pt. iv

barbed tongues

YOU'RE NOT SURE how you ended up like this, but it's too late to back down now.

Words hang in the air, tension lining your bodies, neither of you willing to take what you said back. Atsumu is normally stubborn. Drunk Atsumu was a whole other monster. And you? Well, Atsumu had finally learned just which buttons to push to make you lash out at him, and even in rage, you weren't one to lie.

Perhaps that's why it hurt so much.

But how did you get here?

Pause. Rewind. Go back.

How far back is the question?

Back to last week when you were drowning in assignments and Atsumu made a snide comment about your appearance that stuck under your skin like a splinter you just couldn't wrestle free?

No. This wasn't the result of an off-handed comment. This was bigger than that.

Go back further, dig deeper, think.

What about when you were kids and you accidentally broke one of his toys, resulting in not one, but three meltdowns? He didn't talk to you for nearly two weeks and the guilt had eaten you alive.

No. Too far. This isn't some petty childhood drama. This is something that has slowly festered over the years, seeds of annoyance and doubt sewn into seemingly normal days. This was the aftermath of a slow, continuous stream of water that had finally hit the lip of its container and the final drop that made it overflow.

For far too long your relationship had been oscillating between two points, this invisible scale barely keeping balance as you two swung back and forth in a once carefully crafted dance.

Drip...

When he made offhanded comments in highschool when you'd come over to trade books or notes with his brother.

...drop.

"Tch, sometimes I swear you only ever come over when Osamu is here."

"Well, I don't see you asking me to come over."

Drip...

When he asked and begged and bribed to catch even a glimpse of your oh so secretive paintings, and yet you still refused to let him see a single finished product. Instead, he had to make due with the scraps of your class notes and the practice sketches you did during school.

That didn't stop him from trying though.

...drop.

"C'mon, would it kill ya to let me see just one, pipsqueak? After all, you've seen my volleyball matches, it's only fair if I see somethin' of importance to ya."

"Atsumu, just leave it alone! I'm tired of you asking, no means no, I'm not ready for you to see them."

Drip, drop.

And so it goes.

Back and forth, this game of tiny slights that you didn't notice nor willingly do. Yet, there they were, splayed out in your past, tiny cracks that were finally fissuring together until the entire picture shattered.

Pause. Fast-forward.

Three hours ago you were sitting on the edge of your bed, staring down at a fancy piece of paper with an elegant font spelling out a possible future. You'd been doing this nearly every night for well over a week, the words burned into your mind. Every time you read the first sentence, you felt ecstatic, you felt sick.

Congratulations! Politecnico di Milano is pleased to inform you of your nomination and acceptance into our program...

You had seen first hand what happened when the women of your family started running. If you started, when would you stop?

(Never, apparently.)

Fast-forward a little more.

You get a call. It's well past midnight, but your mind is restless. You stare at the unknown number for a moment, debating. You answer, absentmindedly straightening your room as you listen to the imploring of Atsumu's friend.

At some point, you'd tucked that pesky paper in your drawer. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

(Wrong.)

Next thing you know, you're haphazardly stuffing your feet into your nearest pair of shoes, shrugging on a jacket, and grabbing your keys off the kitchen counter before you're out the door.

Fast-forward twenty minutes.

You're helping your roommate towards your car, nose wrinkled as the stench of alcohol invades your personal space. He's drunk, but it's not the worst you've ever seen him. He supposedly threw up before you arrived and had some water, so his grasp on reality is shaky but there. He's grumbling as you help him get into your car and you pinch your nose in exasperation when he refuses to put his seatbelt on.

You end up leaning over him and doing it yourself.

The drive back to your apartment is silent. Atsumu is staring out of the window, scowling as the city lights bleed together and gentle music trickles through your speakers. He turns it off.

Drunk Atsumu has two moods: the I-want-human-touch-and-attention-or-I'll-die mood or the my-drinks-have-become-a-truth-serum-and-I'm-going-to-flay-the-next-person-that-I-see-with-my-words-alone kind of mood.

Unfortunately, tonight seems to be the latter.

Usually, he would've dropped his grumpy demeanor by the time you're pulling into the parking garage, but he hasn't said a single word since you left his friend's place.

Thankfully, he at least keeps his mouth shut until you're through the chipped red door.

"It's Friday night." He says slowly, ambling forward into the kitchen area.

You put your keys in the bowl on the counter. "It is."

He looks over his shoulder at you, eyes narrowed. "I thought since you made all those fancy art friends, you'd be out more on the weekends, but I suppose old habits die hard."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He scoffed. "I guess I can spell it out for you, goody-two-shoes."

You sigh, moving to walk past him to go to your room. "I'm not doing this with you tonight."

For some reason, this only seemed to spur him on, a smirk appearing on his face. "My bad, I forget, you've always needed me to fight your battles for you. I guess that's why you can't handle fighting with me, crybaby."

You try not to react, truly you do, but you feel your shoulders stiffen on reflex. Your lips press into a thin line before you exhale softly, doing your best to let go of the anger simmering inside of you.

"That's not true, I can take care of myself."

He raises his eyebrows. "Oh you can, can you?"

"Yeah, I can. Hell, half the time, I'm taking care of you too."

He responded without hesitation. "Sometimes I wonder just how long it would take ya to fall apart if ya didn't have someone else to take care of."

You rolled your eyes. "Forgive me for worrying about your reckless behavior. I was under the impression that's what friends do."

"When was the last time you did something for yourself?"

"Atsumu, what-"

"No really, enlighten me. And I'm not talking about making yourself a cup of tea before bed or reading an extra chapter when yer already running late for something. I mean when was the last time ya treated yourself like someone worth caring about."

"Excuse you? Someone worth caring about?"

Atsumu is observant, and he'd been picking fights since the moment he was born, so when he saw his chance he took it without a second thought.

"I'm just sayin', ya treat yourself like a lost cause, but then yer saviors complex just pops up around everyone else. Ya go completely out of our way to 'help' whoever and whatever you can, because the truth is, you're afraid of being alone. And ya think that if you stop, you'll end up with nobody, just like yer mother. Yer not ever yer own person, how pathetic."

You looked at him, nothing but cold apathy visible on your face. "I don't need to be lectured by the person getting drunk off his ass two nights before the biggest game of his college career."

His eyebrows knit together. "Oh yeah? And you know so much about me?"

"Believe it or not I do."

"Really now? Give me one example then, sweetheart." The nickname is sour coming from his tongue, the condescending tone making you feel a thousand times smaller than you actually were.

"Fine. Right now, you're stressed because we're graduating soon and you're trying to figure out what team to sign with. But you're not the only one stressed, so there's no reason—"

He cuts you off. "At least I'm stressed because of somethin' actually important."

You pause. "...excuse you?"

Drip...

Atsumu straightens up slowly, looking at you with half lidded eyes. "Let's be honest, yer no artist, yer just a sad soon-to-be college graduate that will be stuck in a meaningless job because yer too much of a coward to do anythin' else."

Your fingers curl into loose fists, your own posture straightening as words curl on your tongue, but Atsumu doesn't give you a chance to respond.

"So yeah, I'm stressed over goin' pro, but at least I'm makin' something of myself..." He looks at you, a mocking smile spreading across his face. "Unlike you."

(This isn't the first time you'd gotten into a fight with Atsumu, but it was most certainly going to be the first time you fought back.)

...drop.

"And who are you to say that I'm not making something of myself? Just because I don't let you see my work, doesn't mean I don't let others see it."

His eyes flash, but you barrel on, your voice more venomous than he has ever heard.

"Fun fact, just because I'm not decked in fancy trophies or have all my awards displayed on my wall or have my face plastered everywhere, it doesn't mean what I do isn't worth something. Everyone is worth something, but I guess I was foolish to expect someone like you to ever understand that."

Drip...

"Someone like me?" He takes a step forward, but you refuse to yield any space. "And what exactly am I?"

"See! That's exactly what I'm talking about. Your tunnel vision has made it so that your head is so far up your ass, you can't even begin to grasp the concept of other people having feelings and dreams that are just as important as your own. At this rate, you're never going to amount to anything more than an egotistical asshole who digs up other people's flaws to compensate for his own. After all, everyone in the entire fucking world is second best when it comes to you and your goddamn dream, isn't that right?"

You shake your head, and look at him pitfully. You know you shouldn't, but the words are already escaping your mouth as the carefully structured restraint you typically had crumbled underneath the combined pressure of the past few weeks and Atsumu's blistering words.

"Even Osamu knows this. You're so selfish, you forced your own twin to find a new dream because he knew you wouldn't be willing to share yours."

The silence that descends is suffocating and you can feel your heartbeat pulsating throughout your body as Atsumu stares at you, eyes dark and head tilted to the side slightly. Then, he throws his head back and laughs.

It's bitter and scornful and it clings to you like a second skin.

...drop.

"Ya know, sometimes I forget ya actually have a spine. Too bad ya can't put it to good use, because ya think I don't know all that, hm? Ya think any of that is news to me? It's not, and at least I acknowledge what I am."

You manage to not move as he takes another step forward.

He sneers down at you. "I know I can't say the same for you."

Drip...

"At least I had faith that you could have changed. You really are not as bad as you make yourself out to be."

He throws his hands in the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, there it is, the fucking saviors complex! Ya can't even hold your own ground for more than five minutes without wanting to smooth things over. There's no way that you actually mean any of that shit."

"And who are you to say whether or not I actually mean something?"

"Surprise! I know you pretty damn well and I can spot you lying from a mile away."

"If you truly think that was a lie, then you don't know me at all."

He laughs again, the sound grating on your ears. "Oh, I know you. I know that no matter how hard you try, you will always be a lazy dreamer who hides behind flimsy paper cranes and stupid wishes. A wish means nothing, and if you don't grow up, you will stay a nobody."

...drop.

(You are twenty-two and seething. You are on the edge of something that cannot be reversed, teetering back and forth. Somehow, it's fitting that Atsumu is the one to finally push you over.)

"I don't want to be a somebody, especially not to you."

Atsumu takes a step back. For the first time that night, he seems at a loss for words.

Pause.

You know how you got here. So many moments making you sway, the two of you friends but not, something else but no, forever circling around each other, caught in the others orbit. Push and pull. Back and forth. Drip, drop.

Rewind.

You remember empty promises of going to a cafe and him forgetting it in favor of a date. Shells of an agreement of going to a game and getting consumed by your work in its stead. Disappointment lingers, festers, cracks the foundation you stand up.

The times he lied and the times he didn't. The times his lies built on top of each other, one on top of another and another and another, until one tipped and it all fell down, weeks of dishonesty unraveling in a heartbeat.

The times you would leave when his words became sharper than normal, the times when he refused to move out of the way, determined to make you listen no matter if what he was saying held any truth to it or not.

(It usually did. This was Miya Atsumu after all, and while he spun white lies to embellish his own life, he knew the truth hurt so much more than anything he could craft. And, with the best lies being rooted in truth, he took a needle and thread to stitch a reminder on your soul that you would always be second to him. Even after you'd ripped the thread out, the puncture marks remained, closing oh so slowly. and just when you thought you'd moved on, the itch of your wound healing only served to bring his words back to the surface.)

You, feeling like a babysitter.

Atsumu, feeling like a child.

(Things add up. Missed meetings, forgotten chores, words taken the wrong way, music a notch too loud when the other is hunting sleep. One plus one plus one times a hundred little things. It never shrinks. The scales get heavier. The water gets higher.)

There are many poisons in this world. Thanks to Atsumu, you've tasted them all.

But, your relationship wasn't grown on barren soil, for a garden— even as poisonous as this one —was still a garden.

Rewind.

You remembered the time you slept back to back in a shitty hostel on a trip, spine against spine, the heat of your bodies melding together and laying over you like a second blanket. Every breath he took made his back expand and contract, a steadfast rhythm that offered nothing other than safety and the comfort of not being alone.

The time he sat still for over an hour as you carefully pressed your pen against his skin, drawing an elaborate design on his forearm before the first game of the season, his phone occasionally poised in his other hand to record the process as he crowed about his talented roommate.

The new year's kiss where you were tipsy enough to say yes but sober enough that the ghost of his lips lingered days later.

(And the phantom words that haunted your tongue but were never exorcised from your mouth, leaving them to manufacture tombstones of "what ifs" behind your lips.)

Pause. Fast-forward. Play.

His words have become white noise, and while his voice is loud, it can't be classified as a yell. For some reason, this makes the pit in your stomach grow. You don't want to listen to him. You want to listen to him. You want to fight back. You want to give up. You just want him to stop talking. You finally reach the bottom of what laid beyond the cliff.

The answer you've been avoiding is there. You've known it for a while now, but something inside of you wished to cling to the past a little longer, finding comfort in the familiarity of the routine you'd been in for the past four years.

(Oh well. The illusion would have to shatter eventually.)

"—it's like I'm talking to a fucking brick wall—"

"Not that you care," you start. He doesn't listen.

"—ya know? Like shit, you never listen to me—"

"But I got accepted into a Master's program at an amazing university—"

"— for fucks sake, I know you better than that—"

"—and they asked for me specifically because of the concepts and emotion in my pieces—"

"—ya think yer art is too elegant for normal people like me—"

"—damnit, I'm trying to tell you something important—"

"—but how could I possibly understand your feelings if you won't—"

"Atsumu." You say, annoyed as he continues to talk over you. "Atsumu!"

He finally stops, long enough to snap, "What?"

"I'm moving to Italy."

The scale breaks.

(You're caught up now. The present reality is bitter, the silence suffocating. Is it too late to rewind?)

((Yes.))

thanks for reading!

let me know what you think :)

whew, dialogue is not my strong suit and i made my friend give me feedback haha, so i hope it worked and i was able to capture the proper emotions well. also 'in orbit' is over half-way done! there's only two more parts to go and i'm very excited for what comes next, thank you all for sticking around for this lil experiment <3