Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Suddenly last summer Kiyoomi fled his expensive Tokyo University, withdrawing the entirety of his allowance for the semester and stuffing whatever clothes he was able to fit into a suitcase before stepping on the nearest bullet train out of the city. It’d been a blur, he took another train, then another two buses, until the houses thinned and he was surrounded by trees and rice fields and realisation dawned on him as he dragged his suitcase down a dirt road that he made a mistake.

Now he’s a ghost. Or as much as one as he can be. They’re in their private beach villa on Chichijima, an island inhabited by barely one-thousand people. He and Atsumu stick out like sore thumbs amongst the locals, but Atsumu has an identical twin who lives out here, running a guest house and restaurant which Atsumu works at part-time, charming away any suspicions of the why and how they came to such a remote island.

The twins have their own secrets and Kiyoomi isn’t sure whether Osamu is privy to all of Atsumu’s, but he doesn’t pry and instead finds himself lost in editing his first manuscript simply published under the initials K.S. Only Motoya knows and his cousin has never been famous for his ability to keep secrets, so Kiyoomi wouldn’t be surprised if his brother and sister and perhaps his mother knows where he is, though he doubts they’ll come looking. 

Lounged on his stomach on their king-sized bed, the patio doors are open, leading to the pure white sand of the beach. Atsumu is somewhere along the beach, tossing a volleyball with his brother and their tight circle of friends. Out here they’re normal, living the picture perfect life where nobody asks questions, and nobody knows who they are. It’s the strangest chapter of Kiyoomi’s life, and he sits with a pen and paper and writes a (highly, of course) fictionalised version of the events.

Somewhere in southern Honshu, Summer 1979

One year ago

The cicadas are deafening. Sticky heat clings in the air as Kiyoomi drags his scuffed cowhide suitcase along the tarmac, his map clenched tightly in his free hand. His shoulders ache and his palms are raw from clutching the handle, sweat has soaked through the back of his cream linen shirt, the fabric clinging to him in a way that makes him want to crawl out of his own body. The germs and stench of the public bus cling to him like a second skin, and he is most definitely lost.

Dust stubbornly sticks to his bell-bottoms, high-waisted and perfectly pressed when he boarded the train in Tokyo early that morning. They’re now wrinkled and the bottoms are two shades darker than the rest of the tailored fabric. He slips, almost tripping, as his loafers skid on the gravelly ground. In his frustration, Kiyoomi almost screams, kicking a stone into the road. He’s certain the bus driver misled him on purpose, he departed the country bus an hour ago and started walking in the direction the driver told him and so far all he can see is rolling hills, forests, and mosquitos the size of his pinkie. 

He’s going to die out here, he’s certain of it. Miles away from home, in the middle of nowhere. Kiyoomi can just picture it — the disappointed shake of his parents' heads as his casket is lowered into the ground. Death by stubbornness. This is what he gets for wanting a life for himself, for not wanting to finish a degree in fucking business studies, for not wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps and take over as head of the Sakusa Group. At least Motoya would be sad, maybe auntie too. 

The road curves sharply and when he rounds the bend one of the wheels on his suitcase catches on a sharp stone and there’s a loud snap as it comes loose, no longer turning as he drags it along. Brilliant! The sun is two, maybe not even that, hours from setting and he’s alone out here with a broken suitcase full of things he doesn’t even need. Expensive cologne and useless designer clothes and jewellery and nothing that would actually save his life if he started to suffer from dehydration or sickness.

Ahead the earth drops away into a cliffside overlook and a wide sweep of green forest stretches below like a deep green sea. For a moment, he forgets his irritation as he approaches the rickety fence at the edge of the cliff. The view is startling in its vastness, the trees rippling faintly in the summer air, leading all the way into the horizon. 

Jelly legs give way and he tumbles, catching himself on the fence which creaks in protest, clearly one strong gust of wind from collapsing. The suitcase tips over beside him with a dull thud. He pulls his knees up, resting his arms against them, and stares out at the sun as it hangs low in the sky. His stomach rumbles.

A fleeting thought passes through his mind, unwanted: What is stopping him from never going back? What if he just— leaned a little closer— it wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

The roar of an engine cuts through the cicadas and there’s a deafening screech of tires in the near-distance. It halts his thoughts, startling him upright and pulling him back to the present.

Lifting his head, Kiyoomi hears the blaring sounds of some city pop from a cheap cassette player right before a silver RX-3 spins around the bend, spitting gravel up in the air before it comes to a sudden stop mere metres from where Kiyoomi is doubled-over.

When the dust settles, the handsome driver leans an elbow out of the window, turning down his blaring music. Dyed blond hair catches in the sun and a charming smile is plastered across his tanned face. He flicks his sunglasses down his nose and looks Kiyoomi up and down. Patterned Hawaiian shirt flaps in the gentle breeze, half-unbuttoned with a pristine wife-beater underneath. 

“Well, well,” he drawls in an unfamiliar kansai-ben, his gaze flicking from Kiyoomi to the sudden drop of the cliff. “I didn’t just interrupt yer final moments, did I?”

Stiffening, Kiyoomi rises slowly to his feet, feeling wobbly on his tired legs. “I’m not— I wasn’t– mind your business.”

“Relax,” Mr. Handsome interrupts, waving a hand. “Just havin’ a look, huh? There are some nice views out here.” He tilts his head toward the forested valley below, but his grin stays fixed on Kiyoomi. “Yer a little twiggy but I don’t think that fence is goin’ to hold yer weight forever.”

Taking an abrupt step back, Kiyoomi stands awkwardly, glaring at the stranger as though his presence offends him. Flies buzz around his face, and he feels the hot stickiness of sweat clinging to his skin. The last thing he needs is some stranger taking up his time when he’s so in need of a shower and a place to rest– 

“Ya wanna ride, pretty boy?” The stranger continues, leaning out to observe Kiyoomi’s clothes. “Somethin’ tells me yer not here fer the hikin’”

Kiyoomi’s eyes narrow. His polished loafers glint faintly in the sun, now hopelessly scuffed and dusty. On instinct, he grabs for his suitcase and tugs it to his side protectively.  “I don’t need a ride,” he snaps.

The driver laughs – a warm, teasing sound that carries over the sound of the engine and the cicadas. “Ya sure about that? It’ll be dark in two hours, and it’s another 12km to the next village, I don’t see ya makin’ it in those shoes.”

“I don’t accept favours from strangers,” Kiyoomi responds stubbornly. “I will make my own way just fine.”

“Oh! My ma used to smack me behind the head fer how rude I can be. Name’s Atsumu…Miya, but ya can call me Atsumu,” the stranger rattles on, ignoring Kiyoomi’s stubborn insistence. “It gets real dark out here. All sorts of weirdos parade these roads.”

“Like you?” Blurts Kiyoomi before he can stop himself. He is prepared to quickly bow and apologise when the stranger laughs out loud. 

“Way worse out there than me,” he tells Kiyoomi cryptically. “I’m bein’ deadly serious doll, ya really goin’ to walk all the way when ya can’t even read that map.”

“My map reading skills are sufficient, thank you.”

“It’s upside-down,” he points out with a shrug. “But o-kay.”

Something about the way the way the stranger carries himself makes Kiyoomi hesitate and consider his proposition. This Miya isn’t exactly a creep lurking down a dark alley with a van full of candy, he’s young – only a few years older than Kiyoomi, friendly and well put-together. Loud and a little rude, but his clothes and hair are neat. Flushing, he stares down at his ruined shoes, irritated at himself for even thinking of entertaining him.

“...I’m headin’ into town myself, on a little road trip. It won’t sit right with me to leave ya out here all by yerself when anythin’ could happen with ya by yerself.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, where Miya blinks and smiles widely at Kiyoomi while he waits for his answer, as though knowing that Kiyoomi’s resolve is beginning to crack. 

“...Fine,” Kiyoomi eventually mutters, gripping the suitcase handle tighter. “But you can drop me off somewhere where there’s a phone, or at a train station, and I’ll figure the rest out myself.”

Miya’s grin widens, blindingly so. “That’s what I like to hear. Your chariot awaits ser.”

Opening the car door, Miya steps out onto the road, dressed stylishly for a country boy in dusty jeans and blue-green Onitsuka Tiger’s. Kiyoomi hesitates as he steps forward, handing Miya his suitcase for god only knows what reason. 

“The name’s Sakusa,” Kiyoomi says with a low bow, so blinded by Miya’s loud presence he had forgotten his manners. “I’m grateful for your help, really.”

“Ain’t no trouble, Sakusa-kun, figured ya were down on yer luck, dressed as smart as ya are way out here alone.”

“Smart?” Kiyoomi mumbles to himself as his suitcase is popped on the cramped backseat. He glances down at his dishevelled appearance – from his creased clothes to the layer of dust and grime from the day’s travel. 

“About anyone can tell yer from the big city dressed like a whole model, c’mon, get in.” Miya settles back into the drivers side and Kiyoomi tentatively steps around the rear of the Mazda and settles into the passenger side. It’s…surprisingly pristine. Freshly and meticulously cleaned.

“Sorry, my clothes will dirty your clean car,” he apologises once he has buckled his belt and Atsumu is pulling back onto the wide road without signalling. There’s a lingering smell of bleach and Kiyoomi notices several air fresheners hanging from the front mirror that bounce as Atsumu takes off down the road. He is meticulously tidy, which Kiyoomi immediately appreciates – though he is instantly embarrassed by how unkempt he looks.

Though for the first time since leaving Tokyo, Kiyoomi feels as though the day might not be a total disaster. 

The Mazda sways slightly as Atsumu takes a sharp bend, one hand on the steering wheel while the other hangs out of the window and taps along to the music. Kiyoomi grips the edge of his seat, seconds from telling Miya to slow down when the man beats him to it. 

“Ya know,” Atsumu casually starts, his toned hair effortlessly catching the sunlight as he glances at Kiyoomi, “Ya caught my interest, I’m curious. What’s yer story? Why’re ya out here alone?”

Brushing a stray curl from his forehead, Kiyoomi shrugs, unsure if he should divulge the truth. “I’m… travelling a little,” he says stiffly. “I like nature.”

Atsumu’s laugh is loud and a little teasing and the sound makes Kiyoomi flinch. 

“Travellin’, huh? Coulda fooled me, dressed like ya just stepped off some runway. Not exactly what I’d wear to go campin’, but ya sure do look good in any case.”

Kiyoomi frowns, annoyed — though secretly preening at the compliment, even if Miya is subtly making fun of him. “I just…Value appearances.”

“I can see that,” Atsumu says as he looks him up and down – no longer paying attention to the long, straight road ahead. His eyes glint with excitement. “So…Let me guess, yer runnin’ from someone or somethin’, on a whim, that’s why yer wearin’ yer normal clothes.” His grin widens and for a moment, his eyes flick down to Kiyoomi’s lap and Kiyoomi squirms, thighs clenched together. The scrutiny both excites and unsettles him—

Surely Miya isn’t also—?

Kiyoomi flushes at the dangerous train of thought, scowling at the pristine dashboard. “That isn’t any of your business. Do you always pry into the affairs of strangers?”

They swerve past an oncoming car and Kiyoomi grips the door, suddenly grateful for skipping lunch. “Strangers? Come on, we’re friends now, Sakusa-kun. I’m trustworthy. Mostly.” He laughs again, winking. “And ya gotta tell me yer given name, I toldja mine.”

“We are not that familiar, Miya,” Kiyoomi responds, clipped. The car lurches over a dip in the road and Kiyoomi’s stomach goes with it.

“What? Ya can’t look at me like that, don’t shoot me down fer wantin’ to get to know the pretty boy in the car next to me.” 

Mouth dropping open, Kiyoomi looks at Miya, at a loss for words. Pretty, he mouths, shaking his head in disbelief. Kiyoomi isn’t a stranger to whatever this is. Tokyo’s gay scene is lowkey, but it exists. He knows when a man is flirting. He decides to combat it from a different angle.

“Stop teasing me,” he retorts, the tips of his ears glowing as pink as his cheeks – which he’ll blame on the heat.

“Teasin’? Ya got me all wrong, baby.” Baby. Kiyoomi glances at Miya through his dark lashes, the man’s eyes lidded and alluring. “Only in a way that’s fun…Now, that name, or I really will tease it outta ya.”

The words are innocent enough, but Kiyoomi can’t help but think...other things that he shall not repeat. The car speeds up a little more, the engine roaring. In spite of the wind blowing against his face through the open window, he feels himself sweat.

“...Kiyoomi…” he utters quietly.

Miya turns down the music until all that can be heard is the scrape of gravel and the boom of the car engine. “What was that, darlin’?”

“Kiyoomi,” he says, louder and faster, averting his gaze when Miya glances sideways at him.

“Ki-y-oomi,” Miya says slowly, savouring each elongated syllable. “Pretty, Omi-kun.”

“Omi-kun?” Kiyoomi gasps, scandalised. “We hardly know one another. The flirting was one thing but this is–”

“Flirtin’?” Miya smirks, turning off the highway to a smaller junction leading towards what looks like a nearby town. “That’s what we’re callin’ this now?”

“Asshole,” Kiyoomi grumbles under his breath, glancing out to read the road signs. Truthfully, he has no idea where he is – but edging into the beginnings of civilisation is promising. “You are too bold.”

“Just confident I’ll getcha to smile before the end of the day,” Miya says smugly, confidence oozing from him. Tires skid on the asphalt as they zip around another corner, passing a few lone houses and rice fields. “Life’s borin’ without any risks.”

Kiyoomi pointedly twists his body to look out of the window, lest he start smiling already. “...You expect me to blindly trust you? A stranger taking me somewhere I’ve never been before.”

“You got in the car, didn’t ya?” Miya asks him, “seems like ya already do, or yer cravin’ some kinda rush ya can’t get with the borin’ fucks up in Tokyo.”

Jaw tightening, Kiyoomi tries to ignore the warmth that creeps up from his chest to his cheeks. “You’re wrong,” he states unconvincingly. “It’s not like that…”

“Uh-huh,” teases Miya, “sure it ain’t.”

They sit in a companionable silence for a few moments as Kiyoomi sits and enjoys the sun in his face and the wind whipping against him. It’s oddly peaceful, in spite of the loud engine and the way Miya beats his hand on the steering wheel to the beat of whatever upbeat song is playing. It’s so peaceful in fact, and Kiyoomi is so tired from the day’s travelling, that for a moment he lets his eyes roll closed to truly soak everything in. 

The road narrows and Miya slows, turning a corner into the outskirts of town. They hit what feels like a pothole, the car jolting. As it does so, there’s a loud bump coming from the rear of the car and a pained sound that has Kiyoomi bolting upright, looking behind him, certain he heard something – right as Miya turns the volume back up and starts singing obnoxiously loudly to the music.

“Ya know this one?” He calls over the loudness of the speakers. Kiyoomi shakes his head, the brief peacefulness passing. “Shame, I bet yer ace at karaoke.”

“Do you have to play it so loud?” 

Miya nods his head, singing louder until the instrumental starts and he turns it down a notch, quiet enough for them to talk again. “Sorry, Omi-kun, driver picks the music.”

“It’s…Fine,” Kiyoomi says, shifting his hands in his lap. As they drive through the quiet town, Miya chattering away as he points out the various sights, Kiyoomi glances in the back seat at his suitcase, and then out of the rear window. For some reason he feels unsettled. “Is there a train station here?”

“Huh? A train?” Miya shrugs, “maybe, but not at this time. It’s six, out here in the sticks there aren’t that many, ‘specially not at this time.”

Kiyoomi’s stomach sinks.

“What about a bus? I just need to get to a bigger town, wherever we are.”

Miya snorts, breaks squeaking as he abruptly slows, turning into a small parking lot between a convenience store and a small clothing boutique. “Do ya even know what prefecture yer in?”

Kiyoomi flushes and looks away.

“Another hour’s drive south and we’re in Kyushu, baby. Yer a long way from home.” That makes Kiyoomi start – he made it all the way to Kyushu? Or thereabouts? He was in Tokyo twelve hours ago…He knew he was somewhere far away, but he thought he stopped off at Hyogo, that maybe he could make his way to Okayama for a night or two in the morning.

Regret pools low in his stomach as the Mazda rolls to a stop in a parking space, the engine cutting. Miya seems to notice Kiyoomi’s turmoil as he unclips his belt and he touches his arm, making Kiyoomi jump and pull it back suddenly, looking at Miya as though burned.

“Woa, I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” Miya quickly apologises, his hands raised. “Yer just lookin’ pale all of a sudden. Ya didn’t mean to come way out here, didja?”

Kiyoomi bristles, though after a moment’s hesitation, nods meekly. “I…Don’t know why I came. I just got on the bullet train, then another, then another, then bus after bus and—” he abruptly stops. “I’m not sure why I came here.”

“Well we don’t hafta figure it out right away, ya got enough cash on ya, yeah?”

“I don’t think I should be telling you that,” Kiyoomi scowls, the wallet hidden inside his back pocket burning a hole in the soft material.

“Alright, alright fair. If I was goin’ to rob ya I’d have done it by now and left ya by the side of the road. Come on, let’s go find some grub.”

Sliding out of the car with ease, Miya closes the door and leaves Kiyoomi sat dumbfounded, wondering what the hell he is doing here. Quickly scrambling out of the car, he races after Miya – who is already walking towards the road, and stops him.

“I– thank you for the ride, really,” he starts, “I would have been stuck in the dark otherwise. But I should be getting to a ryokan to clean up.”

“Aren’t ya hungry?” Miya asks him with a slight cock of his head. “Figured we could get some ramen.”

“No,” Kiyoomi says stiffly, his stomach growling audibly. Miya raises a brow at him, thumb pointing across the road at a small local ramen shop. “I’m a picky eater.”

“I’ll make it my mission to find ya somethin’ ya like, princeling,” Miya responds with a laugh, shoulders broad against the late afternoon sun as he stretches, his shirt lifting to reveal a strong set of v-lines. “C’mon, it’s only ramen, it won’t kill ya.”

Lips pressing into a thin line, Kiyoomi glances back at the Mazda where his suitcase lies. He should demand his things back, leave, find a ryokan and figure out what the hell he’s doing in the morning. All two-hundred and seven of his sensible bones tell him not to follow this handsome stranger, but Miya’s grin is disarming. He may be irritating, already able to etch under Kiyoomi’s skin, but he feels safe, and in the end, Kiyoomi’s hunger and the need for a connection wins over.

“…Fine,” he mumbles, hardly believing the word as it escapes his lips..

“Atta boy.” Atsumu claps him lightly on the shoulder, far too familiar, and starts down the street with a confident swagger that draws a few curious glances from the locals that pass.

Two elderly women stare at them from a closed shop and a kid riding a bike past them swerves to give them both space. The cicadas are quiet, as though untrusting of strangers here too. Hurriedly following after him, Kiyoomi scowls ahead, entirely out of his comfort zone and yet still so willing to follow.

“I knew I could convince ya,” Miya says with a smirk once Kiyoomi has caught up, falling into step beside him. “Trust me, me and you will have a real adventure.”

The ramen shop is neatly tucked between a grocer’s and an abandoned discount store, the sun-faded noren fluttering in the air. Miya lifts the fabric and holds an arm out for Kiyoomi to pass inside. He passes in front of him, Miya walking so close that Kiyoomi can feel the heat of his body on him. It’s a small joint and the two tables of locals pause their conversations to look briefly in their direction. Soon, only the whir of an old wall-mounted fan and the occasional clink of chopsticks can be heard. They’re stared at for a moment longer before everyone resumes as they were in hushed tones.

“Guess not everyone likes my charm,” Miya whispers close to Kiyoomi’s ear. “Let’s get a table.”

Kiyoomi stiffens at the attention – from both Miya and the room full of strangers eyeing him with suspicion. He supposes he does look a sight – like he’d crawled out of a ditch or a car-wreck. Many locals are dressed in yukata, so he must look as though he’d just stepped off an action movie set. If Miya minds the scrutiny, he doesn’t show it as he flashes a grin and waves at a couple at the table nearby. He steers Kiyoomi to his seat, a hand brushing the small of his back until remembering Kiyoomi’s aversion to touch and he removes it.

Once again, it’s familiar, forward, but exciting. Kiyoomi feels the burn of Miya’s fingers long after he takes a seat at the sticky table.

“Have ya ever been to a place like this?” Miya asks once they’re settled, his eyes scanning the menu before trying to hand it to Kiyoomi – who doesn’t touch it when he sees it’s equally as sticky as the table. “Ya look like ya wanna bolt right out that door, is it really that bad?”

“I have…” Kiyoomi adjusts his shirt sleeve. “I don’t like being out of my comfort zone.”

“Coulda fooled me, from the way ya just left yer cushy life in Tokyo willingly fer this.” An elderly man approaches, and Miya orders ramen for the both of them, and two beers.

“I don’t drink,” Kiyoomi says sharply once the man has left. 

“One won’t kill ya,” Miya responds with a wink. “I ain’t gettin’ ya drunk, ya just look like ya need somethin’ to chill ya out some.”

Jaw clenching, Kiyoomi glares at him for a long moment, knowing now should be his time to leave and make Miya give him his belongings back. Everything that was instilled in him from childhood is telling him that this is dangerous, and he definitely should not give into temptation. Especially from the way Miya’s chest is rather visible from this angle, the wife beater low-cut and leaving little to the imagination. Miya looks like every gym-rat action movie hunk from Kiyoomi’s wet dreams.

And Miya is smiling at him, coy, inviting Kiyoomi to stay. 

Kiyoomi quickly realises he’s starving, his stomach groaning traitorously loud as Miya lounges back in his seat like he knows he’s already won. Kiyoomi sighs, relenting with a nod.

“Relax, Omi,” Miya says with a smirk when two bottles of beer are placed in front of them. Lifting it in the air, Kiyoomi moves the bottle to his lips and Miya clinks them together, grinning. “What’s one more rebellion? I won’t tell mommy and daddy.”

“Again, not running from anything,” lies Kiyoomi, taking a long swig of his beer. He realises then how thirsty he’d been and he drinks it up gratefully as Miya watches him over the neck of his bottle with a charged gaze.

The same elderly man brings their ramen bowls next, steam rising into the air. They each crack their chopsticks and Kiyoomi observes his bowl closely.

As they eat, the quiet calm of the local restaurant easing Kiyoomi’s nerves, the elderly server by the bar tunes a radio, pausing at a news broadcast which he cranks the volume up to listen. Kiyoomi’s attention is briefly pulled to it as he tries to make out the words. He can only make out the middle part, as they talk about a man whose wife and kids are pleading for, and Kiyoomi sits and listens, wondering if there had been a road collision nearby, when Atsumu is flagging the server back down with a wave and an obnoxiously loud greeting and the radio is turned back down.

“We need some chicken gyoza, and wasabi for my prickly friend here,” he says with a grin, gesturing to Kiyoomi who simply glares at him.

“Excuse me?”

“What? Ya look hungry. I heard the chicken here is great. Eat up.”

Kiyooomi doesn’t want to admit it, but he is. Not wanting to seem rude, he begins eating, lifting noodles and a piece of chicken to his lips with a polite stiffness.

It practically melts in his mouth, the meat perhaps the nicest tasting thing he’s had in forever. He tries to savour each bite, but he forgot how hungry he was and he wolfs it down embarrassingly fast. By the time he realises his bad manners, he has sauce on his chin and he’s almost finished his bowl – whereas Miya has barely touched his. Coughing awkwardly, he places down his chopsticks to wipe his mouth and sip his beer.

“Ain’t gotta be embarrassed for being hungry,” Miya tells him, finishing his beer before flagging down the old man for another. “Ya look cute when yer enjoyin’ it.” Blushing, Kiyoomi frowns down at his near-empty bowl. Once again, Miya is confusing him. “Not talkative anymore? Or are ya plannin’ where to go next?”

“Honestly…” Kiyoomi pauses, not quite sure why he’s feeling so open with this stranger. He knows he ought to pull himself together — a single moment of kindness from an attractive man and he’s practically on his knees. No, he thinks, he’s just caught off guard. He really didn’t expect to come across another gay man (he…hopes) way out here in a town of barely three thousand. “I feel like I’m out of my depth. I ought to go crawling back to my father tomorrow. I’m not a fan of grovelling at anyone’s feet, but I don’t have many options. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

“Why’d ya have to go back to him fer?” Miya asks him, starting on his second bottle of beer. “If it makes ya unhappy enough to abandon yer life so abruptly.”

“It’s my family,” Kiyoomi says automatically, as though it were obvious. “I’m employed at his firm while I go through business school, I have a project deadline next week. And I’m certainly not…Going over all the reasons why I left with you. No offence.”

“None taken,” Miya says easily, “yer mysterious. But that’s what I like about ya.”

Kiyoomi feels hot all of a sudden, does he have a permanent blush around Miya? “It’s not a game.”

Miya’s eyes glint with mischief. “You’ve just got me intrigued, fancy salaryman’s son lost out in the middle of nowhere, runnin’ away from his shitty deskjob life. I wanna know more about ya, sue me, besides how cute ya obviously are.”

Kiyoomi scowls harder, wishing he could disappear inside his shirt to hide how red he has become. “I am not cute.”

“Nuh-uh, I never lie,” insists Miya. He leans closer and lowers his voice. “You know, running away can be fun. If ya let it.”

Kiyoomi’s chopsticks hover in the air, opening his mouth to argue before closing it again, considering Miya’s words. Of course it sounds fun, but he’s had his responsibilities drilled into him. There are certain societal expectations when it comes to his life and family, even if he despises them. 

Glancing briefly at the door, Miya looks back at him intently. “We could keep goin’, not forever, just until ya realise how good it is to be free. Then ya can make up yer mind what kinda life fer yerself ya wanna choose. Yer pa is probably already pissed, I doubt a few extra days will make any difference.”

Kiyoomi almost chokes on his food at the audacity of this stranger.  “I’m not… I— absolutely not. I can’t do that, you don’t understand my family, or where I’m from. There are certain expectations.”

“Shhh,” Miya cuts in, waving a hand. “Don’t decide right now. Let’s eat and enjoy the evenin’. Tomorrow, if ya decide ya wanna go home, I’ll help ya get to a train and you’ll never have to see me again.”

With a sigh, Kiyoomi lowers his chopsticks and after a few seconds, nods. He’s tired and only slept for four hours last night after getting home from the office close to midnight. Surely he isn’t thinking straight and hasn’t been thinking straight all day. A good night's sleep in a comfy bed and a soak in a bath will help clear his mind, he decides. In the morning, he can let Miya down gently and get the first train home.

…Even if it’s definitely not what he wants. 

After that, they finish the last of their food and drinks quietly and when Kiyoomi excuses himself to visit the bathroom, Miya pays for their order and is waiting by the entrance with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It’s somehow even hotter when they make it outside, though the sun is beginning to set and Kiyoomi lingers by Miya, wondering where to go from here.

“So,” Miya starts, taking a long drag of his cigarette before offering one to Kiyoomi – which he politely declines. “I’m gettin’ a room at the ryokan up the street. You?”

“I… have yet to decide.”

Miya starts walking down the road, followed by Kiyoomi after a brief hesitation.  “Well, if you’re worried about spending too much money, we could share. I doubt there’s a lotta options in a town this small.”

 Freezing mid-step, Kiyoomi’s eyes widen as a deep flush creeps across his face. “Excuse me?”

“Not like that,” Miya says with a chuckle and a wave of his hand. “Not in the way yer thinkin’, I’m a real gentleman. Just to save money, and make it safer fer us both.”

Hesitating, Kiyoomi eyes him suspiciously, unsure how to respond., “I’m not sure…” he starts, weighing up his options. “I don’t know you.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and Kiyoomi thinks back to his strict parents, how he’s never really dated, and how he’s desperate to do something they disapprove of. Miya Atsumu embodies everything that his parents despise. He makes his decision.

“Fine,” he says, hardly able to comprehend the words as they come out of his mouth. “We can share. But absolutely no funny business. I’m not sleeping with you…This arrangement is for convenience.”

“I was not havin’ any kind of dirty thoughts,” Miya swears, “I prefer to wine and dine ya, see how ya feel on the third date.”

“You’re not making me feel any more comfortable,” grumbles Kiyoomi, suddenly feeling ten degrees hotter. “But we have an agreement. Until tomorrow.”

Grinning broadly, Miya nods.  “Deal. Strictly gentlemanlike. Nothin’ weird.”

They stop by Miya’s car and Kiyoomi retrieves his suitcase, the air between them relaxed. There’s a heavy duffel bag on the other seat, presumably full of Miya’s clothes, though when Kiyoomi turns to leave the man is hovering by his vehicle.

“Go ahead and get us a room,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I gotta get gas and sort somethin’ out, I’ll meet ya there soon.”

Kiyoomi blinks at him, surprised.. “...Oh, yes, I’ll–” he looks around confused, frowning into the street.

“It’s just left, at the end of the street. I’ll be with ya in thirty.”

With a shrug, Kiyoomi departs as Miya begins rifling around on the back seat, glancing up to watch as Kiyoomi heads out of the parking lot back onto the street. His brows knit together in confusion at the odd interaction, but he surmises that Miya is allowed to have his own personal business too, and maybe he came to the town for a specific reason that wasn’t only for Kiyoomi, so he shrugs it from memory and requests a room at the ryokan.

It’s a modest size room with sliding shoji doors with clean tatami flooring and two futons with little else in the room. The ensuite has a shower and a bath and Kiyoomi is quick to strip out of his grimy clothes and brings his cosmetics case into the bathroom, locking the door and stepping into the hot spray of the shower. As he washes his curls, the day replays itself in quick fragments. The bullet train to Osaka, the near-suffocating summer heat, wandering down an empty highway with a suitcase full of expensive clothes he had no use for with no plan and no way of explaining away what the hell he was thinking to his father. Miya floods his mind next, infuriating, thrilling, and strange all at once. It makes Kiyoomi’s chest constrict, heat pooling low in his stomach when he thinks of the thickness of Miya’s arms and the line of his tan poking out the top of his loose pants. 

He scrubs and scrubs and scrubs, grimacing when he finds a mosquito bite on his forearm. It takes him a long time to feel clean, and longer still to realise Miya still hasn’t turned up at the room. In a way, it’s a blessing, and it allows him some quiet as he decompresses, grounding himself in his meticulous post-shower routine. By the time he’s dressed in some soft pyjamas, wearing a clean navy yukata from the wardrobe in their room, his thoughts are floating past how he’s going to explain away his elaborate tantrum back home. Icy dread at the thought of returning to the Tokyo office is taking root in his veins already. His parents will absolutely murder him, and no doubt his father will lose trust in him, demoting him to simple secretarial duties.

Moments later the gentle sound of the shoji door sliding open startles him.

“Hey, Omi,” Miya responds, his face red and a little sweaty. He looks unsettled, his eyes wide and his hair a mess – looking as though he had been in a hurry. Whatever it is, he plays it off cool and slides into the room with a casual grin, slipping his feet into some clean slippers. “Ya look about ready fer a hot tea and bed.”

Kiyoomi pauses from where he’s settled on his futon, blinking his eyes open steadily. “Today has been…Taxing.”

“Well, I’ll get ya a tea. They have some of those shitty single sachets at reception if yer royal highness can stomach them.” Kiyoomi scrunches up his nose, but before he can reluctantly agree, Miya is already turning to head back out to find a guesthouse employee.

With a sigh, he rolls his sore shoulders and flops onto his back on the futon, staring up at the ceiling until Miya returns ten or fifteen minutes later with a tray of tea. Reentering through the shoji door, he lowers the tray on the low table just as Kiyoomi lowers his book.

“Probably no good fer yer refined tastes,” Miya teases, “I could go to the konbini fer some beers instead if ya like–”

“The tea is fine,” Kiyoomi flatly responds, taking the cup as it’s passed to him before blowing on the surface. 

He sips his green tea, watching as Miya strips out of his patterned shirt. The man’s arms are thick and tanned and there’s a small tattoo on his inner forearm which surprises Kiyoomi. It spells danger, Kiyoomi has only ever heard about Tokyo yakuza with ink and he thinks that the ryokan host might have turned them away if he saw. Kiyoomi’s attention is quickly pulled to Miya’s chest and the way his tank top is wet with sweat. It ought to be disgusting but he can’t tear his eyes away – until Miya looks up from where he’s searching through his duffel bag and smirks.

“Strictly platonic, remember?” He playfully goads, his brow raising in a challenge which Kiyoomi does not rise to.

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. Even with the fan blasting on him, he feels too hot all of a sudden. “Yes… strictly platonic.”

“Just checkin’, from the way yer lookin’ ya might make a guy think otherwise.” 

“I have no idea what you mean,” Kiyoomi says with an unimpressed stare, “I’ll remind you we are strangers.” Then, his eyes hone in on a dark red stain on Miya’s white tank. “I think you spilled chilli sauce on your shirt.”

Miya glances down, then laughs loudly in a way that almost seems forced. “Just savin’ it fer later.” Then, he strips out of his tank top, peeling it from his damp skin before tossing it across the room. “Okay Omi-kun, no peeking while I’m in the shower.” He comments with a wink, though Kiyoomi is no longer listening.

…Instead he’s thinking of all the ways Miya could bend him in half, his large pecs and toned stomach on show.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” grumbles Kiyoomi, embarrassed at how clear Miya sees through him.

Miya laughs, pausing to watch Kiyoomi sip at his tea again. “Ya should get some sleep. We can get an early start, I know a good breakfast place a short drive from here.”

“I’m probably leaving…” Miya isn’t listening, already entering the bathroom. The door closes. “...In the morning.”

The lock clicks shut and Kiyoomi takes another tip of his green tea, dropping the cup onto the tatami mat beside him before leaning back on the futon, his eyes fluttering. The exhaustion and lingering tension between him and Miya weigh heavy on him and he has a passing thought that he ought to try and stay awake for as long as possible – it was very bold of him to agree to share a room with someone he only just met and the smart thing would be to at least stay awake until Miya falls asleep first, but his eyelids suddenly feel too heavy to lift. 

Within minutes his head droops, his brain foggy. It’s an abrupt sort of tiredness he isn’t accustomed to, being no stranger to sleep disturbances and insomnia. His limbs don’t work on command and it’s almost as if there is a large weight holding him down, so heavy he can barely lift his own head.

After that, it’s nothingness.

The following morning is sunny and bright and Kiyoomi is standing in the reception room, fumbling with the rotary phone in his hands. He woke after sleeping soundly for almost twelve hours, out like a light before Miya had even left the shower. 

When he’d risen, he’d been alone in the room with a small note from Miya explaining he was getting gas and running errands, and would be back within the hour. It had taken Kiyoomi several minutes to wake himself up, his arms and legs still heavy with sleep. He’d showered, changed into some comfortable loose-fitted light pants and a matching patterned shirt. The shower had made him feel moderately less groggy, though he doesn’t quite feel himself still.

Finally, someone picks up.

Kiyoomi clears his throat. “...Hello?”

“Kiyoomi?” Motoya’s voice crackles through the receiver, high-pitched and surprised. “Where have you been? Your father came to my office demanding to know where you are, and he’s been trying to call Kyoya from Hong Kong to get him to come here. They’re not happy.”

Swallowing his nerves, Kiyoomi rubs his temples. “Motoya, listen. I’m fine, don’t worry. I’m…” he tries to think, where even is he? “I’m near Hiroshima. I’m getting away for a while.”

“Away for a while?!” Motoya squeaks down the phone. “I don’t know how you’ll talk your way out of it. Oji-san is livid, I don’t understand–”

“It’ll be fine,” Kiyoomi cuts in, glancing up as he hears Miya enter through the main doors, the man raising a questioning brow at him. “I need some space, a little time away.”

“You know what he’s like,” Motoya frets, “you’ll be kicked off the project. You can tell them you’re sick–”

Guilt and anxiety fester inside Kiyoomi and glances down at the receiver, then back up at Miya who is holding out a bottle of water, mouthing everything good? And it makes Kiyoomi wonder how his life will be if he returns to Tokyo now, if he’ll even have a job, or if his father will put him on admin work for the foreseeable future. There is nothing waiting for him except for a soulless penthouse in Azabu and sixty-hour work weeks at a job he hates with a family he hates.

Or…

Miya starts drinking the ice-cold water out of the bottle, droplets falling down his chin onto his shirt.

“Tell them I’m fine, I’m not sick. I just…left for a while. I never cared about the job, ‘Toya.”

“...Are you sure you’re okay? This isn’t like you, I’m worried, Kiyo.”

Kiyoomi chews on his lip. His cousin isn’t wrong – this is not like him at all. Maybe in a few days this apparent manic phase will end and he’ll go crawling back to his old life. But for now he realises that it’s the last thing in the world he wants.

“I have money, I’m okay. I’ll call in a few days. Yes, Motoya. No, yes, I promise. I’ll be back.”

The receiver clicks, and Kiyoomi lowers it back into place.

“Trouble in paradise?” Miya asks him, as Kiyoomi takes the water and laments that it isn’t anything stronger.

“Just family. They don’t seem to be…Too pleased with me right now.”

“Yet yer choosin’ to stay with little ol’ me.” Miya grins.

“Don’t make me regret it, but yes. I suppose that I am.”

“We’ll have a killer time, me and you Omi. Imma shower and then we’re gettin’ somethin’ sweet fer breakfast.”

Watching Miya as he heads back to the room, Kiyoomi hardly recognises himself. No, he thinks, if he wants to change his life and actually enjoy adulthood instead of being trapped under his father’s thumb, then this is the first step to changing it. Adventure calls to him, as well as something distantly dangerous whispering in the wind.

Being on the road is less stressful than he imagined, even with Atsumu’s too-fast driving (he is still Miya out loud, but Kiyoomi finds his attraction growing by the day, not that he would admit it). They drove further south, exploring parts of Kyushu that Kiyoomi didn’t even know existed. They hike trails, eat at local hole-in-the-wall restaurants and visit ancient shrines. To save money they share rooms and Kiyoomi finds himself oddly open about his life in Tokyo, though it takes him several days to realise he knows very little about Atsumu – where he’s from, where his family are, what he does for a living. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be, Kiyoomi surmises. He knows after all that he can’t live like this forever. Eventually he’ll need to crawl back to his old life, even if he loses everything in the process.

“So, if ya don’t wanna be a salaryman, workin’ at the office ‘til past ten at night, what is it ya wanna do?” Atsumu asks him as they drive, now headed back north to drive around Hyogo prefecture after nearly a week in Kyushu.

As he drives, Atsumu has an arm around Kiyoomi’s headrest, his fingers brushing lightly on Kiyoomi’s shoulder whenever they hit a bump in the road. It’s…a new development. One Kiyoomi not-so-subtly leans into. When Atsumu feels them brush deliberately, he only smiles and strokes Kiyoomi’s shoulder briefly before turning his attention back to the road.

“I don’t really know,” Kiyoomi lies, his cheeks darkening. He notices Atsumu glancing at him knowingly. “It’s embarrassing. I played volleyball at college level with my cousin. He was only interested in it for a hobby, but I don’t know. I would have liked to play more if I didn’t fuck up my leg.”

“Ya got an injury?”

Kiyoomi nods. “Midgame. I can still play occasionally, but not to the extent they do in Division one. I’d be content I guess, having enough free time to play, maybe coach. I like writing too, I guess.”

“Well, when ya head back to Tokyo, that’s what ya can work on. Get good enough to coach a team, and ya can write a book about yer summer with little ol’ me.”

Snorting, Kiyoomi avoid’s Atsumu’s gaze and looks out of the window, at the fields and trees that pass them on the quiet road. Atsumu is too optimistic, there’s no way Kiyoomi could uproot his entire life without the support of his parents and do the things he wants. As they drive, Atsumu takes a sudden right, off-course to where they were following on the map to get to Yamaguchi.

“Just takin’ a little detour,” he tells Kiyoomi after glancing at the map, and back at the road again.

Kiyoomi thinks he ought to be more concerned that only one of them has any idea where they are or where they’re headed. “To answer your question, my parents would cremate me.”

“Sounds like yer already in a world of shit with them, what’s one more?”

“I don’t particularly want to talk about it,” Kiyoomi mumbles, “I just know I can’t. I’ll figure out what I’m going to do once I’m back in the real world.”

Atsumu’s hand touches his shoulder with purpose. “Ain’t this real life?”

Breath hitching, Kiyoomi turns his face to look at Atsumu’s profile. “For now.”

“Then let’s enjoy it while both of us can.” 

They drive a while longer and Kiyoomi dozes, distantly aware of Atsumu’s hand as it rests on his knee. He leans into the touch, desperate for a little more. He wakes sometime later, both of Atsumu’s hands now on the steering wheel as they’re entering another small town. Blinking his eyes open, Kiyoomi sits upright, wiping the line of drool from his chin sheepishly. 

“G’mornin’ princess,” Atsumu greets, “I got a couple of stores I wanna hit up, just some errands. But I figured we could go do somethin’ fun after.”

Kiyoomi opens his mouth to make a joke about Atsumu having so many secret errands when they turn off at a junction and pull into the parking lot of a sports store, his brow raising at Atsumu as he parks up.

“What? Yer tellin’ me yer not itchin’ to do some tosses?”

“You want to buy a volleyball?” Kiyoomi asks him, surprised. “Do you play?”

Miya shrugs, nonchalant. “I set back in highschool a little. I played a bit of beach volleyball. C’mon, I’ll find us a quiet spot and ya can show me how good ya are, college boy.”

Kiyoomi is the last to exit the car after wiping the small smile from his face.

Atsumu has done more than play a little in high school. Kiyoomi is out of practise but he smugly thought he’d show Atsumu up when they reached a makeshift outdoor court in a local park. Kiyoomi anticipates that Atsumu will toss the ball too wide or too low, but they’re perfectly timed and controlled, allowing him to hit them to the other side of the net with a satisfying thud. All the while Atsumu is grinning like it’s the most fun he’s had in days, watching each ball that Kiyoomi sends sailing over the net.

And unfortunately, Atsumu’s sports gear is nothing more than a black tank top and a pair of short sports shorts, showing off his thick thighs and the brief flashes of his tan lines at the hem of the shorts. They do not have enough water between them to quench Kiyoomi’s sudden thirst.

“You play far too well,” Kiyoomi accuses him, breathless from how long they’ve been taking it in turns to toss. “Your serves are stronger than I’d expected.” It’s an understatement and he knows it. Atsumu crushed him with each serve, hitting more service aces than Kiyoomi by far. “I didn’t think you were the modest type, Miya.”

“Just wanted to surprise ya,” Atsumu says with a grin as he guzzles down his water, the volleyball balanced under his arm. “I was team captain at my school in third year, yer lookin’ at a top three setter baby. And I think that might be the first compliment ya gave me in almost a week, Omi!”

“Don’t get used to it.” Kiyoomi flushes. “You play like you should have been the one to go pro.”

“My ego’s gettin’ fatter by the second darlin’” Atsumu winks, wiping the sweat from his face with a clean cloth. “I got another in my bag if ya want.”

With a nod, Kiyoomi steps over to the nearby bench and unzips Atsumu’s duffel bag. He rifles around inside for more water and a towel for his face when he pauses, his fingers brushing something solid and heavy. 

There’s a knife in Atsumu’s bag. Not a pocket one, but a real hunting knife. Sheathed in its holder, but real. Kiyoomi jumps away from the bag as though scalded by it. Why did Atsumu…Bring that out with him?!

Suddenly, they’re alone in the park. The chatter from families and tourists has died down and only the cicadas can be heard, so loud they hurt Kiyoomi’s ears. Atsumu is saying something to him, but he’s not listening. 

“Earth to Omi-kun, yer not tired already are ya?” 

Jolting, Kiyoomi jumps back and is face to face with Atsumu – who is standing far too close to him, a hand on his hip as he brushes a hand through his messy blond hair. His smile falters when he realises how serious Kiyoomi looks.

“What’s wrong?” He tries again, his eyes flicking down to the open duffel where his knife sits on top. 

“Why did you bring a knife to play volleyball?” Kiyoomi questions. It’s reasonable to carry one, especially as Atsumu is an avid traveller and outdoorsman – but something about it strikes him as off. They’re at a park, not down some dark alleyway.

“Oh! I almost forgot I put that in there,” he explains, zipping up his bag quickly. “I keep it on me fer protection seein’ as I was travellin’ on the road before ya. It didn’t freak ya out or anythin’, right?”

“...No.” Blinking, Kiyoomi glances at the bag, and then back at Atsumu’s slight frown, as though concerned. “You think we need protection out here?”

“Can never be too careful, some guys could get the jump on ya anywhere. And I need to be able to protect my Omi-kun. Does it bother ya?”

A little, Kiyoomi thinks. Not believing a weapon is truly necessary in these small sleepy towns of only a few thousand. Then again, he has barely left his expensive Tokyo district, so maybe it’s a smart idea.

“It just surprised me,” he says, trying to act nonchalant. “Do you always carry it?”

“Only when I’m somewhere I’m unfamiliar,” Atsumu says casually, wiping the sweat from his nape. “I’ll leave it in the car from now on, I swear. I just wanted us to be safe, y’know folks were goin’ missin’ up in Hyogo a few months ago?”

Kiyoomi stiffens, feeling a brief chill. “I read about that in the newspaper. You’re right. I would have preferred if you had told me though.”

“Sorry, doll,” Atsumu grins once the tension has dissipated. He boldly slings an arm around Kiyoomi’s shoulders. Ordinarily Kiyoomi would have shoved him away but they’re both sweaty already, and he finds himself once again preening at the attention. “Guess I thought if ya knew ya were travellin’ with a stranger with a knife it might have spooked ya off.”

“I suppose.”

“C’mon, baby, don’t give me that. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” Atsumu nudges his nose into Kiyoomi’s neck as though he were about to inhale and Kiyoomi flinches.

“We’re in public, Miya!”

“So yer sayin’ if we were alone right now…”

“Absolutely not, I know your game,” Kiyoomi complains with no real bite. He shoves Atsumu off him, sending him laughing as he slings his duffel over his shoulder and starts to lead the way out of the park.

“I’m messin’ with ya, I’m a gentleman remember.”

…A small part of Kiyoomi wishes that he weren’t. Exhaling slowly, Kiyoomi watches Atsumu carefully. He’s infuriating and reckless. Yet his pulse quickens when their eyes meet and his heart trips over itself, the memory of how close Atsumu was as he leant in close to Kiyoomi’s face burned into his mind, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to do. So much of Kiyoomi desperately wants to pull him back to finish what they started but he feels rooted to the spot. 

By the time they’re heading back to the car Atsumu is spinning the volleyball in one hand, tossing it up and catching it as he walks. His sneakers crunch over the gravel, his crew socks slightly off-white with the dirt and dust from the ground. Kiyoomi sticks a step behind, watching the confident bounce in Atsumu’s step. There’s a pit of unease in his stomach, but the warmth in Kiyoomi’s chest is spreading as strong as ever. 

The knife sits heavy at the bottom of the duffel bag and Kiyoomi wonders once again why Atsumu felt the need to bring it. Perhaps it really was in there the whole time and he forgot about it, though Kiyoomi isn’t entirely sure he believes that schtick. The feeling lingers, Kiyoomi’s mind conflicted. Atsumu looks back at him when he realises Kiyoomi is trailing behind, smiling over his shoulder and waving for him to hurry. Gold hair sticks to his forehead and his shorts ride high on his thighs. 

Unlocking the car, Atsumu tosses his duffel and the ball on the backseat, stepping around to the passenger side door to open it. 

“After you, doll,” he tells Kiyoomi with a crooked grin, stroking a hand down Kiyoomi’s back as Kiyoomi enters the passenger door. 

His heart betrays him, stuttering fast in his chest as the humiliating warmth spreads at the barest touch from Atsumu. 

The door shuts with a gentle thud and Kiyoomi sighs, trying to relax on the leather seat. He lets himself be distracted a little while longer, watching the fields and forests pass them by. 

By the time they arrive at the next town the sky is tinged a deep orange as the sun starts to set. Atsumu is relaxed and free, listening to the cassette and humming along to the tune. Kiyoomi glances at him from the passenger side, his eyes soon heavy with exhaustion as he watches the man.

Atsumu drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he pulls into the parking lot of a modest roadside hotel.

“Wait here,” Atsumu tells him as he steps out into the parking lot, stretching until his loose-fitted shirt rides up his toned stomach. “I’ll see what rooms they got.”

Relaxing back onto the seat, Kiyoomi fans himself with an old leaflet, the sounds of police sirens drawing his attention as two cars speed past, heading to the outskirts of town. There are a lot of people milling around the small town, tourists and locals alike and he takes to people watching while he waits for Atsumu’s return.

Atsumu is in and out of the hotel a few minutes later and Kiyoomi is already reaching for his seatbelt when he stops and leans in through the passenger window. “Uh. Funny thing.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes immediately. “…What?” 

“No twin rooms left, just a double. Summer festival’s on so they got half the prefecture here. I kicked up a fuss about them puttin’ down a futon but they don’t have any spares.”

Against his will, Kiyoomi’s mind pictures them both sharing a bed and he has to abruptly pinch himself to rid himself of the memory. “We can find a different hotel.”

“No can do,” Atsumu says as he rests his arms on the window, sounding almost pleased with the news. “Said we’d be lucky to find anythin’ this late in the day. Unless ya fancy snoozin’ in the car tonight.”

“Absolutely not.” Kiyoomi worries his lip with his teeth as Atsumu looks hopefully at him. “Let’s just stay here.” Opening the car door, he closes it behind him and grabs his suitcase, breezing past Atsumu. “No funny business.”

“Yer actin’ like I suggested somethin’ indecent,” teases Atsumu, stepping so close to Kiyoomi their arms brush. “Or was that what ya were hopin’ for?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” warns Kiyoomi, slipping his bag up his shoulder as they enter the ryokan to book the room. It doesn’t matter, Atsumu’s smile is so disarming that he can’t even pretend to be annoyed for long.

“Yer killin’ me, darlin’. Don’t worry, we can set up a pillow wall in the middle.”

And like that, Kiyoomi hands over some cash and Atsumu signs the guest book. The room is nicer than some of the others they’ve stayed in, with a large futon laid nearly in the centre of the room on a tatami mat. 

“Cozy, ain’t it?” Atsumu says, elbowing Kiyoomi as he swaps his shoes for house slippers in the doorway, Kiyoomi doing the same.

“It’s fine,” Kiyoomi mumbles, losing his voice as the reality of their sleeping situation dawns on him. “If you can manage to keep your hands to yourself.”

“Who do ya think I am?” Atsumu sputters with mock offense, dropping his heavy duffel in the corner with an audible thud, Kiyoomi wasting no time in dropping his suitcase and opening it up to collect his things for the bath.

Kiyoomi works his way through his evening routine far slower than usual and Atsumu has showered, dressed and located a konbini for some snacks and beers by the time Kiyoomi has just finished dressing, his curls sitting messy and damp on his head. 

When Atsumu enters, he’s cracking open a can of beer and taking a long sip, handing an already open can to Kiyoomi. He hesitates initially, but was raised on politeness and takes the can, setting it down beside his side of the futon. 

“Ya look tense, Omi-kun.” Atsumu drops to the tatami mat across from him, stretching out and letting his shirt ride up past his belly button. Willfully or not, Kiyoomi isn’t sure. The man is a devil, tempting Kiyoomi from the very first day. “Last chance to make me go sleep in the car?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kiyoomi mutters, shuffling down and spreading out to cool off, as Atsumu drinks more beer and chinks his can against Kiyoomi’s, looking at him expectedly. “You can stay here, it’s practical.”

“Good,” Atsumu tells him with a yawn, stretching out on his back. “‘Cause I’m comfy and I ain’t movin’”

Rolling his eyes, Kiyoomi lifts his beer can while Atsumu roots around in his bag for his walkman. He sniffs the open can, unfamiliar with the local brand. It smells…Odd. And not like beer. He places it back down just as Atsumu is turning back and settling on the tatami mat in front of the fan with a smile.

They sit in a companionable silence for some time. Kiyoomi rolls onto his front and continues reading his book, while Atsumu eventually pulls out his walkman and listens to loud music while flipping through a local newspaper. He flips through it quickly as though looking for something in particular though Kiyoomi doesn’t pay close attention, quickly engrossed in his murder mystery. By the time he’s finished for the evening, the sky outside the window is dark and his untouched beer is warm. When Atsumu excuses himself to the bathroom, Kiyoomi tosses it in the trashbin in their room and nervously starts to get ready for bed.

“Are ya feelin’ tired?” Atsumu asks as he slips back into the room, sliding the shoji door closed behind him. 

Lying on his side, facing Atsumu, Kiyoomi nods sleepily and resembles an ensnared animal as Atsumu approaches, stripping down to a shirt and boxer shorts. The tension peaks when he turns off the lamp and settles into bed beside Kiyoomi.

“Stay on your side,” Kiyoomi lightly reminds him. The futon isn’t built for two grown men over six feet, and it’s clear from the way their knees brush periodically.

“Yer side? I don’t see a line drawn here,” Atsumu teases, earning himself a cushion to the face.

“There is an invisible one right here. Respect it.”

“Yer pillow talk is kinda sucky, darlin’” Even in the dark Kiyoomi can sense Atsumu’s wide insufferable smirk.

Kiyoomi groans into the pillow. “Don’t start.”

Of course Atsumu doesn’t listen, shifting closer until Kiyoomi knows his lips are only a hair away and he shivers. 

“Yer blushin’ aren’t ya? Can’t see ya properly but I can tell.” 

The only light is from the moon and from the lanterns hanging outside the inn, but Kiyoomi can make out the roundness of Atsumu’s eyes and the way they do not leave his face.

“I am not,” he says stubbornly, tugging their blanket higher and looking away from him. “You are crazy.”

When Atsumu chuckles, Kiyoomi swears he can feel the vibration and Atsumu’s breath on his cheeks.

“I like the way ya go pink the moment someone calls ya pretty. Do ya do that fer everyone or am I that special?”

“Miya,” Kiyoomi tries to scold, his voice hoarse and barely an audible whisper. 

Neither move. Kiyoomi’s heart lurches and skips a beat, this close he can smell the soap clinging to Atsumu’s skin and the woodsy shampoo scent in his hair. Closing the gap would take a second, so easy. Atsumu is so painfully willing.

In the end, Kiyoomi shifts away from him. He mutters something incoherent as he rolls onto the farthest edge of the futon, facing away from Atsumu.

With a laugh, Atsumu flops onto his back with his hands folded behind his head. 

“Yer killin’ me, baby…Gentleman’s promise. I’ll stay on my side long as I can be the big spoon?”

Pressing his face into the pillow to hide his smile, Kiyoomi feels his pulse quicken and his chest ache in longing. He makes a decision.

“I’m not opposed to that,” he tells Atsumu, humiliated by his own words. “I will hurt you if you get handsy with me.”

“Don’t doubt that fer a second,” snickers Atsumu, twisting to lie facing Kiyoomi before slotting his body around him, one arm draping possessively across Kiyoomi’s waist and stomach.

The contact makes Kiyoomi stiffen immediately, but he doesn’t move away. 

“Are ya feelin’ good, Omi-kun?” Whispers Atsumu against his neck, Kiyoomi’s eyes squeezing shut, his skin peppering with gooseflesh. “That beer go to yer head?”

”I’m fine.” Kiyoomi swallows. “You’re staring, Miya.”

“Kinda hard not to,” shrugs Miya, at the same time Kiyoomi turns to squint at him in the dark. Head propped lazily on one arm, bangs messy on his forehead. “Maybe yer prettiest when yer riled up.”

Face heating, Kiyoomi grumbles under his breath – though Atsumu doesn’t say another word, just continues staring at him as though he were analysing him closely. It makes Kiyoomi feel vulnerable all of a sudden. When Atsumu’s expression doesn’t shift, there’s an exciting and a terrifying moment where Kiyoomi thinks he might kiss him so he quickly turns away.

“You’re insufferable,” he tells Atsumu, face buried back into the pillow.

“Maybe, but I don’t think ya mind.”

He mutters something incoherent in response, eventually letting himself snuggle close to Atsumu. The man’s palm on his stomach is heavy and grounding and it tightens possessively around his waist before he drifts off to sleep. If Atsumu wants to sit and admire him long into the night, then that’s fine by him – even if he’ll never say so. The attention on him isn’t so bad.

The next morning Kiyoomi wakes alone, the light from the hall bleeding through the shoji screens. Atsumu is gone, but there is a note on the floor beside Kiyoomi of him stating he’s gone to work on his car early in the morning. Folding the paper and tossing it, Kiyoomi gets ready for the day, tidying the room and packing away his things to check out. 

As he’s travelling back down the hall from the bathroom, freshly showered and with his toiletry bag under his arm, he pauses and stares down at something on the floor outside of their room.

It looks like blood.

Head cocked, he examines the small stain closely, before grimacing and quickly entering the room, not wanting to touch a potential contaminant. 

The stain bothers him, though it bothers him more that the guest house’s cleaning might not be up to par. He doesn’t have long to ponder the strange incident before the door slides open as Kiyoomi is zipping up his suitcase.

“We have to check out in an hour,” he reminds Atsumu, pausing when he turns around and takes in the man’s appearance.

Filling the door frame, Atsumu stands, out of breath, with sweat dripping on his face as though he had been running. His eyes wide and pupils slightly dilated. There’s dirt on his legs and smudges of grease on his hands and elbows, and scrapes on his knees from the ground. 

“You look like you’ve been run over,” Kiyoomi comments, thrusting a clean towel in Atsumu’s direction. “Shower.”

“Thanks darlin’,” Atsumu takes the towel, winking at him to relieve the tension.

“Your hand,” Kiyoomi murmurs, seeing a flash of red and purple. “What happened?”

“Fucked it up when I was tinkerin’ with the engine,” says Atsumu casually, holding out his hand for Kiyoomi to see. He’s done a bad job at cleaning himself up, with his split knuckles and bloody fingernails. “It’s nothin’, didn’t even hurt.” 

With a heavy sigh, Kiyoomi takes Atsumu by the arm and drags him out of their room, down the hall and into the bathroom.

“Omi-kun?” Atsumu asks as he’s pushed inside. “Are ya really mad? Or so turned on ya wanna get me alo–”

“Give me your hand.”

“Omi, it’s fine–”

“If you can’t be careful enough not to get injured then at least look after your hand properly.”

Atsumu abruptly shuts up, standing helplessly and watching as Kiyoomi fills the sink with warm water and begins gently cleaning the last of the blood and dirt from his injury. The water turns a slightly faded pink as he works, using the antiseptic from his cosmetics bag to pour over the cuts on his knuckles.

“Yer good at this.”

“I won’t have you getting an infection,” Kiyoomi lightly scolds, observing Atsumu’s hand closely. 

When he finally glances up, he realises how close they’re standing in the cramped bathroom. He hadn’t thought so far ahead, their faces so close to touching. Atsumu is caging him against the sink, his body blocking the exit. 

“I’ll let you shower, Miya.” Kiyoomi says with a swallow, face red as Atsumu leans in close. “I’ll pack the car.”

A hand comes down to his hip, rubbing softly. “Nah. Take some cash outta my wallet and find us some good breakfast. I’ll check out and bring the bags.”

Blinking, Kiyoomi nods, breathless and compelled to listen to Atsumu. He curses himself for behaving like a lovesick teenager. “Okay. Don’t be too long.”

With a grin, Atsumu gives Kiyoomi’s hip a final squeeze before releasing him and stepping sideways so he can exit the bathroom. “Good boy. I’ll see ya by the car.”

They’ve been driving for a few hours, the Mazda growling down the long, winding country road. Kiyoomi has not seen any houses for almost an hour and they’re deep in the countryside, though the map indicates there’s a small village only thirty minutes from their hiking spot. Trees and rice fields pass by them in a blur and Atsumu’s cassette blares out the open windows, Kiyoomi hating the way he’s starting to hum along to the music.

“You’ll kill us before we even make it to this hidden gem of yours,” Kiyoomi mumbles.

Atsumu sends him a grin, one hand on the steering wheel as the other hand is by Kiyoomi’s thigh as though he wants to grab it again. “Ya think I’d let somethin’ happen to my favourite passenger out here? Keep tellin’ ya, gentleman.”

“Gentlemen don’t break traffic laws every time they get behind the wheel,” quips Kiyoomi, a hint of amusement in his expression.

“If we pass another cop, I’ll slow right down just for ya. And I wanna get to where we’re goin’ before ten.”

Kiyoomi exhales sharply through his nose, feigning annoyance, and Atsumu laughs louder. The carefree sound reverberates around the inside of the car and Kiyoomi feels something inside loosen. Maybe he should enjoy going where the tide takes him a little more – all part of the adventure.

They spin around another road and the trees suddenly open up to a valley spilling up to the horizon in shades of green. A thick forest looms in the distance up a steep incline as Atsumu parks in a quiet, empty parking lot. 

“See? Got us there in one piece,” he says with a slap to the steering wheel before cutting the engine. “Let’s get walkin’”

Kiyoomi pries his fingers from the door handle. “You have a very flexible definition of the term safe.”

“Safe is kinda borin’, ain’t it?” Atsumu asks with a smug expression. “Thought you’d have figured that out on this trip. I know ya didn’t leave yer old life to come out here and be bored.”

Kiyoomi has nothing to say to that, instead rolling his eyes as Atsumu cuts the engine and they exit the Mazda. They’re parked up in the dirt, the dust still floating in the air. It’s already too warm and Kiyoomi is grateful for his long-sleeve sports top and hiking pants they purchased a few days ago. He still feels overdressed compared to Atsumu who wears perhaps the shortest shorts Kiyoomi has ever seen anyone wear. The man is dressed like he’s stepped off a gay porn set (not that Kiyoomi would have any idea how that might look, of course).

It’s quiet and there are no other cars or people for as far as the eye can see. The cicadas buzz louder and there isn’t any wind. The trail is isolated and peaceful. Probably the most peaceful Kiyoomi has experienced in a long time. As Atsumu stretches and tightens his hiking shoes, Kiyoomi starts off down the trail, gravel crunching beneath his boots.

“C’mon,” Atsumu tells him once he’s caught up, elbowing Kiyoomi in the side and laughing when Kiyoomi does it back. “I swear I’ll carry ya over the rocks.”

“In those shorts?” Kiyoomi snorts, “one of us is well prepared for today and it’s not you.”

“Oh really? It’s called style Omi-kun, I’ll beat ya up the trail and I’ll look good doin’ it!” Atsumu brushes past him with a shoulder bump, close enough for Kiyoomi to smell the faint tang of sweat and cologne clinging to his sun-kissed skin. “Though, I wouldn’t mind catchin’ ya if ya fell.”

Kiyoomi falters in his step slightly, recovering quickly. Despite himself his heart skips, and he has to adjust the straps of his backpack to give himself something to distract himself with – not at all looking at Atsumu’s ass in the denim shorts. He speeds up to keep pace with Atsumu in an effort not to ogle him.

The trail soon narrows and after an hour of hiking up an incline, Kiyoomi is hot, sweaty and exhausted. Though he won’t let Atsumu win and he sucks it up without complaint, able to match his quick pace. Soon the trees thicken and provide shade, the sun filtering through the leaves and dappling Atsumu’s back as he walks a few paces ahead, having hardly broken into a sweat. He provides a steady commentary, about the trees, a shrine they walk past, and the viewpoint they’ll reach soon. (Kiyoomi wishes he would say when soon was). It’s so remote, there’s no people or houses for miles and even the trail is overgrown and slightly unkempt, Kiyoomi having to avoid getting scratched by branches down the narrower paths.

Despite being a tourist like Kiyoomi, Atsumu is certainly no stranger to the hike and Kiyoomi is about to ask him how many times he’s walked the trail when his foot slips on a loose stone and suddenly–

A hand on his back, steadying him. It lingers for far too long, even when Kiyoomi has found his footing.

“Steady, city boy.” Kiyoomi hears Atsumu’s low voice in his ear. “Told ya I’d catch ya.” The hand squeezes his waist and Kiyoomi leans into it – only for a second, before pulling away and continuing down the path.

“I had it under control,” he retorts, “it was hardly a fall.”

“Sure, sure,” Atsumu responds – and Kiyoomi can feel his smug little grin from behind.

They eventually come to a clearing, the woods opening up to a flat outcrop that juts above a giant valley. Worn, unused picnic benches line the clearing and save for the birds, it’s empty. The valley below stretches for miles, the houses in the far distance nothing but tiny specs. Out here, it’s just Kiyoomi and Atsumu and the strange stillness.

“See? Ain’t it worth all that huffin’ and puffin’ on the way up?” Atsumu jokes, earning a scowl from Kiyoomi – who stands with his hands on his hips at the top as he fights to catch his breath. “Knew you’d love it.” He drops down to a bench, legs spread in a way that’s simply obscene.

“Love is a strong word,” Kiyoomi tells him, pointedly looking away from Atsumu’s legs as he takes a seat opposite, feeling his muscles twinge in pain as he bends his legs under the table. It’s probably gross and unclean, but he’s so tired he barely notices. “But it’s…Nice.”

Opening up his bag, Atsumu tosses him an iced tea across the table, which Kiyoomi only just manages to catch. “You could just hand me things like a civilized person.”

Atsumu tears open a pack of candy with his teeth. “Just testin’ those reflexes. Could use some work. Lotta dangerous folks out here.”

“You’re the only other person out here,” Kiyoomi tells him before opening the lukewarm drink.

“Precisely,” grins Atsumu, already munching on his candy. With a scoff, Kiyoomi turns to watch the view. 

A calm breeze ruffles through his hair and tickles the back of his neck. In his peripheral vision, Kiyoomi watches as Atsumu tips his head back into the sun, eyes half-lidded as he squints into the sky. Sunlight makes his skin look almost gold, and in the light Kiyoomi can count the speckled freckles on his shoulders and strong arms. The dye in his hair is growing out, his roots dark against light blond. It’s a sight that makes Kiyoomi sweat for an entirely different reason, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows a mouthful of iced tea. Against his will, he keeps staring.

And unfortunately for Kiyoomi, it doesn’t take Atsumu long to notice.

“What is it that Omi-kun is starin’ at?”

“Nothing.” Kiyoomi abruptly jerks his gaze to the side, ears burning as he gazes back out at the view of the valley below, taking a shaky sip of tea. “The view.”

“Can’t be nothin’ and the view,” teases Atsumu, leaning forward slightly with his arms braced on the table as his grin grows. “No wonder ya didn’t rebel much, yer a terrible liar.”

Heat prickles across Kiyoomi’s face and he glares out at the valley but it seems to amuse Atsumu even more. Atsumu leans in close until Kiyoomi can see the flecks of gold in his eyes and the faint brown freckles on the apples of his cheeks. The cicadas are deafeningly loud now as if they know, drowning the sound of Kiyoomi’s own quickening pulse.

“Stop it,” Kiyoomi somehow manages to utter with a dry mouth that the ice tea can’t even quench.

“Stop what?” Atsumu asks him with that syrupy sweet smile, letting his chin rest on his open palm as he beams across at Kiyoomi with a childlike innocence.

Atsumu’s eyes flick downwards, wetting his lips as he stares at Kiyoomi’s own. They’re closer than Kiyoomi had realised and his breath catches in his throat. For a single, dizzying second he thinks Atsumu might try and kiss him, and Kiyoomi wants him, but they’re in public and he’s hyperaware that despite how quiet it is, any other trekkers could emerge up the path they came and stumble upon them. His chest lurches and Kiyoomi quickly leans away, blinking and ending their moment with an awkward cough.

“We’re in public.”

It seems to take Atsumu a second to register his words and he stretches back casually on the bench with a chuckle. “Nobody out here fer miles but you and me, darlin’”

“Doesn’t matter,” grumbles Kiyoomi, “anyone could walk up the trail.”

“Ya didn’t kiss me when we were in our room, and now yer not kissin’ me out here. I’m startin’ to think yer playin’ hard to get, Omi-kun.”

“Maybe so,” Kiyoomi says under his breath, glancing up through his long dark lashes as Atsumu stands to collect their trash, wrapping it in a plastic bag before zipping it into his backpack with a wink. 

“I’m a patient guy, I’ll wait fer ya.”

The air cools as the afternoon begins to dip toward evening. The sun slants low, catching on the leaves so the whole forest seems dusted in gold.

Kiyoomi stops, taking it in. “…It’s beautiful.” The words slip out before he can stop them.

“Told ya.” Atsumu bumps his shoulder lightly against Kiyoomi’s, hands shoved into the pockets of his too-short shorts. “Worth survivin’ my drivin’, huh?”

Kiyoomi huffs, but it’s not quite a denial. He watches the horizon, the sun sinking low, painting Atsumu’s profile in molten light. It makes his throat tighten.

Atsumu’s voice drops, softer than Kiyoomi has ever heard it. “Bet ya never thought runnin’ away’d land ya somewhere like this, huh?”

Kiyoomi swallows. His parents, the weight of their expectations, the suffocating office corridors he was meant to inherit—they feel far away here. Too far. “…No. I didn’t.”

Atsumu tilts his head, watching him, lips curled in that grin that always looks one step away from mischief. For a heartbeat, Kiyoomi thinks he’s going to lean in again—closer, too close—but instead Atsumu just murmurs, “Ya look better smilin’, Omi.”

Heat floods Kiyoomi’s face. He turns away sharply, pretending to adjust his collar. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But Atsumu only chuckles and doesn’t push him, simply sitting back to watch the sun until it’s nearly disappearing below the horizon and they reluctantly peel away from one another for the relaxed walk back down the trail, the air still and cool.

By the time they make it back to the car, the sky is burnt orange, the sun sitting at the edge of the horizon. Fireflies spark faintly around them, the air slightly cool. When they reach the Mazda, Atsumu jogs on ahead and tosses his bag in the back. Reaching for his spray deodorant, he practically drowns himself and the car in the stuff and Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose in disgust at the overpowering smell.

“Is that necessary?”

“Just makin’ sure I don’t stink fer ya,” Atsumu says with a wink, dipping back in the car to spray more.

“You had better keep those doors open,” Kiyoomi grumbles, stretching his shoulders as he stops by the car, sitting on the passenger side with his legs swinging outside as he guzzles down the rest of the water.

The deodorant is so strong it almost makes his eyes water, but there’s a strange foul smell of something else on the wind that he grimaces at. It’s so still and quiet, that the hairs on Kiyoomi’s arms begin to prick, even in the heat. For some reason, he’s set on edge. It must be the ghost stories Atsumu insisted on telling on their way back but for some reason Kiyoomi feels the sudden urge for them to leave. He’s about to ask Atsumu to hurry when the man beats his hand on the roof of the car outside and it makes Kiyoomi jump.

“Ya ready to hit the road, city boy?” Asks Atsumu with a grin, an unlit cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. “Gimme two minutes, and I’ll find us a hotel before sundown.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and decides to take a minute to stretch and shake off his unease. But as Atsumu fiddles with his lighter, Kiyoomi notices the trunk sitting slightly ajar, like it hadn’t latched properly. Atsumu lights a cigarette, waving to Kiyoomi as he takes a few paces away from the car to smoke. With his hand on the door, Kiyoomi turns around and steps over to the trunk, realising there’s a bag strap hanging the corner.

Fingers curl under the edge of the trunk and before Atsumu can shout his name to stop him, Kiyoomi casually pops the lid– just as Atsumu is jumping around the car to grab hold of him.

But it’s too late.

As soon as the trunk opens, Kiyoomi’s shriek is loud enough to scare away a flock of birds. Tripping over his feet, he stumbles over backwards and falls back onto Atsumu. 

“What the fuck is that?!” He gasps, picking himself back up and shoving Atsumu away as hard as he can. “What the fuck. What the fuck. Miya? Why…What is…There’s a person— what the fuck.” He doubles over, choking on his own saliva before coughing up the remnants of his lunch with tears pricking in his eyes, while Atsumu covers and tries to grab hold of him again. “Get the fuck away–” Kiyoomi shoves him again, almost knocking Atsumu over. “Miya. I don’t–” he has to blink, staring directly at the corpse of a young man, limbs folded awkwardly together inside the trunk. The smell is overpowering, and there’s a slash in the neck so deep Kiyoomi can see the decaying muscle tissue.

He coughs up more bile, lunging away from Atsumu when the man tries to touch him.

“Omi, Omi, Omi. Shit! Let me explain, just, don’t fuckin’ scream! Okay?” Atsumu shushes him, grabbing Kiyoomi’s arm to drag him back towards the car. “Will ya listen to me? I ain’t goin’ to fuckin’ hurt ya just please. Sit down, we can talk. I ain’t goin’ to do anythin’, I can explain everythin’ right now and I promise everythin’ will be just right.”

Kiyoomi acts on instinct, turning and wrenching his arm free before punching Atsumu square in the nose, his knuckles throbbing from where they split upon impact. Atsumu stumbles back, blood gushing from his nostrils and Kiyoomi stands and stares in shock for a moment.

…And then he runs back up the trail.

🔪