Work Text:
His whole life, Atsumu has wondered why he’s incapable of feeling things quietly.
Whether he’s experiencing overwhelming happiness or intense dislike, his emotions have always managed to take over. His feelings reign over him.
Osamu had learned the art of controlling his own emotions, early on. Atsumu had been envious of him, but he’d also been unsettled. Why hide what you’re feeling? Why change yourself to please the people around you?
He’s toned it down over the years, but it remains his biggest weakness. His inability to mask his feelings makes him a poor candidate for a secret relationship. For Sakusa Kiyoomi.
A few months into dating, which began at Atsumu’s request, their incompatibilities become glaringly obvious. Atsumu thought he could handle it. He hadn’t asked Kiyoomi out on a whim.
He’d been nursing a small crush on him since high school, one that only intensified when Kiyoomi started playing for the Jackals. After months of deliberation, and one aggressive pep-talk from his twin, he’d decided to go for it.
He’d waited for the right opportunity, and it came along when Hinata and Bokuto ditched their weekly plans. The four youngest teammates had a tradition involving a certain izakaya a few steps away from Atsumu’s apartment. Atsumu neglected to inform Kiyoomi of their teammates’ absence, feigning surprise when the two of them were the only ones to show up. To his delight, Kiyoomi hadn’t turned tail and fled.
The night passed in a blur, full of good-natured teasing and unusually honest conversation. Atsumu drank, of course, unwilling to turn down some liquid courage, but quickly cut himself off. The last thing he needed was Kiyoomi turning him down on account of his intoxication.
A lull in their conversation found Kiyoomi with his head in his arms, buzzed enough to ignore the way his bare forearms rested against the countertop. Atsumu sipped his water and took him in. Kiyoomi’s ears were tinted red. Atsumu wanted to kiss them.
“Omi-kun?”
The man in question raised his head and met Atsumu’s eyes. A lock of his hair had fallen loose, undoubtedly blocking his line of sight. Kiyoomi had recently started letting Atsumu into his space, indulging Atsumu’s need for high-fives and shoulder pats. It gave him the courage to reach out, and tuck the strand behind Kiyoomi’s flushed ear.
Kiyoomi stared at Atsumu’s hand as it pulled away from him. Atsumu brought it to his lap and stared at his fingers, suddenly self conscious. His heart was pounding in his ears as he realized it was now or never.
“I was wonderin’ if ya wanted ta get dinner with me, sometime?” It was a struggle, but Atsumu managed to look at Kiyoomi as he asked.
Kiyoomi had pointed out that they did that regularly, and Atsumu took that as his cue to be more direct. “As a date.” He fiddled with his fingers, certain his face had flushed pink.
Kiyoomi’s eyes were dark and unreadable. If Atsumu were anyone else, he might have given up then. Instead, he added, “I like ya, Omi. I sorta got the feelin’ ya liked me, too.”
The silence stretched on longer, and Atsumu felt a little panicked. But, when he resumed fidgeting, a hand reached out and grabbed hold of one of his. Atsumu’s eyes widened at the sight of his skin pressed against Kiyoomi’s.
A pale thumb stroked up and down his palm and Atsumu shivered at the ghost-like sensation. There was a little smile on Kiyoomi’s face, a self-assured gleam in his eyes, and Atsumu remembered why he felt the way he did about this man.
“Alright.” Kiyoomi said. “Let’s get dinner, sometime.”
Atsumu had held his composure then (no matter how much Kiyoomi insists otherwise), but as soon as he returned home that night, he’d buried his face in his hands to hide the dumb smile that wouldn’t leave him.
The initial glee had long since worn off. By now, Atsumu is tired of being Kiyoomi’s dirty, little secret. Kiyoomi never phrases it like that, but what else is Atsumu meant to think when his boyfriend insists on telling no one about their relationship?
“Let’s keep this between us, for now.”
“How come?”
“It’s still new. It’s not worth risking our team dynamics, yet.”
Atsumu had accepted his reasoning, back then. He had thought yet implied an eventual change, a turning point. But three months into this relationship, no one outside of Osamu and Komori are aware it exists.
When the team is invited to a somewhat formal dinner, an event where most everyone will bring a date, Atsumu allows himself to feel hope. Maybe, Kiyoomi will finally take this opportunity to make their relationship public.
Atsumu understands that his boyfriend is a private person and is prepared to accommodate him. He doesn’t expect public displays of affection or for Kiyoomi to begin waxing poetic about him to the team.
All he wants is to be acknowledged, to be able to meet Kiyoomi’s eyes in public and feel like he has a place next to him. To be introduced as Kiyoomi’s boyfriend. To be Kiyoomi’s.
He was hoping for too much, he soon realizes.
Presently, he and Kiyoomi are sitting across from each other at a picnic table, finishing up their takeout. It would look innocuous to anyone walking by, just two friends enjoying a meal, if not for the way their legs tangled together under the table.
It had taken Kiyoomi some convincing to go on food related dates. He thought the sounds of Atsumu chewing might prematurely bring an end to their relationship, or at least significantly reduce his attraction to his boyfriend.
Atsumu, however, strongly believed in the intimacy of sharing meals together. His upbringing had made sure of it. He was able to warm Kiyoomi up to the idea, taking advantage of acute post-practice hunger. Now, they go on dinner dates once a week, twice if their schedules permit it.
While looking down and fiddling with his fingers, Atsumu has an idea. He’s thought up a way to ease Kiyoomi into the question he wants to ask him.
“Say, Omi-kun?” Atsumu tries to draw his attention. His boyfriend raises his eyebrows and waits for him to continue.
“I was wonderin’ if ya had a tie picked out for that dinner we have next week?”
Kiyoomi looks confused but graces him with a response. “I do.”
“So?” Atsumu presses on. “What’s it look like?”
Atsumu can tell Kiyoomi wants to know what he’s getting at, but he continues indulging him. “It's blue.”
“Navy blue,” he adds, when Atsumu opens his mouth again.
“Alright.” Atsumu swallows, trying to force the next words from his lips. “I definitely have a navy blue shirt.”
Kiyoomi stares blankly at that, prompting Atsumu to continue. “I was thinkin’ m-maybe we could match. Like, a couple’s thing.”
Atsumu stutters his way through the suggestion, trying to ignore his sweaty palms and racing heart. He scolds himself in his head. He’s Miya Atsumu, for god’s sake. He’s never cared what people think of him and Kiyoomu shouldn’t be an exception.
The bewildered look on Kiyoomi’s face easily dissipates his false bravado. He backtracks. “Or not. We definitely don’t have ta. It was just a-”
“Can we talk about this at home?” Kiyoomi cuts in.
Atsumu freezes. Kiyoomi doesn’t sound displeased but the blunt words coupled with his detached tone cause Atsumu's stomach to sink.
“Please?” his boyfriend finishes, softening the blow.
“Sure,” Atsumu says weakly, desperately thinking of a way to change the topic. “Anyway, ya won’t believe the customer ‘Samu had ta deal with yesterday…”
Kiyoomi tilts his head to listen, accepting Atsumu’s half-assed attempt to redirect their conversation.
They enter Kiyoomi’s apartment in uncharacteristic silence.
Usually, Atsumu talks Kiyoomi’s ear off about something as they make their way back from dinner to one of their apartments. It's practically tradition to curl up on the couch and watch bad television together after a dinner date.
Atsumu has a feeling today will be different.
He makes himself comfortable on Kiyoomi’s overpriced couch, as the man in question puts his things away and joins him.
There’s a clinking sound as Kiyoomi drops ice into two glasses and fills them with water, despite his supposed distaste for iced water. It must have grown on him, or he’s accommodating Atsumu. Accommodation is a common reoccurrence in their relationship. Atsumu only hopes it hasn’t all been on Kiyoomi’s part.
“So?” he finally asks, once they’ve settled, sitting on the couch with an awkward gap in between them. “Ya wanted to talk?”
Kiyoomi tenses up. He sips at his water, trying for some composure. “Yeah.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout the matching clothes thing,” Atsumu tells him, trying to defuse the tension. “I get that it’s not really yer style.”
“Oh. Alright.”
“What I really wanted ta ask ya earlier was if ya wanted ta go ta the dinner together?” Atsumu looks down at his socked feet as he asks, watching them nudge against Kiyoomi's soft carpet.
“The whole team has to attend. Of course we’ll be going together.”
“No. I meant as a couple.” Atsumu shoots Kiyoomi a glance then, catching a glimpse of an unreadable expression.
“Oh.” Kiyoomi averts his gaze, hair covering his face. “What brought this on?”
“What do ya mean, what brought this on? It’s a pretty normal question ta ask someone yer datin’.”
“I-“ Kiyoomi cuts himself off. “Alright, then. If that’s what you want.”
Atsumu should be jumping for joy but he feels uneasy. “Why do ya sound so uncomfortable about it?” Kiyoomi’s rug has got quite an interesting pattern, Atsumu thinks to himself. He should really keep his eyes on it.
“I’m not uncomfortable.” It would’ve been more believable if Kiyoomi didn't sound so monotone.
“Bullshit.” Atsumu doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but it’s noticeably louder. He finally looks up. Nothing aggravates him like Kiyoomi blatantly lying to his face.
“I don’t understand what you want from me, Atsumu.” Usually, hearing his given name from Kiyoomi’s mouth makes him giddy. Hearing it accompanied by such a frustrated tone does the opposite. “If I say no, you’re upset. If I agree, you’re still upset.”
“So, ya wanted to say no?”
“No, I- I mean this is important to you, isn’t it? That’s enough reason to say yes.” Kiyoomi’s eyes are earnest. On any other occasion, the sentiment behind his words would be appreciated. Maybe even rewarded with a kiss.
Not today. “But why isn’t this important ta ya?” Atsumu tries to sound dignified, but some petulance creeps in.
Kiyoomi sighs. “An event like this is going to be a headache, date or not.”
“I'm not talkin’ ‘bout the event! Why don’t ya want us goin’ ta places as a couple?”
“Because I don't feel the need to show off? I’m not shallow enough to flaunt our relationship to everyone,” Kiyoomi snaps back. The nervousness Atsumu’s been feeling is almost entirely swallowed up by anger, then.
“Shallow?” Atsumu scoffs. “Try brave enough. I know what yer real problem is, Omi.”
He waits, futilely, for Kiyoomi to question him further. He’s met by silence.
It’s me , Atsumu wants to say. You have a problem with people knowing you’re dating me. He wants to ask what it is that’s so offensive about him, what it is that’s wrong with him. He knows he won’t be able to stomach Kiyoomi’s answer.
He takes a different approach. One that’ll surely invoke Kiyoomi’s ire, but spare Atsumu from permanent emotional damage. “God forbid Sakusa Kiyoomi has a positive emotion. And people find out ‘bout it. Ya can’t handle the idea of anyone thinkin’ yer not some emotionless bastard.”
Kiyoomi blinks, as he takes in Atsumu’s answer. His face changes from surprised, to offended, and settles on unimpressed. “You really don’t know me at all, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi grits out, his voice cold.
That stings. Atsumu thought he’d earned himself a rank among those who knew Kiyoomi best. Sure, he wasn’t on Komori’s level, but he was certain his understanding of Kiyoomi ran deeper than most of his so-called family members. He knows Kiyoomi’s favorite meals and his most trusted brand of cleaning supplies, knows which thoughts keep him up at night and what words put his mind at ease.
There’s a tightness in Atsumu's throat now, and a wretched sort of tension in his limbs. It sharpens his tongue. “I guess I don’t. Sorry for mistakin’ ya as someone who gave a shit ‘bout this relationship.”
Atsumu’s intention was to hurt but the expression on Kiyoomi’s face immediately invites regret. He’s thinking of ways to salvage this conversation, when his boyfriend recovers, armed with harsh words of his own. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“What?”
“Don’t act like this was more than some fling to you.” There’s an air of finality to the words, words that send Atsumu reeling.
It’s suddenly clear that Atsumu was much more invested in this whole thing than Kiyoomi ever was. There’s a stifling silence and Atsumu realizes his breathing has picked up. He counts to ten in his head, like his Ma directed, and thinks things through.
Kiyoomi had no intention of making their relationship public this week. Hell, it seems like the thought’s never crossed his mind. Worse, he thinks Atsumu’s shallow enough to treat him like arm candy, to risk the sanctity of their team for the sake of a fling .
He feels sick, but he knows Kiyoomi isn’t going to be the one to break this silence.
“So, what, is that it?” Atsumu won’t cry. He’s stronger than that. He has to be. He clenches his fists, nails pressing into skin, and tries to get a hold of himself.
Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything. He stares, and again, Atsumu can’t read him. Atsumu thinks he’s never been able to read him.
Still, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what Kiyoomi is getting at. What he’s been hinting at throughout this whole, sorry excuse of a conversation.
“We’re breaking up,” Atsumu realizes, aloud. “Alright. Could’ve started with that and saved us a whole lotta time,” he adds, bitterly.
Kiyoomi’s eyes widen and Atsumu has a moment of hope. For a split second he thinks he’s misread the situation, that Kiyoomi will laugh at him for jumping to conclusions, or more foolishly, he thinks Kiyoomi will reach for him, grab his hand and beg him to stay.
But, Kiyoomi doesn’t move. The moment passes.
“Alright,” Kiyoomi says, finally.
His eyes look tired and it makes Atsumu seethe and simultaneously want to curl up and die. How dare he act like this is more difficult for him than it is for Atsumu, as if Atsumu is inconveniencing him? Is it really so exhausting for him to be in Atsumu's presence?
To Atsumu's frustration, the lump in his throat has been growing bigger, and he’s afraid his unshed tears will spill over any second.
He needs to escape, quickly. He stands and starts making his way to the door, desperately thinking of an excuse. “I… I need to go. ‘Samu- Well, he needs someone-needs me ta help out at the shop. Ya can drop off my things l-later.”
Kiyoomi’s still sitting there, barely reacting to what Atsumu is telling him.
Atsumu opens the door, thinks about turning around and catching one more glimpse of Kiyoomi, but stops himself, afraid his boyfriend, no, ex-boyfriend, will see the damage he’s done.
Atsumu won’t give Kiyoomi the satisfaction of knowing he’s affected him. He walks out, letting the door shut behind him softly.
Then, he closes his eyes and the tears finally escape him.
Kiyoomi watches Atsumu walk away from him in silence. His body won’t move. He listens to the door slam and the sound of Atsumu’s shoes against flooring, as his once boyfriend gets further and further away.
That wasn’t meant to happen. How did he lose control of the situation so quickly?
One second they’re sharing a meal, off in their own little world, and the next, they’ve broken up.
Just an hour ago, Atsumu was sitting across from him, his eyes twinkling as he recounted story after story to Kiyoomi. His hands had been so soft under Kiyoomi's.
Kiyoomi would’ve appreciated them more if he’d known it was his last chance to hold them.
Atsumu had always taken good care of his hands, something Kiyoomi admired about him before he’d even classified what he felt for him as attraction. They were smooth and capable, his fingernails neatly filed. Being able to hold them had always been worth the risk of being discovered. Kiyoomi had found every excuse to sit next to Atsumu on bus rides, reaching for that warm hand, even amongst their teammates.
He shivers. The room feels unbearably cold, as if Atsumu took all of the warmth with him.
He dials the only number he can think of, relying on muscle memory. It rings and then he’s greeted with a mumbled “Hello?”.
“Motoya,” Kiyoomi murmurs.
“Kiyo?” his cousin says, his words fuzzy with sleep. “What’s up?”
There’s silence on Kiyoomi’s end. His breathing quickens.
“Is something wrong?” Motoya sounds concerned now.
There’s more silence and then, a shaky exhale. “Motoya, I-'' Kiyoomi rasps, wet and messy, and he hears violent rustling from Motoya’s end, as he presumably sits up in bed.
“Kiyo, are you okay? Do I need to come see you?” There’s the sound of frantic typing and Kiyoomi is sure Motoya is trying to find the earliest possible train tickets to Osaka.
He wishes he could give him a proper response, but the floodgates have been opened. If he opens his mouth, he might sob, and he hasn’t cried in front of anyone since the fourth grade.
“Please, answer me. You’re worrying me.”
“Atsumu left. I let him leave,” he manages to choke out.
Motoya is the only person Kiyoomi’s filled in about his relationship. He wasn't ready to hear the criticism that surely awaited him from everyone else, but he knew he couldn’t keep the truth from his closest friend. Besides, his cousin had been there through it all, from Kiyoomi’s juvenile crush to his first date with Atsumu, which he helped plan.
“Oh.” Motoya’s dejection only makes him tremble. He’s certain his cousin has picked up on his pathetic struggle to get air into his lungs.
“Hey, hey, Kiyo. It’s alright, it was just a fight.”
“It wasn't just a fight, Toya. It was a break-up.” Atsumu had made that very clear.
There’s a second of quiet on the other end. “What happened?” his cousin asks, his voice unsettlingly soft. Kiyoomi wonders if he pities him. There goes little Kiyoomi, losing another one of his things.
He shakes it off. He doesn’t need to be upset with Motoya for an imaginary reason right now. Especially when he has no one else in his corner.
“He wanted us to go to that dinner next week, together. Wanted us to match, too,” Kiyoomi laughs, a little hysterically. Would that be so bad? To turn up in Miya Atsumu’s colors, practically announcing to the whole world who his heart belongs to?
Motoya chuckles, most likely imagining the look on Kiyoomi’s face when the question was posed, but promptly resumes his interrogation. “I’m assuming you shot that idea down”
Kiyoomi hums in assent. “I don’t think that’s offensive enough to warrant a break-up, Kiyo.”
“That wasn’t it. He asked why we never went out as a couple. I didn’t have an answer for him.”
As Motoya takes a second to consider his words, Kiyoomi pictures the expression on Atsumu’s face earlier. He’d been indignant, yes, but underneath that, he’d seemed wounded. Like Kiyoomi had hurt him. Kiyoomi didn’t know he was capable of hurting him.
He thought Atsumu was invincible. Maybe that had been his biggest mistake.
“Do you have an answer now?” Motoya finally asks.
“I might, ” Kiyoomi starts. “I told him I didn’t want to jeopardize our teamwork, but that’s not quite true.” He pauses. “Don’t you think there’s something comedic about us being together?”
Motoya makes a noise of confusion, indicating, no, not really.
“There is,” Kiyoomi insists. “Look at Atsumu. He’s so… warm. And I’m not. Him dating me… it’s like he's doing charity work. That’s what it would look like to everyone else.”
“Do you think Atsumu-kun thinks of you like that?” There’s no judgment in Motoya’s tone, despite the critical nature of his question.
“God forbid Sakusa Kiyoomi has a positive emotion.”
“I don’t know.”
His cousin sighs. “I know you’re scared of people hurting you, Kiyo. But, that doesn’t mean you have to hurt them first.”
Kiyoomi doesn’t have an answer to that. Motoya must realize how badly he wants this conversation to end now, as he changes directions abruptly. “You’re sure it was a break-up?”
“He was the one to bring it up. He must’ve been considering it for a while.” Kiyoomi’s heart clenches at the thought.
He’d really been deluding himself, thinking Atsumu was happy with him, that they were happy together. It’s mortifying to look back on their short-lived relationship, on the childish lovesickness Kiyoomi had felt, both in his boyfriend’s presence and absence.
At least he hadn’t vocalized the extent of his affection. The most Atsumu had gotten out of him was a “C’mere, it’s cold without you.” Kiyoomi had been exhausted that day and the lack of Atsumu in bed beside him had loosened his tongue. His boyfriend had found it endearing. He’d draped himself over Kiyoomi’s front, pressed kiss after kiss to his collarbones and neck and asked if Kiyoomi felt any warmer.
Kiyoomi realizes, a tad too late, that he’ll be sleeping alone tonight.
“Oh,” Motoya says quietly. Then, even softer, he says,“It’s alright. I know you’ll be alright.”
Funny how those words send the first tear running down his cheek. He swipes at it angrily and says “Yeah.”
Practice the next day is hell.
Atsumu is too dedicated to let personal affairs interfere with his career, and he is cruelly reminded that Kiyoomi is cut from the same cloth. He opens the door to the locker room to find his ex-boyfriend tying his shoelaces, entirely unbothered by the possibility of Atsumu’s entrance.
Thankfully, Bokuto is also there, unknowingly saddled with the burden of playing mediator.
“Tsum-tsum!” he greets, forcing Atsumu to paste a robotic smile on his face.
“Mornin’. I heard yer boyfriend was in town?” he prompts him, hoping to goad him into a one-sided conversation.
It does the trick. Bokuto begins rambling and Atsumu breathes a sigh of relief, opening his bag. Kiyoomi leaves and Atsumu’s eyes don't follow him. They don’t.
Kiyoomi shuts the door behind him, cutting off Bokuto’s spiel and the possibility of glimpsing his setter’s blond hair. He exhales.
It’s going to be a long day.
Atsumu collapses head first onto the counter at Onigiri Miya. Osamu’s quick reflexes, honed from years of volleyball and having Miya Atsumu as a twin, stop him from splitting his skull open.
Atsumu sighs, nudging his forehead against the back of Osamu’s hand, the only barrier between his skin and the relief of a cool countertop. “Could ya move yer hand, ya scrub?”
His twin pulls it away abruptly and Atsumu hits the table with a thump . He hisses at the sudden sting, but doesn’t bother complaining. No need to further aggravate his twin when he’s come in search of free food. And maybe, some company.
“So,” his brother says, getting right to it. “I take it practice went badly?” Osamu seems nonchalant now, but Atsumu won’t forget the sound of him yesterday. He’d been concerned when Atsumu had filled him in over the phone.
Atsumu had been in a sorry state the night before. He’d rushed straight home after leaving Kiyoomi’s apartment and collapsed into his bed, not even bothering to change out of his clothes.
He lay limply for what felt like hours, desperately ignoring the pillow on his right. That was, or had been, Omi’s pillow.
At some point, the tears had started back up, dripping down his face and soaking his bedding. They were silent this time, which Atsumu found painfully ironic. He’d been forced to stifle his sobs into his palm earlier, afraid of Kiyoomi’s neighbors reporting him as a disruption to “the reasonable enjoyment of the property.”
It hurt. For months, Atsumu had everything he had dreamed of since high school in the palm of his hand. Or so he had thought. Now he would have to continue living as if he’d never experienced Sakusa Kiyoomi’s touch on his skin, or the quiet affections Kiyoomi had been so generous with. A hand on his back, a kiss to his temple, a you played well after an excruciating match. Atsumu would no longer receive anything of the like.
Worse, Atsumu might have been responsible. He’d been the one to utter the word break-up, after all. Sure, Kiyoomi was thinking it, but would he have actually said it? Could Atsumu have bought himself more time? Or was it better to end things now, quick and easy? It had just been a fling , after all.
Remembering Kiyoomi’s words hurt, but hardened his resolve. Quick and easy was better. Now, Atsumu could act accordingly, as though their time together truly meant so little to him.
As if determined to prove the legitimacy of twin telepathy, Osamu called him at that exact moment. Atsumu had stared at the god-awful picture he had assigned to his twin, a photo of Osamu mid-sneeze that he’d managed to capture during a video call. Then, he’d sighed and hit accept.
“Hey,” he’d managed, hoping his twin wouldn’t pick up on his hoarse voice.
“Are ya sick?” Osamu had immediately demanded.
Atsumu laughed, in an attempt not to cry. He really couldn’t get anything past his brother. “Nah, I’m alright. Just….” he trailed off, uncertain how much he wanted to reveal.
Osamu wouldn’t accept anything less than the full truth. “Just what?”
He gave in. “Just recoverin’. I-uh. May have broken up with Omi. Or he may have broken up with me, I’m not sure…”
“Ya what?!” Osamu practically yelled.
“Broke up.”
“I don’t understand. I thought…”
Atsumu sighed again. “Ya thought wrong.” Then he went on to fill Osamu in on everything, including Kiyoomi’s insistence on secrecy, their fight, and the radio silence since.
His brother didn’t even take a second to consider all the brand new information. As soon as Atsumu finished explaining, he said “So, the bastard wanted ta keep it secret even longer? Good riddance, ‘Tsumu.”
That wasn’t what Atsumu had wanted to hear from him. He didn’t respond, but his brother, who’d learned Atsumu’s name before his own, could always see right through him, even over the phone. “Hey, that wasn’t…” Osamu trailed off. “Look, stop by the shop tomorrow. I have some more flavors for ya ta test.”
Atsumu finally smiled. Osamu wouldn’t unnerve him with uncharacteristic condolences, but he would soften his voice and invite Atsumu to come see him, under the guise of needing a favor.
“And ‘Tsumu?”
He hummed and Osamu continued. “I think ya did the right thing. So don’t freak out over what-ifs.”
Atsumu wished it was that easy.
Now, Osamu stares at him unflinchingly, expecting Atsumu to dive into a rant. He’ll have to disappoint him. “It went okay. Omi never even looked at me.”
“Mhm.”
“Not even a glance.”
“Mhm.”
“What the fuck is his problem? He was the one worried about our teamwork! How am I supposed ta play with a bastard that pretends I don’t exist?”
Osamu smiles faintly. Before Atsumu can ask him what he finds so amusing, he says “Yer gettin’ ahead of yerself. It’s only been a day. Ya should cut the guy some slack after breakin’ his heart.”
Atsumu scoffs. “As if I could break Sakusa Kiyoomi’s heart.” If anything, it was the opposite. Atsumu wanted to hold onto his frustration from today’s practice, if only to prevent the sadness from creeping back in. But at Osamu’s reminder, he feels his earlier melancholy overtake him.
It’s only been a day.
That might be the worst part of it all.
Just yesterday, Kiyoomi greeted him with a warm “Atsumu,” and a subtle squeeze of his hand. Just last week, Atsumu had been cooking in Kiyoomi’s apartment, a privilege he’d never taken lightly. He’d served his boyfriend dinner, dropping a kiss on the top of his head as he’d set down his plate. Kiyoomi’s ears had flushed red, as they tended to do in the face of Atsumu’s affection.
Atsumu had resisted the chance to kiss them, but he feels bitter regret now. He hadn’t known he wouldn’t get another chance.
He’d felt so close to Kiyoomi then, permitted to step foot in his apartment and intrude on the personal space his boyfriend valued so much. How had so much distance grown between them in so little time?
“Eat faster, ya scrub, I actually have some work fer ya.” His brother cuts his reminiscing short, no doubt sick of the pathetic expression on his face.
He digs in and banishes any thoughts of Kiyoomi from his mind.
“Sho-kun!” Atsumu calls out, sending the ball into the air in a graceful arc. The spiker in question leaps into place, slamming the ball down with a satisfying thump.
They’re in good shape and only getting better. Atsumu can’t wait to try this quick against one of Sunarin’s blocks.
He high fives his teammate and wipes the sweat off his face with his jersey. He knows it’s unhygienic, but it’s not like there’s anyone to object. Then, he faces the next player in line.
Oh. There’s Kiyoomi, looking anywhere but at his face.
As he tosses the ball, he swallows the Sakusa on his lips, well aware his teammates would notice his unusual behavior. “Omi-kun!” he says, the nickname as familiar as ever. He ignores Kiyoomi’s brief pause, trusting him to get his mind back on the game.
The ball lands out of bounds.
The team is set free after a reminder about the dinner they’re required to attend this Friday. Kiyoomi rushes ahead of everyone, hoping to hop into a freshly cleaned shower stall. Unfortunately, fate is not on his side today, as it places an obstacle known as Miya Atsumu directly in his way.
“Sakusa,” he says, brows furrowed in frustration. Before Kiyoomi can identify the pang in his chest as loss, Atsumu’s tugging on the hem of his shirt to pull him aside.
Kiyoomi cooperates, if only to reduce unwanted attention from their teammates. He sees Inunaki raise a brow at them, but everyone else seems sufficiently occupied.
Finally out of earshot of anyone else, Atsumu continues. “What’s wrong with ya?”
He could play dumb, or point out that, at this moment, Atsumu is acting the most abnormal out of the two of them. He’s aware his behavior’s been off today, but after a few days of acting unbothered, it’s only natural for some discontent to surface.
Kiyoomi considers apologizing, but the word sorry doesn’t sit right on his tongue, especially face to face with the man that tore his heart to shreds only days prior. That’s a dramatic thought, even for him, and probably means Atsumu fucked him up worse than he’s realized.
“Nothing I won’t get over by tomorrow,” he says, cool and composed. It’ll take more than some attitude from Atsumu to faze him.
Atsumu opens his mouth, then closes it. It seems he expected more of a fight. He finally hisses, “Ya’d better. Volleyball comes first, remember, Omi?” Kiyoomi suddenly wishes he’d call him Sakusa again. The nickname he’d come to adore paired with such an icy tone makes him feel a little nauseous.
Then, determined to make a dramatic exit, Atsumu whirls around, storming into the locker room, and letting the door slam shut behind him. Atsumu has a habit of slamming doors when frustrated, something he’s never properly outgrown. Kiyoomi wishes he didn’t find it slightly endearing.
He glances at his surroundings again, and is grateful everyone seems to have vacated the gym.
He enters the locker room after taking a moment to recollect himself, relieved Atsumu had already finished and left. Then he wrinkles his nose at the thought of Atsumu running home without taking a shower.
“He was definitely in a rush,” Bokuto says, catching Kiyoomi off guard. He wasn’t aware his scan of the room could be interpreted as a search for Atsumu. Leave it to Bokuto to be eerily perceptive. He hums, unsure what response is expected of him.
“You guys have been distant lately,” Bokuto laments, while rubbing a towel over his dyed head. “I can tell it bothers Atsumu.”
That’s slightly concerning. Kiyoomi thought they were doing a decent job of keeping things normal. He hopes Bokuto is the only one cognizant of the change.
“We’re working on it,” he says, trying to sound frustrated rather than miserable. Atsumu used to frustrate him, used to make him clench his fists and grind his teeth. The annoyance is still there, but it’s been overshadowed by these awful fluttery feelings, which leave Kiyoomi giddy or sick to his stomach. These last few days, they’ve only been causing the latter.
Bokuto still looks dismayed. “You guys make a really good team. Don’t mess that up.”
The words aren’t exceptionally eloquent, but they do strike a chord in Kiyoomi’s heart. Him and Atsumu had made a good team, maybe even a great one. And hadn’t Kiyoomi been the one to mess things up? Had he started to look for problems where none had existed?
He gives in to his urge to be vulnerable, just once. “Really? We’re nothing alike, him and I.” He averts his gaze from Bokuto, peering into his bag like it holds all the secrets in the universe.
Bokuto laughs quietly, but it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at Kiyoomi. “You’re both kinda prickly, Omi-Omi. Hard to get along with.” He puts his hands in the air and adds “No offense. But it seems like it’s easier for the two of you. Together.”
Softer, he says, “You complement each other.”
Kiyoomi’s left speechless. He’d expected the same old cliches, opposites attract and all that. But to be told he and Atsumu were cut from the same cloth, that together they amounted to something greater, something better ?
Whatever Bokuto says next flies over his head, but at the sight of him grabbing his duffel and heading out, Kiyoomi presumes it was a goodbye.
He sits there a moment longer, in a now empty locker room, regret pooling in his stomach, his thoughts racing a mile a minute.
That evening, Kiyoomi opens his laptop to an unwelcome surprise. The desktop that awaits him, courtesy of his once boyfriend, is a photo Atsumu had taken while Kiyoomi was sleeping.
Atsumu is cuddled up to Kiyoomi’s back, arms around his shoulders, holding the phone at an angle that captures both of their faces. Kiyoomi is frowning slightly in his sleep, a crease between his eyebrows that Atsumu likely smoothed out after capturing the picture. He’s smiling widely, eyes filled with something Kiyoomi has come to recognize as fondness.
It’s a terrible photo. It’s been stretched slightly to fit his desktop, and their faces are blurry.
He stares at it and realizes his hands have gotten away from him, fingers tracing the curve of Atsumu’s pixelated smile. He draws them back.
Kiyoomi should definitely find a new wallpaper. He stares a beat longer, then slams his laptop shut with a groan. He can just use his phone to write that email.
He’ll deal with the desktop another time.
He goes to bed that night with that picture burned into the back of his eyelids. Atsumu’s smile was so wide, it’s hard to believe he was ever discontent being by Kiyoomi’s side.
It’s the day before the dinner the team is required to attend, and he’s found himself outside of the one establishment where he is most unwelcome.
He watches the Onigiri Miya sign sway back and forth with the wind, and contemplates his chances of making it out of here in one piece. He doesn’t think Osamu is the type to treat his twin like a little sister in need of defending, but he’s certain he won’t be greeted warmly.
He’s just so confused. Bokuto’s words have been echoing in his head nonstop, tormenting him with ‘ you complement each other.’ The only way for Kiyoomi to make sense of the turmoil in his brain is to consult the only other person aware of the situation he’s in.
Kiyoomi needs to talk to Osamu.
That was his plan, at least, but the longer he stares at the door to the restaurant, the further his resolve falters.
He pulls out his phone, contemplating whether he should call his cousin or not, when the choice is made for him. “Sakusa-san?”
He shoves his phone in his pocket and sees Osamu holding the door open, looking bewildered. “You’ve been standin’ outside my shop for”–Osamu checks his watch–“eight minutes now. Can I help ya?”
Ears burning in embarrassment, Kiyoomi says, “Do you have a minute to talk?”
With a plate of umeboshi onigiri in front of him, Kiyoomi waits for Osamu to join him. He didn’t think he’d have much of an appetite, but his stomach growls at the scent of fresh rice. He takes a few ginger bites, glancing at Osamu ever so often.
After informing his employees of his brief absence, Osamu hangs up his apron and takes a seat next to Kiyoomi at the counter.
“Alright,” he says. “Talk.”
Though he’s run into Atsumu’s twin on numerous occasions by now, Kiyoomi still can’t relax in his presence. Facing his hard stare was uncomfortable enough when he was still dating Atsumu. As his brother’s ex, Kiyoomi has no idea how to interact with him.
Osamu is just too placid. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve like his twin, and Kiyoomi never knows what he’s thinking.
He should’ve practiced what he wanted to say beforehand. With Osamu’s gray eyes boring into him, he’s at a loss for words.
He starts small. “I’m assuming you’ve spoken to your brother recently?” Kiyoomi avoids saying Atsumu’s name, afraid of the reaction it might garner.
“Don’t see how that’s any of yer business now, but yeah, I have.”
Kiyoomi swallows. “So, you’re aware…?”
“That ya broke up with him?” Again, Osamu is completely unreadable.
“Is that what he told you?” Kiyoomi is aware that by letting Atsumu believe he meant to break up with him, the blame would fall on him. That doesn’t mean he likes the thought of being the guilty party.
Kiyoomi may not know how to read Osamu, but the expression on his face right now is definitely unimpressed. “Shouldn’t ya be talkin’ to ‘Tsumu ‘bout this?” The implied question is, of course, what do you want from me ?
“No, Miya-san, I really need to speak with you. ” Osamu sighs, which Kiyoomi takes as permission to continue. “Has Atsumu dated many people?” he finally manages to ask. He’s asked his cousin the same question before, and gotten an unsatisfactory response.
Suna, apparently, insists Atsumu’s dated practically no one, but it contradicts the image of Atsumu that Kiyoomi is familiar with. The Atsumu Kiyoomi knows is one who skips out on countless post game dinners in favor of a “hot date,” who shows up to practice with dark circles under his eyes and a smile on his lips, bragging about a wild night.
Atsumu’s twin of all people should know what he gets up to.
Osamu looks at him in disbelief, and then, taking in the way Kiyoomi’s gnawing his bottom lip, he chokes out a laugh. “Ya came all the way here ta ask me that?”
Before Kiyoomi can pick up the pieces of his wounded pride and turn tail, Osamu continues. “No, Sakusa-san. Atsumu’s barely dated anyone. Rin’s been teasin’ him about it for years.”
“But, he was always out with people,” Kiyoomi protests, citing his ample evidence. “Before he-” dated me , Kiyoomi doesn’t finish.
“He plays stuff up. A wild night for Atsumu could mean kissin’ a stranger at a bar or watchin’ recordings of old matches with takeout.”
So, maybe Atsumu is prone to exaggeration. Still, Osamu can’t possibly mean Atsumu’s never dated. Kiyoomi vividly remembers Atsumu trailing after his high school volleyball captain like a lovesick puppy. “Before MSBY, he never…?”
“He’s never been with anyone longer than three dates.” At Kiyoomi’s disbelieving eyes, Osamu groans.
“My brother’s an asshole, Sakusa. Ya think he makes time for people he’s not serious about?”
Kiyoomi thinks of how Atsumu talks to strangers in bars, to his doted fans, even to their teammates. He’s polite when he needs to be, overly friendly or flirtatious if it suits him, even outright rude if he’s in a sour mood.
He's rarely genuine. But he was always genuine with Kiyoomi.
Kiyoomi thinks back to the hand sanitizer Atsumu carries in his backpack, the way he lowers his voice to a whisper when he’s on the phone and he thinks Kiyoomi is sleeping, his habit of squeezing Kiyoomi’s fingers one by one, and the pleased smile on his face when Kiyoomi shows him affection.
He remembers his I like ya, Omi, the vulnerable look in his eyes that betrayed his false confidence. That look that Kiyoomi has become intimately acquainted with, of Atsumu with his guard down around the one person he trusts to keep his surprisingly soft heart safe.
A look meant just for Kiyoomi.
He thinks he understands. And he has one more place to go.
“Thank you, Miya-san,” he says, standing up abruptly. Osamu responds with something, but Kiyoomi is too distracted to take note of it, dropping a handful of banknotes on the counter, and heading out. “You can keep the change.”
He ignores the call of “I can’t keep this, Sakusa-san!” and pushes the door open, immediately shivering at the gust of cold air.
Oh, he notes. It’s raining.
Atsumu is having a marvelous time.
He’s decided, after such a long miserable week, a self care night is in order. He wasn’t aware how much of a difference putting on a face mask and watching bad television could make until he started dating Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi, who’s perpetually tense, who’s introduced Atsumu to many of his little routines and included him in them.
Kiyoomi, who he will not mention for the rest of the night, in the spirit of self care.
He’s washing off his face mask now, reveling in the softness of the skin underneath. He pats his face dry with a clean towel, a garish green towel that he never would have bought for himself. He avoids thinking too hard about the origin of his towel.
After moisturizing his face and spending a sufficient amount of time admiring his reflection, he makes himself comfortable on his couch and resumes his current favorite dating show. He missed last week’s episode, since he and Kiyoomi had been keeping up with it together. But, Atsumu’s perfectly capable of watching it without him. He won’t let his ex-boyfriend ruin something else for him.
He sinks deeper into his couch, content to watch near naked, unrealistically attractive people prance around on a beach. He thinks he would fit right in. How do people get picked for these shows anyways? It’s not like he has anything better to be doing in the off season.
As the show goes on, Atsumu realizes his weight is dislodging the cushions of his couch. He groans and stands up to push them back in. His threadbare couch pales in comparison to the one he spends most of his evenings sitting on, but in his softest pajamas, he can convince himself he’s just as comfortable.
He’s really failing at his only self-appointed task for the night. It’s like Kiyoomi is in the background of every one of his thoughts, a persistent white noise Atsumu can’t ignore.
Fuck this. Atsumu kicks off slippers and turns the volume down a few notches. He’s felt tired all evening and the rhythmic sound of the rain is only adding to his sleepiness. He situates himself the best he can on his too small couch, which means his legs are dangling off one of the armrests.
He still manages to doze off.
As he drifts in and out of sleep, he thinks he hears a knock at the door. The sound is so faint, he presses his face deeper into his onigiri throw pillow and convinces himself it came from next door.
Then, he falls off the couch as a thunderous knock makes him fear for the sanctity of his door. He pulls himself off the ground, groaning and rubbing his temples, then stopping abruptly when he realizes he’s emulating his Ma.
He wonders who could be there as he approaches his door, wonders who needs to see him so badly they’d brave the rain.
Atsumu flings the door open, unbothered by the cartoon foxes printed all over his pajama pants. He’s expecting to see his brother, or maybe a teammate in need of a favor. The last thing he expects is Sakusa Kiyoomi.
He’s standing at Atsumu’s doorstep, dripping rainwater, his arms and legs exposed to the cold in his neon athleisure. Atsumu watches him shiver in open-mouthed shock for a moment.
Kiyoomi, on the other hand, opens his mouth with purpose. “Atsumu,” he manages to say through the chattering of his teeth, but Atsumu cuts him off before he can continue.
“Omi, yer gonna catch a cold! Get in here.” He reaches out and tugs Kiyoomi inside by the drenched hem of his shirt. Surprisingly, Kiyoomi cooperates, letting Atsumu lead him to his couch.
He doesn’t sit down when Atsumu gestures at it, though. “I know it’s not up to yer standards, but-”
“I’ll get it wet,” Kiyoomi says, quietly.
“The couch can handle it, trust me.” Atsumu pushes at his shoulders until he takes a seat, then turns to enter his bedroom, moving on autopilot.
“Wait, Atsumu-”
“I’ll be right back,” he calls to him, closing the door to his bedroom and sighing. This was really the last thing he needed today. Regardless of the situation, he’s not gonna let Kiyoomi fall ill under his watch. He grabs the largest pair of sweatpants he owns and a sweatshirt with Sakusa emblazoned across the back. A sweatshirt he was planning on returning, obviously.
He also reaches for a soft cotton t-shirt.
When Atsumu returns to the living room, he finds Kiyoomi right where he left him, his hair still dribbling water onto Atsumu’s floor.
“Ya can dry yer hair with this,” he says, handing Kiyoomi the t-shirt. “A towel would be too harsh on yer curls, right?”
Kiyoomi looks up at him and manages a nod. Atsumu isn’t sure what the look in his eyes means. “And ya can put these on,” he adds, passing him the folded clothes.
He ushers Kiyoomi to the bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief once those too big eyes are off his face. He stares at the massive damp spot left on his couch and decides he should make some tea.
Lacking anything better to do, he drops his elbows onto the table to watch the water boil in the kettle. What could Kiyoomi be here for? Was he so desperate to talk to Atsumu, he forgot to check the forecast? Or did he come in spite of the rain?
There’s a giddy feeling bubbling up inside of him. How many people would Sakusa Kiyoomi brave a storm for? He wants to bet the answer is close to none. Maybe only one.
Woah . He’s getting caught up, again, easily swayed by the fantasy of a Kiyoomi who loves him. A Kiyoomi who may not exist. For all he knows, Kiyoomi left his favorite mug here and made a valiant attempt to recover it tonight. He reminds himself of Kiyoomi’s words. You really don’t know me at all, Atsumu. Don’t act like this was more than some fling to you.
Maybe he should’ve left him out in the storm, Atsumu thinks, ignoring the small, but much more honest part of his brain, that acknowledges no matter how Kiyoomi wrongs him, he’ll still have a place in Atsumu’s compromised heart.
Kiyoomi could leave him for his twin brother and Atsumu still wouldn’t abandon him in the rain.
“I spoke to Osamu.”
Atsumu yelps, whirling around to see Kiyoomi standing in front of the kitchen countertop, looking significantly more put together. The sweatpants are still a little short, displaying more ankle than they should. His hair is still damp, but no longer capable of creating puddles on Atsumu’s floor.
He takes it back. If Kiyoomi came here to talk about Osamu, he’ll personally drag him back outside, storm be damned. “About what?” he questions, keeping his eyes on the kettle.
Atsumu can feel Kiyoomi’s gaze on him. “About you.”
“Ah.” The kettle’s shrieking reaches its peak and Atsumu begins pouring the hot water into the mugs he’d laid out. He’s not gonna probe Kiyoomi for answers like he’s desperate. If the bastard came here to talk, he should get to the point without any prompting.
He hands Kiyoomi his mug, and his ex-boyfriend takes a second to examine it. Sure, it’s the mug Atsumu bought for him months ago, decorated with a black cat that bears an uncanny resemblance to Kiyoomi, but it’s no reason to gawk.
Kiyoomi takes a sip of the tea, then continues. “He told me you haven’t been in a relationship before.” Before me, he leaves unspoken.
It’s been a fun twenty-three years together, but the time has come for Atsumu to kill his twin brother. Atsumu has no sympathy for a traitor. “‘Samu doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. I mean he’s still with his highschool sweetheart and has this absurd idea of what a relationship looks like. I’ve been with plenty of people.”
Kiyoomi looks increasingly skeptical as Atsumu rambles. “But no one longer than three dates, no?” he asks, stopping Atsumu in his tracks.
“Well, I…”
“Atsumu. Please stop lying to me.” It’s said gently but it fills Atsumu with bitter anger. Who is Kiyoomi to make demands of Atsumu after breaking up with him?
“Do ya think ya deserve my honesty, or somethin’?”
Kiyoomi rubs his forehead in exasperation and doesn’t say anything else. Atsumu is reminded of their failure of a date last week, what it felt like facing a frustrated Kiyoomi. He feels small and he hates it.
His voice is strained when he pleads. “Omi. Seriously, what are ya doin’ here?”
“I never wanted to break up.”
Atsumu blinks in disbelief. He manages a shaky “What?”
“I never wanted us to break up,” Kiyoomi repeats. “Did you?”
It feels like a trick question and Atsumu’s at a loss. He wants to lie, to keep the softer, vulnerable parts of himself hidden, but Kiyoomi’s already pleaded for his honesty. After his confession, Atsumu can’t deny him this. “No.” It’s nearly a whisper.
Atsumu keeps his eyes on his tea and misses the palpable look of relief on Kiyoomi’s face. “So, why did ya let me leave?” he mumbles.
“I thought you wanted to break up. I wasn’t gonna chase after you and beg you to stay with me.”
“Of course ya wouldn’t. That’s beneath ya, isn’t it?” Atsumu’s eyes are definitely burning now. He grits his teeth, wishing he wasn’t so easy to read.
“No. That’s not what I mean.” Kiyoomi sighs. “You always misunderstand me.”
God, why is Atsumu entertaining this? If he wanted to listen to someone complain about his shortcomings, he’d phone up Sunarin. Kiyoomi must notice his exasperation, as he quickly puts his hands in the air and begins explaining himself. “I’m not trying to pick a fight, I promise.
Atsumu must still seem skeptical. “I just came here to talk to you. About us. Can we sit down?”
In an act of pettiness, Atsumu seats himself on the dry portion of the couch, spreading his legs far enough to take up the whole space. Then he gestures to the seat next to him, where Kiyoomi had sat earlier.
Kiyoomi eyes the still wet section, then, in a move that astounds Atsumu, he sinks to the ground, making himself comfortable on Atsumu’s carpet. He looks up at Atsumu, dead serious, and Atsumu realizes he means to talk to him from the floor.
The idea of having a serious discussion with Kiyoomi looking up at him like that is laughable, so Atsumu does the first thing he can think of. He slides off the couch and joins Kiyoomi.
Now, they’re both on the floor, and Atsumu can tell Kiyoomi is holding back a laugh. Atsumu works extra hard to keep the frown on his own face. “So?”
“I went to see your brother after Bokuto said something to me.” Atsumu sets down his mug and brings his knees up to his chest, waiting to hear Kiyoomi’s explanation. “He said we fit well together. Me and you. It made me realize I’ve been unfair to you.”
Kiyoomi takes another sip, leaving Atsumu to wonder where he’s going with this. “I’ve been assuming how you feel about me, about us, instead of asking you. I’ve been caught up in self-pity and dismissing your feelings.”
Atsumu thinks this might be the most Kiyoomi has ever said to him in one go.
“It’s just… You’re always so inviting to every person you come across. You know I’m not like that. It made me feel threatened, sometimes.”
“What, me talkin’ ta people?” Atsumu knows he’s on the verge of losing it.
“You giving other people attention,” Kiyoomi says with a small smile. “I couldn’t distinguish between the things you did for others and the things you did for me. I felt like I was no one special to you.”
Him and Kiyoomi have never been on the same page, have they? Atsumu touches his face and feels traitorous wetness on his fingertips. Before Kiyoomi can comment on the tears, he says. “But I was only kissin’ one person. I was only comin’ home to ya, Kiyoomi.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he says. Atsumu doesn’t think he’s heard an apology from Kiyoomi before. “I’m so sorry, Atsumu.” He says his name in a tone of voice one might save for a pet name, syrupy sweet. Atsumu’s always loved the way Kiyoomi says his name, savoring each syllable as if making up for years of addressing him simply as Miya.
“This wasn’t just some fling to me.” Atsumu can’t even hold his voice steady anymore.
“I know.”
“I really liked ya.”
“I know.”
“Are ya gonna say anythin’ else?”
Kiyoomi chuckles. Atsumu glares at him through the wetness in his eyes.
“Atsumu. You have no idea how much I like you.”
“Yeah. It’s not like ya ever made it clear.”
Finally, Kiyoomi’s composure breaks. His face falls and Atsumu turns away from his frown. Kiyoomi’s puppy dog eyes are devastating, even for Atsumu, who’s had years of dealing with a younger twin to harden his heart.
“I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t doin’ a good job either, if ya thought you weren’t anythin’ special to me.”
Atsumu nearly gasps as Kiyoomi wraps a hand around his forearm. He looks down at Kiyooomi’s fingers, then meets his eyes. They’re searching Atsumu’s face for God knows what. He must find whatever he’s looking for, as he moves the hand down and interlocks it with Atsumu’s.
“No,” he breathes. “You were doing perfectly.”
Atsumu’s face feels hot. He squeezes Kiyoomi’s hand weakly as he keeps talking. “I came here to ask you to date me. Again. If you would be amenable to it.”
“Omi, I don’t-”
“It’ll be different, this time,” Kiyoomi rushes to say. “I know what it’s like to be without you. I won’t take you for granted again.”
“And I wanted to let you know that… I’m in love with you.” He adds, all in one breath, leaving Atsumu open-mouthed and caught off guard. He swallows.
“I…” How is Atsumu meant to say no to that? The word love echoes in his brain, drowning out every concern he may have had. Except one. And Atsumu won’t budge on it this time. “Is this still gonna be a secret?”
Kiyoomi shakes his head vigorously. “It shouldn’t have been in the first place.” He glances at Atsumu, hesitation etched into his face, and ventures to add, “If you still wanted, we could go to that dinner tomorrow, together.”
Atsumu had genuinely forgotten about that. The event seemed inconsequential in the face of the tumultuous week he’d just survived. But that dinner was the catalyst for everything that had happened. What would it be like to show up with Kiyoomi on his arm, instead of being by his lonesome all night, as he’d resigned himself to?
Kiyoomi’s eyes keep finding his in the tense quiet, and Atsumu realizes he’s waiting on a response. Would accepting him so quickly make him weak? Would Osamu be disappointed if he caves so easily?
Then Atsumu remembers Kiyoomi had gone to see his twin. Osamu had spoken to him, had likely realized where Kiyoomi was planning on going after consulting him, and didn’t stop him.
Atsumu knows his brother wouldn’t have entertained him if he disapproved. Kiyoomi showing up at his door in one piece was as good of an endorsement as he could get.
“Yeah,” Atsumu finally mumbles, wanting to leave the topic of dinner for later. “Could I…?” He holds out his arms, just slightly, a gesture that would be vague if Kiyoomi didn’t know him so well. Instead of verbalizing his response, Kiyoomi places his cup on the ground and reaches for him.
Two strong arms wind around his back and Atsumu sinks into Kiyoomi as if they’d never been apart. He tucks his nose into Kiyoomi’s neck and mourns the scent the rain must have washed away.
“But no kissing in public,” Kiyoomi mutters into Atsumu’s hair, continuing his earlier train of thought. “It’s vulgar.”
“Are ya just assumin’ I wanna get back together with ya, Omi?” With his face hidden like this, Kiyoomi can’t see his smile. Atsumu feels him tense and start to pull away, and he quickly puts on an overly disappointed voice. “I thought ya were plannin’ on doin’ better, no?”
Kiyoomi pauses as he realizes Atsumu’s messing with him.“You’re a menace,” he complains, tightening his grip on Atsumu.
“But, ya love me Omi,” Atsumu teases. “Did my annoyin’ self grow on ya?” He can still recount Kiyoomi’s first impression of him, the vexation he tried so hard to hide by feigning disinterest. Atsumu could get under his skin like no other. He wears that like a badge of honor.
“Like an especially persistent fungus,” Kiyoomi says, dryly. Atsumu makes a face but, inside, he’s more at ease than he’s been in ages. Kiyoomi is so warm, it’s hard to believe he’d been on the verge of hypothermia twenty minutes ago.
“Just for the record”– Atsumu grins wider– “I love ya too.”
At that, Kiyoomi lets Atsumu go. Before Atsumu can open his mouth to complain, Kiyoomi’s hands find his face and he brings himself close enough for his nose to graze Atsumu’s. His hands don’t shake, but his eyes ask is this okay?
His breath is warm on Atsumu’s lips, and Atsumu refuses to wait a moment longer. He presses his mouth to his boyfriend’s in a soft, lingering kiss. They pull apart after a moment and Kiyoomi has the good sense not to comment on how dry Atsumu’s lips must be.
His boyfriend’s got a dopey sort of smile on his face, a rare expression on him, and Atsumu can’t resist leaning back in and kissing him again and again and again.
If it were anyone other than Kiyoomi, Atsumu may have deliberated longer, may have posed more conditions, or simply sent them packing. But part of Atsumu had already made up his mind when Kiyoomi said he came here to ask him out again. Kiyoomi could have waited for the rain to die down, could’ve stopped by another day, but he didn’t. His desire to make things right spurred on a moment of spontaneity, a thoughtless decision driven solely by emotion. And Kiyoomi is one of the least impulsive people Atsumu knows.
Kiyoomi turning up at his door tonight was a love confession in itself.
So Atsumu tucks himself closer to his boyfriend and basks in the confirmation that he’s the only person Sakusa Kiyoomi would brave a storm for.
“So,” Atsumu starts, smoothing down his shirt for the sixth time. “Any second thoughts?”
They’ve just reached the venue where they’re meant to meet up with the rest of the team. Through the glass of the windows, Kiyoomi can see half of their teammates already seated and talking.
He turns to Atsumu who's also watching their friends, an uncharacteristically nervous expression on his face. Kiyoomi reaches out and takes hold of his boyfriend’s hand when he attempts to adjust his shirt once more. “Leave it,” he hisses. “And, no, not yet.”
Atsumu glowers at the implication, but Kiyoomi can tell he’s not truly angry. Besides, after spending so much time wallowing in the regret of letting Atsumu leave, he’s not about to regret asking for him back.
It was surprisingly easy, falling back into rhythm with each other. Kiyoomi spent the night at Atsumu’s, and they quickly moved on from their discussion of feelings to watching the ridiculous show Kiyoomi pretends not to enjoy. He fell asleep with Atsumu clinging to him like a limpet, and didn’t even protest when his arm went numb from the weight of Atsumu’s head.
That reminds him. “Wait.” Before Atsumu can reach for the door, Kiyoomi winds his fingers in between his boyfriend’s, so they’re properly holding hands. Atsumu freezes, as if Kiyoomi showing him affection in person is cause for a breakdown.
There’s a flush on Atsumu’s cheeks and if Kiyoomi were anywhere else, he’d cup his boyfriend’s face and brush their lips together. Then he realizes, nothing’s really stopping him. He’s breaking his own rules, but he pulls Atsumu in with the hand he’s holding, placing the other on his cheek. He kisses his lips, then the tip of his nose for good measure. Atsumu squeaks.
Surprisingly, when Kiyoomi looks back towards the window, he finds their teammates blissfully unaware. He stares at them a beat longer, then sees Bokuto turn his head and squint in their direction. Once he realizes who he’s looking at, he raises a hand in greeting.
Kiyoomi sighs. “Hurry, Atsumu. Bokuto’s already seen us loitering outside.”
Atsumu waves back, still beet red, then pulls at the door, unknowingly drawing attention to his occupied hand. Kiyoomi watches Bokuto take in their linked hands, blinking as if to clear his vision, then sinking back into his seat with wide eyes.
Well, that’s one teammate taken care of.
Kiyoomi can’t help the smile tugging on his lips. There’s something very satisfying about catching their friends off guard.
As he follows Atsumu into the restaurant, he concludes that, yes, there might be something comedic about their relationship. Atsumu’s bold, amiable (at least on the outside), and a little immature. Kiyoomi’s cautious, somewhat aloof, and insightful (or so he likes to think). Atsumu craves the high of a victory while Kiyoomi satisfies himself with a job well done.
Still, they share a penchant for competition. They routinely antagonize each other and the people around them. They make a wonderful team.
Kiyoomi wouldn’t have it any other way.