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“Why are you texting Miya Atsumu?” Kiyoomi asks, peering over Motoya’s shoulder at the series of messages on his cousin’s phone. He resists reading, both because he was raised with a sense of propriety and also because most of the text from the Inarizaki setter is in all caps, making Kiyoomi’s eyes blur.
Motoya yelps and turns his phone screen away. “You didn’t read anything, did you?” he asks nervously.
The gremlins in Kiyoomi’s mind take one look at Motoya’s panicked expression and come to the conclusion that his cousin must also have a crush on the Inarizaki setter. And Motoya is actually doing something about it.
They make a good pair, he thinks forlornly. Two bright balls of sunshine, filling the huge auditorium at Ajinomoto National Training Center with sound and laughter.
“Good luck,” he mutters, then stalks away to mope in their shared room.
How did Motoya even get Atsumu’s number? Kiyoomi had spent the last few days trying to come up with an excuse to ask for it, all of them ranging from too embarrassing to downright farcical. At least he was now spared the embarrassment of doing so; he wouldn’t get in the way of his cousin’s burgeoning romance.
“Omi!”
He sternly orders his heart to stop doing somersaults at the sound of Kansai-ben and squares his shoulders, refusing to turn around.
“Hi, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, a grin on his face as he skids to a halt next to Kiyoomi.
“If you’re looking for Motoya, he’s in the dining hall,” Kiyoomi grumbles.
Atsumu blinks and cocks his head, a far too endearing motion.
“Oh, okay, thanks Omi-Omi,” he says finally.
Kiyoomi tries not to stare too much at the length of Atsumu’s lashes or the curve of his cupid’s bow or the color of his eyes when lit by the fluorescent bulbs of the hallway. Normal things one notices about a colleague. He looks away, then continues his march back to loneliness and solitude. Atsumu pads along beside him, and Kiyoomi assumes he must be on the lookout for more intel about Motoya.
“Motoya’s favorite candy is yuzu Hi-Chew,” he says, deciding that if he is going to swear off love forever, at least he can help his cousin in that department. “He has two sisters, one older, one younger, his parents are very kind. He goes for a run every morning at 6:30 and doesn’t mind company.”
Atsumu chuckles, low and sweet, and Kiyoomi puts a hand to his chest to contain his heartbeat, then realizes this is a weird thing to do, so switches to scratching awkwardly at his collarbone.
“You must be really close with Toya-kun. I’ve never heard ya talk so much at one time, Omi.”
“He’s a very good person,” Kiyoomi mutters. They’ve reached Kiyoomi’s door, and he opens it, edging himself into the room backwards. “Have a good night,” he says.
“Omi, I was wonderin’—”
Kiyoomi closes the door before Atsumu finishes his sentence, then begins a frantic debate with himself as to whether he should open it again. When he reaches the conclusion that that would be the polite thing to do, he peers out to see Atsumu nowhere in sight. With a sigh, he closes his door again and looks around the room for the best object to suffocate himself with.
---
Atsumu: TOYA-KUN, I THINK OMI HATES ME?
Motoya: What happened this time?
Atsumu: HE- LITERALLY- CLOSED THE DOOR IN MY FACE? I WAS GONNA INVITE HIM ON A WALK TO THE STORE TO GET THAT PLUM ICE CREAM YOU SAID HE LIKES. I WAS GONNA SHOOT MY SHOT
Motoya: Kiyoomi…. I’ll talk to him
Atsumu: UR A GODSEND, TOYA ;___;
---
“So…” Motoya says, peering up at Kiyoomi over the cover of the anime magazine he reads religiously. “Heard you had a nice chat with Atsumu today.”
“I was very complimentary,” Kiyoomi says quickly, lest his cousin suspect him of sabotage. “I only said good things.”
“What?” Motoya asks, face scrunched in confusion. When Kiyoomi doesn’t respond, he sighs, “Did you really shut the door in Atsumu’s face?”
“I shut the door while he was outside. I did not know that he had more to say,” Kiyoomi replies. He pauses to consider how his actions may have affected Motoya. “He already knows I am not a nice person. I don’t think it will affect how he sees you.”
Motoya laughs at this. “He’s not a nice person himself, and why would I care what Atsumu thinks of me?”
Kiyoomi sighs at Motoya’s attempt to brush off his obvious crush. “I will… try to be nicer. If that would help.”
“Help what? Honestly, Kiyoomi, sometimes I have no idea what is going on in your head,” Motoya sighs, “But yes, I think you should be nicer to Atsumu. He’s trying his best.”
“I’m happy for you,” Kiyoomi whispers quietly. To be the object for which Atsumu puts in his all... He looks down, dejected, at his phone; the screen, as usual, is on Atsumu’s Volleyball Monthly profile.
After a few moments of silence, which Kiyoomi spends reading that Atsumu likes fatty tuna for the thousandth time and which Motoya spends furiously texting on his phone (probably Atsumu, Kiyoomi guesses), his cousin pipes up cheerfully.
“Hoshiumi is organizing a stargazing outing tonight.” He looks up at Kiyoomi with a hopeful look on his face. “You’ll come, right? It’s not far, just on the top of the hill behind the training center. People are bringing snacks and blankets.”
“Why would I?” Kiyoomi asks, “We’d be sitting on the ground, and it’s very humid tonight.”
“Atsumu and others are going,” Motoya replies, throwing Kiyoomi a sideways look, “It’ll be a lot of fun.”
Kiyoomi sighs, understanding the subtext—Motoya wants a wingman. Why he thinks Kiyoomi would do a good job is a mystery, but he’ll do what he can. He should win an award for Best Cousin of the Week. Not only is he about to subject himself to the unknowns of an evening outdoors, but he will also be giving himself a front row seat to his cousin wooing his crush and vice versa. Greek tragedies have been written with less material. He takes a deep breath and thinks about how Motoya introduced him to volleyball, how Motoya saves him every day from having to speak to people, how Motoya wipes down surfaces with antibacterial wipes so Kiyoomi can sit and always lets Kiyoomi use the baths first.
“Okay,” Kiyoomi nods, “But if I see a single bug, I’m leaving.”
“Great,” Motoya grins happily, “I’ll make sure all the bugs depart Tokyo tonight.”
---
Motoya: He’s acting weird, but he’s in for tonight
Atsumu: OH MY GOD? How did ya get him to come?!? I thought Omi hates bein outside.
Motoya: I told him you’d be there ;)
Atsumu: !!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m gonna cry. Do you really think I have a chance, Toya?
Motoya: Atsumu, the last time Kiyoomi willingly spent time in the great outdoors was
Motoya: Actually I don’t even remember
Atsumu: i’m so nervous fuck I gotta go get ready so I can blow omi away tonite
Motoya: Good luck!
---
Atsumu looks disturbingly handsome for this pseudo-date with Motoya, Kiyoomi thinks. He tries not to stare, instead only allowing his eyes to flit back and forth between Atsumu and a particularly long blade of grass at the edge of his blanket. Atsumu had really put in some effort, dressed in dark jeans and a loose white shirt tucked in in the front, his hair pushed back with some product that smells particularly nice. Kiyoomi glares at Motoya, who had sauntered out in his Itachiyama jacket and a pair of worn Itachiyama sweatpants with a large hole in one knee. How did he plan to lock in Atsumu’s affection tonight dressed like a hooligan who lives in Itachiyama’s dumpsters?
“Fancy seein’ you here, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, plopping down next to him. Kiyoomi looks nervously at Motoya, wondering why Atsumu didn’t take the large unoccupied space Kiyoomi had forced Motoya to leave on his other side. Atsumu must be nervous.
“Hello,” Kiyoomi replies stiffly, “Motoya asked me to come. He is very supportive and thoughtful.”
“Heya Toya-kun,” Atsumu says, leaning forward and waving.
Motoya gives him a peace sign back, then beckons over another player to sit next to him, launching into an animated conversation about some character in some show that Kiyoomi does not care about because it does not feature volleyball. Motoya must be playing hard-to-get.
“Stars are pretty tonight, aren’t they, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu asks.
He looks up, squinting, only to see a dark sky full of haze. “It’s… cloudy, Miya.”
“Oh, I guess it is,” Atsumu says, “Korai-kun says it’s supposed to clear soon though.”
“Is Hoshiumi suddenly a meteorologist?” Kiyoomi asks doubtfully, “My weather app told me we should expect rain.”
Atsumu giggles. “He said he woke up on his left side, so today would eventually turn sunny. But, even if we see jack shit, still fun to spend time together, yeah?”
“I’d rather be playing volleyball,” Kiyoomi admits.
“Me too,” Atsumu says in a hushed whisper, “But Coach confiscated all the volleyballs I squirreled away into my room. Otherwise I would have brought some, and we could practice bumpin’. He even found the one I stuffed in my pillowcase.”
Kiyoomi finds himself smiling at the image of Atsumu pleading his case to keep his stolen contraband. “You should have deflated one and put it under the mattress.”
“Omi-kun, yer a genius,” Atsumu sighs, “I’ll have to do that tomorrow. Help me distract Coach, he’s always watchin’ me suspiciously.”
“This crime is your own. I won’t be an accomplice.”
“Then I won’t invite ya to play with me after practice then.”
Kiyoomi purses his lips, thinking about the previous night when he had woken at 2 AM and agonized over a missed receive. Could he have called up Atsumu to ask him to practice until his forearms were pleasantly raw, and he had fixed any issues with his form?
“Fine, I’ll help,” Kiyoomi says.
“We’ll have to come up with a signal,” Atsumu muses, “Or we can use the one Samu and I have for switchin’ places for math and literature.”
“How does that even work? You have different color hair,” Kiyoomi points out.
“Some teachers honestly don’t even notice,” Atsumu shrugs. He launches into a story about their first month in high school where he and his brother successfully convinced their homeroom teacher that there was only one Miya, trading places every day so the other could have a free period.
Kiyoomi fiddles with the long strand of grass in front of him, twisting it clockwise, then counter-clockwise, trying to calm the winged creatures threatening to burst out of his chest as he listens to the lilt of Atsumu’s voice. To call them butterflies would do a disservice to how terribly adrift they make him feel. Here be dragons.
“Omi-kun, why did ya start playin’ volleyball?” Atsumu asks suddenly.
“Motoya dragged me—” Kiyoomi begins, then realizes, horrified, that he had completely forgotten his mission for the evening. His cousin is still talking to the other player, but he must want his own chance to talk to Atsumu.
“I have to go,” Kiyoomi says, standing up.
Atsumu looks up at him, clearly confused. “Are ya okay, Omi?”
“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi lies, “Just tired.”
“Want me to walk ya back?”
“No need,” Kiyoomi says, also waving away Motoya’s questioning look, “See you tomorrow then, Miya.” He makes a quick escape, throwing one glance backwards to see Atsumu leaning toward Motoya, gesticulating wildly. Heart heavy, he faces forward again, content with being a martyr for his cousin’s sake. When he makes it back to his room, he sits for a moment in the silence, trying to relive basking in Atsumu’s teasing drawl. But, even if we see jack shit, still fun to spend time together, yeah?
He wasn’t talking about you, Kiyoomi chastises himself, then slowly prepares for bedtime.
---
Atsumu: Okay I’m stumped, im lyin in bed and ive gone thru everythin I said and I dunno what made omi run away?! I started off awkward and said somethin stupid about stars, but then we really clicked, toya-kun, we were doin so good. He SMILED toya-kun, and it was so cute. WHAT DID I DO, WILL HE EVER FORGIVE ME
Motoya: He probably saw a bug and didn’t want to make a big scene, don’t worry about it Atsumu
Atsumu: can you ask him?! If he hates me now, I dunno if i’ll ever survive
Motoya: I’m sure it’s nothing, get some sleep Atsumu
Atsumu: I’ll try ;_______;
---
“Did you have fun last night?” Motoya asks when Kiyoomi wakes up the next morning.
Kiyoomi blinks blearily at him, having gotten little sleep. “Yes,” he replies curtly, “Did you?”
“It was great. We walked to the conbini after Korai finally admitted we weren’t going to see any stars and got instant ramen.” Kiyoomi imagines Atsumu stuffing his cheeks with noodles, all too familiar with the sight from constantly watching him during meal breaks. He sighs fondly.
“Did you talk to… Miya?” Kiyoomi asks.
“Nah, Atsumu left right after you did,” Motoya shrugs.
Kiyoomi stares, certain he had done something to ruin Motoya and Atsumu’s evening. “I-I’m sorry.”
“About what?” Motoya asks, “By the way, why’d you run off so quickly? We were all confused. You feeling okay?”
No, I’m heartbroken, Kiyoomi wants to reply. Instead, he shrugs, slipping on his socks slowly and trying to avoid Motoya’s eyes.
“Kiyoomi,” Motoya says in the tone of voice reserved for only the most dire of circumstances—forcing Kiyoomi to go to extended family dinners, telling him not to be an asshole to his sister’s newest dumb boyfriend, convincing him that the spot on his cheek is merely a pimple and not the beginnings of cancer.
“I didn’t want to get in your way,” Kiyoomi admits, knowing he is helpless when Motoya uses the Serious Voice on him.
“What do you mean?”
“You… and Atsumu?” Kiyoomi mutters. “I know you two…” He looks at the ceiling, mortified, and says quietly, “I know that you two like each other.” He counts the number of cracks he can see in the plaster, waiting for Motoya to come clean.
The silence continues for long enough that Kiyoomi develops a crick in his neck. He finally lowers his head and sees Motoya… curled up in a supine position on the bed with his face in his hands, shaking.
“Toya?” he asks, concerned, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He hears some hoarse sounds that sound suspiciously like sobs. Twisting his fingers together, he waits, utterly at a loss for how to comfort his cousin and cursing himself for his ineptitude. Does he call emergency services? Or the coaches? Should he call Atsumu? Atsumu would know what to do in this situation. But he doesn’t even have the setter’s number—
“You are such an idiot, Kiyoomi,” Motoya wheezes, finally emerging from behind his hands. Kiyoomi sees that he’s laughing, not crying, and relaxes.
Frowning, Kiyoomi crosses his arms, “Well that’s going too far. I did find out your secret.”
“I do not like Atsumu, you dumb-dumb,” Motoya manages to say when his giggles subside.
“Yes you do,” Kiyoomi retorts.
“Why on earth do you think that?” Motoya asks, “Is that why you’ve been so weird to him? He says you keep bringing me up in conversation.”
“I’m trying to tell him of your virtues. And you’re always texting him.”
“He’s the one always texting me, I just respond.”
“So he likes you,” Kiyoomi says grumpily.
“No, he— this is excruciating. Just, Kiyoomi, for the love of all things good in this world, please believe me when I say I do not like Miya Atsumu and Atsumu’s only interest in me is… never mind, you’ll eventually figure it out.” He gives Kiyoomi an appraising look. “Well, okay, maybe possibly, you’ll figure this out.”
“You don’t like Atsumu,” Kiyoomi confirms tentatively.
“Absolutely, I do not, swear on the life of Bobo.”
Kiyoomi lets out an involuntary gasp. Motoya invoking the name of his cherished Vabo-chan plushie means he’s deadly serious.
“And… you don’t think Atsumu likes you?”
“I’m so fucking certain, Kiyoomi. I’ve been trying to be a good friend to both of you, and it’s come back to bite my ass so hard this training camp. I’ll give it one more day before I break, spill the beans, and run away from the aftermath. To Atsumu, I am just a means to an end, trust me.”
“But you’re very likeable,” Kiyoomi sighs.
“I know, cousin dearest, now come on, we’re going to be late,” Motoya says, offering a hand to Kiyoomi and pulling him to his feet.
---
Motoya: LMAO
Atsumu: WHAT? WHAT IS IT TOYA-KUN? DID YA GET SOME INTEL?
Motoya: Sure did ;)
Atsumu: TELL MEEEEE
Motoya: There was a misunderstanding, and my cousin was, as usual, too much in his own head. You’ll be fine. Good luck today.
Atsumu: that’s… so vague
Motoya: <3
---
Atsumu bounds up to him when they arrive at practice, his smile so bright that Kiyoomi feels the need to bring his arm to his eyes to block the glare.
“Omi-omi, g’mornin’, are ya feelin’ better?” he asks.
Kiyoomi nods, still wary as he looks between Atsumu and Motoya. He sees his cousin roll his eyes before sauntering off, leaving him and Atsumu alone by the door to the auditorium.
“Wanna… warm-up with me?” Atsumu asks.
Kiyoomi nods again, having apparently lost his ability to speak somewhere between the dorms and Atsumu’s greeting.
Luckily, Atsumu chatters enough for the both of them as they jog around the auditorium, then begin stretches.
“Yer so bendy,” Atsumu says, watching as Kiyoomi stretches his torso over his legs, putting his forehead to his knees. “I can barely touch my shins,” Atsumu sighs.
“Do you need help?” Kiyoomi asks, looking up at him, “I can push—”
“Oh, um, nah, I’m good,” Atsumu says, his cheeks turning pink as he stands up and begins stretching his quads. Kiyoomi feels his own face begin to burn as he tries not to stare at the flex of muscle on Atsumu’s legs.
He struggles with what to say next. What would Motoya do? He would start some inane conversation about the best ramune flavor, instantly putting Atsumu at ease.
“Melon—” Kiyoomi blurts out at the same time Atsumu says, “Did ya—”
“Go ahead,” Atsumu says, beckoning toward Kiyoomi.
“No, you go,” Kiyoomi replies, embarrassed that he almost answered his own question out loud.
“Did ya watch the Falcons-MSBY game yesterday?” Atsumu asks.
“I-I don’t know how,” Kiyoomi says lamely, having only determined how to text and call on his phone, both functions used sparsely.
“You gotta watch match point with me,” Atsumu says, plopping back down and pulling out his phone, “I watched it so many times last night when I couldn’t sleep.”
“You couldn’t sleep?” Kiyoomi asks.
“Uh, yeah, had a lot to think about,” Atsumu says, face tinged red again, “Anyways, MSBY has a bunch of new star rookies. Meian Shugo in particular, I wanna play with him one day. Check out his kill from mid-court, can’t even see the ball.”
Atsumu puts his phone between them, and Kiyoomi leans in to see the screen. He tries to watch the point, but Atsumu’s breath moves his curls, the boy next to him giving off an impossible warmth. Kiyoomi can smell the generic shampoo stocked in the camp’s bathrooms, which just seems to smell better on Atsumu. He is certain his own parents, miles away, can hear the thump of his heart.
“Waddya think? I bet we could pull off that play,” Atsumu says.
“We could,” Kiyoomi replies, able to breathe properly again when Atsumu pulls away.
“Wanna try?” Atsumu asks, “Coach won’t let us experiment durin’ practice probably. But if ya help me steal a ball and maybe the keys to the auditorium, we could come back after dinner.”
“Okay,” Kiyoomi says.
“And then maybe afterwards we can go to the conbini? We missed out on the trip yesterday and Toya-kun says this conbini has plum ice cream. I’ll treat ya.”
“Okay, I’d like that,” Kiyoomi nods.
“It’s—It’s a date then,” Atsumu says, a hesitant smile on his face.
Don’t be weird, don’t be weird, don’t be weird, Kiyoomi lectures himself.
“What’s your favorite ramune flavor?” he blurts out, his mouth betraying his mind.
“Ramune? Um, probably melon,” Atsumu says, and the fact that he rolls with Kiyoomi’s dumb question makes Kiyoomi’s heart swell.
“I’ll… treat you to melon ramune then,” Kiyoomi says. Then, before he can lose his nerve, he pulls out his phone. “And I would like you to input your number into my phone. For… scheduling and emergency purposes.”
“Emergency purposes?” Atsumu giggles, taking his phone, fingers flying over the keyboard.
“This morning, I thought Motoya was having a heart attack.”
“Well, I dunno how useful I’d be in that situation, but ya can always call me, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu says, “‘mergency or not.”
“I will keep that in mind,” Kiyoomi nods.
“Hey, lovebirds, you two wanna join practice or what?” Motoya yells from across the net. Kiyoomi looks toward him with the fiercest glare he can muster. Motoya replies by wiggling his eyebrows.
“Actually, I won’t call anybody if Motoya is having a heart attack,” Kiyoomi says grumpily, following Atsumu toward the rest of the group, “I’ll just watch.”
Atsumu laughs, loud and bright, and bumps his shoulder with Kiyoomi’s. “Yer cousin is pretty awesome, ya know?”
“I know,” Kiyoomi admits begrudgingly.
“Watch fer my hand signal to distract Coach so I can steal stuff for our secret practice,” Atsumu says, “It looks like this.” He does a few complicated maneuvers with his fingers that Kiyoomi will never be able to remember. He gives Atsumu an unimpressed look.
“Just watch me, okay Omi-Omi?” Atsumu pleads as they’re assigned to different courts.
“I will, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi replies, easily agreeing to something that he already couldn’t help himself from doing in the first place.
---
Epilogue
With a contented sigh, Motoya slides into bed and pulls out his phone, ready to finally finish the latest episode of One Piece. He had been rudely interrupted by nonstop texts from Atsumu the previous nights, begging for information about Kiyoomi ranging from his favorite ice cream to his ideal honeymoon location. But, judging from the happy look on his cousin’s face when he returned from their conbini date, Motoya is finally, finally free.
A notification fills half his screen.
Atsumu: TOYA-KUN I’M SERIOUSLY IN LOVE
Atsumu: WE HAD THE BEST DATE
Atsumu: OMI AND ME ARE JUST MEANT TO BE
Motoya groans as he receives text after text, fumbling with his phone until he is able to finally mute notifications from Miya Atsumu.
The room is blissfully quiet for a few moments.
“Motoya, do you think Atsumu likes me?” Kiyoomi asks, “I can’t tell—"
Motoya flips over onto his stomach and muffles his screams in his pillow.