The money weighed heavy in his hands.

"I don't understand. Why're ya doin' this?"

"Ya don't need to understand. Just... take it and go. It's hard out there, but I guess it beats livin' here with me, huh?"

"How... How do you have this?"

"Been savin'. For... yer college tuition. But I guess ya don't need that now, do ya?"

"Y'know," Atsumu swallowed, clutching the packet tightly, "It'd be a lot easier for me if you were just a bad guy all the time."


June 23rd, 2018

They touched down in the early afternoon, then took a taxi to Atsumu's childhood home. Atsumu was unnervingly quiet throughout the whole journey, but Sakusa didn't think it was his place to pry. Both of them were dressed casually in expectation of manual labor—Sakusa had swapped his typical designer clothes for a simple black tee and jeans. There was a neon green paint splash pattern on his shirt.

The taxi dropped them off at the address Atsumu had given the driver. Upon exiting the vehicle, Sakusa glanced up at the house, at the winding pathway through the front garden that led to the porch. It was quite an impressive building—Atsumu's paternal grandparents must have been quite well-off to build it for their son. It was too bad that they were all dead now—the grandparents and the son.

It struck him, then, that—unless there was some illegitimate child hiding somewhere—Atsumu was the last of his father's bloodline.

"It doesn't look completely horrible, right?" Atsumu's voice floated from the side. Sakusa's peripheral caught movement. "Hell, it even looks nice."

But it holds a lot of bad memories for you, doesn't it? Sakusa thought as he and Atsumu made their way up to the house. The way it caught the sunlight—it was simply majestic. The only comfort was that there were sure to have been some good ones made, too. From the way Atsumu had spoken about his life at the hospital, he and Osamu had been undoubtedly close as children.

Atsumu fiddled with the keys, trying to find the right one. He found it eventually, and the door opened up with a click.

There was a thick layer of dust on almost everything, as if his father had died years ago and not just recently. The alcoholic must have been poor with the upkeep. Not entirely unexpected, but Sakusa wished that Miya Hozumi had put more effort into maintaining the place.

"We're going to need a lot of disinfectant," Sakusa remarked. "Actually, no—we need to hire an entire team."

"Not my problem," said Atsumu. "I'll leave it up to the agent."

"Hm? You're selling it?"

"Duh." Atsumu stopped in front of a closed door in the hallway, hesitating. "Why—did ya think I wanted ta live here?"

Sakusa paused beside him, taking in the sight of the door.

In chipped wooden block letters glued to the surface, Samu + Sumu was spelled out. Plastered next to his dead twin's name was a faded onigiri sticker. At first, Sakusa thought he was going to open it, but Atsumu just trudged into the kitchen. He tossed the keys onto the kitchen table, looking around. "I think I'll take some of the pots and pans," Atsumu said to no one in particular. "Buy myself a little apartment in the city. I can't live in your place forever, Omi."

"Of course," Sakusa agreed, but it was lackluster. I wouldn't mind having you around. It makes the place less lonely.

"Don't worry, though." Atsumu grinned at him over his shoulder. "I won't move far. You can call me over anytime."

Why does this feel like a goodbye? Sakusa frowned when Atsumu turned back. "You... You can stay with me until you find a job. You've been looking, right?"

"Mostly part-time stuff, but yeah," confirmed Atsumu, digging through the kitchen cabinets for good cooking equipment. "I've got three interviews lined up next week. If I play my cards right, I can live a casual life. Not exactly what I envisioned for myself but hey," he placed a pot on the counter, "a living's a living."

Together, they collected from the house everything Atsumu would need to sustain himself in his hypothetical studio apartment. Sakusa had a powerful urge to scrub every surface in the house but refrained from doing so. He had only brought along one bottle of sanitizer spray anyway, and it was already half-empty from disinfecting the plane seats and the taxi seats.

It was late in the afternoon, that golden sunlight pouring in through the windows, when they were finishing up.

"That should do it," Atsumu huffed, wiping sweat off his brow as he sealed closed his third cardboard box. "We should call a Wuber down to our hotel."

"Hotel?" Sakusa parroted. "I didn't book a hotel. I'd assumed that we'd be staying the night at your place."

"What?!" Atsumu was flabbergasted. "No way I wanna spent another moment in this place!"

"Sorry. I just assumed."

"I—" Atsumu sighed. "It's fine."

"I'll look up one right now," Sakusa promised, whipping out his phone. "Oh, and..." He stopped typing, flexing one hand when the glove stuck uncomfortably to his skin. "Isn't there one more room in the house that you haven't cleared out yet?"

Atsumu knew which one Sakusa was talking about. Sakusa could see it on his face—Atsumu never had been very good at hiding his feelings. He was like Komori, in a way. Sakusa liked it. He didn't know what he would do if Atsumu turned out to be someone like him—the last thing the world needed was another Sakusa Kiyoomi.

"Nothin' gets past you, huh, Omi?" Atsumu smiled, but it was strained.

"If you want," offered Sakusa, "I'll do it for you. You can book us the hotel instead."

"No—I probably shouldn't avoid it."

"I'll go with you, then."

Atsumu didn't object to that. They left the remaining boxes on the front porch, trusting that no one would dash out of the woods and steal them. The house was pretty isolated from the neighborhood and surrounded by woodland.

The way Atsumu gingerly opened the door to his childhood bedroom made Sakusa wonder if there was some horrible monster hiding in there. But there was nothing—the room was... ordinary. Something flashed in Atsumu's brown eyes—something pained and longing. The room was not completely devoid of all life—there were several indications that there had been children residing here once.

A cork-board hanging on a nail in the wall. Nothing stuck on it, but several holes in the material suggested that there'd once been many things—posters and papers and children's drawings—pinned to it.

Sakusa nearly stubbed his toe on the box of toys pushed up against the foot of the bed. Like every other surface, there was a thick layer of dust on the lid. When he looked at the bunk bed, he noticed that there were no mattresses on the bedframes. They wouldn't have been able to sleep here, anyway—Sakusa would definitely have to book that hotel.

"Huh," Atsumu said. "Dad really stripped the place down. I'm surprised he didn't sell everything, though." He chanced a glance up the wall, softening when he saw a torn poster still taped in place.

NCA MORREM!, said the poster, which made no sense to Sakusa.

"God," Atsumu whispered harshly when he saw the thing. "I can't believe it's still here."

Sakusa didn't question it. Instead, he directed his attention to a cardboard box on the elongated study desk—he could tell it had been designed for more than one child to sit at. It looked out of place in the room. "Oi, Atsumu."

"Yeah?" Noticing the box as well, Atsumu padded over. "Huh. This is..."

Sakusa checked the label. "From the Tokyo police."

"'Samu's things," realized Atsumu, gulping.

They must have been retrieved from his apartment during the investigation. Now that it was over, they had sent them back to Osamu's next of kin—Miya Hozumi.

There was a beat before Atsumu all but tore the box open with his bare hands. They were shaking, but Sakusa didn't say a word about it. For a celebrity chef, Osamu didn't have many personal belongings. He supposed being extorted by his own father figure—the same one that ended up killing him—was probably why.

A handwritten journal filled with recipes. Most of them had something to do with rice. A quick flip through it told Sakusa that Osamu hadn't been very interested in desserts at all—he'd enjoyed making and eating savory foods more. He didn't even want to become a dessert chef, Sakusa closed the book, He just did it because it was in fashion and likely what Shō wanted him to do. And it had worked—prior to his death, Miya Osamu's popularity had been climbing fast—but at the cost of Osamu's own happiness.

The only other things in there were a copy of an old video game—one that ran on an obsolete gaming system—a mini rice cooker, some crumpled up sketches of logos for an imaginary business called Onigiri Miya, an empty wallet, and—

Atsumu fished out two phones—one was a silver flip phone and the other was a smartphone with a cracked screen. Atsumu chuckled, humorless. "His first phone," he told Sakusa, holding up the pearly silver one. "I had a black one of the exact same model, but I broke it some years back. Damn. It's just like freakin' 'Samu to keep his in mint condition." His voice cracked. "Sensitive bastard." He tried turning it on, but it was completely dead. Putting it aside for now, Atsumu turned his attention on the smartphone.

Sakusa vaguely recognized the model—it had been incredibly popular during its time.

"'Course ma bought him another one," Atsumu scoffed, pressing down on the on switch. "He was always the favori—eh?" The phone's screen lit up. "No way. This still works?"

"Apparently."

Atsumu snickered, leaning his hip against the desk. "Time to see what secrets ya had, 'Samu."

Osamu had kept his phone locked with a password, but Atsumu cracked it in a matter of seconds.

51095—the twins' birthday.

The battery was on less than twenty percent. It would probably die soon.

"He didn't even have any games," complained Atsumu, talking a little too fast for Sakusa to believe that he wasn't affected by this. "How boring. What are these? Cooking apps? Lame."

Absentmindedly, Atsumu scrolled through Osamu's gallery. There were less than a hundred pictures. Most of them were of food, but there were a few of Osamu with his middle school classmates. Sakusa even recognized one of them from his volleyball days—Akaashi Keiji, who had played Fukuroudani as their setter. In this picture—sitting with Osamu and some nameless, baby-faced classmates with a birthday cake in front of them—he would've still been in middle school.

There wasn't much to see.

The phone was almost dead now—ten percent.

"Guess that's all." Atsumu was about to drop it back into the box when his thumb accidentally brushed across the voice memo app. He stared down at it, blinking at the one memo that had been saved onto the phone. "What the...?" Turning the volume up to the highest it could go, Atsumu held the bottom of the phone up to his ear and played the message.

"Hey... 'Tsumu. It's that time of year again."

Atsumu's breath hitched, flinching away from the phone like he had been struck.

"Did... Did you get any presents this year? Ah, fuck... That's probably a dumb question, huh?"

"Fuck," said Atsumu, the color draining from his cheeks. "Fuck—I—" He paused it. "Why?"

"You don't have to listen to it," Sakusa said, gently. "Put it down."

"No, I," he swallowed a lump in his throat, "I hafta do this. I... I want to."

Sakusa nodded. "Alright. I'll be right here."

"Thanks." Licking his lips nervously, Atsumu resumed the audio message.

"Um... This is gonna sound like a huge brag, but I swear it ain't. I got a lotta presents this year. Like, a shit ton. I don't even know what ta do with 'em. I think I'll give 'em all away. Or sell 'em. It's weird, but... The stuff we used to get each other for our birthday, even all the dumb and shitty stuff... I miss that. I miss you, 'Tsumu. Even if you were a fuckin' bastard to me the last time we talked. I'm still mad, by the way. But... I miss ya, okay? I just do. I think I'm gonna delete this later. Bye."

The message ended.

Atsumu didn't say anything. Just slumped against the table. He hung his head, hair falling over his eyes. "I told you, didn't I?" he rasped. "What... a stupid, sensitive asshole..."

"Atsumu—"

He looked up, hiccuping with tears. "Goddammit! That little fucker! If you missed me so much, why didn't ya ever call?!" Sakusa startled. He'd never seen Atsumu cry so hard before. His chest heaved with each sob, tears falling heavy and fast and teeth drawing blood from his bottom lip. The phone clattered to the floor as Atsumu doubled over and buried his face in his hands and bawled. "'Samu... 'Samu...!"

Birds chirped outside.

Wordlessly, Sakusa wrapped his arms around Atsumu's head and brought him close.


They rode the Wuber to the hotel in silence, boxes rattling in the car boot. Sakusa answered work emails on his phone while Atsumu stared out the window, eyes swollen and faraway. Occasionally, Sakusa would spare him a glance, but there was nothing to be said.

What a shitty day. Atsumu watched the trees slowly transform into urban space. He felt absolutely drained of energy. It hadn't taken long for him to make his decision—Osamu's box of things now rocked dangerously along with the other three boxes in the back. The hole in his heart had grown bigger all of a sudden—or maybe it had always been this big and Atsumu hadn't registered it until now. He wished Sakusa would say something but he probably didn't know how to string a sentence to him right now. No matter. His company was appreciated at any rate.

After they arrived at the hotel, Atsumu and Sakusa unloaded the boxes. The bellhop took care of the rest of it, and they were sent to their room with the promise of their things being delivered to them soon.

Atsumu threw himself on the bed on the left while Sakusa punched in the wifi password on his phone. "I want to take a nap," he declared. "For the rest of my life."

"That's called dying, Atsumu," Sakusa said, raising his head from his phone. "Please don't die."

"Yeah, yeah." Atsumu groaned, rolling in bed. "I won't. I promise."

"Good. Is there anything you want to do while we're here?"

At that, he sat up. "Like sex?"

Sakusa rolled his eyes. "Not now. We're both filthy and I'm not in the mood. I was thinking of room service."

Ah. That was probably a better idea. Atsumu's stomach growled. He hadn't even realized how hungry he was—they had not eaten since before they got onto their morning flight. "Can we get hotpot?" One with lots of seafood.

"I'm looking through the menu on their website," reported Sakusa, "They have hotpot, but you have to buy your own ingredients from downtown. They only provide the gas stove."

He was still drained, but it was only the right thing to do. So Atsumu said, "I'll go. I know my way around this place, anyway. Go shower, Omi-Omi—I know yer dyin' to."

Sakusa cleared his throat. "Is it that obvious?"

Atsumu chuckled. "Extremely." Going outside to clear his head was just what he needed as well. He liked Sakusa, but he really needed some alone time right now. "I'll be back in an hour."

"Alright."

The fresh air that hit his face when he stepped out of the hotel was magical. His stuffy nose was already beginning to go away, but Atsumu was positive that he looked awful right now. Ah, who cares? He sniffed, heading to the nearest grocery store. Leave it to 'Samu to do a number on me when he's already dead... His throat bobbed and his eyes burned but he didn't want to cry again. Eyes wet with unshed tears, Atsumu squared his shoulders and began the short walk to Amino Mart.

The town—just a little outside Kobe—was just like he remembered it to be. It wasn't a big town, but it wasn't small either. There was Ms. Yamada's flower store across the road, and the music centre at the end of the street... Ah, and Amino Mart. It sat on a street corner and took up a large space—they'd expanded during the time Atsumu was gone. The supermarket now had a small parking lot.

One, two, three, four—eight. There were eight cars parked in the lot and one of them probably belonged to the old lady hobbling out of the store with her grocery bags. Atsumu would've helped her, but by the time he reached the entrance, she was already reversing her car.

Let's see, Atsumu made a list in his head. I'll get some fatty tuna. If Omi doesn't like tuna, too bad. And some squid, and tofu skins, and lots of enoki mushrooms. He ate the mushrooms like they were noodles. Garlic and chili and oyster sauce to make paste... I should probably get some lettuce, too. Atsumu picked up a red basket, putting his arm through the handles.

He was browsing the freezer section for gyoza when tiny footsteps reached his ears. Atsumu turned his head to the side to see a little girl—probably three or four—running up to him. She was wearing a green apron with the words Amino Mart stitched across the front.

"Hi there, mister!" she chirped, pigtails bouncing as she waved at him. "My name's Hamamura Yoko! Do ya need any help?"

Amused, Atsumu humored her. "I'm lookin' for some gyoza. Ya know which brand's the best?" What a cute kid. I wonder where her parents are, though. Since she was wearing the apron, she was probably a friend of the Amino family.

"Ooh! Yes, I do! It's..." Yoko squinted before pointing at a bag with a red stripe on it. "That-a one!"

"Oh? That one has kimchi stuffing."

"Yeah! We im... imported it from Korea!" She beamed up at him, obviously proud that she had managed to pronounce such a hard word. "It's veery popular, mister!"

"Huh." Atsumu opened the fridge and took one. He dumped it into his basket. "I'll take yer word for it, kid."

"Yay!"

A chubby woman—also wearing an Amino Mart apron—appeared around the corner, looking rather hassled. When she spotted Yoko she ran toward them, sighing exasperatedly at the child. "Yoko! How many times do I have to tell you not to disturb the customers?"

"Mama, Mama!" Yoko chattered excitedly, grabbing the woman's thick calf. "I made a sale!"

"Sorry," the woman looked up at Atsumu, "I didn't she'd... Miya Atsumu? Is that you?"

Atsumu stared at her. Then he made a choked noise. "Wha—Amino-san?! Amino Maaya?" This kid is hers?! The old resentment he held toward her couldn't even surface at the moment.

Amino gaped. "I thought ya skipped town!"

"And I thought you'd..." Be busy ruining someone else's life. Atsumu didn't say the last part, wisely. "So... ya work here... Full-time. I'm guessin'. You inherited?"

"That's right." Amino smiled weakly. She was probably remembering their history. "My parents retired two years ago. It's my store now. Well, mine and Natsuo's."

Natsuo... The name rang a bell in Atsumu's head. "Wait... Natsuo... Hamamura Natsuo?" The soccer idiot?! After years of chasing fruitlessly after Amino during middle school, Natsuo had finally gotten what he wanted. Only now, Amino was overweight and the very definition of a suburban mother. Atsumu could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"That's my daddy!" cheered Yoko.

"You and Natsuo tied the knot," Atsumu said out loud. "Wow."

"Got married straight outta high school," Amino elaborated. "We had Yoko a year later."

"I see." Atsumu kept his tone neutral.

This was too weird. His middle school bullies had gotten married in an unholy matrimony. And from what he could tell just by speaking to Amino, she had changed. She wasn't the same two-faced bitch as she had been. Or maybe she had just mellowed out a little. In any case, she was different. She had a daughter, for god's sake. A daughter. Atsumu would have pitied the child had he not seen how she clung to Amino with pure adoration.

"Well," Amino started, breaking the awkward silence. "I guess... It's good to see ya again."

Atsumu laughed. "No need ta kid yerself, Amino-san."

"I'm not kiddin', though," Amino said, sincerely. "It's... It's funny, isn't it? How life turns out." A pause. "I heard about yer twin. I'm sorry, Atsumu-san. For everything."

"Nah," Atsumu said, even as hot knives drove through his chest at the reminder of Osamu. "I don't need ta hear it from ya. I'll just get outta yer hair..."

"Oh. Yes, of course... Yoko, do you still remember how to use the register? Help Atsumu-san scan his groceries."

"Ooh!" Yoko dashed to the counter. "I remember, I remember!"

He didn't know why, but there was a heavy ache in his heart as he observed Amino correct her daughter's mistakes. For Atsumu, the curtains of childhood had long been drawn shut, but seeing his old classmate grown and gentle and with a child of her own... It was humbling, in a way. He would never be able to forget that Amino had done to him in the past—the axe forgets, but the tree remembers—but he would not allow it weigh him down anymore.

"She's a good kid," Atsumu told Amino as Yoko cautiously bagged his items, unable to completely erase the tinge of sadness in his voice.

"Yes." Amino's smile was mellow. "She is."

Atsumu thanked Amino, said goodbye to a pouting Yoko, and returned to Sakusa with the hotpot ingredients.


The hotpot was delicious. Atsumu burped—much to Sakusa's dismay—and sat back in his chair. "That hit the spot."

"Yes," Sakusa said dryly, "I can tell."

Despite being sober, Atsumu felt almost drunk. "Hey, Omi-Omi? Did I ever thank you?"

Sakusa, whose eyes had been drooping shut, gave him a look. "For what?"

"Saving my life."

"Probably."

"Because," Atsumu sat up and leaned forward on the table, "It's good to be here. I didn't think there would be a life after 'Samu. But... there is. And I'm here now." I'm here with you, and Amino and Natsuo are married with a kid and in love and Shiko-san makes the best cookies.

Sakusa seemed to understand, the edges in him rounding out slowly. "Good," he said, curt and perhaps a tad embarrassed. "Just—good. Your life's not over yet, Atsumu. I... I would miss you, if you were gone."

"Of course you would," crowed Atsumu, grinning archly. "Who wouldn't?" Then he sobered up again. "Today had me thinkin'. 'Bout a lot of things. But... I dunno why, but I can't get dad outta my head."

"Your dad? That asshole?"

"The scumbag, yep. The one and the same." Atsumu's elbow bumped against the portable stove. "The thing is... He wasn't a total asshole. And that's what makes him the worst."

"I'm not following."

Atsumu fiddled with his hands. "Well... About five or so years ago, I decided to run away from home. For good. Dad caught me packing. I thought he was gonna beat me like he usually did, but... It was one of the few fuckin' times he was sober." He closed his eyes, seeing Hozumi's pitiful expression before it went away, leaving the man faceless. "Guess there was a reason why ma married him after all. No one can be a bag of dicks for their whole lives. He gave me money. Apparently, he saved up for me. Can you fuckin' believe it? Sometimes, I still can't." Atsumu gripped the table, trembling. "Why? Why did he decide to be a good dad for once in his fuckin' life? Did he think that it'd just take away everythin' he did ta me? Did ta me and 'Samu and ma? I still don't get him. Now he's dead. I'll never know what was going through his head. And I don't need to 'cause I don't care, but—I can't totally hate him. And that's the worst. I want to—I want to hate him so bad because he's a piece of shit, but I can't." Imploringly, Atsumu stared at Sakusa. "Do you know how it feels like? Not... being able to hate someone even though they deserve it?"

It was a rather heavy thing to drop on poor, unsuspecting Sakusa, but the other man was handling this better than he thought. Ashamed, Atsumu lowered his gaze. Sakusa didn't need to be burdened with all of his troubles—

"I think I do."

What? Atsumu snapped back up. "Really?"

"I had a difficult relationship with my father, too," Sakusa admitted. "Though it was more one-sided than yours. For a long time, I resented him. Or tried to, at least. I wanted to reject everything he stood for, but I couldn't. Because his values were my values. He was a good man, but he wasn't a good father." He tilted his head, languid. "He's dead, too. And me? I still can't hate him. I know our situations aren't the same... But I think I understand how you feel."

Atsumu smirked. "So. We're just two guys with daddy issues, huh?"

"Tch. You have a gift for saying things in the worst ways."

They took turns brushing their teeth at the sink. Sakusa had already showered beforehand, so Atsumu hopped in without any issue. When he came back out, fully dressed and toweling off his hair, he found the beds pushed together. Sakusa was already in bed, reading glasses perched on his nose as he read something on his phone.

"Eh?" Atsumu gawked at the sight, towel sliding off from his head and falling into a heap on the floor.

"Come to bed," Sakusa droned, not looking up from his phone. "I'm almost done. We can sleep right after—I'm exhausted." His eyes met Atsumu's. "Aren't you?"

Trying to redirect the flow of his blood to a more helpful place, Atsumu dove into the now king-sized bed. He wriggled under the covers, resting his head on Sakusa's shoulder. The last thing Atsumu had expected from today was to cuddle Sakusa in bed, but there was no way he was passing up the opportunity.

Sakusa's clothes smelled like his usual laundry detergent.

Atsumu didn't mind.

They smelled like home.

"Omi?" Atsumu said sleepily.

"Hm?"

I think I love you. "Nah. It's nothin'." Atsumu closed his eyes, their bodies pressed together. "G'night, Omi."

"Goodnight, Atsumu."


The work email was more complicated than Sakusa had first anticipated. When he finally did put his phone down, his eyes and fingers were aching. Taking off his spectacles and putting them on the nightstand, Sakusa peered down at Atsumu. Asleep, Atsumu appeared at peace with the world, free of all of his worries.

Sakusa softened, carefully brushing a strand of blond hair away from his face.

I think—

I might love you.