with the Boston Bears, They are facing the loudest and harshest fans in the league. The fans also had no problem letting their own team know how they felt, good or bad. But when Tokyo fans were really disappointed and devastated, like tonight, they stayed quiet and that was the sound Atsumu Miya hated.
“You know what would be amazing,” Aran said. “You know that movie, The Purge? You know the one you can basically get away with any crime for one night without any consequences,”
“Yeah why??” Atsumu said.
“Man if that was real I would definitely break Sakusa Kiyoomi's fucking legs” Suna said as he sat on the other side of Atsumu.
Atsumu laughed, he couldn't disagree with Suna, seeing that rude ass man out for a season or more, that would be so satisfying. Their coach entered the room and voiced his disappointment with a terrifying calm. It was only early season and it had been their first regular season match with their rivals other than that they had been doing pretty well most games. This was a glitch. They would move on. Then it was to face the press. At that moment, Atsumu would rather see a swarm of hungry wolves than see the press, but he knew he couldn't avoid the reporters. They always wanted to talk to him, especially after every game where he faced Sakusa. He pulled on his sweats, they were stuck around his thighs which he made the mental note to get a bigger size. He stood up and took off his jersey so the company branded athletic undershirt would be seen on camera. Part of his endorsement contract with his own brother who owns multiple chains of food and the SMM brand.
A semicircle of cameras, lights, and microphones surrounded him and were shoved near his face.
“Hey yall” Atsumu said, tired but grinned. They asked their boring questions, and Atsumu gave them boring answers.What could he even say? They’d lost. It was a hockey game, and one team lost, and that team was his team and he just wanted this interview to end faster so he could sleep.
“Do you want to know what Sakusa Kiyoomi just said about you?” one of the reporters asked gleefully.
“Something nice, I assume.”
“He said he wished you’d been playing tonight.”
The crowd of reporters was silent. Waiting. Atsumu snorted and shook his head.
“Well, we play in Boston in three weeks. You can let him know that I will definitely be at that game.”
The reporters laughed, delighted that they had gotten their Miya vs. Sakusa sound bites for the night. An hour later showered, changed and finally alone Atsumu drove himself home. Not to his Tokyo penthouse, but to the one nobody knew about. Atsunu only spent a few nights a year at the small condominium in Miyagi. It was where he went when he wanted to be sure of total privacy. He parked in the tiny lot behind the three-story building, let himself in the back door, and quickly climbed the stairs to the top floor. He knew the other two floors were unoccupied because he owned those too. The bottom floor was rented to a high-end kitchenware boutique, which had closed for the night hours ago. The Penthouse on the third floor looked like what it was a high tech modern place but with a plain outside. Technically, this was the Penthouse that would be used to sell this one and the one below it but he had upgraded it in order to fit his wants and needs. If Atsumu was ever interested in selling. Which, he told himself, he definitely would be doing. Soon. He had been telling himself this for over three years. He went to the stainless-steel fridge and took out one of the five bottles of smirnoffs the only things in the pristine refrigerator, well other than eggs. He twisted the cap off and sat himself on the black leather sofa in the living area.
He sat in silence and tried to ignore the way his stomach churned on nights like this one. He drank his Smirnoff quickly, hoping the alcohol would help at least numb the disappointment he felt in himself. The disgust at his own weakness. He needed to dull it because he knew he sure wouldn’t be doing anything to fix this mess. He had tears welling up in his eyes and he held a deep breath in. He’d been trying for over six years. He promise Osamu that he would make it big but no matter how hard he tries he feels like he isnt the best. Atsumu chugged another one and closed his eyes. The knock at the door came almost forty minutes later. It had been enough time that Atsumu had almost convinced himself to leave. To put an end to this foolishness. But, of course, he hadn’t. And if the knock had come hours later, even, Atsumu would still have been on that sofa, waiting for it. He opened the door.
“What the fuck took you so long?” he asked, annoyed.
“We were celebrating. Big win tonight, you know?”
Atsumu stepped back to let the tall, smirking curly hair man into the apartment. Atsumu scowled and rolled his eyes.
“I got away as soon as I could,” Sakusa said, his tone less teasing.
“Didn’t want to draw attention, right?”
“Sure.”
And that was the last word Atsumu got out before Sakusa's mouth crashed into his. Astumu gripped his leather jacket with both hands and pulled him closer as he kissed Sakusa breathless.
“How long do you have?” Atsumu asked quickly, when they had broken apart for air.
“Two hours, maybe?” “Fuck.” He kissed Sakusa again, rough and needy. God, he needed this. This horrible, fucked-up thing.
“You taste like Smirkoffs,” Sakusa said.
“You taste like that horrible gum you chew.”
“So I don’t smoke!”
“Shut up.”
They grappled and maneuvered each other until they reached the bedroom, where Atsumu shoved Sakusa roughly against a wall and continued kissing him. He felt the familiar slide of his rival’s tongue in his mouth, and slid his own tongue over teeth that had been fixed and replaced. God knew how many times. He wanted a lot tonight, but they didn’t have time for a lot. Sakusa grabbed him and pushed him down on the bed; Atsumu watched the other man drop his jacket on the floor and pull his T-shirt off over his head. A silver chain hung crookedly around Sakusa neck, the shiny crucifix resting on his left clavicle just above the famous tattoo of a snake on his chest in the yakuza style Atsumu would make fun of later. Right now all he could do was watch Sakusa strip his clothes off, and belatedly realize that he should be doing the same. They both took off everything, and Sakusa fell on top of Atsumu, kissing him and moving a hand down to grasp his already embarrassingly rigid cock. Atsumu arched up into his touch, making stupid, desperate Noises.
“Don’t worry, Miya,” Sakusa said, his lips brushing Atsumu ear.
“I am going to fuck you like you want, yes?”
“Yes,” Atsumu exhaled, a mixture of relief and humiliation sweeping through him.
Sakusa slid down his body, kissing, sucking, licking, until he reached Atsumu’s cock. He didn’t tease any further. He took him into his mouth, and Atsumu was grateful that they were alone in the building because his moan echoed throughout the sparsely decorated room. He propped himself up on his elbows so he could watch. Part of him wanted to lie back and close his eyes and let himself believe that it was anyone other than Sakusa Kiyoomi making him feel so good. But most of him wanted to see exactly who it was. Sakusa was a stunning man. Black curls that were always a
mess fell into his harsh dark green eyes and over his dark, thick eyebrows. His strong jaw was so sharp it could cut a person and it was covered in stubble. Sakusa might have forgotten to shave it. His smile was sharp and playful, and his teeth were unnaturally white due to most of them not being real. His nose was crooked, having been broken more than a few times, but the fucking thing only made him look more rugged. And for a Japanese man living in Boston, his skin was a lot more golden than it had any right to be. Atsumu fucking hated him. But Sakusa was really good at sucking cock, and he was, for whatever reason, willing. Atsumu hated this, but he had taken great pains to protect it, and he would continue doing so as long as Sakusa was willing. Their lives being what they were, this was not an easy thing to get. Maybe, when they had started seven years ago, they hadn’t expected their lives, their famous rivalry, to get to the point it was at now. Maybe they should have stopped by now. But, despite the wrongness of it, this was comfortable. This was familiar. And it was as close to safe as either of them were going to get.That’s all it was. Sakusa worked his talented mouth on Atsumu’s cock, you would have thought Sakusa was the bottom in the situation. Atsumu tossed the lube down the bed from the well-stocked nightstand. Sakusa took it without pausing what he was doing, and poured some on his fingers so he could get to work opening Atsumu up.
This was never Atsumu’s favorite part because he felt so fucking vulnerable. He felt weak and ridiculous every time they were together like this, but he always caved in at the moment when Sakusa had his fingers inside him, knowing his weak spot and teasing him only there. As a result, the preparation usually took a while. Saksua, on the other hand, always seemed completely at ease. He was good at this, and he knew it. He slid his mouth off of Atsumu’s cock with a parting lick to the head that sent a jolt straight through Atsumu’s body, and said,
“Relax, yeah? It is not much time, but enough.”
Atsumu took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He hated that voice so much on the ice, and in the interviews he saw on television where Sakusa mocked him in an obnoxious, teasing tone. But here, in this bed, Sakusa's tone was patient and gentle, while his voice was rough while his accent wrapped harshly around Japanese words. Atsumu relaxed as Sakusa opened him with strong fingers and pressed openmouthed kisses on the insides of his thighs. Sakusa would never admit that he loved Atsumu’s thighs. Compare to everyone he dated, no one had thighs like Atsumu’s. They were thick and soft but they were also muscular and could crush his head. When he was ready, Atsumu wordlessly handed Sakusa a condom before rolling over and getting on his hands and knees. He couldn’t look at Sakusa. Not tonight. Not after that humiliating loss. Sakusa seemed to understand. He entered him carefully, not taking him roughly like he had many times in the past. This was slow and considerate. Atsumu felt big hands on his hips and waist, holding him steady as Sakusa pushed inside. He let out a soft moan that surprised him and Sakusa, and he could tell Sakusa was somewhat turned on as he even felt Sakusa thumbs brush gently over his lower back.
“There. This is what you wanted, yes?”
“Yes.” Because it was. It was what he always wanted.
Sakusa started to move and Atsumu cried out. It never took long for him to just give in and start moaning and gasping and asking for more.
“Fuck, Miya. You love it.”
Atsumu responded by turning, he was sure, beet red. But he couldn’t deny it. Sakusa fucked him hard with one strong hand pressing between his shoulder blades—pressing him down to the mattress. They were both loud,and if he hadn’t known the building was empty besides the two of them, Atsumu would have been worried about it. But he felt safe here, so he let himself go. He cried out with every thrust and maybe said Sakusa’s name a bunch of times. Atsumu really hoped no one could hear them. When Sakusa reached around to take Atsumu’s cock in his slick hand, Atsumu became desperate for release and started bucking back against him.This was the point where he was always reminded why he couldn’t give this up. It was too good.
“You gonna come for me, Miya?”
Miya was going to. And he did. He punched the mattress and swore loudly and coated Sakusa’s fist with his release. Sakusa picked up speed behind him, sending aftershocks rocketing through Atsumu’s body with each thrust. Just as it was becoming too much for Atsumu, he was getting over stimulated but god did he love it. He knew he sounded like a whiny bitch but he couldn't help it. Those sounds made Sakusa stilled and cried out and pulsed inside him. Afterward, they lay on their backs next to each other, and Atsumu felt the familiar aftermath of guilt and shame creep in.
“Well, you won at something tonight,” Sakusa mused.
“God. Fuck off.” Atsumu lifted his arm to flip him off, but Sakusa grabbed his wrist and pulled him over so Atsumu was on top of his chest, looking down at him. Sakusa’s playful smirk faded as he held Atsumu’s gaze, and Atsumu felt suddenly breathless.
“Still have that tattoo, I see,” Atsumu said quickly, to distract himself from whatever the fuck was happening.
“Aw,” Sakusa said, the obnoxious little grin returning to his face. “He missed you.”
Atsumu snorted and tilted his head, a gesture that Sakusa really only saw.
“He did,” Sakusa insisted. “Give him a kiss.”
Atsumu rolled his eyes, but he did dip his head to Sakusa’s chest. Instead of pressing his lips to the tattoo, though, he trapped Sakusa’s nipple lightly between his teeth and tugged.
“Fuck,” Sakusa said, sucking air between his teeth.
As an apology, and also Atsumu knew it would work him up even more, he brushed his tongue over the sensitive nipple. Sakusa locked eyes with Atsumu face, the sharp cold stare that had a devious look hidden inside. Sakusa put a hand in Atsumu's hair and guided their mouths back together. After a long, oddly tender kiss, Astumu lifted his head and saw that Sakusa was, again, looking at him very seriously. He swallowed, but didn’t say anything as he brushed fingers through Sakusa’s hair. He hoped the fear he felt wasn’t showing on his face.
“You are very beautiful,” Sakusa said suddenly. It was said verymatter-of-factly.
Atsumu wasn’t sure how to react. They didn’t really say things to each other. Not like that. He tilted his head and quirked up an eyebrow.
“Hottest Man in the NHL, according to Cosmopolitan,” Atsumu joked. It was the only way he knew how to talk to Sakusa, besides yelling obscenities at him.
“They are idiots,” Sakusa said, the spell broken. “They put me at number five. Five! and you know I don't usually care but they put goody two shoes kageyama infront of me???”
“It does seem generous.” Sakusa rolled over, pinning Atsumu to the mattress. Atsumu looked up at him, laughing.
“I have to go,” Sakusa said, and he sounded like he truly regretted it.
“Shower first, but then I have to get back to the hotel.”
“I know.”
They showered together, and Atsumu dropped to his knees because he couldn’t let Sakusa go without tasting him again. The taste was somewhat addicting. Sakusa murmured his approval as he loomed over Atsumu in the spacious rainfall shower. His strong hands cradled Atsumu’s head and long fingers curled in his wet hair. Atsumu turned his eyes up and found Sakusa gazing down at him with that damn shitty smirk. Atsumu immediately closed his eyes, tears falling down as he gagged on Sakusa’s dick, and felt his cheeks flush and, to his embarrassment, his own cock getting harder. It was bad enough that he loved being fucked so much, that he loved having a dick in his mouth. But for it to have to be this son of a bitch, to the point that on the extremely rare occasion when it wasn’t, Atsumu is usually left wanting... So maybe it wasn’t just that this was convenient. But that was something Atsumu didn’t want to think about. He looked up at him, his tear stained face with flush cheeks was turning Sakusa on to the extreme. Sakusa grabbed the back of his head and pushed his cock deeper into his mouth. Tears fell down atsumu face as he gagged and let Sakusa throat fuck him. He brought Sakusa right to the brink and then pulled off, catching the man’s release on his chin and lips and probably on his neck. The evidence was quickly washed away, down the drain, and Atsumu fell back to a sitting position against the shower wall. He scrubbed his hands over his face and pulled his knees in. He coughed a little, He heard Sakusa panting and cursed in english.
“Shit,” Sakusa said, still standing with his head leaning back against the tile opposite where Atsumu was sitting. “You've been practicing that, Miya?”
“No,” Atsumu grumbled.
“No? You've been saving it for me?”
Atsumu didn’t reply and flipped him off, which was as good as confirmation.
Sakusa laughed. “You need to get laid, Atsumu. Waiting for a quick fuck every couple of months is not healthy.”
“I’m not waiting,” Atsumu said. It wasn’t quite a lie
. He obviously wasn’t one hundred percent straight, but having sex with women didn’t repulse him. It just didn’t do it for him like men did. One man in particular. But women were safe and easy and everywhere. And maybe if he kept trying he might find one he’d like to spend more than a single night with. Someone who could finally put an end to...whatever this was. Sakusa turned off the water and reached a hand out. Atsumu rolled his eyes and took it, letting Sakusa pull him to his feet. They stood, chest to chest, and Atsumu watched the water that dripped from Sakusa’s hair onto his shoulder and down toward his navel. Sakusa rested a hand on Atsumu face and tipped his head up. He looked at him fondly, with a little smile on his lips, and then he kissed him.
“I have ruined you,” Sakusa said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.”
“God, fuck off.”
“Such a mouth on you.”
“Don’t say it.”
“I preferred it when it was on me.”
“Dammit, Sakusa.” Atsumu pushed the other man back against the shower wall and kissed him aggressively. It was always like this. Shoving and cursing each other and battling for control until one or both of them gave in and allowed themselves the release they both craved.
“I do have to go,” Sakusa said, but even as he said it he was scraping his teeth along Atsumu’s jaw. Atsumu felt Sakusa's hands wrapping around his waist and pulled him closer, clearly not pleased on leaving.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? I don’t care. I think we’re done here anyway, aren’t we?”
Sakusa stopped kissing him and looked at him, considering. “I suppose we are.”
They left the shower and got dressed quickly. Atsumu stripped the comforter from the bed and loaded it into the washing machine. He would make sure the place was left as spotless as he had found it.
“Three weeks, then,” Sakusa said as he stood at the door, scrolling through his calendar, ready to leave.
“Yup.”
Sakusa nodded, and Atsumu thought that was going to be it, but then the other man grinned and said, “Was it me tonight?”
“Was what you?”
“Distracting you. On the ice tonight.”
It took Atsumu a moment to realize what he was suggesting. “Fuck. You.”
Sakusa’s smirk spread. “I couldn't play at all, thinking about my dick, right?” Sakusa has always been a tease in this weird dynamic, usually Atsumu would tease people but when it came to Sakusa the roles were reversed.
“Goodnight, Sakusa.”
Sakusa blew him a kiss on his way out the door, leaving Atsumu furious and strangely relieved. It was good to be reminded of the fact that they didn’t actually like each other.
Atsumu pulled another Smiroffs out of the fridge and sat on the sofa to wait for the comforter to be clean. It was late and he was exhausted, but he wouldn’t sleep here. He should really talk to a Realtor about selling this building. He would sell the building, and he would stay in his goddamn hotel room when they played in Boston and not slip out into the night to Sakusa’s penthouse. He would end this, and he would move on. He realized, as he was making this plan, that he was brushing his fingertips over his lips. They still tingled from the memory of the other man’s mouth pressed against them. He knew making plans to end this was pointless. As long as this was being offered, Atsumu knew he would never be able to say no. He groaned and chugged the rest of his drink and closed his eyes
.
December 2008—Hyōgo
Sakusa Kiyoomi trudged through the bitter cold of the hotel parking lot to the team bus. Like most of his teammates, it was his first time in the countryside. He had expected to feel more overwhelmed by that, but Hyōgo was hardly Tokyo or Shibuya. Here, there was nothing to focus on but cold and the scenery, and those were two things that weren't were very
familiar with him whatsoever. It was two days before Christmas, but for the world’s best teenage hockey players, Christmas meant the World Junior Hockey Championships. For Kiyoomi, it meant the chance to finally get a firsthand look at Atsumu Miya. There had been much made of the seventeen-year-old Hyōgo
phenom. Kiyoomi was sick of hearing the name, which had caused such a stir in the hockey world that even his school in Tokyo wasn’t far enough to escape the hype.
Both Kiyoomi and Miya were eligible for the NHL entry draft that coming June, and they were already expected to be the number one and two overall picks. The expected order of those two picks depended on who you asked. Kiyoomi knew his answer. He had never met Miya Atsumu. Never played against him. But he was already determined to destroy him.
He would start by leading Tokyo to a gold medal victory, here in Miya’s own Prefecture. Then he would lead his team back in Tokyo to their championship. And then, surely, he would be chosen first in the draft. This was the year of Sakusa Kiyoomi. Since he was twelve years old, 2009 had always been the year he was expected to burst onto the world stage. No Countryside pretender would change that.
The Tokyo team arrived at the rink for their scheduled practice at the tail end of the Hyōgo team’s. Kiyoomi paused with some of his teammates to watch the Countryside run drills. The practice jerseys didn’t have names on them, so he couldn’t pick out Miya before he was told by his assistant coach to get his ass into the dressing room. The schedule at the practice rink was very tight.They took to the ice as soon as it had been cleared by the Zamboni. The rink was small, and kind of dumpy. The actual games would be in the large arena downtown. There were a few people sitting in the stands, watching the Tokyo team practice. Some scouts, no doubt, and the few family members who had actually made the trip from Tokyo, as well as several local hard-core hockey fans. Halfway through the practice, Kiyoomi noticed a young man sitting a few rows above the penalty box, wearing a Team Hyōgo ball cap and jacket. He was flanked by a man, a woman, and someone who looked just like him, probably a twin, they were probably his family. It was hard to tell from the ice, but Kiyoomi thought it might be Miya. His mother was Italian or something, right? He was sure he had read that somewhere…
“Care to join us, Sakusa?” his coach bellowed in Japanese across the ice. Kiyoomi turned, embarrassed to find the rest of his teammates huddled around the coach.
He didn’t like that Miya—if that was Miya—was here watching them. Or maybe he did. Maybe Miya was nervous about facing him later in the tournament. Maybe he felt threatened. He should. After the practice, Kiyoomi showered and dressed quickly. He headed back out into the rink to stand behind the glass and look at the stands. Miya and his parents were gone. The Miyagi team had taken to the ice for their practice. Kiyoomi shrugged and made his way to a vending machine. He bought himself a bottle of Coke and wondered if he could slip outside for a quick smoke before getting back on the bus. He zipped his Team Tokyo jacket up to his chin and slipped out a side door. It was cold as fuck outside. He pressed himself against the wall of the brick building, stuffed his Coke into his coat pocket, and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter.
“You’re supposed to smoke over there,” someone said.
It took Kiyoomi a moment to translate all of the words. He turned to see the person that he now definitely recognized as Atsumu Miya. He had a very distinct look. Some of his features were clearly from his mother—jet-black hair that was bleached and very hazel eyes—but his father was of some southern European heritage, so Miya didn’t look exactly Asian. His skin, however, was flawless. Distractingly so. Smooth and tan with—and this was his most striking feature—a smattering of dark freckles across his nose and cheekbones.
“What?” Kiyoomi said. Even the single word sounded cold and harsh with his tone.
“The smoking area is over there.” Miya pointed to a far corner of the parking lot, next to a large snowbank. It looked very windy there.
Kiyoomi settled back against the wall and lit his cigarette. This fucking prefecture. Bad enough he couldn’t smoke indoors anywhere—he needed to go sit in the fucking snow while he did it?
“I’m surprised you smoke,” Miya said.
“Okay,” Kiyoomi said, exhaling a long stream of smoke between his lips. There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Miya made another attempt at conversation.
“I wanted to meet you,” he said, extending his hand and showed a goofy smile. “Miya Atsumu.”
Kiyoomi stared at him, and then felt his lips twitch a bit. “Yes,” he said. He pinched the cigarette between his lips and shook Miya’s hand.
“You’re an awesome player to watch,” Miya said.
“I know.” If Miya was expecting Kiyoomi to return the compliment, he was going to be waiting a long damn time. When Kiyoomi didn’t say anything else, Miya changed the subject.
“Are your parents here with you?”
“No.”
“Oh. That must be rough. With Christmas and everything.”
Kiyoomi struggled a bit to translate so many words, then said, “Is fine.”
Miya shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “It’s cold, huh?”
“Yes.”
They leaned against the wall together, side-by-side. Kiyoomi rolled his head against the brick to look down at Miya, who stood a good four inches shorter than him. He was very interesting to look at. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and his breath was emerging in white clouds from between his pink lips.
“Next year they are gonna be in Miyagi. My mother's hometown,” Miya said.
Kiyoomi finished his cigarette and dropped the butt on the ground. He decided to make an effort, since this guy seemed so determined to talk to him. “Is Miyagi more exciting?”
Miya laughed. “Than here? I don’t know. A little. It’s just as cold.”“Your Family is here.”
“For this? Yeah. They’re here. They always try to come see me play wherever I go.”
“Nice for you.”
“Yeah. I know. They’re great.”
Kiyoomi didn’t have anything to add to that, so he stayed silent.
“I should probably go. They’re waiting for me,” Miya said. He moved away from the wall and turned to face Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi’s eyes went right to those damn freckles. miya stuck out his hand again.
“Good luck in the tournament,” he said.
Kiyoomi accepted the handshake and grinned. “You will not be so friendly when we beat you.”
“That’s not happening.”
Kiyoomi knew that Miya truly believed that. That he would get the gold medal and be the NHL’s number one draft pick because he was the fucking prince of hockey.
Maybe Miya expected Kiyoomi to wish him luck as well, but Kiyoomi just dropped his hand and turned to go back inside the rink. In the car, Atsumu told his family that he had been talking to Sakusa Kiyoomi.
“What’s he like?” Osamu Miya asked his identical twin brother but they had dyed their hair so you can definitely tell who is who.
“Kind of a dick,” Atsumu said.
When the final game of the tournament was over, the Hyōgo team had to suffer one more humiliation. The Tokyo team stopped celebrating long enough to line up so the teams could shake each other’s hands—a show of sportsmanship that, at that moment, Atsumu did not feel in his heart. For one thing, the Tokyo team had been dirty. He had hated playing against them. For another thing, Sakusa Kiyoomi was really fucking good. Infuriatingly good, to the point he was pissed the fuck off. And over the course of the tournament, the media had put a lot ofeffort into building up their rivalry. Atsumu tried to ignore the press, but it was possible that they were stoking the flames of his hatred.When he reached Sakusa in the handshake lineup, he could see camera flashes all around them. He made sure he looked Sakusa right in the eye when he tersely said, “Congratulations.”
Sakusa smirked and said, “See you at the draft.”
They hung a silver medal around Astumu’s neck that may as well have been a dead rat, for all he wanted. He respectfully endured the playing of the Tokyo Team anthem, blinking back frustrated tears that he refused to let fall, and then he was finally allowed to leave the ice. It wasn’t supposed to have gone like this. He was supposed to have led his prefecture to gold in his prefecture. It was what the prefectures had expected. Hyōgo hopes had been heaped onto his seventeen-year-old shoulders and he had let them all down. Every face-off he had taken against Sakusa, the weasel had looked him dead in the eye and smirked. Atsumu was not easily shaken by anyone, but that goddamn smirk threw him off balance every time.
Maybe it was just that, after a life of playing at a level above everyone else, Atsumu had finally met his match. He was sure that was all it was.