Archive of Our Own

Sakusa Kiyoomi is nervous.

He has been nervous all day - lint roller never leaving his side, original hand sanitiser bottle long emptied. Some days are just like that, his idiosyncrasies dialled up to eleven, his mask never leaving his face. Avoiding crowds.

Today, though, he’s not able to avoid the crowds. Atsumu and him agreed earlier he would only wear his mask up until the ceremony had started, and despite the knowledge of that sitting behind his eyes for the past few weeks him, being here, standing in front of the crowd with his face bared for all to see - it’s making him nervous . He wants to vibrate out of his skin. He wants to shed this too-hot kimono and run back to the volleyball court. He wants Atsumu to sidle up to him and ask, in that way he does, wanna get outta here, Omi-Omi?

But that’s not going to happen. Not today. You can’t elope on your wedding day. Well, actually, he supposes that’s what eloping is - your wedding day. Still, they can’t do that. Not today. Not like this.

Not for this.

Even if he did bring it up, he’s pretty sure Miya would just laugh at him. Asshole. Asshole who has been vibrating out of his skin all day, running around the entire venue since the second they got here - and, Kiyoomi’s sure, the entire time he was whisked away by his cousin to get changed. And have his hair done. And get light makeup put on. All by other people. Miya Atsumu is a lucky, lucky bastard. Kiyoomi really doesn’t think he would have put up with all of this for anyone else’s sake.

Well. With anyone else, anyway.

Now, though, at the front of the crowd of people, when Kiyoomi finally lays eyes on Atsumu for the first time since that morning, the other man looks completely calm. Mostly. He’s still got that stupid too-cinched smile on, but that’s Atsumu for you. Kiyoomi allows his hands to fall down by his sides, though, the sight of his soon to be husband calming the screeching train running through the back of his brain: it just glides, now.

As Atsumu makes his way through the crowd of people - Kiyoomi is absolutely glad he chose to do that, thank fuck - Kiyoomi gets the chance to take him in. the too-cinched smile, yes, but also the matching kimono to the one he himself is wearing - both black, Atsumu’s with the white skirt and Kiyoomi’s own with the white top part. The best match they could figure out, the traditional blend with the traditional , the Western nature of the rest of their ceremony.

Atsumu’s smiling now, properly, the grin of a perfect victory - the one Kiyoomi is most used to seeing on the volleyball court, be that the end of a game or after seeing the slam of a particularly excellent serve. Atsumu is excellent, Kiyoomi thinks, and has to tamp down on the immediate desire to scowl at him.

They’re getting married, after all. There are no places for scowls on the happiest day of your life .

He takes his soon to be husband’s hands at the nod of the officiant - Atsumu’s second year volleyball captain. Kiyoomi still refuses to learn his name. Atsumu had made him promise he would at least pretend once they got married. Well. Kiyoomi pretends already, thank you very much.

But now they’re actually getting married.

Kiyoomi really wants a mask, please. Or just less people. Less people would be good. He knows he’s staring, he must be staring, because he always stares when he gets like this, but where are his eyes-

Something squeezes his hand - Atsumu squeezes his hand - and Kiyoomi’s looking into the eyes of the single most beautiful man he’s ever met. Large brown eyes look back into his own, hooded as they always are, and Kiyoomi blinks and the eyes are still there, the man is still there - Atsumu is still there .

Atsumu is still there, and Kiyoomi is in love.

He blinks again. Atsumu’s honey voice washes over him, insincere in its sincerity, but jovial all the same, and Kiyoomi is in love with the owner of that voice. Kiyoomi is-

What the fuck . No. he can’t be in love - not here, not today, not on his wedding day .

Atsumu - who Kiyoomi is in love with, what - he clears his throat, ever so gentle, and Kiyoomi finds their eyes are still locked. There’s a second ring on his finger. He glances down, just for a second, and the smile he sees on Atsumu’s lips rights the world enough for him to get his feet under him.

He says his vows the same way he’s practised, over and over again, up till this day - for this day. When he finishes, after sliding his own gold band onto the left ring finger of his husband , his husband , the words from Atsumu’s ex-captain - Atsumu’s old crush - greet his ears after the longest three second silence of his life. Atsumu has happy tears in his eyes. Kiyoomi blinks.

“The grooms may now kiss,” he hears, the beginning of the end - the end of the beginning - and when Atsumu tilts his face up to him Kiyoomi follows like second nature. It is second nature. But it’s also the first kiss he’s shared with someone whom he knows himself to be in love with, and so when it is over time is not real and it is yesterday, it is tomorrow, it is now .

Kiyoomi rushes forward, ever so quick, for another peck. Atsumu grins at him when he pulls back, and there are stars in his eyes, and Kiyoomi is in love . What the fuck .

This was never supposed to happen.

Atsumu keeps their hands held together as Kiyoomi’s ears get assaulted by as much noise as it seems an entire banquet hall full of assorted volleyball players and family can make. Which is a lot. Too much. Atsumu squeezes his hands again, smiles at him the way he had two seconds, a million years ago, the very moment Kiyoomi had realised he was in love.

He is in love.

It’s terrifying, being in love, Kiyoomi is quick to realise. Perhaps that was even his first thought. Being in love with Miya Atsumu - no, Sakusa Atsumu. Sakusa Atsumu, because it just sounds better, Omi-Omi, duh . Huh. Maybe it does. Sounds pretty nice to Kiyoomi, right now, anyway. Much nicer than being in love with him. How the fuck did that happen?

Atsumu leads him by the hand to the table they’ll be eating at, right at the front of the room. Kiyoomi sits down and Atsumu takes the seat to his right, squeezes his hand again under the table and doesn’t let go. Kiyoomi blinks.

Motoya sits down on his left with a giant grin plastered all over his face, eyebrows doing truly mad things.

“Kiyo!” he says, too loud. “I can’t believe it. I never thought this day would come- my own cousin, all-”

“We heard it in your speech,” he grumbles, and Atsumu squeezes his hand again. When Kiyoomi looks over, Atsumu’s looking back at him. The same smile. Kiyoomi is in love and it is the third time today and it is terrifying . He pecks Atsumu’s lips again. He can’t help himself.

“Love ya, Omi,” Atsumu says, the way he’s said it for - well. Kiyoomi’s not sure how long. A while. It’s the same as every other time, but it's not , because when he scrunches his eyebrows and says love you back, he means it.

Perhaps that is the most terrifying thing he’s ever done, telling Atsumu he loves him. And he’s done it a million times before - just, now, he means it. Not that Atsumu knows he means it.

Not that Atsumu meant his, either.

Motoya says something about how he’d been shocked when they told him, but he gets it now. He really does. Atsumu laughs, and it’s Kiyoomi’s now brother-in-law - Osamu - who answers him with words. The twins start bickering, and Komori’s still grinning, and Sakusa wonders how he got here.

Seriously.

The blame lies with Atsumu, obviously. Who got the idea from Oikawa, sort of. Who spoke up because Hinata had, because Hinata’s former senpai had come to the MSBY dorms and demanded answers on how to propose to his boyfriend.

So, really, this is Nishinoya’s fault. Or Azumane’s. But Sakusa feels something twinge in him at blaming this on two people whose relationship crumbled under the public eye - not that the public knows that, because-

Yes. It's decided. This is Japan’s fault. Its people and its government and whoever decided gay marriage shouldn’t be legal in the first place.

Ironic, much?

Kiyoomi looks at his husband - his husband - and then down at the table, and spends the entire rest of his wedding day trying to figure out how he ended up in love with his husband. In like , at all. That had not been on the menu.

And then he and Atsumu are cutting the cake, feeding each other a bite - and Kiyoomi knows he would never in a million years let anyone else feed him - and then they are dancing, they are dancing, they are dancing, and it is beautiful and wonderful - Atsumu is beautiful and wonderful, and they are dancing, and Kiyoomi is in love.

Kiyoomi is in love with his husband, Atsumu.

They dance, and they dance, and they do not stop dancing. They each take hold of the bouquet, and they’d discussed spiking it into the crowd and decided to leave it for someone else in this room, but when Atsumu pulls the flowers out of his hand and throws it right up Kiyoomi knows just what to do.

Atsumu sets, and Kiyoomi spikes, and neither of them look to see who caught it because they’re too busy looking at each other - Kiyoomi has love in his eyes, he knows it, he must do, and for the moments here where he’s looking at Atsumu and Atsumu is looking back he allows himself the thought that his husband’s eyes hold the same look he knows his must.

And then there is cheering, too loud, and Kiyoomi knows it is not love for him in Atsumu’s eyes but love for the volleyball, the bouquet, the people in this room actually worthy of it. Those who actually wanted it - had it, have it, have always had it and always wanted it, because Kiyoomi knows by now Atsumu does nothing by halves and the people he loves he loves them whole .

It’s too much. He wants a mask. He wants to leave .

Atsumu takes his hand, tugs at it on that angle where Kiyoomi always ends up enveloped in his arms, and when Atsumu starts walking Kiyoomi allows himself to rest his head against Atsumu’s and breathe .

No one forces him to say too many goodbyes - Atsumu does most of the talking. They walk arm in arm to collect their things as the last of the cameras are turned off, and Kiyoomi moves nothing but his feet; one in front of the other.

Perhaps it is improper to be the first to leave your own wedding. Kiyoomi does not care.

Kiyoomi is in love .

They walk through the dark, all the way back to the MSBY team house, because the wedding present from their teammates had been a night with the place all to themselves. Kiyoomi knows Atsumu is just as aware as he is what their teammates expect from this; what they expect to happen. When he sees the rose petals on the bed, Atsumu’s bed, the one they share most often, he finds himself entertaining for a second what might happen if they did .

And then he blinks, and he’s in Atsumu’s arms, and Atsumu is his husband and Kiyoomi is in love with him.

But Atsumu is not.

“They really went all out, huh?” Atsumu asks, joking, and Kiyoomi snorts ever so quietly and extracts himself from his husband’s arms, walking over to the wardrobe and pulling out a change of inside clothes.

“The roses are a bit extreme,” he replies, already heading for the shower.

“Ya can say that again,” Atsumu laughs, slightly grumbling. “There’s so many, holy shit. What’re we meant ta do with ‘em?”

“You’ll figure something out,” he says, unable to add the Miya on the end. He hopes Atsumu doesn’t mind. He is Sakusa Atsumu now, after all.

“Huh,” he hears Atsumu mumble before he shuts the bathroom door, turns the shower on, and wonders once more - how, just how, did he get here?

When he gets into bed all the petals are gone, thank fuck. Atsumu steps into the shower with barely a word, and when he comes out and the light turns off Kiyoomi waits. And then turns over.

“What?” he says, petulant.

“I guess we’re married now, huh, Omi-kun?” Atsumu asks, finally moving to get into bed with him when he reaches his arms out. He waits until Atsumu’s arms are around him, his head buried in Atsumu’s chest and his own arm over Atsumu’s side before he answers.

“Guess we’re married now, Sakusa .”

There’s a pause.

“Please nevah say that again, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu whines, and Kiyoomi snorts at the tone but yeah, maybe it’s not the greatest thing in the world. Maybe it just sounds kind of funny, because it’s his name. But it’s Atsumu’s now, too.

“Fat chance, Sakusa,” he replies, and Atsumu whines again. He smirks into the setter’s chest, doing his best not to start actually laughing. Fuck knows Atsumu makes him laugh too much anyway.

“Well,” Atsumu whispers eventually, into the darkness on their wedding night. “G’dnight, husband O mine.”

Kiyoomi snorts again. He can’t help it. He looks up, even though he knows it’s too dark to see.

It doesn’t matter, it seems. Kiyoomi is in love. That is enough - for everything .

“Goodnight, husband,” he whispers back, and then a quiet peck on the lips. Again. Sometimes it just happens.

Love or not.

Kiyoomi snuggles back down, and Atsumu kisses the top of his head, and everything is ok. They’re still the two of them, after all. Husbands or not. Love or not.

Kiyoomi could live like this forever, regardless of how he got here. As he falls asleep, it comes back to him, once more, though. So long ago, now. He’d been upstairs, but someone had opened the door, let in someone’s senpai, and by the time Sakusa was downstairs he knew the man’s name to be Noya, because that is what Miya had called him. And Hinata. And Bokuto.

He was Hinata’s high school team’s libero, up until Hinata’s third year at least. He had come to see his kouhai, but also - they would find out - to ask how best to propose to his boyfriend.

“Asahi-san wants to get married here,” he’d said, “but obviously we can’t do that. So-”

“Why not, Noya-san?” Hinata had asked, that look on his face all of MSBY had seen before - just never outside of a game.

“It’s illegal, Shouyou,” Noya - Nishinoya , but whatever - had replied, and Hinata’s face had changed; morphed. It looked like the worst kind of smile.

“Well then we’ll just have to make it not!” Hinata had exclaimed, and then so had everyone else.

Sakusa had cut the noise by stepping forward, all eyes on him. Not that he properly remembers this part. Just Atsumu telling him what he’d said. “I’d like to get married one day, too.”

And that had settled it.

Noya’s boyfriend had accepted his proposal, both of them, and when Hinata had mentioned it after their game against the Adlers that season the entire volleyball world had gotten behind it. Even with covid. Even once covid became commonplace, and the Olympics were back on, and Argentina’s (but really Japan’s) setter Oikawa had kissed Japan’s athletic trainer right there on the court at the end of the game, and they had been so close.

But Japan’s government had stayed stout. Unmoving. Sakusa thought them cowards (he still does).

Once Japan’s volleyball team got back to Japan, Miya came up to him - into his room - about an hour before practice. And he asked Sakusa to marry him.

“What?”

“Ok, wait, hear me out!!” Miya calls, lifting his arms in surrender. “Sorry, Omi-Omi, that came out- uh. I had this whole speech, too-”

“Why the fuck do you want to marry me ?” he asks, furious. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No!” Miya yells, too loud. He winces. “No, Omi, it’s not a joke. It’s a-”

“If you say ‘it’s a proposal’ I will throw you out the window.”

“Ok, ok. But it is-”

“-Miya-”

“-Lemme finish, ok?!”

Sakusa studies him. He’s standing there, just in front of the doorway with Sakusa’s door shut behind him. He’s got his arms dangling down by his sides, and a ridiculous kicked puppy expression all over his face. Sakusa gives a single curt nod, and Miya lights up.

He regrets listening already.

“Ok, so, yaknow how- well. When Noya came an’ told us his fiancee broke up, and that was like. That sucked. Not just for them but for everything, right?”

“Right,” he replies, still utterly lost. Noya had told Hinata that five months ago. Almost six now. Apparently the two had been broken up for even longer. “Get on with it, Miya.”

“Right, so- so that sucked. And then tha whole, yaknow, push for gay marriage ta get legalised an’ all- well. People still cared, I guess, but that kinda felt like… it , right?”

“Mm,” he allows, because despite Miya’s clear stupidity he does make a few good points.

“But then Iwaizumi got kissed by Oikawa! Right there on National television!”

“Yes,” Sakusa can’t resist adding. “I was there.”

“‘Course ya were, Omi-Omi, anyway- so once that happened, it was like, well they gotta get their heads outta their asses now, right ? But they didn’t. Shit still ain’t fixed an’ really, nothin’s happening.”

Sakusa can’t deny that. As much as he wants to. He uncrosses his arms. “That still doesn’t answer why you’re here, Miya.”

“I’m gettin’ there, I’m gettin’-” Miya flaps his arms around, then stops, hands going back by his sides. “Right, so. I was thinkin’.”

“Spit it out, Miya.”

“‘S gonna sound dumb.”

“You already sound like the stupidest person on our team, Miya, I don’t think it can get much worse.”

And then Miya looks him straight in the eyes. Sakusa’s back straightens in answer.

“‘Kay. so we need one more push, right? Past protests, and TV kisses, and whatever else we can say in interviews. We need two people who can get married. Who will get married, once it’s legal. An’ that can’t be Noya and his beau anymore, ‘cause goin’ public like that fucked them up. So it needs to be someone who’s not actually in a relationship, an’ isn’t really lookin’ fer one, and well. Tha’s me. But I couldn’ think of who else if it wasn’t ya , Omi-Omi, ‘cause-”

“Everyone else on our team is already either in a relationship, basically in one, straight, or not Japanese.”

Miya blinks at him, stock still. Then he straightens up again, grin coming back.

“Yeah, basically.”

The air is still for what must be only five seconds. It feels like five hours. “So, whaddya say Omi-Omi? Wanna marry a handsome setter like ma-self?”

Sakusa blinks.

“Give me a day, Miya.”

“Hm?” Miya blinks, head tilting. Again with the looking like a puppy. Sakusa considers him again. Not sure what he’s looking for. Maybe that’s exactly what he's looking for - Miya is an insufferable dick, but he’s always respected his boundaries. Maybe more than anyone else on the team. Still.

“Give me a day to think it over. I’ll give you an answer tomorrow morning, and if I say yes we have to do a two-week trial period, first.”

“Huh? A trial period?”

“Yes. Two weeks to see if we can actually live in each other’s space.”

“Oh, fer sure Omi-Omi. I was gonna say something like that.”

Sakusa snorts. “I’m still not sure if we’ll even do that, Miya.”

“Sure ya’re not,” Miya grins at him. Sakusa shoos him out of his room.

But Miya was right. He has his answer by the end of practice. If they can make this work, it’ll be good for everyone. There’s no way he can’t try.

He should’ve known just from that, though. Sakusa Kiyoomi does nothing by halves. If there’s something he wants to do, he’ll see it through until it’s done. If he wants to get gay marriage legalised - and he has a plan , a way to get there - then he will. Even if that means marrying Miya Atsumu. A man he doesn’t love.

Whatever. It’ll be better. They can always get fake-divorced on top of their fake-marriage later, anyway. So, yeah, he’ll do it.

Love or not.

Still - they start with ground rules. Love or not, every good relationship has that (and theirs has to be great ). So. Miya better not touch him without asking. Or his bed. Or his toothbrush. Everything else in his room he can deal with. Miya’s room better be clean , or he’s not going anywhere near it. And they can’t tell anyone. Obviously. Not yet.

Miya accepts all his rules with a quick nod of his head. He just has one - Don’ ever tell Samu about this .

Sakusa thinks it’s kind of a ridiculous rule, but whatever. He supposes eternal sibling shame is an acceptable reason to lay a ground rule. Most of his rules are just his head, anyway.

With that done, they set up their first ‘date’ for the next night, day one , as they decide to call it. Miya’s going to wash his sheets and Sakusa’s going to come and watch a movie with him and then go back to his own room and go to sleep. Easy enough.

Can be done.

And it is done. Despite Miya’s eccentricities, he’s always been able to tone them down when he’s serious, and so when the movie finishes and Sakusa realises they’re basically cuddling , in Miya’s bed no less, he’s not entirely mad about it.

That’s how the first five days go. It’s as easy as breathing. Which is weird, because this is Miya , but it’s also Miya, so. They even leave the MSBY house on day four and go to a cafe - and they order food for each other, which is an exercise in killing Sakusa’s sanity but, somehow, it’s not that bad.

It’s actually kind of nice.

And so, on day five, when they’re halfway through their movie, Sakusa looks up from where his head is pillowed on Miya’s shoulder.

“Whassup, Omi-Omi?” he’s asked.

“I think we should tell people.”

“Hah?”

Miya sits up, and Sakusa tries to take the loss of contact in his stride. He ends up glaring at Miya anyway.

“What? If we’re just engaged, out of nowhere, in a week or so, no one’s going to believe us.”

“Oh,” Miya blinks. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

Miya sticks his tongue out at him. “You’re insufferable,” he tells the blond.

“An’ ya wanna tell people ‘bout us,” Miya replies, grinning. Sakusa very barely resists the urge to roll his eyes at him.

“Hurry up then,” he tells him. “Before I change my mind.”

“Wait- yer- yer serious ?!” Miya yelps, almost falling off the bed. Sakusa truly does roll his eyes this time, as Miya settles back into sitting a bit further away from the edge.

“I wouldn’t have said we should if I wasn’t,” he tells him, blinking and putting his arms back down by his sides, sitting up to face Miya. “We should figure out a story, though. If you’re going to propose to me we can’t have just started dating, but if it’s too long ago-”

“People will get suspicious,” Miya finishes for him. Sakusa nods back. “Hm, how ‘bout a year ‘n’ a half then, Omi-Omi? We just didn’ wanna tell people in case we broke up. An’ we don’t wanna tell the public, but-”

“It’s good to give the team a heads up,” Sakusa nods again.

“An’ Samu!” Miya exclaims, looking him dead in the eyes. “We gotta tell Samu first!”

Sakusa is paralysed; all he can do is nod. And then, before his better judgement can stop them, Miya’s got his phone out and is already dialling. Sakusa’s senses don’t come back to him until the phone’s picked up.

“What is it?” a voice hisses from the other end of the line. When Sakusa comes to, he looks right at Miya. Miya’s looking right back. They’ve basically just signed their death letter. “It’s way too late for this, Tsumu, d’ya want me ta hang up on ya?”

“No, wait, Samu-” Miya gets out, takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes. Sakusa can’t help himself from reaching over and taking his hand, trying to calm him down. Miya’s eyes open, looking into Sakusa’s own, and he smiles. Kiyoomi blinks. “I gotta tell ya somethin’, Samu, don’t cha hang up!”

“Get on with it then,” Miya’s brother grumbles, resigned but… Kiyoomi doesn’t think he would actually hang up. There’s just something in his tone.

“Uh-” Miya says, looking at him for help. Just say it , Kiyoomi mouths at him. Miya swallows. “Samu, I’m datin’ Omi. We’ve been together for a year an’ a half.”

There’s silence for a bit.

“What?!”

“We’re dating,” Kiyoomi lets out, deciding if there’s a time to announce his presence it’s now. This time, the silence truly envelops them. Miya breathes in sharply, as if bracing himself. Kiyoomi finds himself squeezing his hand again. They wait. And then, Miya Osamu delivers his verdict.

“Why didn’ ya tell me earlier, ya scrub!?”

Kiyoomi can breathe once again. That wasn’t so hard, then, was it?

“We weren’t sure earlier, Samu,” Miya replies, and when Kiyoomi looks over he, too, looks like the breath had been punched out of him and then forcibly returned in one foul blow.

“Atsu really wanted to tell you now, though,” Kiyoomi says into the phone, leaning over to Miya so they could lie the way they’d been before this whole conversation started. Miya preens under the attention; it makes Kiyoomi laugh, just the smallest of snorts. Miya’s chin ends up on the top of his head, his arms wrapped around him.

Osamu says he’ll be coming down next week to see them. He can’t believe they waited so long to tell him; Kiyoomi reiterates that he’s still first to know, and Miya’s twin starts cutting into him.

“Ya do anythin’ ta Tsumu, anythin’ , ya just remember I know 101 ways with a knife.”

Kiyoomi blinks. He’s pretty sure Miya stops breathing, from how close they are together.

“Of course, Osamu-kun,” he replies. Licks his lips. Miya’s twin hangs up with one final harrumph , reminding them he’ll be down next week. Miya sets his phone down and squeezes Kiyoomi in both his arms.

“Well,” Miya says. “That went well.”

And then they both start laughing; it’s ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous. “We gotta call yer cousin, Omi-kun,” Miya reminds him. Kiyoomi’s chest tightens. Right.

He digs his phone out, dials the number, and waits for the end of the five rings before he starts talking. “Komori. I’ve been dating Miya Atsumu for a year and a half. Goodbye.”

He goes to hang up, but Miya has his hand there in the blink of an eye, stopping him. “Ya can’t just hang up on ‘im, Omi-Omi!”

“Why not?” he grouses, as Miya fully takes the phone from him.

“Sorry ‘bout ‘im, Motoya-kun,” Miya says into the receiver. Komori still hasn’t said a word. They wait. Again.

“Kiyo!”

There it is. “You should’ve told me!! I could’ve helped you plan dates, or something!”

“Didn’t want to,” he tells his cousin, shaking his head. Miya laughs and he frowns up at him. Miya’s laugh turns into a grin.

“Ya did so, Omi-Omi! Ya’re tha one who said we should!”

In the ensuing scuffle to grab his phone back and attack one Miya Atsumu, he doesn’t hear what Komori says. It’s only once they’ve settled, himself with his back to Miya’s front as he leans against the headboard, and Kiyoomi with his phone back in his own hands, that he remembers they are, in fact, still on a call.

“... Komori?” he asks, cautiously. His cousin’s laughter rings through the phone.

“I’m just glad you did tell me, Kiyo,” he hears, and it sounds genuine. Something in him squeezes. “I’m happy for you!! But we have to meet up at some point!”

Kiyoomi blinks. Of course that would be Komori’s first thought. He should have known.

“Atsu’s brother is coming down next week,” he says. Miya pipes up that Suna will be joining him too, and Komori starts planning a whole get together over the phone. Kiyoomi lets him. And Miya. He knows it won’t be anywhere too crowded. When the conversation begins to die down, Kiyoomi brings his other hand up, ready to press the end call button - before he can, though, Komori’s voice suddenly hardens, and he can’t help but let his ears pay attention again.

“This is great,” Komori says, “and I’m really happy for both of you. But, Atsumu-san, you do anything to Kiyo and I’ll come gut you myself.”

Kiyoomi blinks. That was actually kind of sweet. And then Miya starts laughing.

“Shut up, you dick,” he hisses, knocking his elbow into Miya’s side.

“Omi-Omi,” Miya whines, clutching at his side like the dramatic baby he is. “Motoya-kun sounded so much like Samu, though!”

It’s a good point, when he thinks about it. Kiyoomi sighs even as Komori starts laughing through the line. “I’ll see you two next week!” he hears as a goodbye, and then for the first time in their lives it is not Kiyoomi who hangs up but Komori Motoya. Kiyoomi can’t really find it in himself to care, though. He’s too comfortable. Miya must be, too, because he makes no move to get up either; just takes the phone from Kiyoomi’s hand, sets it on the table, and wraps his arms around him again.

Kiyoomi could fall asleep like this.

Then, though, Miya gives him a squeeze and sits them both up. Kiyoomi looks over his shoulder, pauses a second at the sight of Miya’s face, and then frowns. Miya laughs, just a bit. “C’mon, Omi-kun. I’ll even make you dinner?”

Kiyoomi sighs again. They make their way downstairs, hands still clasped, and when Miya asks him what he wants for dinner he tells him it’s chef’s choice. Miya opens the cupboard, and at that moment Thomas rounds the corner and asks what’s being made.

“Dunno yet,” Miya replies, same time as Kiyoomi says Atsu has to figure it out for himself . They stare at each other; Miya over his shoulder from the cupboard, Kiyoomi right ahead of him from his place leaning up against the bench. Thomas blinks at them, and then raises an eyebrow - Kiyoomi only sees it when he turns to him after he’s started talking.

“How long has this been a thing?”

“Year an’ a half,” Miya tells him, casual as ever, from where he’s buried in the cupboard. Kiyoomi nods in confirmation as Thomas blinks, slow.

“What?!” he asks, gobsmacked. It’s kinda funny. “Am I the last to know?”

“Nah,” Miya answers for both of them, bringing out whatever it is he’s decided to make dinner with. “First one here. After Samu and Motoya-kun, of course.”

Kiyoomi brings up his hand and squeezes it around Miya’s, again. Thomas blinks.

“Huh. Why?”

“Why what?” Kiyoomi asks, as Miya starts clattering around with pans.

“Why’d you take so long to tell anyone? You did only just tell your families, right?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi replies, glancing over at Miya. “We weren’t sure, at first. And didn’t want it to get out, with everything going on. We’re still not ready for the public to know, but we decided we could tell the team.”

“Tell the team what?” Inunaki asks. Kiyoomi isn’t even sure why he’s here.

By morning, when they show up to practice together, they’re greeted with congratulations from everyone on the team. Kiyoomi’s not even mad he had to share a bed all night with Miya to make sure no one would get to interrogate them further. It was kind of nice, actually, to wake up next to someone. Even if that person happened to be Miya Atsumu.

Love or not.

It’s on the morning, a week and a bit later - day fourteen - when Kiyoomi wakes up, his head on Miya’s shoulder, that he waits for the blond to wake up, just for a few seconds, and then decides to go with it. It’s been two weeks. Love or not, this works - enough.

“Ok,” he tells Miya, who’s still half asleep and barely has his eyes open. “You can propose to me now.”

Miya blinks, rubs his face, and then stares up at Kiyoomi, who’s leaning on his side, with his wide brown eyes.

“Really?” he asks, as if Kiyoomi isn’t sure.

“Yeah,” he replies, watching Miya’s face change from surprised to relaxed over barely three seconds. The blond smirks.

“Thought you’d be more caught up with this, Omi-Omi.”

“Mm,” he mumbles back, not rising to the bait. Not this time. “It’s for a good reason.”

It certainly is. Love or not. “And- you’re tolerable, Miya. I wouldn’t be sharing a bed with you if you weren’t.”

Miya relaxes back, staring up at the ceiling. Thinking. Kiyoomi wonders what he’s going to say next.

“Sure, Omi-kun, but… ‘S a lot, isn’t it? We’ll have ta be fake-together fer a few years at least. Didn’t ya say ya wanted ta do that with someone fer real?”

It sounds like cold feet, but Kiyoomi, for some reason, knows for certain that it’s not.

“If I had to marry anyone I know right now,” he begins, pausing when he sees Miya’s eyes on him again. “I hate to say it’d be you,” he grumbles out, eventually. “I wasn’t looking to get married until I couldn’t play volleyball anymore, anyway. I didn’t want to juggle. But this is hardly juggling.”

Miya grins at him. Kiyoomi resists the urge to frown.

“M’kay, Omi-kun. I’ll act all nervous an’ take ya somewhere after practice, yeah?”

“Okay, Miya.”

That should be it. But it’s not. This is Miya , after all.

“An’ if ya change yer mind we can just say shit was lookin’ whack an’ we broke up.”

“I won’t change my mind, Atsu ,” he replies, leaning over him on the bed with a smirk. “Get up. We’ll be late.”

“Omi-kun!”

But he’s grinning.

The day goes fast. Not really. But once they’ve reached the end of it, it sure feels like it had, even though Kiyoomi knows he’d felt like the clock was ticking in syrup all through practice. He finds himself remembering the stupid meeting with Osamu, Suna, and his cousin from earlier in the week as he changes - it’d just been a dinner, out at a restaurant thankfully not too crowded, but the whole night had felt trapped in a glass bubble. The three who’d shown for the night had been a little too invested, for Kiyoomi’s tastes. Still. They’d gotten away with it.

Suna had pushed unrelentingly, and neither Osamu nor Komori had stopped him. Komori wouldn’t stop grinning and Osamu wouldn’t stop looking at them like they were a puzzle to figure out, but, somehow, by the end of the night it was just farewells till next time, and waving as the three’s car to the train station pulled up.

Oh. And first kisses.

He’s not even sure how it had happened - one second they were waving away their three interrogators, the next Miya’s hand was on his hip and their faces were tilting together, just right. Kiyoomi had heard Komori cackle even all the way from the car; it’d earned a glare and a middle finger. Then Miya had started laughing, too, and Kiyoomi had turned his glare on him.

Still. It was a nice night. And this one, by all accounts, should be the best of his life. It would be nice if he could stop feeling so nauseous at the thought of it, though.

By the time Miya’s taken his hand and led him through the building and away from their teammates - and, of course, let go of his hand as they walked through the streets to- well. Kiyoomi wasn’t really sure where they’re going. That’s fine, though.

They make it to their destination - a park - just as the sun is about to start setting. Miya takes his hand again, and Kiyoomi finds himself unable to look away from those stupid brown eyes. Resisting the urge to frown, as ever, he waits. Miya blinks, and then Kiyoomi’s hands are cold and the man in front of him is down on one knee.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he hears. Maybe there’s more to the speech, maybe there isn’t. He doesn’t know. All there is is himself, and Atsumu, and then the words - “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” he says, falling into Miya Atsumu’s embrace like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

They’re engaged, love or not, and maybe it is.

The ring Atsumu’s procured fits perfectly on his finger, and he doesn’t think to ask. Once they finally get back to Miya’s bed, Atsumu pulls out his phone and shows him the photo’s he’d taken. Kiyoomi hadn’t even noticed. There’s one a little blurry, clearly taken as the camera was being set down. Then another, Atsumu getting down on one knee. A third, with the sun dipping below the horizon and lighting up the trees behind them as Atsumu kneels with his mouth open, the ring box up, and Kiyoomi looking down at him with a face he’s never seen himself make before. It’s kind of hard to make out, anyway, because of their shadows from the sun, but when Atsumu says they should pick a photo for the announcement - an Instagram post, of all things - Kiyoomi picks that one.

There’s other photos, too, of course - one somehow perfectly capturing the blur of Kiyoomi’s body as he all but fell to the ground, towards Atsumu. One of Atsumu trying to jam the ring onto his finger and Kiyoomi laughing, because he truly was doing a horrid job of it. And one, at the end, of the two of them hugging right there on the grass of the park. Kiyoomi decides that one’s his favourite. Not that he wants it posted.

But if it ends up as his phone’s home screen, no one needs to know.

It takes only three minutes after they post the third photo, captioned he said yes - now we just have to wait , for someone to knock on the door, and both Atsumu and Kiyoomi’s phones to go off at once. They stare at each other.

“Tsum-Tsum! Omi-san! Open up!! We wanna congratulate you!”

That would be Bokuto and Hinata, then. Atsumu starts laughing. “You two, leave them alone!” Thomas’ voice pipes up.

“But why , Thomassan? They’re engaged !! Isn’t that so cool!”

“Exactly,” Thomas replies. “I don’t think any of us want to know what’s going on behind that door.”

Kiyoomi can almost feel the gazes of all three of them even through the wood of the door. Atsumu pulls their joined hand up to cover his mouth. Kiyoomi feels his own twitch, watching the dumbass try not to laugh loud enough to give them away. The footsteps retreat, and then they both turn their gazes to the two phones going off like mad on the bedside table.

“We could always just… not answer,” Atsumu decides, still choking on his laughter. Kiyoomi snorts at him, nodding.

“Let’s do it.”

They call Osamu and Komori back the next morning, as well as their parents and the other assorted friends not on their volleyball team who had called. And texted. And absolutely blown up the Instagram post.

They also both feel the heavy gazes coming from every member of the team as they show up already changed, prepared to not have to answer unasked questions.

“This is so cool!” Hinata yells, five seconds in, at the same time as Bokuto yells congratulations at them about five decibels too loud. Kiyoomi winces.

“It’s very cool,” Atsumu says, grinning. He takes the ring off Kiyoomi’s hand to show everyone, because it’s not like he can wear it during practice. Kiyoomi’s finger does feel off without it, though. Already.

Oh well. Just as long as it works.

And work it does - two and a bit weeks after the 2021 Olympics, they make headlines.

It’s a beautiful picture.

The Japanese government slides in a law change, to be enacted the following Spring.

Spring is in March. It’s August - almost September. That’s seven months away. Six.

MSBY starts planning a wedding.

(somewhere along the way, Kiyoomi supposes, he must have fallen in love)

He is in love on his wedding night; in love again, and again, and again. And when he finally wakes up the next morning, head pillowed on Atsumu’s shoulder, he’s still in love. It knocks the wind out of him because, love or not, up until now - they’d still gotten here. Kiyoomi’s still here, in love, somehow, waking up on the shoulder of the man who became his legal husband just yesterday.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is in love with Sakusa Atsumu. What the fuck.

And then, of course, Atsumu wakes up and Kiyoomi is left to stare hopelessly into the hooded brown eyes of the man he loves. The man he is in love with. The man he is married to. Oh, fuck.

“Mornin’, Omi-Omi,” Miya - not Miya - says, smiling and leaning his head down to peck Kiyoomi’s forehead. Kiyoomi blinks at him, letting his eyes rove over his face. He leans in and returns the kiss to Atsumu’s jaw, near his chin.

“Morning.”

He doesn’t move from his spot; neither does Atsumu. It’s not until they hear sounds downstairs; surely, the team returning, that Kiyoomi finally sits up. Atsumu’s looking at him as he stretches, then climbs over him to get out of bed, padding over to the drawers to put a shirt on.

He hears Atsumu mumble something - he thinks he does, anyway - but when he turns around in question, Atsumu’s getting out of the bed too. Must’ve just been a rustle of the sheets.

“Hey, Omi?” Atsumu asks, just over his shoulder.

“Mm?” he replies, not bothering to turn around again.

“Well- won’t it look kinda… weird. If we go downstairs, just like this, and there’s no-”

“Are you asking to give me a hickey, Miya?” he asks, the familiar name rolling off his tongue.

“Thought I was Sakusa, now?” Atsumu asks right back as Kiyoomi finally turns around. He considers him - this feels a bit. Fuck. Kiyoomi is in love with this man. He would very much like a hickey. But Atsumu doesn’t know that.

Still… he’d offered.

“Sure, Sakusa ,” he smirks, immediately sensing Atsumu’s confusion. “You can give me a hickey.”

“M’kay, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu replies, smiling at him. This isn’t the first time Kiyoomi’s gotten a hickey from him, and it’s always been to just make sure. Still, though, as Atsumu’s lips brush his clavicle and then his teeth bite down, Kiyoomi knows he’s never felt this way before. It’s ecstasy.

He makes sure to keep his mouth shut. Even as it becomes increasingly more difficult, as Atsumu’s mouth sucks a line up his neck. And then one right under his chin, and Kiyoomi could not stop the short whine pulled out of him if he tried.

Atsumu pulls back to grin at him, lopsided, and Kiyoomi sucks a hickey of his own into the side of Atsumu’s neck, where his shoulder meets, deep and dark.

“Omi,” Atsumu mumbles, voice all sorts of wonky, and Kiyoomi doesn’t look back as he steps into the shower.

Once they get downstairs, the whole team is there, sitting on the couches and generally quite clearly trying to make it look like they’re not all ridiculous gossip mongers. Kiyoomi ignores them and heads for the kitchen, Atsumu following him dutifully.

He’s halfway through getting everything out, Atsumu’s arms around him, when he hears a voice pipe up from the doorway to the kitchen.

“So…” the voice intones, and Kiyoomi would know Inunaki’s brand of faux cluelessness anywhere. It’s been all over his relationship with Atsumu.

“So what?” he asks, refusing to turn around. They’re all ridiculous. He feels Atsumu’s head start to turn from where it’s hooked over his shoulder and stops him with a hand in his hair. Atsumu kisses the tips of his fingers, instead.

“They’re just as ridiculously in love as ever,” someone - Barnes? - grumbles, and Kiyoomi hears a million pairs of feet leave the kitchen’s doorway. Seriously. What the fuck.

“We’ll leave you two alone,” Meian tells him and Atsumu, as if the team hadn’t been doing that already. Why’s it so hard for them to keep it up all day?

Atsumu snorts into his neck. “I can hear ya thinkin’, Omi-Omi.”

“Mm,” he mumbles, cracking an egg. Making breakfast. Right. “Why do they have to assume we would’ve had sex, anyway? You can have perfectly good relationships without it.”

“Hm,” Atsumu mumbles back, his lips grazing the shell of Kiyoomi’s ear. “I guess they know we’d just be like that.”

Kiyoomi blinks. Right. Love or not.

Like this, in the afternoon - by now - sun, Atsumu draped over his back as he makes them breakfast, Kiyoomi had almost forgotten.

He doesn’t dare again - the weeks carry on as normal; practice, team bonding (not that anyone had called it anything other than hanging out for… ages, now), more practice. Movies with Atsumu. Maybe a few ‘dates’. The only thing different is that every day Kiyoomi is in love. It’s the first thing he thinks when he wakes up, and the last thing he thinks as he goes to sleep, and something that overtakes his thoughts at the most random of times throughout the day.

It’s terrifying, being in love. But Atsumu makes it so easy.

Love or not, it had been. But now, for the first time, Kiyoomi finds himself wondering - hoping , maybe - if the thing in Atsumu’s brown eyes is the same as what’s in his. If maybe the smile Atsumu has that had made Kiyoomi realise he’s in love was meant to show Atsumu’s own love.

And then, one night, as they’re getting ready for bed, Atsumu says something weird.

“Hey, uh. Omi-kun.”

“Hm?” he hums in reply around his toothbrush. He can see his husband in the mirror.

“Uh- maybe, maybe I should sleep on the floor tonight.”

Kiyoomi blinks. Then blinks again. He spits into the sink and whips around. “What?”

“Uh- it’s just-” but Atsumu doesn’t have an end to his sentence, it seems, and neither does Kiyoomi.

“Why would you want to sleep on the floor ?” he asks, willing his face into a scowl. “It’s dirty.”

And I’m up in the bed .

“Omi-”

“No,” he says, cutting Atsumu off. “You can’t just sleep on the floor. Not unless you tell me why you want to in the first place!”

Atsumu stares at him, wide hooded brown eyes the gateway to his soul - supposedly - and Kiyoomi sees in them the thing he’s never been able to put a name to. The look in them is the same as he’d had in the photo they’d posted to Instagram the day they got engaged.

He knows what it is now. And he thinks Atsumu knows, too.

“Omi-kun, I…”

Kiyoomi takes in a breath. It’s now or never. Love or not, right? He just has to be honest.

If he’d thought being in love was terrifying, he’d like to introduce this feeling to wedding-day Kiyoomi. Still, in the end, this is Atsumu. He just has to be honest.

“Atsumu,” he tells the setter, air escaping his lungs in magnificent butterflies, “Atsumu, on the day we got married I realised I was in love with you. I think I’ve been in love with you since we got engaged, even. Or close to it.”

Atsumu’s just looking at him. His words are gone. Kiyoomi draws the air back into his lungs and plunges into the icy water.

“I love you, Sakusa Atsumu.”

As Kiyoomi comes up for air, letting his head float above the water’s surface, Atsumu surges forward.

They’re kissing.

They’re kissing, and they’re in love, and Kiyoomi has never once in his life felt this full . He’s floating on a cloud; he’s high above the water even though he’s in it, and time has never been real.

“I…” Atsumu says, when he pulls back, just a little, their foreheads touching. “I think I love you, Omi-Omi.”

“You think?” he whispers, because he has to. Atsumu’s laugh comes in a puff of air he feels across his own lips, and he joins them to Atsumu’s for another few seconds before letting him talk again.

“I do,” Atsumu whispers, and they are in a black hole; nothing else exists. Nothing else matters. “I love you.”

Kiyoomi smiles, he knows he does, an automatic thing though it may be.

“I’m in love with you,” he tells his husband, like this should be news, and it’s been a million years since they’ve met, a century that they’ve been together, and somehow Kiyoomi finds he isn’t surprised that Atsumu knows.

“I’m in love with you , Omi-Omi,” he hears, and never again will there be better words to hear. Impossible.

Kiyoomi is in love, and so is Atsumu, and no matter how many love or nots it took to get here, the fact remains that now, today, tomorrow, and the rest of forever, it is indeed love that has them curled up with each other in the bed that’s been theirs longer than they care to count. It’s love that has them walking into practice, the next day, hands intertwined and grins on their faces and none of their team any more the wiser. It’s love that has them together, by each other's sides, for the rest of their lives.

‘Til death do us part .

(and even then, love finds a way)

(it always does)

Love always will.