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Miya Atsumu is not a person that has problems. He’s successful, young, the starting setter for arguably the best team in the V league, he’s 6ft (point 1!) tall and he’s finally found the right toner that turns him from a hot blonde to an extremely hot blonde.
Extremely hot blondes such as himself don’t have problems. They have obstacles, minor inconveniences if you will.
“You’re not staying?” Kiyoomi mumbles from the bed, watching as Atsumu fumbles around the room, searching for his sweatpants. Clothes from earlier that night are strewn all over the floor and Atsumu picks up a familiar looking pair of pants and tugs it on in a rush. It’s not the same ones he arrived in, but it’s good enough. He wonders when he left them there.
“Not tonight, sorry,” Atsumu says quickly, shoving his hoodie on over his head as he heads towards the door. He never does, anyway.
Their sessions have always been strictly sexual. No feelings, no romance. Bone buds, as Atsumu likes to refer to Kiyoomi at times (only to be rewarded with a vicious jab to his stomach by one long, bony finger)—to get the stress out and nothing more. Because they shouldn’t be anything more. Because they are first and foremost teammates, and because they are friends. Atsumu wouldn’t dare push Kiyoomi’s boundaries and ask for anything more. Nothing that would ever toe the line.
No feelings, no romance.
Post-sex Kiyoomi looks utterly adorable, his usual carefully combed hair now a messy flop of curls that covers his eyes and the tiny pout on his face as he looks up to Atsumu that could melt even the strongest of hearts.
“Mmmkay then,” he says tiredly before flopping back onto the bed, sheets haphazardly draped across his body. “Next time.”
“Next time,” Atsumu agrees as he slips out of the other man’s apartment and walks to his own, three doors down. It isn’t until he’s one foot in his own apartment does he realize the implications of “next time” and how very un- ‘no feelings, no romance’ it is for Kiyoomi to even mention such a thing. And how easily Atsumu had agreed to it.
Miya Atsumu may have a bit of a problem.
Here are the facts.
It has been a little over a year since they first fell into bed with each other, a couple days before their rematch against the Schweiden Adlers. The first time was an accident—a product of built up frustration and sexual tension—but the second time and the third time after that… well.
Well .
Atsumu frowns to himself. The point is that they have established rules. There are boundaries and Atsumu does his very best to follow them and so does Kiyoomi.
Until the "next time" fiasco, he supposes.
Except...now that he's thinking about it, there may have been other things that have not been exactly ‘boundary friendly’.
Here are some examples.
- They snuggle all the time.
No, it's not romantic; it's platonic. Bus rides home from their games are usually long and exhausting after an equally long game, so when Sakusa drifts off for a quick nap, as a friend, Atsumu is legally obligated to offer him his shoulder. It's, like, the rules of patriarchy or something.
- They eat together.
Sometimes it's with Bokuto or Hinata or the rest of the Black Jackals after practice, but lately, it's just been the two of them, alone, chatting and laughing (yeah, Kiyoomi laughs, he’s not as sullen as everyone thinks he is—he actually has a sense of humour, too, okay?) over a bowl of ramen or even sharing a plate of onigiri. He's not sure how that started either. But even if they don't have practice, Atsumu finds himself waiting for Kiyoomi’s text before they go out for dinner together. All in the name of friendship. (Although, now that he thinks about it, he’s close friends with Bokuto and Hinata and he doesn’t wait for them to eat dinner. Huh.)
- They share clothes.
It has happened once so far, when they had to run home in the rain and Kiyoomi’s laundry had not yet fully dried. Atsumu had lent him one of his old Inarizaki hoodies. He hasn’t seen it since, now that he thinks about it. Not that he minds. But if Atsumu has learnt anything from his dick appointments with Kiyoomi, it’s that things rarely happen just once with him.
- And—well. There's that whole "next time" thing.
As Atsumu jots down some key points, he is suddenly hit with the thought that maybe the boundaries that were set in place had been broken a long time ago, and that, perhaps, Kiyoomi believes he is currently in a non-platonic, very romantic relationship with one Miya Atsumu.
He stops writing.
Then...
Nah.
No way. Atsumu chuckles to himself, shaking his head. Don't get him wrong—it’s not like he hasn’t considered Kiyoomi before. Sakusa Kiyoomi would make an amazing boyfriend. Sure, he’s prickly at first, but once you get to know him, he can be really sweet, and not to mention, he really do be packing under those shorts of his.
It’s just—he’s never thought that Kiyoomi wanted anything more beyond their weekly sinful tango. Heck, he even asked once, if he wanted to date. Granted, Kiyoomi’s reply sounded more like a snore, but still .
“Hey, are you done with the menu y—” Osamu emerges from the counter to where Atsumu is sitting in a booth, writing down notes on the blackboard easel his brother had handed him earlier.
Atsumu looks up blankly, realizing that instead of writing down this week’s special, he’s been writing out pros and cons of dating Sakusa Kiyoomi in bullet points across the board. There’s a beat of silence as they both stare at the words ‘good dick’—Atsumu in appreciation, Osamu in disgust. And then Osamu is taking the board away before more non-food words can be scrawled upon it. He grumbles under his breath.
“Nevermind. I’ll do it.”
As he watches his brother erase his notes, Atsumu starts shredding napkins anxiously. It’s one thing to know that they park their cars in each other’s garages semi frequently; it’s another to know that Kiyoomi’s garage is all his for the taking. Atsumu is left with none of his notes but all of his thoughts as he goes over the facts again, feeling very much overwhelmed.
So how does one go about defining a relationship?
Atsumu decides that the only way he can solve his bedroom rodeo problem is to ask someone with real life experience with this “dating” thing. Unfortunately, his options are limited within the Jackals. Alas, Bokuto Kotarou’s mouth is as big as his personality on court.
He corners Suna Rintarou near the water fountain at MSBY’s next game against the EJP Raijins.
“Hey, Sunarin, yer dating my brother, right?”
The middle blocker looks up from where he’s refilling his water bottle and shoots his friend an unimpressed look. “Tsumu. Osamu and I are engaged. We literally come over and eat with your parents every week.”
“Yes, but when you were datin’, how did you know you were datin’?” Atsumu clucks impatiently.
Osamu and Rintarou’s relationship had always been a mystery to him. It’s a quiet sort of love, one that simmers to a boil after years of solid friendship, warmth seeping into your bones like hot soup on a cold winter’s day. It’s hard to pinpoint when their friendship had morphed into something more, when it had always seemed like what they had was already beyond friendship.
It isn't fiery, like how Kiyoomi’s kisses feel when they press against bare skin, but Atsumu knows better. The way his twin brother looks at Suna Rintarou is something so special—a look that could set so many torches ablaze for years to come.
Suna looks at the setter now, his bottle pausing at his lips.
“Are you dating anyone?” Suna asks and Atsumu blanches.
“Of course not!” He says way too quickly. Suna gives him a look that’s eerily similar to Osamu’s when Atsumu has taken the last pudding cup. Yikes. “Well…” Atsumu relents, “there’s this guy and we’re kind of FWB.”
As other athletes begin to file out of their respective changing rooms, Atsumu leans closer to his best friend and lowers his voice conspiratorially, “Yenno, friends who boink.”
“Friends who boink.” Suna repeats before his nose crinkles incredulously. “That is definitely not what that stands for. You know that, right? Right?”
“I...well. It’s Omi.” Saying his name out loud is cathartic. Atsumu takes a deep breath.
“I didn’t ask,” Suna begins, glancing up from his phone. “But tell me more.”
“Kiyoomi asked me to stay over and I think he thinks we’re dating!” Atsumu blurts out, unable to keep it bottled in anymore. “I don’t know what to do!”
Suna blinks. “Sweet. Wait ‘til Komori hears.”
“Komori will hear nothin’ of this!”
Suna smiles, slow and mischievously. “Komori hears everything.”
His phone beeps and he lights up. It’s his stupid Osamu face, Atsumu notices, the expression Suna has that’s gross and only reserved for his brother.
Oh god, does he have a Kiyoomi face? Atsumu thinks in horror. Can people tell? Obviously Suna wasn’t surprised when Atsumu had told him, so that must mean that Atsumu is painfully obvious. He doesn’t want to be obvious. He’s supposed to be the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.
“Hey,” Suna’s voice breaks through his thoughts as the middle blocker places a hand on his shoulder. “‘Samu wants to eat lunch so I’ll see ya, ‘kay?.”
Everything is not ‘kay. He should’ve known that Suna would not have given him anything except maybe an existential crisis.
The middle blocker gives Atsumu an encouraging pat on the back before heading down the hall.
“I’ll say just talk to him,” Suna calls over his shoulder, “but you probably won’t listen to my advice. So go ask people on Reddit or something.”
‘Reddit?’ Atsumu mouths in confusion.
Reddit??
Apparently, Reddit is some sort of forum website where people can submit memes, text posts, and news for people to comment on. Particularly, there is a subreddit dedicated on helping people with their relationships—romantic or otherwise. Atsumu scrolls through r/relationship_advice idly in fascination as he sips on his beer.
They’re all at a bar with the Raijins post-game for some drinks and a couple rounds of pool. Suna is off curled up god who knows where with Osamu and, thankfully, Komori is nowhere in sight.
“What are you looking at?”
Atsumu yelps, nearly dropping his phone into his drink.
“Nothing, Omi! Just texting ‘Samu.” He closes his phone quickly before looking up at the other boy and smiles, eyes crinkling.
When he’s not in his uniform, Kiyoomi cleans up really well. Atsumu’s eyes drink in how his jeans seem to hug his thighs, up to how nice his arms look in that button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a handsome face framed by tousled curls.
Atsumu swallows. It’s really unfair. Rolled up sleeves screams ‘hot boy shit’ and Kiyoomi knows it.
Stay down, he chastises his dick willfully, looking down at his pants as Kiyoomi cocks an eyebrow at him questioningly.
“Let’s go play pool.” Atsumu manages to cough out, grabbing Kiyoomi’s wrist and pulling him towards the pool table where Bokuto and Hinata are. He pretends not to notice when Kiyoomi shifts his grip ever so slightly so that their hands slot together perfectly.
Atsumu also pretends not to notice the little flop his heart makes when he does that.
“Here.” Atsumu hands him a cue and Kiyoomi grabs it hesitantly.
“I’ve never played before,” Kiyoomi admits, tugging on a strand of hair absentmindedly—something Atsumu has noticed he does when he’s nervous.
The blonde smiles widely. “Don’t cha worry, Omi! I’ll teach ya. Ya can't be any worse than them.” Atsumu gestures to Bokuto and Hinata, who are currently engaged in what looks like a jousting duel to the death with their cue sticks.
Kiyoomi smiles. It’s a shy one—one Atsumu rarely sees—usually only appearing when he thinks people aren’t looking, one that sends Atsumu’s heart into a frenzy.
“We used to play all the time in high school,” Atsumu says, as he places the colourful balls into the triangle neatly. “Me, ‘Samu, Rin, and Gin after school when we didn’t have practice.”
He bends over, squinting as he lines up the cue to the white ball and then flicks his wrist, sending the balls scattering across the table. Then, smiling, he walks over to where Kiyoomi is standing, holding his cue stick awkwardly.
“Stand like this, legs almost shoulder’s width apart,” Atsumu nudges gently at Kiyoomi’s foot with his own, body sliding in behind him to help him with his posture. “The goal is to hit that ball, using the white one over there, into one of those holes.” Hands sliding down to overlap on hands as they both lean over the table.
Kiyoomi’s breath hitches.
Suddenly, Atsumu is acutely aware of how close they are pressed up against each other, his chest flush against Kiyoomi’s back, his hips aligned against Kiyoomi’s perky ass rather intimately.
Be still my appropriately sized dick, Atsumu begs himself.
This really isn’t the time to get all hot and bothered. He will not take this gorgeously attractive man on the pool table. He will not . Atsumu is a responsible adult who would very much like to figure out what the fuck is going before he puts a dick in it. (He’s also not a physicist—is it too late to ask Twitter?—so he really can’t be sure that this pool table could really sustain the weight of two very muscular athletes.)
“Um,” Kiyoomi says intelligently as he straightens hastily, cue knocking into the cue ball in his haste. They both watch as it knocks into the 8 ball before the black ball tumbles into a pocket.
“Huh.” Atsumu, equally intelligent, answers as he feels his pants get just a bit tighter as the denim of Kiyoomi’s jeans brushes against him. “Yer a natural, Omi.” He says with a tight throat and a fake smile.
Kiyoomi’s face is a delicate shade of pink as he clears his throat. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
“You guys look so cute!” A voice calls and Atsumu pulls himself away from Kiyoomi’s gaze to look at whoever had spoken.
Komori Motoya smiles brightly at them, phone in hand as he snaps a quick photo. Beside him, Suna has his own phone out, tapping at it with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Atsumu briefly ponders on whether or not EJP Raijins could really afford to lose both their libero and their middle blocker in one night. But then Kiyoomi laughs and says, “Send it to me,” and Atsumu truly short circuits.
He thinks nothing of the picture. After years of being conditioned by a heinous folder of blackmail owned by one Suna Rintarou, he really doesn’t think much of it at all. It was just a pic with a friend, whom he happened to be smashing booties with and it’s all completely normal and all very, very platonic.
It’s not until he’s home and checks his phone does Atsumu see the photo posted on Sakusa’s private Instagram account. There’s a caption under the photo, a simple “💖 “ that sends Atsumu spiralling.
What the fuck? Atsumu thinks dimly. A heart emoji WITH sparkles?
He texts Suna immediately.
To : Suna Rintarou
CHECK IIG????? hElp!
From: Suna Rintarou
use reddit. I’m about to boink your brother.
Atsumu stares at his phone in horror. He needs a new best friend. That’s the only solution to this new obstacle that has arisen in his perfect life. He needs a new best friend, and he needs to solve his issues with Kiyoomi and he also needs another drink. He’s about to type an angry text back to Suna—the immediate issue in front of him—when another text comes in from the middle blocker.
From: Suna Rintarou
💖
Atsumu needs a new best friend and possibly 5 shots of tequila right now .
If you had told Miya Atsumu there would one day be a point in time where he would be airing out all the sordid details of his love life over the internet website that is Reddit dot com like some floundering 14 year old girl, he would’ve laughed at you. But that's exactly what he’s doing right now, holed up in his dorm on a Saturday night hunched over his laptop.
Help! My (22M) FWB (22M) is being weirdly close and I think he thinks I’m his boyfriend or something. I’m confused.
I’ve been seeing his guy for about a year now and we both agreed that since we work closely together, it would be better if we didn’t date and just have a purely sexual relationship as well as staying friends—absolutely NO ROMANCE. Friends who boink sometimes, that’s all.
And then he’s spilling out everything, recounting moments and feelings he had kept bottled up for ages. He likes Kiyoomi. He likes his little laugh, his dimples when he smiles that secret smile of his, and he doesn’t want to stay friends anymore, he just wants to stay .
He falls asleep that night, cradling his phone in his hands, the photo from earlier that night saved to his album.
People on the internet are mean, Atsumu discovers as he checks his throwaway account the next day. There are a good handful of comments from his post last night, most of which were rattling off the same thing.
- He should probably talk to Kiyoomi.
- He’s NTA, whatever that means… actually, he’s not sure he’s on the correct subreddit anymore, but he digresses.
- Astrology… is important? Atsumu makes a mental note to ask Kiyoomi what time exactly he was born at to see if he’s the perfect match for “his Libra ass” .
Atsumu has never been one for patience so he texts Kiyoomi straightaway.
To: Sakusa Kiyoomi
u up?
Atsumu has never been very tactful either.
He wants to throw up. He’s always been good at confronting people. He isn’t someone who balks in the face of adversity. If he gets a bad receive from his blockers, he will say something about it.
So then why is this so hard?
There’s a knock on his door and, without thinking, Atsumu opens it.
“Miya.”
Kiyoomi stands on the other side of the door dressed in one of Atsumu’s hoodies and some sweatpants. His hair is still damp, as if he rushed over after his morning shower.
“Omi-kun! Whatcha doing here?”
Kiyoomi looks confused. “You asked if I was up.”
“Ya but—“
“I am up,” Kiyoomi says helpfully.
Atsumu swallows nervously. “You should come in,” he says as he steps aside to let Kiyoomi into the apartment.
The door has barely clicked shut before Atsumu is pressed against it, Kiyoomi’s tongue licking into his mouth and he almost falls over.
What.
Belatedly, Atsumu realizes how potentially suggestive his text may have been, not unsimilar to the booty calls he had sent to Kiyoomi before. “Wait… wait!”
He pushes lightly in Kiyoomi’s chest and the other boy lets out a soft impatient noise as he pulls away, hands on Atsumu’s hips, fingers tracing up his hip bone suggestively.
“I didn’t text you to come have sex.” Atsumu ducks under Kiyoomi’s arm so that they are an arms length apart. He really can’t think properly when the other is so close to him and he needs all the brain cells he can get at the moment.
“Oh.” There’s a pause. “That explains the lack of the eggplant emoji.”
Atsumu laughs breathily. This is so awkward.
“I like you,” Atsumu starts off slowly, eyes on the ground. “More than as friends who boink.”
Kiyoomi laughs. “That’s not what FWB stands for. You know that, right?”
Suna’s smug smirk flashes across his mind and Atsumu scowls. “I know! I know, but it’s hard to talk about it and it’s even harder to just stay friends when you’re always so close, like we’re dating but we’re not and... and—“
He runs out of steam.
“I just want you to stay,” Atsumu finds himself saying.
“What?”
“I want you to stay.” Atsumu repeats, stepping closer. “I want to wake up to ya, hold ya, do all sorts of cute shit with ya…” Atsumu allows himself to look up, eyes wide and earnest. “Omi, can you stay?”
As the morning light streams through the window, Kiyoomi stares at Atsumu, eyes shining with fondness. “Yeah. I can stay.” Kiyoomi says huskily, resting his forehead against Atsumu’s. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”
And then he closes the gap between them, fingers tilting Atsumu’s head up gently. Atsumu finds himself reaching up to cup Kiyoomi’s face as their lips meet again, softly this time, sweetly this time.
He lets Kiyoomi lead him to the bedroom.
Atsumu is in his dorm again, curled up on the sofa with his laptop propped up as he types in the link for Reddit.com.
“Do you really have to post another post?” Kiyoomi asks exasperatedly.
“I need to update my Reddit friends!” Atsumu protests.
From the kitchen, Kiyoomi laughs. He’s been laughing more often, Atsumu notices and it’s nice. “What, noobslayer69?”
He’s a bit offended, really. Noobslayer69 is a perfectly respectable name for a perfectly respectable individual. “They’re one of the ones who told me to confess to ya!”
Kiyoomi just sighs, having walked into the living room to peer at Atsumu’s screen. As Atsumu leans back happily into him, Kiyoomi presses a kiss to Atsumu’s forehead. It feels warm. The hot soup on a cold winter's day kind of warm.
He could get used to this.
💖UPDATE💖! My (22M) FWB (22M) is being weirdly close and I think he thinks I’m his boyfriend or something.
We’re dating now and I’ve never been happier :D