My very first cross post back onto tumblr! Anyway here’s some sakuatsu angst, no happy ending :-)
The first was his father, ages ago now, the crack that’s the faintest. It was a throwaway comment probably. Nothing meant to linger. But isn’t that the horrific beauty of humanity? The ability to create long-lasting harm without a spare thought.
Kiyoomi asked if his father would be attending his first ever volleyball match, very near bubbling with excitement just at asking. Such an emotion was rare then, just as it is now.
Still, Kiyoomi’s father laughed, “I have no time for silly games, Kiyoomi. Certainly not when they’re the whims of a child.”
Volleyball wasn’t a whim then, just as it isn’t now. His father attends his important games. Kiyoomi still remembers the laugh, the utter disbelief, at his asking for his father’s support.
The second was a bit harsher. It’s jagged and deep, still scarred over.
High school crushes shouldn’t hurt like that, Kiyoomi thinks. But he’s always been a touch more sensitive, a little more easily broken.
Ushijima Wakatoshi put a lot of stress on Kiyoomi’s heart—very nearly broke it. But Kiyoomi managed. Even when Ushijima turned him down in his straightforward, no nonsense tone, Kiyoomi resolved not to break. It was only when he saw the way Ushijima looked at Tendou that he finally permitted himself a healthy sob in the locker room.
Kiyoomi had built up a future in his all about he and Ushijima. To see it topple down, to crumble to bits, was his first true loss.
They remain friends, of course. Though it still aches a bit to see that glint of gold on Ushijima’s finger. To know who wears a matching one.
More lost loves along the way made tiny little cracks. Kiyoomi attaches himself easily, trusts too much, feels too deeply. Then the whims of his fancies change, leaving him in the dust. He owns personal packs of tissues for sanitary purposes just as much as he has them more emotional purposes.
At a certain point, Kiyoomi assumed he would always be like this—a little broken, too bitter to ever truly believe in love.
But then came Miya Atsumu.
He was everything Kiyoomi couldn’t stand, yet everything he craved. It took months for Atsumu to wear him down, to let him in, to let those warm feelings cascade through him once more. Even a mere text from Atsumu would send Kiyoomi’s heart into a frenzy.
Atsumu was everything Kiyoomi had been searching for. Honest, kind, ambitious, dedicated—above all else, he sought Kiyoomi out, time after time. When Kiyoomi would make a snide comment in retort to whatever foolishness spilled from Atsumu, he wouldn’t let Kiyoomi push himself away. Instead he’d laugh, lighting up the whole room with his joy.
Where Kiyoomi would reject touch, Atsumu would respect that line. Never pushing until Kiyoomi asked for it, until he admitted how badly he needed that touch. And Atsumu gave so much of it. Atsumu freely showered Kiyoomi with affection as if it were no problem at all.
Even with all those fractures in his heart, Kiyoomi felt ready to hand it over. He was prepared to trust Atsumu with the delicate little thing—all Atsumu ever showed him was love, after all.
As he turned his heart over to the care of Atsumu, it all seemed to go swimmingly. With those darlings and sweethearts and “how’s yer ma doin’, hon?” Kiyoomi thought everything was just fine. Atsumu was diligent and careful, respectful and alarmingly loving.
Kiyoomi swore the fractures healed under honey-sweet words, placating touches when Kiyoomi had a bad day. Once again, Kiyoomi found himself building a future with someone. This time with Atsumu. A man who had shown time and time again just how much Kiyoomi could rely on him.
As rain pounded against the windows of Kiyoomi’s apartment, he found his head in Atsumu’s lap, one of Atsumu’s hands threading through the locks. Kiyoomi didn’t say a word about it, not even when he knew that it would ruin the pattern, force him to tame it into submission.
He found a smile on Atsumu’s face when he looked up, soft and sweet.
Atsumu hums, looking away from his phone. “What?”
“Ah, yeah,” the blond lets out a laugh, removing the hand in Kiyoomi’s head to run it through his own, “I, uh, I get like that when I’m talkin’ to certain people.”
Butterflies erupt in Kiyoomi’s stomach, head burning through him.
“Kita just said he was comin’ into town to deliver some rice for Samu. Wanted to see me.”
Kiyoomi smiles, hums. He knows how much the senior means to Atsumu, knows how much Atsumu cares about what he thinks.
Atsumu trails off and Kiyoomi feels confusion wash over him. The smile still fights its way onto Atsumu’s face, his hands starting to fidget with nothing. Something is making him nervous.
“I kinda wanna confess to him.” Everything around Kiyoomi stops. “I’ve liked him for so long and it’s just so—I dunno—daunting? But I feel like he might want me back, ya know? I mean he wants to see me. Like just me.”
Had Kiyoomi read every signal wrong? Was it user error? Was he like this with everyone?
And, fuck, Atsumu looks so hopeful, so sincere. How could Kiyoomi ever do anything but support him.
As a smile splits Atsumu’s face in too, shining the entire room in radiance, Kiyoomi feels his heart shatter.
Atsumu talks all about how Kita makes him feel like he’s floating on a cloud, how he’s so sweet it nearly makes Atsumu get cavities. Kiyoomi listens. Listens and listens, engages and watches as Atsumu’s heart fills with more and more love.
Kiyoomi listens as he tumbles to the ground, heart in hands. Shattered, broken.
