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Nine thirty-one PM.
“Sorry about Osamu.” Atsumu mumbled. Kiyoomi shrugged lightly, his hand still intertwined with his own. The train lights flickered overhead. Atsumu rested his shoulder on Kiyoomi’s head, sighing softly. The pair had just returned from Osaka, after visiting Atsumu’s brother.
And it had gone terribly, to put it simply.
Osamu and Kiyoomi never saw eye to eye. Atsumu couldn’t fathom why. Perhaps it was the fact that Kiyoomi was dating him, and Osamu had witnessed Atsumu’s heart breaks before, watched him get hurt over and over again. No matter how much Atsumu tried to convince him everything would be okay, Osamu never believed him.
Which is why when Atsumu and Kiyoomi dropped the bombshell they were engaged, Osamu exploded. Even though the two had been dating for two years, since both of them joined MSBY, Osamu refused to accept it. He ended up kicking them out of the store. Atsumu sighed, shaking his head. He would have to call him later and make sure he had calmed down.
Nine thirty-two PM.
“It’s not your fault.” Kiyoomi replied, kissing the side of his forehead. Atsumu shook his head.
“He was being a dick for no reason.” He huffed. “I’ll beat him up for it next time I see him. The prick.”
Nine thirty-three PM.
“It’s really okay.” Kiyoomi shrugged. The train rocked slightly, sending a jolt down Atsumu’s spine. He shook it off, rolling his shoulders. “We both knew he would react…. Poorly.”
“I suppose.” He sighed. “Doesn’t excuse his behavior.” Kiyoomi hummed slightly. Atsumu risked a glance up at his face. His eyes were unreadable, and his face was hidden by his mask. It was unclear if he was upset by the events or not; either way, Atsumu couldn’t blame him.
“Yeah.” Kiyoomi said simply.
Nine thirty-four PM.
An awkward silence hung between them. Atsumu wished he knew what to say. Kiyoomi was still silent, stoic as ever. It was clear Osamu’s words had bitten deep, filling Atsumu with anger. His brother had no right to lash out as he did. He would just have to tolerate the fact that either Atsumu was becoming a Sakusa or Kiyoomi was becoming a Miya.
The train lurched suddenly. Atsumu’s heart jumped into his chest. Kiyoomi’s grip tightened in Atsumu’s. He drew him closer. Atsumu could hear his heart in his chest, beating faster and faster.
Trains aren’t meant to jolt like that.
Atsumu bit back a yelp as it shuddered again. The lights flickered suddenly, and the car was encased in darkness.
Nine thirty-five PM.
The car tipped suddenly. Atsumu clutched onto Kiyoomi’s jacket, unable to stop himself from screaming. Terror pumped through his veins as the world tilted sideways. Kiyoomi’s arms were his only anchor.
They were free falling, he could feel it. Off of the tracks, onto the ground below. Oh god, we’re going to die, I’m going to die, I won’t get to get married--
“Atsumu, I love you.” Kiyoomi whispered. Time seemed to freeze. Atsumu was only aware of him and Kiyoomi. He forced himself to lock gazes with him.
“I love ya too, Kiyoomi.” He murmured, the first tears breaking free. “I’ll see ya on the other side.”
Nine thirty-six PM.
The car crashed to the ground. Atsumu was thrown backward, out of Kiyoomi’s arms. He felt his head collide with the back of the train. He gasped as sharp pain bloomed through his skull. His vision blurred as darkness encroached the edges of it, swallowing him whole. He could see Kiyoomi lying unmoving centimeters away.
There was screaming, so much screaming. It was a dull buzz in his ears. He reached for Kiyoomi’s hand, desperately trying to get to him.
“Omi…” He choked out, his tongue heavy in his mouth.
Nine thirty-seven PM.
Atsumu’s hand fell to the ground. He shut his eyes, letting the darkness and pain drag him down.
Nine thirty-eight PM.
“A train crash has been reported just outside of Osaka…details still pending, but so far at least 30 have been injured, 10 so far confirmed as dead…”
-
The first thing Atsumu was aware of was pain.
It was a dull, throbbing sensation at first. But as he became more aware, more awake, it became sharper, as if someone was jabbing the inside of his skull.
Atsumu peeled open his eyes. The fluorescent lights of the room threatened to blind him, the piercing glow causing his headache to intensify.
He wanted to go back to sleep.
“‘Tsumu?” Someone said. Atsumu tilted his head in the direction of the voice, trying to hide his irritation.
“Wha?” He mumbled back. His tongue was dry in his mouth, the syllables hard to form. He winced slightly. “Who?” He forced out.
“It’s me. Osamu.” Atsumu blinked over as his brother came into focus. His eyes were tired and laced with concern, but a small spark of hope was ignited in them. Atsumu couldn’t figure why he looked so sad.
“Where… where am I?” Atsumu said, his throat scratchy. “Where’s Kiyoomi?” His thoughts had spiraled to him already. His mind was foggy, but he knew something had happened. Something big, something bad.
“Yer in the hospital.” Osamu began slowly. “Ya were in a train crash.” Atsumu blinked at him, processing. He drew in a sharp breath as the memories assaulted him.
Omi.
“Where is he?” Atsumu said, forcing himself into a sitting position. Osamu lurched slightly.
“No ya don’t.” His brother said sternly. Atsumu gazed up at him with pleading eyes, jutting his lower lip out.
“‘Samuuu!” He wailed slightly. “Please. I need ta know, I need ta know right now.” He said as sharply as he could. Another jolt of pain exploded in his temples, but he ignored it, forcing himself to stay perfectly still.
Osamu sighed. “He’s two rooms down from you, but Atsu—“ He was cut off as Atsumu rolled to the side of the bed. His feet landed on the ground and he swayed once, sticking out his arms for balance. Osamu stared at him, blinking rapidly in shock.
“Atsumu—“ He started to say.
“Cover for me.” Atsumu waved him off. He stumbled toward the door, ignoring the protest he received from his brother. He glanced both directions before slipping out. Two doors down. Atsumu knocked twice on the white door before pulling it open.
Kiyoomi was sitting upright in the bed. He was staring out the window. The sunlight was illuminating his features. A bandage was wrapped around his head, both other than that he looked okay.
“Omi!” Atsumu gasped, relief flooding through him. He hobbled over and threw his arms around Kiyoomi. The other man stiffened, his arms coming up and positing Atsumu away.
“Who are you?” Kiyoomi said, his eyes narrowed. Atsumu’s heart seemed to stop.
“Omi?” He asked, his voice wavering.
“Please don’t touch me.” Kiyoomi said, scooting back slightly.
“What?” Atsumu asked, confusion rippling through him. Kiyoomi shoved him away lightly. Atsumu slid off of the bed, standing up slowly. The light seemed to have gone darker than it was a second ago. His heart hammered in his chest.
“I appreciate you coming by, but I don’t like strangers touching me.” Kiyoomi said, his tone even. Atsumu’s eyes widened in shock. What? His mind struggled to keep up. Everything was spiraling, and he couldn’t figure out what was happening or why.
“Quit messing around. I’m not a stranger.” Atsumu said, his voice wavering. He stepped back on unsteady feet. Kiyoomi shook his head once.
“...I’m sorry but I don’t know who you are.” Atsumu stated numbly. Kiyoomi was staring at him with a mix of confusion and anxiety. He looked uncomfortable.
Because of him.
Atsumu’s heart sunk. No. This couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t right, him and Kiyoomi were supposed to be okay, be getting married, and having a life.
But it was all falling apart. Kiyoomi didn’t remember. Atsumu wanted to continue to accuse him of joking, to cut the crap, but deep down, he knew it was true.
So when the nurse came to lead him back to his room, Atsumu didn’t even fight it. He followed quietly, ignoring the lecture he was being given.
There was only one thing on his mind, after all.
He doesn’t remember.
-
Amnesia. That was what Kiyoomi was afflicted with. He didn’t remember anything post his second year of high school, and even then things were rocky. It was assessed that his muscle memory was mostly intact, but his cognitive remembrance was all but gone.
Atsumu listened to Osamu as he informed him. The only thing he could think of was his high school motto. It pulsed in his ears.
Who needs memories?
He was beginning to think it was a rather bad expression.
-
Atsumu was told later that day that he would suffer chronic seizures until he inevitably died. Said it had something to do with the brain trauma he received from the crash.
He didn’t care. He was already numb to the world.
-
To some, a year is fleeting, another trivial time count, because they have endless months to live, an uncountable number. Their life is still burning bright and strong. But for Atsumu, a year was out of his reach. He could run for it, reach for it, but he thought it was likely he would not see next December.
The very notion caused his stomach to flip. He forced himself to try and steady his breathing. Coach was coming to drop by, at Atsumu’s request.
He had to leave volleyball.
The doctors told him so. They said he was no longer (and never would be) healthy enough to play again. His time had come and gone, and Atsumu had to throw in the towel.
The door opened and Coach Foster stepped in. Atsumu looked up, nodding once.
“Hey.” He said, forcing his tone to be light. Foster pulled up a chair, his expression unreadable. Atsumu could hear his heartbeat drumming in his ears.
“Hello, Miya.” Foster responded, nodding once. “I had a feeling this was coming.” Atsumu’s heart clenched painfully. He nearly lost whatever facade he had, his mask threatening to shatter. He wanted to break down, but he had to stand strong.
“I’m sorry Coach.” Atsumu said quietly. Coach Foster was staring at him, his expression unreadable.
“What for?” He asked slowly. Atsumu paused, pondering it. What was he sorry for? He had thousands of things to regret, to apologize about. He had many things he should hate about himself, that he should be saying sorry for.
He couldn’t really pinpoint it at this moment, but he supposed the generalized term was letting people down.
“Everything.” He said finally. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, son.” Foster said gently. “None of this is your fault. For some reason, fate or god or something dealt you this hand. It isn’t fair or right, but it’s… it’s just life.” Atsumu nodded miserably.
“I don’t like this.” He murmured. “I don’t like this at all. I wanna keep playing.” Coach nodded again, his eyes glazed over with hints of grief. Atsumu winced, knowing he was the one who put it there.
It may not be his fault, but he always questions the what ifs. Things that could’ve been done differently. Like a game of chess, one bad move ruins the game. And somehow, he fucked up along the way and ruined his life.
Atsumu wanted answers, but he knew there would be none.
“We’re gonna miss you, Miya.” Foster said slowly. Atsumu gulped, his throat dry. He fought off the urge to start weeping. He didn’t expect the world to stop for him, but it stung to know that the Jackals would be able to move on. They would find a new setter, a new replacement .
Just like Kiyoomi would. Kiyoomi had forgotten him, and Atsumu couldn’t recreate the memories. He pondered trying, but with his diagnosis, there was no reason.
It wasn’t fair to Kiyoomi.
But this wasn’t fair to Atsumu either.
He was selfish. But not to the point where he would drag Kiyoomi down with him. Atsumu was going to spiral, and he couldn’t bear the idea of doing the same to the love of his life.
It would be better for everyone if he just moved on. If Atsumu let him go. So that’s what he was going to do.
“I know. I’ll miss y’all too.” Atsumu said through a strained smile.
“Stay out of trouble, okay?” Foster said, raising an eyebrow. Atsumu shrugged, rolling one shoulder. He winced as fresh pain flooded his injury.
“No promises.” The coach smiled and patted his shoulder. Atsumu bit lip to keep himself from sobbing. It hurt.
“See you around, Atsumu.” Coach Foster stood up, nodding to him once. Atsumu managed a pained smile back. His heart was threatening to burst, all of his hurt and pain welling up to the surface.
It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair. Atsumu should have had much longer to do what he loved, to live.
He shouldn’t have lost Kiyoomi on the same day.
“Who are you?” The words rang in his ears as he stared at the wall past his now-former coach. Foster shifted uncomfortably and turned toward the door.
“Bye, Coach.” Atsumu managed out and watched him walk away. The hospital door shut quietly behind him. He counted to five before he allowed the first tear to fall.
-
Atsumu’s first seizure was a week after he was discharged.
It hurt like a bitch. He woke up after blacking out disoriented and confused. Osamu was there to help him through the aftermath.
God, how he wished it was Kiyoomi.
-
Kiyoomi was the lucky one, Atsumu decided.
The one who got to go back to volleyball. The one who wasn’t bogged down by a past life.
Atsumu had requested that no one mentioned anything about him and Kiyoomi to him. The people who knew were confused (mainly Bokuto) but Atsumu insisted. He didn’t want to confuse him, didn’t want to make his rehabilitation even more complicated than it already was.
When asked if that’s what he wanted, he scoffed and walked away.
Bokuto invited him to an MSBY game. As much as Atsumu wanted to refuse, he accepted. He supposed he could deal with the bittersweet feelings in his chest and support his friends. It couldn’t be that bad in the end, he told himself.
He was wrong.
Seeing Kiyoomi play was a slap across the face.
A stark reminder that while Atsumu was stuck in a dull, never ceasing cycle, the rest of the world moved on. Moved on without him. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy when he watched the new setter (His replacement. The new Atsumu. The whole, unbroken, unsalable down Atsumu) set to Kiyoomi.
They functioned like they did. Perfect, in sync. Unison unbroken. A pair that could do anything, that could win any game.
Atsumu forced himself to be happy for the win. He forced himself to smile even though he wanted to sob.
Life wasn’t fair, he decided. Once upon a time, Atsumu believed everyone would get their dues.
It was not true. Atsumu was receiving nothing but pain, while everyone else could merrily trot on with their life.
Atsumu made his way down the steps, his feet gravitating toward the locker room. The team had won, to no one’s surprise. Atsumu was happy for them, he supposed.
But it still stung how easily he was replaced.
“Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto shouted excitedly as he locked eyes with him. Atsumu forced himself to grin, nodding a curt greeting.
“Hey, Bo.” He responded. “Nice game y’all played. The other team never stood a chance.”
“Thanks man.” Bokuto paused slightly. His eyes glossed over with sadness, taking Atsumu back slightly. “It… it wasn’t the same without you.” Atsumu didn’t know if he should be touched or not. He knew Bokuto meant well.
It still hurt. What should have been a backhanded compliment was just another stark reminder of his lost life.
“I wish I was out there.” Atsumu admitted quietly. “I wish I could play.” He hated how wistful he sounded. The unbridled jealousy blatant in his demeanor. Bokuto sensed it too, forcing himself to smile slightly.
“Maybe someday you will!” He declared boldly, his voice a little too bright. The optimism was forced. Atsumu appreciated the effort and decided to humor him, even if they both knew that would never happen.
He would probably be gone in a year or two.
“Yeah.” Atsumu said. “I hope so.” He was shocked with how easy the lie came to his tongue. He knew there was no coming back for him. He never even reached his pinnacle, the accident taking everything from him.
Someone brushed past him and he started suddenly. His mouth parted in a small, surprised “o.” He stared blankly at the other man.
“Hey Omi.” Atsumu said. His voice was colored with warmth, no matter how hard he tried to be neutral. Kiyoomi rounded on him, wiping sweat off of his brow. Bokuto edged away, disappearing into the bowels of the locker room.
“Sakusa.” Kiyoomi said coldly, casting him a slightly confused glance. Atsumu flinched at the tone, but forced himself to continue. He straightened his spine and continued to observe the spiker.
“Right, sorry. Sakusa.” He corrected himself quickly. It hurt to do so, but he had to honor his requests. They were no longer fiancés, not even friends. “I have a… a question. If ya don’t mind.”
“Go on.” Kiyoomi said, sounding slightly bored. Atsumu took a deep breath, knowing what he was about to do was reckless and stupid.
But god, he had to know.
“Do you think- do you think that you had someone special to you? Before the accident?” Atsumu asked. He regretted asking instantly. Check that, he regretted even speaking to him in the first place. Kiyoomi paused, confusion flickering behind his eyes.
“...I don’t know. Probably not.” Kiyoomi said with a small shrug, flippant as ever. Atsumu’s heart sunk, as if a knife had suddenly embedded itself in his heart.
“Would you want them back if you did?” Atsumu pressed a little more. He knew he had said he wouldn’t try and reforge anything, for his sake and Kiyoomi’s. But if the spark was still there, perhaps he wouldn’t have to suffer his last years alone.
Hope burned like an ember. With the right nurturing, it could bloom into so much more. He wanted it to bloom, to grow. He gazed at Kiyoomi with such hope, he prayed that it would transfer and even a smidge of remembrance would occur.
“No.” Kiyoomi murmured. “I wouldn’t.”
The thing about embers is they often die before they become a blaze.
“...Why not?” He pressed a little more as disappointed threatened to drag him down. Atsumu was selfish, and he wanted even a tiny bit of closure. Not this odd sense of waiting, one that was driving him mad.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Kiyoomi stated matter of factly. His pointed tone signified he wanted to end the conversation. Atsumu backtracked, palms extended.
“I understand.” Atsumu said simply. Kiyoomi nodded gratefully and walked away. “I understand.” He murmured again as he disappeared around the corner.
He was lying once more.
-
The year passed in a blur of hospitals and medicine. Doctors trying to preserve Atsumu’s life, trying to keep him from succumbing to the seizures and brain trauma.
It was rather dull.
Atsumu was alone through it all. Osamu was there once and a while, but for the most part, he went through the tests and procedures by himself. Mostly by choice.
He pushed everyone away, finding no reason to keep them around. He had already lost Kiyoomi. He had no one else he wanted around him. He had no one else he wanted to watch him deteriorate.
Atsumu listened to the medical trauma. He used to be so scared of every report, ever reminder that his lifeline was going to be cut short.
By the fifth visit, he could care less.
It blurred together. The same bullshit, just reheated. It was normal. His life was stagnant, not moving forward or back.
It was all rather dull. Life itself had lost color, lost meaning. Atsumu could walk outside, but everything would be grey and dark. As if the vibrancy had been leached from his very life.
Not just vibrancy, but joy too.
Him and Kiyoomi rarely spoke. Atsumu had let him drift away. He had watched him leave at that game, and hadn’t pursued him.
It was for the best, he told himself.
“Aren’t ya scared of death?” Osamu blurted out one day, wiping his eyes. He was crying again, blaming himself. Atsumu listened to him wallow in self-blame, as he apologized once more for kicking them out of the shop, what he had deemed as the cataclysm for everything. No matter how much Atsumu tried to reassure him it wasn't his fault, he never listened. “Aren’t ya scared of leaving?” Atsumu bit his lip. He could feel his own eyes stinging with tears at the sudden question.
“Not anymore.” He admitted. “I just... I don’t know anymore. Whatever happens, we’re all on the same line. We’re all different points on the track of life.” Atsumu said quietly. Osamu blinked at him.
“That’s... really deep.” Osamu murmured.
“It’s the only thing keeping me spiraling.” Atsumu replied, rubbing his temples. “I was so scared when they first told me... and now... I just don’t care. I’ve lost everything , ‘Samu. I’ve got nothing left.”
“There’s always something left to fight for.” Osamu said sharply. Atsumu barked a dry laugh, shaking his head.
“I’m going to die in a year. On top of that, I’m going to die alone. Tell me what I have to fight for, Osamu. Tell me what I have that makes it worth it.” Atsumu spat, shaking slightly. Osamu flinched away, a single year trickling down his face.
“I’m sorry, Atsumu.” He managed lamely.
“I’m sorry too.” He snapped back. He reclined in his chair, shaking his head once. Osamu was still staring at him, waiting for him to say more. He raised one brow, shrugging. “You can just go, if yer just gonna spout some nonsense about hope.”
“I don’t trust you not to—“ Osamu started.
“Not to what? Try and take my life?” Atsumu deadpanned. It felt odd to say the words out loud, to acknowledge that people even thought that was a possibility. Osamu winced, biting his lip.
“Yeah.” He muttered.
“I’m not going to do that.” Atsumu said through a sigh.
“How can I trust ya?” Osamu challenged. Atsumu paused. It was a viable question. He had no evidence except for his own gut notion telling him he won’t. He gnawed on his lip some more, tasting blood as he bit down sharply.
“Cause like ya were about ta say, I do have a little hope. It’s stupid hope that one day Kiyoomi will remember. Even though I know he won’t, I wake up every morning just… hoping.” Atsumu blurted out. He locked eyes with Osamu, who was staring at him.
“I’m sorry, Atsumu.” He said again, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
“No one can.” Atsumu said, shocked by how flat his voice was. Osamu shifted next to him. The two sat in silence, but his brother’s phone went off. Atsumu watched him check it with mild disinterest. He clicked it off with a sigh.
“Sorry, ‘Tsumu, that was work. I gotta get back to Osaka.” He said apologetically. Atsumu expected to care. He expected to be upset by his sudden departure.
He shrugged.
“Alright. Good luck.” Osamu regarded him nervously for one more moment before standing up and exiting the apartment. Atsumu stood up himself and ambled over to the kitchen. He poured himself a bowl of cereal.
He found himself staring at his finger. His finger, which had a ring. One he never could bring himself to remove.
Because if he did, it would be letting go. And Atsumu wanted to hold on. He wanted to remember, no matter how much it hurt. He could bear the fire, if it meant Kiyoomi and his forgotten future would still be there. A road not taken, an opportunity that fate tore apart.
Atsumu stared blankly at the wedding ring on his finger. He slipped it off and turned it over in his hand. Another year, gone.
He celebrated what should have been his first anniversary with Kiyoomi alone.
Strangely, he felt numb.
He had no tears left to shed, after all.
-
“Same time next week?” Atsumu asked. Kiyoomi glanced up at him, sipping the coffee he was holding. Atsumu had managed to convince him to grab a coffee with him, just to talk. He had no idea why he asked; perhaps he longed for a little familiarity.
Kiyoomi humored him and agreed to it. Atsumu enjoyed it, but at the same time it stung. It reminded him that he could never have what he once held. But he tried to enjoy it nonetheless. Being around Kiyoomi was slightly calming, even if it was bittersweet.
It was tough to hold all the memories. It was hard to bear the secret world of a relationship that once existed. Atsumu could have salvaged it, he supposed. It was typically mentioned to him by Osamu or even Bokuto or Hinata.
But he refused nonetheless.
Atsumu had identified it was out of fear, that he was protecting himself. From what?
From being burned, he supposed. From trying to rebuild something that had been knocked over by storm after storm. Atsumu shoved it down. He wasn’t here to ponder that. He was here for a chat, to try and at least be friends with Kiyoomi.
“I need to tell you something.” Kiyoomi said, setting down the coffee. Atsumu’s heart dropped slightly. His tone was grave, sending tremors down his spine.
“Omi—Sorry, Sakusa what is it?” He asked cautiously. He reverted to last name basis, the nickname itself a stark reminder of everything . The spiker was silent for a moment, before sighing slightly.
“I’m sorry, Miya— or Atsumu.” He started slowly, rubbing his arm anxiously. Atsumu flinched at the use of his last name. Once upon a time, he never would have used that to address him, never had even made the mistake. Because once upon a time, Miya was Atsu or Tsumu or even just Atsumu . But they had long since regressed back to mutual, not even close enough to comfortably use first names with each other. The signs everywhere, the signs of forgotten lives.
“Why…?” Atsumu asked, pushing his thoughts down. Kiyoomi hesitated again, discomfort clear in his body language. He cracked his fingers before pressing onward.
“I’m moving.” Kiyoomi said bluntly. Atsumu jolted, trying to hide his shock. He’s really leaving everything behind.
“Oh.” He managed to spit out.
“Yeah… to Miyagi.” Kiyoomi murmured. It was far, so far. Atsumu faintly wondered if he was leaving because he was starting to remember. If some memories were starting to leak back through.
And he didn’t want anything to do with them. That he didn’t want anything to do with him. Atsumu’s stomach churned slightly, bile rising in his throat. That couldn’t be it, it couldn’t be.
“Not too bad, I guess.” Atsumu said through gritted teeth. He watched the shapes swirl in his coffee, the milk and foam distracting him from the cold blow reality gave him.
“I’ll miss you.” It was a lie, one Kiyoomi said out of obligation. Atsumu knew he didn’t remember Atsumu at all, nor did he care. Whatever love they had crumbled away, like an anxiety castle that could not stand the test of time. They were barely friends at this point.
“I’ll miss ya, too.” Atsumu managed. He stood up sharply, ignoring the black spots that danced in his vision. He nodded goodbye and pushed open the door of the coffeeshop.
Atsumu left the café in low spirits. His breath hitched in his throat as he walked away. He had no idea if Kiyoomi was following him.
He didn’t care.
Atsumu’s head was pounding. His pulse echoed in his ears. He could feel his heart splitting apart, being torn to shreds all over again. He wondered what he had done in his past life to render such a punishment.
He supposed it didn’t matter now.
He had loved Kiyoomi, but he lost the game in the end.
-
Atsumu was back in the hospital.
He had grown rather familiar with the place. He’d been bouncing out of it for… god, almost two years. He had memorized every corridor, every passage.
He hated it.
It was funny to him, ironic in a way. He should be in the prime of his life. He should be playing for the National team. He should be married.
But instead, he was alone and death was knocking on his door.
Atsumu sighed, rubbing his eyes. The waiting room he had been assigned was empty. Atsumu didn’t even tell Osamu he had come. He didn’t want him worrying more than he already was.
The door opened and the doctor stepped in. Their worried eyes said enough, a small sign of defeat. Astumu steadied himself as he straightened up. He could take it.
-
“Three months, at best.”
-
They told him to get his final affairs in order. Atsumu scoffed and nodded.
He had long since been prepared for this day. All he had left to do was die.
-
“Is this goodbye?” Atsumu gathered his courage, staring at Kiyoomi. His head was pounding, his vision swimming. They were standing at the train station. Kiyoomi had been surprised to see him there, but didn’t chase him off. He was grateful for that, a small chance to say goodbye.
Most likely for the last time.
Atsumu’s heart clenched as his head continued to throb. He knew another seizure was coming. He had to get out of here before he collapsed in front of him.
“Yeah.” Kiyoomi said quietly. “I think it is.” Atsumu had been prepared for this moment. He nodded once, intending to leave without much fanfare.
“Wait.” Kiyoomi’s voice shocked him. He turned around, a hopeful smile dancing across his face. Ask me to stay.
“Yeah?” Atsumu said tentatively, tilting his head.
“Who had the other ring?” Kiyoomi pointed to the wedding band on his finger. Atsumu froze, his jaw parted slightly. He could hear his pulse in his ears. Kiyoomi was staring at him expectantly, waiting patiently. You did, you were my world, you and I were going to get married—
“He’s gone.” Atsumu said after a long pause. He shifted his gaze downward, away from the ring, away from Kiyoomi. He could feel tears burning at the edges of his vision, threatening to spill overboard.
“...I’m sorry for your loss.” The black haired man said quietly, uncomfortable with the shift in mood. Atsumu nodded.
“I really miss him. Sometimes I think he’s still here, but ...” He tore his gaze off the ground and locked eyes with Kiyoomi. “I wake up and remember he’s not around anymore.”
For a split second, something lit up behind Kiyoomi’s irises. A flash of remembrance, as if he was aware. As if he remembered. Hope leapt up in Atsumu’s chest.
One could dream, but it never became reality.
“I’m sorry.” Kiyoomi said, awkwardly patting his shoulder. Atsumu shrugged it off, turning away. He bit back a sob.
“Me too.” He strode off without another word.
-
Atsumu beelined for his desk when he arrived at the apartment. He had sobbed the entire way home, and now his cheeks were dry and he had nothing left to give.
It was for the best, he supposed. It would hurt more seeing Kiyoomi not remember him in his final days then get to maybe live another three months with him never seeing him-- seeing them as they were.
He opened up his desk and pulled out the box he had been keeping in the drawer for months. He peered inside. The letters. The letters he had written to Kiyoomi, for when he was gone.
He exhaled slightly as he wrote another one. It would likely be his final one. Atsumu felt another tremble of fear burst through his body. He was going to lose himself, and he could do nothing to stop it.
It hurt.
He wished Kiyoomi was here to help him through it.
Atsumu rubbed his eyes as he finished the letter, another bout of grief filling him. He felt tired, so tired. All the fight was gone from his body. He really did have nothing left.
He moved to stand up when he paused, a sudden pain blooming in his head. His fingers twitched once, twice. His stomach churned, nausea starting to overtake him. No, please no. He begged silently to any deity that was listening.
But they never did. They always let him suffer, always gave him the worst fate. And it would be no different now.
Atsumu dropped his pen, stumbling back. His head was pounding as his arm jerked suddenly. Shit . He had to call Osamu. He whipped his head around, searching for his phone.
Atsumu exhaled sharply as his muscles tensed. His legs spasmed once and gave out. He hit the floor with a thud. His head was fuzzy, his senses starting to fail. Atsumu could feel his limbs spasming; but his senses were failing. Every breath he took hurt more and more.
Three months, at best.
Atsumu was dying. His eyes were closing, and he didn’t know if he would be able to reopen them . He was losing control. Fear seized him. I don’t want to die alone.
Tears were leaking from his eyes. Atsumu didn’t know if it was part of the seizure or his panic showing. He wanted Osamu, he wanted Rin, he wanted someone .
He wanted Kiyoomi. He wanted Kiyoomi to be sitting with him. He wanted Kiyoomi to be the last thing he saw. He wanted Kiyoomi to hold his hand as he let go.
Life wasn’t fair.
Atsumu’s hearing had dulled into a quiet buzz. Black spots danced across his vision, slowly consuming it all. He wanted to scream for help, but his vocal chords refused to work.
Help .
No one would come. Atsumu’s vision dipped to black as the pain in his chest tripled, his head pounding. He closed his eyes, desperately trying to take in more oxygen, to stay alive—
Atsumu’s arms fell limp, his eyelids opening. His brown eyes, clouded with death as silent tears continued to trickle down his face, a final testimony to his pain.
But perhaps he would be happier now.
.
.
.
Osamu balanced his groceries in one hand as he fumbled for the spare key. He stuck it into the lock and turned it, stepping inside to Atsumu’s apartment.
The first thing he noticed was the quiet.
The silence was deafening. It shrouded the apartment. He could hear a pen drop. Osamu set down the bag, stepping into the room.
“‘Tsumu?” He called, searching for his brother. He walked over the counter. Atsumu’s new medicine was unopened. He huffed, shaking his head. He would have to lecture him again about how he had to take it, and be more responsible.
“Atsumu.” Osamu continued walking. There was no reply. His heart was beating faster, anxiety working its way into his chest. “Atsumu!”
He pushed open the door to the bedroom.
“Atsu...” His voice died in his throat. Osamu gasped, his legs going numb.
Atsumu was sprawled in the center of the room. He was on his back, his arms laying limply on the floor. His eyes were half-open, but he remained unmoving.
Osamu dropped to the floor next to him, pulling his brother closer. His chest was not moving. Osamu pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, begging for a miracle.
There was no pulse.
“ATSUMU!” He screeched, clinging on to his brother’s body. He was already cold and stiff, death had long since already taken him. Osamu sobbed, the weight of his failure crashing over him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”
“Atsumu! Atsumu! Come on, wake up!” Osamu shook his brother’s chest, refusing to accept he was gone. He still didn't react, his eyes half shut. “Atsumu! ATSUMU !”
Osamu let out a cry of grief, begging his brother to wake up. The broken vase lay across from them, from when Atsumu fell. The glass pieces shimmered back at him, droplets of blood staining them. Osamu continued to sob, his brother laying limply in his grip.
“COME ON! You have to wake up!”
”I miss Omi. He’s gonna move on, and I think that’s okay. I- I wish he remembered me. But it just wasn’t meant to be, huh? ” Atsumu’s words echoed in his ears. He wanted to give up. His soulmate, as he described Sakusa, had forgotten him. And Atsumu couldn’t reforge the connection, he couldn’t. Osamu had to watch as his brother’s physical— and mental health slid. It fell faster than snow in a blizzard, his mind blank to all but his grief, and the seizures plaguing him. And Osamu couldn’t do anything, because he didn’t know how to help.
“You have to get up! You can’t- you can’t give up!” Osamu shrieked, shaking him. Atsumu didn’t move, his eyes still glossy under his closed lids.
Deep down, he knew Atsumu was not going to move again.
Osamu sobbed again.
-
The sun was shining on the day Atsumu was buried.
Kiyoomi wasn’t sure what to think about it. Osamu, Atsumu’s brother, insisted he come say final goodbyes. Kiyoomi wanted to decline, as he didn’t think he was that close to the late man. But Osamu insisted, saying that Atsumu would have wanted him to be there.
So Kiyoomi came.
The rest of his mutuals, people he supposedly knew on the Black Jackal team, were also there. They looked broken up, all of them crying. Bokuto and Hinata looked the worst, both of them sobbing loudly. Kiyoomi stood off to the side awkwardly, not entirely sure what to say.
And so he stood there, watching as they lowered the casket into the ground. He watched as Osamu stood up and tried to give a speech, only to break down halfway through. He watched as everyone said their final goodbyes.
Kiyoomi just wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could.
He tried to slide out the back way, only to be cut off by Osamu. He bit his lip as he approached, feeling sweat trickle down the back of his neck.
“Sakusa.” His voice was still hoarse from crying. Kiyoomi looked up, stiffening slightly. Osamu’s eyes were blank, and he was clutching something in his fist.
“Osamu.” He murmured back. The other wasted no time on pleasantries, thrusting his hand forward and handing it to him. Kiyoomi took what he could now discern was a box. Osamu nodded to it as he turned it over in his hand.
“‘Tsumu said-he said those were for ya.” His voice cracked slightly. He looked like he wanted to say more, but thought the better of it and shook his head. He walked away, leaving Kiyoomi alone with the container.
He opened it slowly, peering inside. Kiyoomi gasped softly, his eyes widening.
Letters.
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.
.
Dear Omi
I don’t know if you’ll ever see this. I wanted to give these to Osamu cause I didn’t trust myself not to give it to you. I ended up locking them in my desk drawer, cause I wrote more than one. I kinda hope you don’t see it. But if you’re reading these, here it goes:
I love you. I loved you before the accident, and I never stopped loving you. I know you said you didn’t want the person that loved you to come back, and I tried to stay away after that night. I probably won’t do a good job.
I miss you.
Even though you’ve forgotten, I haven’t. I asked you out at the training camp. You said maybe and I kept bugging you until you said yes. I was certain you’d walk away... but you stayed.
You were always there. People looked and wondered how the hell we ended up together, and I still wonder it too. We’re both assholes. Especially me. But it just works for us, I guess. You’re not a jerk to me. You’re nicer to me than most people to be honest. Just another reason among the thousands to love you.
I wish there’d never been the accident. I wish I could have stopped it. Saved us, saved you. But I couldn’t. I miss you so much, Kiyoomi. I miss the way we used to be. I miss us.
I know it won’t ever happen again. I hope you find someone who isn’t plagued by old memories, ones only one of us has, and can move on. I’ll try too; but I don’t think I’ll ever be as happy as I was with you.
Which is why I’m never giving this to you. Not yet, not until I’m gone.
I love you, Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Atsumu
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.
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Dear Omi,
The old team visited me in the hospital today. I hadn’t really expected them to. It was a nice surprise.
Hinata asked if I was coming back to the team.
I couldn’t answer him.
It kinda killed the mood. Cause I’m not coming back. God, I want to. I want to keep setting for the team. I want to go to the Olympics.
The doctors said I couldn’t. That it would kill me faster. Strangely, I have no issue with that. I would rather die doing what I love than sit around and wait for death to come for me.
Ack sorry the nurses came in for more tests. I’ll write again later.
Love you!
Atsumu
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Dear Omi,
Happy birthday! I know I already said it to you, but I wanna write it too.
Last year, I took you to Hawaii and proposed. You said yes. It was the happiest moment of my life, I think. I’d never seen you happier. You looked pretty in the sun there. I was such a lucky guy, to have gotten to fall in love with you.
Funny how it’s all gone now. Only I remember it. I was hoping you would remember. I guess not. It’s okay, I think. I can’t blame you for something out of your control.
I just wish—
Dear Omi,
Sorry for the cut off... it happened again. Fell out of my chair and blacked out. Osamu said it wasn’t as bad as normal. I don’t care anymore. A seizure is a seizure, and
I’m going to die from them either way
they hurt either way.
Anyway, I think it’s a good thing I got cut off. I was hurting. I think I’m gonna stop now.
Love you
Atsumu
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Dear Omi,
These are too hard to write. I sit down and think I’ll be able to do it, but I just can’t. It’s been months since my last one, and I think this will be my last one for a while. It’s nothing against you, it’s me.
It hurts too much to remember. I miss you. I saw you playing with the black jackals today. It was cool. I was jealous, but happy you’re able to move on with your life.
I love you Omi. I’ll write soon.
Atsumu
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.
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Dear Omi,
It’s been a year since the accident.
A year since you left me. A year since I started having seizures.
In short, life sucks.
Osamu came by today with some fatty tuna. I could barely keep it down. I appreciated the effort, but... yeah. I just can’t.
I fucking hate my life.
It isn’t fair. I know my days are numbered, and I don’t even get to spend them with you.
Sometimes I think it would be easier to let go now instead of letting the seizures take me. But I know I won't cause I'm too scared. It's hard, knowing death is coming.
I can’t even distract myself with volleyball. Some days I can’t even get out of bed my head hurts so bad.
I can’t keep writing right now. Otherwise I’ll keep spiraling and I gotta hope for a better life, right?
Love you
Atsumu
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Dear Omi,
Headache woke me up again, pain meds aren’t working so I decided to write another letter. I don’t have much to say tonight.
I miss waking up with you. I miss when you would take me in your arms and hold me close. I miss when you would kiss my forehead and promise me the world. I miss when I would hug you back and make the same promises. I miss the lazy sundays where we spent an extra few hours just laying together.
I miss you.
I would give anything to have you back.
I wish I had enough courage to tell you everything. But you look happier now. And I want you to be happy.
Besides, no point in dragging you into my fucked up life. You’ll suffer less.
I don’t mind having the memories. It’s funny, considering my high school’s motto. Who needs memories.
I guess I do.
Love,
Atsumu
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Dear Omi,
Sorry, it’s been a while. I was in the hospital again for a couple weeks. Apparently I had a seizure and was out for a few days.
They’re getting worse.
I’m trying not to cry. I really am. Sorry if this letter is covered in tear stains, I’m just really scared. ‘Samu asked the doctors about treatment. They looked grim the entire time.
I’m pretty sure I’m dying.
It isn’t fair, damnit! We had our whole fucking lives and it’s all gone. I don’t wanna die Omi, I don’t. I wanna go to the Olympics, I wanna keep playing volleyball. I wanted to marry you and grow old with you.
Guess it’s all gone. God, my head hurts. Maybe it’s the new medicine. I’m gonna lay down for a bit.
Love you
Atsumu
.
.
.
Are you going to miss me, Omi?
I wonder that a lot. I wonder if when I’m gone, you’ll miss me. I don’t expect you to, the whole amnesia thing and all. But part of me wonders if you’ll have a whole that like... I dunno, is just there?
It’s selfish, I know.
I don’t want to leave. But I know I’m going to soon. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep lately. It’s getting worse again.
I’m glad you’re doing okay. You seemed happy when I talked to you yesterday. It made me happy.
I should stop writing these. But they help, y’know? Even if you’ll never see them.
I was so lucky to have you in my life.
I love you Omi. Always.
Atsumu
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Dear Omi,
The new meds are working. I’ve only had one seizure in the past week. Maybe I’ll be able to go back to volleyball for a little bit
before I die
before they get worse again!
Wishful thinking, I know.
I saw you with him today. He looked nice enough. I’m too cowardly to go over and say anything. I’m just kinda watching it from afar. I really could only think one thing. I had to run before I broke down in the park.
Am I that replaceable?
At least I didn’t lose you completely. At least you’re still my friend.
It hurts. I feel like I’m being stabbed every time he’s brought up.
Osamu says I should move on. But I don’t think I will. I’m gonna die soon anyway; the doctors said that even with the suppressants it was only getting worse.
It’s fine. At least you’re happy. And I think I can be happy for you.
Am I that replaceable?
I love you.
Was I nothing to you?
I love you.
I shouldn’t have let go.
I’ll write later!
Atsumu
Dear Omi,
The doctors have given me three months.
At best, to be more precise.
It’s really scary, knowing I’m gonna die. The seizures got worse. I tried to hide them, and say it was fine. I guess I was lying, heh.
I’ll tell Osamu in the second month. I hope he’ll move on. He’s been bogged down by my shit, he deserves a break.
Omi... god, I can’t. I’m so scared. I can’t focus on this letter right now. My hands are shaking, I think another seizure is coming on. I’ll write more later.
Just one more thing before I go.
I love you. And I want to marry you. But I guess it’s not meant to be, huh?
Maybe next lifetime.
Bye Omi. I love you.
Atsumu
PS. I’ve enclosed photos of us... if you ever want to see them.
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Dear Atsumu
I wish I had known. I’m reading the letters, and I just... why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me everything I had forgotten?
I look at the pictures that Osamu gave me. Why didn’t you tell me that we went to Hawai’i three years ago, and you proposed? Why didn’t you tell me that we were weeks away from getting married when the accident happened? Why didn’t you tell me that we were in love?
Maybe you did and I was too blind to see it. Maybe it was obvious and I just ignored it.
Atsumu, I’m so sorry. I should’ve known. I should’ve known when I woke up and you were sitting next to me. I should’ve known when you kept visiting me and making sure I was okay. I should’ve known when I saw the wedding band on your finger, but never a partner. The way you looked at me, I should’ve known, I should’ve known, I should’ve known.
I would give anything to have you back. To have another chance. I would take your hand and promise you everything.
I already feel a hole where you were. I knew something was missing before, and now that you’re gone, I can’t ever fill it. I’m so sorry.
I love you, Atsumu. Forever. Please wait for me.
Kiyoomi