Chapter Text
Day 1
The morning after Kiyoomi kissed Miya Atsumu for the first time, he opened his eyes and was immediately greeted by a face startlingly close to his own.
His initial morning-brain reaction of what the fuck are you doing here? quickly gave way to its more alarming counterpart, what the fuck am I doing here?
“Good mornin’ Omi-Omi,” Atsumu said, cheek resting against his pillow. “Hope ya slept okay?” He smiled, and Kiyoomi recalled vividly what his mouth tasted like. How that smile felt against his own lips.
And with that sudden recollection, all of what he and Atsumu had said and done the previous night came tumbling back.
Starting with: Kiyoomi had spent the night fully-clothed in Atsumu’s bed after Atsumu claimed the movie they’d watched had left him too scared to sleep alone.
Ending with: He’d made out with Atsumu for well over an hour, then confessed to having liked him since they were teenagers. He was ninety percent sure he’d also agreed to go out with Atsumu and give “them” a chance.
Oh Kiyoomi, you’ve really fucked it now.
“I slept… fine.” Kiyoomi cleared his throat. His voice sounded far too vulnerable in the mornings. Rough, raw, cracking in places.
“You look so cute when yer sleepin’. Am I allowed to say that? I guess it’s too late to take it back.” There was a dreamy look in Atsumu’s eyes, but not a sleepy one. Certainly not the look of a man who had just woken up.
Kiyoomi propped himself up, peering down at Atsumu with narrowed eyes. “How long have you been awake?”
Atsumu hesitated. “Not long.”
“Uh huh,” Kiyoomi said, inconspicuously checking his hair for any particularly erratic curls. “I do recall that you were the one who was afraid of waking up to have a demon standing over the bed and watching you sleep.”
“Well, I wasn’t standin’ over ya. And it’s not like I just laid here and watched ya for an hour. I got up to take a piss at one point.”
“An hour?” Heat prickled the back of Kiyoomi’s neck.
Atsumu cringed. “I mean, not like, a full hour. That’d be so weird of me. Haha.”
“Right.”
“Anyway… now that yer awake… can I kiss ya?”
Kiyoomi’s nose scrunched as his eyes fell to Atsumu’s (admittedly very kissable) lips. “Brush your teeth.”
Atsumu opened his mouth wide and let his tongue loll out. Like a dog. Fitting, perhaps, for Atsumu. “Already did. You can check for yerself.” He scooted across the bed until he and Kiyoomi shared the same pillow and Kiyoomi could feel Atsumu’s moist breath against his skin.
Kiyoomi turned his face away, struggling to tamp down the fluttering sensation in his stomach. “Well, I haven’t brushed my teeth. And I don’t have any of my stuff here.”
“Not a problem. There’s a brand new toothbrush sittin’ in the package on my bathroom counter.”
Kiyoomi’s heart stuttered at this pleasant surprise. Then, two seconds after that, the suspicion set in. “Why do you just happen to have a brand new toothbrush? I thought this sleepover wasn’t part of your dumb scheme.”
“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t prepare for any possible outcome?” Atsumu wiggled his eyebrows.
Kiyoomi tensed. There was that word again. The word that Atsumu kept using so casually, as if it was nothing. “You aren’t my boyfriend, Miya.”
“Nuh uh, you called me Atsumu last night. No takesies backsies.”
Not for the first time, Kiyoomi wondered what the fuck he had gotten himself into. He sighed. “You aren’t my boyfriend, Atsumu. We’ve only been on one date.”
Atsumu’s eyes lit up. “So you admit it was a date?” He scooted even closer. Kiyoomi could feel his body heat, sweltering with both of them still trapped under the covers.
The warmth spread to his chest and cheeks and ears as he said, “Not a very good one.”
Atsumu tucked a stray curl Kiyoomi had missed back into place. “Until the end,” he said in a low voice.
Kiyoomi forced himself to meet Atsumu’s eyes. He shouldn’t show this much weakness in front of his teammate—in front of the person who was starting to become something more. “Until the end,” he allowed.
The end, when Kiyoomi’s list of reasons not to kiss Atsumu had fallen helplessly from his grasp and left behind only the unbearable, years-long urge to just fucking do it already. He couldn’t yet tell whether this was an inevitable outcome or a horrible miscalculation. But then a slow, boyish smile spread across Atsumu’s lips and Kiyoomi ached with longing. Miya Fucking Atsumu. Kiyoomi’s lips pressed into a firm line.
Atsumu’s eyes traced the movement. “Go brush yer teeth already so I can kiss ya.”
Kiyoomi grumbled under his breath as he maneuvered himself out of the bed in yesterday’s clothes, cursing scary movie nights and day-old underwear and the vertigo he experienced every time Atsumu touched him. Cursing Atsumu, who could spin Kiyoomi’s world on the tip of his finger.
Atsumu, who was not just unbothered by the new developments in their relationship, but downright cheery. He followed a few seconds behind Kiyoomi, humming to himself.
The toothbrush was exactly as described, and Kiyoomi begrudgingly took some pleasure in removing it from its packaging. Perfectly sanitary.
Atsumu leaned against the doorframe with arms crossed casually across his chest and sweatpants slung low on his hips. Annoyance pricked Kiyoomi’s chest like a thorn. It was fucking maddening how good Atsumu looked like that. Kiyoomi didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss him breathless or walk out the door and never see him again.
Atsumu’s eyes raked appreciatively over Kiyoomi’s body as Kiyoomi brushed his teeth. It was a terribly intimate way to look at someone. Kiyoomi was fully clothed, but he may as well have been naked under Atsumu’s hungry gaze. He wanted to turn his back. Slam the door. He hadn’t prepared for this.
Kiyoomi spat and rinsed his mouth in the sink. “It’s weird to watch someone brush their teeth,” he said, desperately hoping that the simmering heat in his gut did not rise up to his face once again. Kiyoomi longed for one of his masks.
“Can’t help myself.” Atsumu gave a lazy shrug. He strolled into the bathroom and caught Kiyoomi by the hips. “Yer so hot.”
“Animal,” Kiyoomi complained, but his mouth threatened to curve upward as Atsumu closed the distance between their lips.
Miya Atsumu did not kiss like Kiyoomi had imagined he would. Not that he had allowed himself to imagine it too often—he wouldn’t be able to face Atsumu as his teammate if he spent every night fantasizing about him—but when he did, it was always a frenzied, frenetic thing. Atsumu pushing his tongue into Kiyoomi’s mouth as soon as their lips met and devouring Kiyoomi until his knees turned to jelly or he lost his breath or he came to his senses and pushed Atsumu away. Not something savored, but something binged. A flash fire.
But this kiss was a slow, spreading warmth. Something that made him want to draw closer, rather than flinch away. It was all-consuming, not for the way Atsumu kissed him, but for the way his fingers drew small circles against Kiyoomi’s hip and his breath tickled Kiyoomi’s face. It stretched through his chest and crept down his spine. He didn’t remember anyone ever kissing him like this before—aimlessly, happily. Perhaps the knees turning to jelly thing hadn’t been too far off. It was all Kiyoomi could do not to sigh directly into Atsumu’s mouth when Atsumu sucked lightly on his bottom lip. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Of course Atsumu had to be a good kisser. Atsumu talked a big game, he boasted about his own skills—Kiyoomi knew this well after years of knowing him and months of sharing a court with him—but he never exaggerated. It was one of the more annoying things about him. Kiyoomi probably could have mustered up the strength to be irritated about it if not for Atsumu’s kiss erasing his every coherent thought.
It was both too soon (for Kiyoomi’s taste) and quite a while later (in actuality) when Atsumu finally released him. Kiyoomi slumped against the sink, boneless and dazed.
Atsumu wiped his mouth and smiled. Not a cocky smile, but genuine and bright, which was almost worse. “Come on. I’ll make ya breakfast.”
-
Kiyoomi had felt relatively okay about this new development when they’d been kissing in the bathroom, but sitting with his own thoughts while Atsumu flitted around the kitchen was a perfect breeding ground for worry.
Was it supposed to feel so awkward?
Kiyoomi had never had this before—a “morning after,” so to speak. He’d never stayed the night with previous hookups. And Atsumu wasn’t even a hookup. Did it still count as a morning after if all you’d done was make out with them and then fall asleep fully clothed beside them? And could it be called a hookup if the person you had-or-hadn’t hooked up with was someone you were now... dating?
Was this dating? Kiyoomi didn’t know.
He had nothing to compare. He hadn’t dated much before, which was a polite way of saying he hadn’t really dated at all. Not in a way that mattered. Back in university, dates were never more than a (usually quick) precursor to a one-night stand.
“You like tamagoyaki, Omi?” Atsumu asked, setting a pan on the stove.
Kiyoomi startled. “Oh. Yes.”
“I’ll make you a real good one.” He continued humming cheerily. Kiyoomi didn’t know how he could be so casual about all of this.
“What are you humming?” he asked, harsher than intended. Muscle memory.
“Huh? Nothin’ really, I guess. I didn’t even notice. You never hum to yerself?”
“No.”
“Oh…” Atsumu cracked an egg against the side of a bowl. “Am I bothering you?”
Kiyoomi blinked. “Has that ever stopped you before?”
“Well… I don’t wanna bother ya. Not right now, at least.” Atsumu wilted.
Kiyoomi’s stomach churned. “You’re not bothering me,” he said, with some effort.
This was also new territory for Kiyoomi. He’d reassured Atsumu before in the context of volleyball—told him his toss was good or that his serves were up to his usual standard—but there was no volleyball to hide behind now.
“Oh,” Atsumu repeated, sunnier this time. “Okay. Well then just sit tight for a few while I whip us up some grub!”
Kiyoomi sat tight. It wasn’t difficult—if he was wound any tighter, his strings would snap.
While Atsumu may not have been the chef of his family, he knew his way around a kitchen. And he looked good. The watering of Kiyoomi’s mouth could only partially be blamed on the aroma of omelette. It didn’t help that Atsumu kept glancing back at Kiyoomi while he worked, his smile widening every time he did.
Kiyoomi was so fucked. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to this.
Before serving breakfast, Atsumu retrieved a familiar to-go bag from the fridge.
“Is that—”
“Umeboshi onigiri, courtesy of Onigiri Miya.”
“I thought you don’t care for umeboshi.”
“Eh, it’s fine. Not my favorite. But I didn’t buy ’em for me. Actually, we were supposed to eat these last night, but then my whole movie plan kinda went down the shitter, so… breakfast.” He presented Kiyoomi with a wrapped rice ball.
Kiyoomi stumbled through a stilted “Thanks” and accepted the gift. Then Atsumu brought their omelettes to the small kitchen table nestled in the corner. Kiyoomi followed behind, unsure what to say or do.
The food was delicious. Worlds better than the leftover rice or bread Kiyoomi usually shoveled into his mouth in the mornings. Atsumu made coffee, too. Plain black for himself, and with a dash of sugar and a considerable amount of milk for Kiyoomi. Just how closely had Atsumu been watching Kiyoomi these past few months to know his preferences without having to ask? Of course, Kiyoomi knew these things about Atsumu too, but Kiyoomi had been watching Miya Atsumu with a little too much interest since he was sixteen years old (and, well, Atsumu wasn’t exactly a closed book).
“I didn’t know you could cook,” he said. He didn’t mind long silences, but he could feel Atsumu’s eyes burning holes into him with every bite he took.
“Yeah, well, Samu wasn’t the only one who helped out in the kitchen growing up. Plus, I’m a grown adult livin’ on my own. I need to be able to cook some stuff, don’t ya think?”
Kiyoomi averted his eyes. “I’m a little lacking in that department.”
Atsumu chuckled. “’Course you are. Little rich boy.”
Ah, there was the Atsumu that drove Kiyoomi crazy. “Don’t.”
“Sorry. Teasing you is kinda automatic at this point.” He took a bite of egg, then continued talking with the food still in his mouth. It turned Kiyoomi’s stomach in a way that briefly made him want to reconsider this whole thing. “You don’t gotta be embarrassed about it, Omi. I can teach ya. And in the meantime… I don’t mind doin’ the cooking for both of us.”
For both of us. It sounded so… serious. Had Atsumu actually put thought into this?
“Big talk, considering I’ve only barely agreed to date you.”
“What can I say? I’m a big picture kind of guy.”
What were they even doing?
“I don’t…” Kiyoomi longed for a sip of water. “I haven’t done this before. Dated someone.”
“Yeah, I sorta guessed that part.” Atsumu looked Kiyoomi up and down. “You a virgin?”
“What?” Kiyoomi burned all over. “No.”
Atsumu nodded. “Me neither.”
“That’s blatantly obvious.”
Atsumu grinned crookedly. “Oh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You… well… you don’t seem like the type to deprive yourself of any of life’s pleasures.”
Atsumu’s head tipped back in laughter. “I think ya just called me a slut.” He didn’t sound offended.
This was absolutely, positively, one giant mistake.
“Gluttonous is more apt.”
“No idea what that means, but anything sounds hot comin’ outta yer mouth.” He leaned across the table. In a low, almost conspiratorial voice, he said, “And I’ll have you know, Kiyoomi, this ain’t exactly familiar territory for me, either.”
“You don’t make breakfast for all of your hookups?”
“First of all, we didn’t hook up. I didn’t even get yer shirt off. Second of all, no, I don’t. No one’s ever stayed the night here before, and I sure as shit ain’t stuck around for breakfast at anyone else’s place.”
Kiyoomi tried to ignore the thrill Atsumu’s words sent down his spine. He shouldn’t be excited by this. He shouldn’t want to be different, special, the exception. “What about your past relationships?”
“Don’t have any.”
Kiyoomi froze. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Silence.
Atsumu’s eyebrows drew together. “Does that really surprise ya?”
Atsumu had never struck him as the relationship type, that much was true. Even Kiyoomi, who had wanted Atsumu for so many years, had never allowed himself to entertain the idea of actually having him.
“No.” Kiyoomi admitted.
Miya Atsumu was never supposed to be more than a distant, unobtainable crush. It was as safe and hopeless as crushing on a famous celebrity who didn’t know you existed. Or so Kiyoomi had thought.
But the knowledge that Atsumu could want Kiyoomi for something more than warming his bed when he’d never had that kind of relationship with anyone else only made Kiyoomi that much more— “Confused. I guess I’m confused.”
“Volleyball has always been my priority.”
“And now it’s not?” Kiyoomi felt suddenly ill, like the omelette didn’t agree with him. He should leave.
“It still is,” Atsumu said. The grin snuck back onto his face, although it didn’t have quite the same confident radiance as before. “Don’t freak out. I’m not confessin’ my undying love for ya. I just realized that it’s possible to multitask. Bokuto and Shouyou can do it, and they’re way less well-adjusted than me.”
“I don’t know about that,” Kiyoomi mumbled. What was Atsumu trying to say? How could one man be so honest and open while still managing to perplex Kiyoomi completely?
“I can see the gears turnin’ under those pretty curls. Tell me what yer thinkin’.”
Kiyoomi’s pride recoiled as he admitted, through clenched teeth: “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Talk? Sure ya do.”
“No. This. Dating.”
“Me neither. We can figure it out as we go along.”
They were doomed.
Atsumu was passionate. He took risks, rolled with the punches, and never hesitated to try new things.
Kiyoomi’s life, by contrast, was meticulously planned. He worshipped routine and loathed spontaneity. For Kiyoomi, going with the flow meant occasionally buying something from the grocery store that he hadn’t written down on his list. Not… this.
He needed a plan. Some sort of control over the situation. A checklist. A timeline. Something that he could lean on, fall back on. Something he could cling to through all of this uncertainty.
“Omi? Ya went quiet on me.”
“It’s a lot to… consider.”
“Yer not gonna run away, are ya?” Atsumu sounded less sure of himself than he had all morning.
Part of Kiyoomi did want to run. He’d been alone for a long time, and he was fine with it. He couldn’t say he was lonely, because to know he was lonely, he would have to know what the opposite felt like too, and Kiyoomi did not. He was a solitary creature. He played volleyball often. He FaceTimed with his cousin when he could. He visited home as infrequently as possible. And it was all fine. Or at least, it was simple, and simple suited Kiyoomi. Simple didn’t hurt. Simple was rice and bread for breakfast and never burning his tongue or wasting time preparing something only to find the end result overdone and spoiled. Simple was the comfort of climbing into his own bed at night and picking the shows that he watched by himself and never having to make considerations for anyone else. Kiyoomi liked simple. His life relied on simple.
Miya Atsumu was not simple. He was loud, brash, and demanding. Could Kiyoomi dip his foot into the dating pool with Miya Atsumu of all people? Atsumu was the kind of person to grab you by the ankle and drag you under. No time to adjust to the temperature. No time to learn how to swim.
Yes, running in the complete opposite direction would certainly be safer.
But there was Atsumu, sitting across the table from Kiyoomi, looking so goddamn earnest it made Kiyoomi’s stomach hurt. And Kiyoomi remembered the caress of his hands and the taste of his tongue and Atsumu’s words from the previous night, “I’ll be good to you, and you be good to me,” and he knew that it was already too late. He’d had his chance to run from Atsumu last night, and instead he’d kissed him. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet, at least. He’d agreed to give Atsumu a chance, and now all he could do was hold on for dear life and hope he didn’t drown. They were still probably doomed, but that was fine. Kiyoomi didn’t have to give Atsumu forever.
It would be a sort of trial period, he reasoned. Go out for a while, a month or so, go on a few dates, make out some more. He wouldn’t do anything brash. He wouldn’t do anything that couldn’t be taken back. Wouldn’t give anything he couldn’t afford to lose. It didn’t have to be life-altering. It didn’t have to be future-defining. He would keep things surface level. Casual. The stakes were only as high as he allowed them to be.
One month. Trying things out.
How difficult could it be?
He swallowed hard. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Atsumu’s eyes sparkled. “Yeah. Guess you are.”
They finished their breakfast in silence, stealing glances at each other across the table.
-
“You don’t have to go yet, do ya?” Atsumu asked after breakfast, just as Kiyoomi started to get up.
“It’s nearly afternoon. I’ve been here a long time.”
“I know. But I figured last night we watched a movie that Bokuto and Shouyou told me to pick. Maybe we could do a do-over and watch a movie I would’ve actually picked for us to watch?”
Kiyoomi contemplated. He had a pile of laundry waiting for him at home. His plants needed watering. He didn’t have any groceries for dinner tonight. He needed a shower. He was supposed to FaceTime with Motoya later.
But in front of him was Atsumu, with a hopeful, self-conscious openness in his expression. He looked as boyishly charming as he had the first time Kiyoomi had ever seen him at the National Youth Training Camp.
Kiyoomi sighed. “What movie?”
So Kiyoomi and Atsumu watched a movie full of fast driving, blaring music, daring chases, and ruggedly handsome men behind the wheels of ruggedly handsome cars. Not Kiyoomi’s thing, but at least more interesting than the painfully slow horror movie from the previous night.
Although Kiyoomi couldn’t help a few passing criticisms.
“The car wouldn’t be able to brake that fast,” he said at one point.
“She’s going back to him? Seriously?” he said at another.
“Oh come on, Omi!” Atsumu elbowed him. “It’s romantic.”
“If this is your idea of a romantic movie, you should broaden your horizons.”
“Oh yeah? You some sorta romance movie expert, Omi?”
Kiyoomi said nothing. Atsumu snorted.
The movie was also made more enjoyable by the dissipation of the tense atmosphere from the previous night. Now, when Atsumu tried to lean in closer to Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi allowed it. And when Atsumu not-so-subtly reached across the couch and laid his arm across Kiyoomi’s shoulders, Kiyoomi didn’t immediately shrug him off—but don’t ask him about anything that happened in the movie after that point, because his focus was narrowed entirely to the gentle back and forth movement of Atsumu’s fingertips on his shoulder. The warmth of that touch radiated down Kiyoomi’s arm and through his chest.
As the credits finally began to roll, Kiyoomi was both relieved and disappointed. His social battery could only run for so long, and he’d never spent so much time alone with Atsumu before. During their team activities, he’d found Atsumu as annoying as he was handsome—which was very annoying indeed. Fascinating to look at, but exhausting to spend too much time around. It was one of the many reasons he’d convinced himself that he and Atsumu would never work.
But Kiyoomi wasn’t nearly as eager to leave as he should have been. One-on-one, he was beginning to see a side of Atsumu that he’d never seen at their many practices and team social events. Without Bokuto and Hinata there to bring up Atsumu’s energy, he was almost easy to be around.
Or maybe he’d always been this way, and Kiyoomi was only now feeling generous enough to acknowledge it. Atsumu kept sneaking into Kiyoomi’s mind and rewriting the role Kiyoomi had previously written for him. It was a concerning thought. Who had given him the keys? Who had given him the pen?
“Soooo,” Atsumu said, jolting Kiyoomi from his rumination, “what’d ya think of the movie?” His fingers crept up Kiyoomi’s shoulder to his collar, then the bare skin of his neck. Kiyoomi’s eyes fell shut.
Shit. He forced them back open and struggled to compose himself. This was not a weakness Kiyoomi needed Atsumu catching on to.
“It was exactly the kind of movie I would expect you to pick,” Kiyoomi said in the most even voice he could manage.
“Are you always so hard to please?” Atsumu asked, drawing Kiyoomi closer. “I need to manage my expectations accordingly if I’m gonna date ya.”
“Maybe I’m not hard to please and you just like mediocre action movies.”
Atsumu pouted at him unattractively. “Yer so rude, Omi.”
“Fine. I didn’t hate it. Some of the car chase scenes were entertaining enough to hold my attention.”
Atsumu pulled him into a brief, smiling kiss. The move was still novel enough that Kiyoomi could not manage to temper the nervous flutter of his heart.
“See, was that so painful?” Atsumu asked, unbearably smug.
“Excruciating,” Kiyoomi deadpanned. Atsumu chuckled.
“Well then show me what movie you woulda picked.”
Kiyoomi blinked. “What, now?”
“Yeah. We gotta watch ’em back-to-back. Ya know, to compare.”
Kiyoomi remembered his chores. He remembered the groceries. He remembered his needy houseplants. He remembered his plans with Motoya. But it was all useless with the taste of Atsumu lingering on his lips. “Any movie I want?”
Atsumu stole another kiss. “Anything.”
-
“Didn’t realize you were a closet otaku, Omi,” Atsumu said as the opening scene began to play.
“Liking Miyazaki does not make me an otaku. He’s a master filmmaker. Everyone likes his films.”
“Eh,” Atsumu said. “I think I watched some of ’em when I was younger. Kiki’s Delivery Service, Castle in the Sky, Spirited Away. But those are kids’ movies.”
“Mononoke is not a kids’ movie. Just watch.”
-
“Did that guy just lose his fucking head?”
“I told you.”
-
“Was this movie yer sexual awakening? Be honest.”
“No. Pay attention.”
-
“That wolf is her mother?”
“Yes.”
-
“Wait. He’s giving her the necklace that other girl gave him? What a player! Ashitaka, you dog.”
“He wants her to be safe.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. And also, he’s in looove.”
“You’re such a child.”
-
“Fuck. This is pretty sad.”
“I know.”
“And also a little gross.”
“I know.”
Atsumu sniffled. The back of his hand swiped across his cheek. Kiyoomi pretended not to notice.
-
“WHAT? He’s not gonna stay in the forest with her?”
“No. He’ll be in the village.”
“So do they even end up together?!”
“That’s up to you to decide.”
“But that’s sad! I want an answer! I thought they were in love!”
“Life is bittersweet sometimes.” Kiyoomi turned to look at Atsumu, whose eyes still looked a little too wet to be normal. “It’s real.”
“I like happy endings.”
“I think there’s hope. For them, and for the village and forest. It’s the end, but a new beginning.”
“Huh.” Atsumu sat back, a contemplative look on his face. “So yer type of movie is about unlikely romance and hope?”
The words were like unwelcome fingers on his skin. He inched toward the arm of the couch, his throat tight. “Well, I like the music.”
A bare smile warmed Atsumu’s lips. “Right. Can’t forget the music.”
-
“It’s practically dinnertime, ya know,” Atsumu said, getting up from the couch for the first time in many hours and stretching. “Wanna stay and I can cook something? Or we can order in, if you’d rather.”
Kiyoomi didn’t move. “How long are you planning on keeping me here?”
“As long as I can get away with,” Atsumu said without a hint of shame.
Well, it would save Kiyoomi a trip to the grocery store.
“Takeout. You’re paying.”
“So stingy for a rich boy!” Atsumu complained, but he hummed cheerily to himself as he placed the order.
-
Only after Kiyoomi had eaten his weight in curry did he finally put his foot down. “I have to go. I was supposed to call Motoya tonight.”
Atsumu’s bottom lip jutted out. “It’s only like, evening. You could stay a little longer.” They stood in the kitchen now, empty to-go boxes in the trashcan between them.
“I’ve been here twenty-four hours,” he said, surprising even himself. Had it really been that long? He should have been sick of Atsumu hours ago. Instead, he’d spent the day pushing the deadline of his departure back and back and back.
“I finally got ya where I want ya.” Atsumu pulled Kiyoomi in by his belt loops. A small groan sounded from his throat as he brushed his lips over Kiyoomi’s.
Ah, here was the Atsumu that drove Kiyoomi crazy.
“What happens when you go home?” he mumbled into Kiyoomi’s skin.
Kiyoomi could barely hear himself think over the pounding of his heart. It would be so easy to sink into Miya Atsumu. To press their bodies flush and kiss him until Atsumu’s heartbeat matched Kiyoomi’s. So easy it scared him.
“I go to sleep. Then I wake up and see you at practice in the morning. We’re teammates, in case you forgot.”
“You won’t try to take it all back and pretend this weekend never happened?”
“I don’t like repeating myself, Atsumu. I already told you I won’t.”
Atsumu sighed. “Fine, fine. I’ll hold ya to it.” He kissed Kiyoomi soundly on the mouth. “See ya tomorrow, Omi.”
Kiyoomi’s racing heart did not settle the entire way home.
Day 2
On Monday, Atsumu made no efforts at subtlety.
“Gotta show you off, baby,” he said in the locker room. He meant it, too. No sooner would each of their teammates walk into the room than Atsumu would bound over to them with a shit-eating grin on his face and a “Guess what?”
Kiyoomi would be more annoyed… if anyone on the team outside of Bokuto and Hinata actually seemed to care.
Instead, Inunaki responded with: “Will you stop moaning and whining all day now?” and Barnes said: “That makes sense,” and Meian said: “As long as you’re discreet about it.” And that was that. At least Atsumu had the common sense to not go tell Coach Foster. They’d cross that bridge when they came to it.
No, not when, if. Who knew if this thing between them would even last long enough to become an issue.
On the whole, practice wasn’t that unusual.
Except Atsumu took every opportunity to smile at Kiyoomi. And each smile lit a candle in Kiyoomi’s chest. And after practice, before Kiyoomi got into his car, Atsumu cupped Kiyoomi’s face in his hands and kissed him, and Kiyoomi glowed with warmth.
“Been wanting to do that all day,” Atsumu complained against Kiyoomi’s lips. Kiyoomi cracked a smile without meaning to.
Day 3
Tuesday morning, Kiyoomi found Atsumu’s car waiting outside of his building.
“What are you doing?” he asked, bending down to peer at Atsumu through the window.
“I’m drivin’ you to practice,” Atsumu said, elbow resting on the windowsill, a devastatingly charming quirk to his lips.
“Why?”
“Because I wanna spend more time with ya. Just seeing you at practice ain’t enough Omi time. ’Specially not when ya gotta be all professional and businessy about it. So this is me respecting yer desire to create a little division between business and pleasure.”
Pleasure. The word settled like a rock in Kiyoomi’s gut.
“You already told the entire team our business.”
Atsumu ducked his head in something adjacent to shame. “Yeah, well… you didn’t seem too enthusiastic about that. See? I pay attention. I’m tryna find a middle ground. Plus, you hate driving… and yer bad at it.”
Kiyoomi bristled. “I’m not bad at driving.” (He was very bad at driving. He’d never needed to drive living in Tokyo, and had only gotten a car over the summer to make the back and forth to practice easier. He had not yet learned how to drive without white-knuckling the steering wheel. But he didn’t appreciate being called out on it.)
“Sure,” Atsumu said, unconvinced. “Ya wanna get in the car now?” Kiyoomi hated that he said it like it was a foregone conclusion. He’s so damn cocky. It would be hot if it wasn’t annoying.
Kiyoomi stood there, uncertain, his own car keys still in his hands. He did want to get in the car, actually. That was the most annoying part. Because if he ceded this ground to Atsumu, he knew it would be hard to get it back.
He considered retreating back to the security of his apartment. But Atsumu was a shark, and he sensed the blood in the water. He cocked his head to the side, his voice turning almost taunting. “Ya gonna leave me hanging, Omi?”
Kiyoomi shivered. Atsumu noticed, a smile quirking at his lips.
“Maybe.” He swallowed hard. “Did you clean?”
“Vacuumed her and everything. No crumbs in sight.”
Kiyoomi sighed.
He rode to practice with Atsumu.
-
Riding with Atsumu wasn’t that bad. He was relaxed behind the wheel—slouched shoulders, leaned back against his seat, only one hand on the wheel. A very different sort of driver than Kiyoomi. His car was as clean as promised, which surprised Kiyoomi but perhaps shouldn’t have. This was the same Atsumu who had cleaned his apartment from top to bottom for one movie date. What was a surprise, however, was Atsumu’s music choice. Not the ear-splitting “hype music” he, Bokuto, and Hinata liked to blast before matches, but something soft and pleasant that could fade into the background.
There was one major downside, however, which was that Kiyoomi had nowhere to hide on the drive home Tuesday afternoon, when Atsumu suddenly said, “Hey, Omi-kun. I’ve been thinkin’ about something.” His gaze flicked between Kiyoomi and the road. He looked very pleased with himself.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Kiyoomi said, if only to wipe that smug look off Atsumu’s face.
Atsumu reached across the center console and whacked him. “Yer such a dick.”
Kiyoomi turned to the window to hide the twitch of his lips. He hummed noncommittally.
“I was thinkin’ about what ya said the other night. Ya know, when you admitted that you’ve had a thing for me since high school?”
Heat exploded across Kiyoomi’s face. He kept his gaze trained on the window. “And?”
“AND? That’s basically like the most mind-blowin’ thing you’ve ever said to me. You always acted like I pissed you off.”
“You did.”
“Okay, sure. But I must not have pissed you off all the time, for you to have a crush on me.”
“Do you have a question to ask or are you just going to keep saying statements at me?” Kiyoomi snapped.
Atsumu let out a self-conscious chuckle. “You never make a single thing easy, huh? Jeez, Omi. I’m just askin’ why ya liked me way back then. Ya don’t gotta be all prickly and embarrassed about it.”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“It’s relevant to me. I thought you were hot too, ya know. I just figured I never had a chance because you were always glarin’ at me and rollin’ yer eyes and goin’ off to talk to yer cousin.”
Poor Motoya. For years, he’d been Kiyoomi’s only confidant. The only one who knew that Kiyoomi wanted to kiss Atsumu just as badly as he wanted to throttle him. Kiyoomi had never toldhis cousin about his crush on Atsumu—Motoya had spotted it himself, and called Kiyoomi out on it on the last night of youth camp.
“You complain about Miya more than you complain about anyone else here,” he’d said.“But you’re also laser-focused on him any time he’s around. Seems to me like you’ve got a crush.”
“I do not,” Kiyoomi had argued, cheeks flushed and heart racing. “He pisses me off.”
“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive, Kiyo.”
How horribly right he was.
He schooled his features and told Atsumu, “I acted that way because you got on my nerves.”
“Yeah, sounds like I really got under yer skin, huh?” Atsumu stole a glance at Kiyoomi. “Come on… I wanna know. What made ya start liking me? Was it at youth camp? At nationals? Was it my good looks? My superior volleyball skills?”
Images flashed through Kiyoomi’s memory, as crisp as if it were yesterday. Atsumu’s flashy hair and flashy smile and flashy personality. The way he knew exactly who he was and refused to feel ashamed. The way he’d started a fire in Kiyoomi’s gut that had never gone out.
“I don’t remember how it started. That was a long time ago.”
Atsumu sighed. “Fine, don’t tell me. Yer no fun.”
Day 4
Atsumu was there again on Wednesday. Kiyoomi hesitated before approaching the car.
Atsumu rolled down his window and leaned out. “You coming?”
“Again?” Kiyoomi asked.
“Yes, again. Why’re ya looking at me like ya think I might bite ya?”
“I don’t think dating requires you to be my chauffeur.”
“People who date do generally like to spend time together, though. Come on, let me give ya the full experience.”
Kiyoomi stared at him.
On the one hand, he’d agreed to date Atsumu. Kiyoomi was the type of person to see things through to the end. He never did anything by halves. He’d said he was going to give dating Atsumu a chance, and he’d meant it. For now at least, until he decided what he wanted or Atsumu realized that dating Kiyoomi was better in theory than in practice. That was the deal he’d made, both with Atsumu and with himself.
On the other hand, he hadn’t thought that dating Atsumu would be quite so disruptive to his normal, comfortable routine. When he’d agreed to all of this, he’d been kiss-drunk and practically euphoric. He hadn’t thought to ask for parameters.
“What if it starts to become too much?”
“Then I hope you’ll tell me.”
He opened his mouth to say, as politely as possible, thanks, but no thanks, but then Atsumu’s lips curved downward, and he had such a spectacularly unattractive pouting face that Kiyoomi’s resolve crumbled. “Fine,” he ground out. “But no more questions about me liking you. And you’re buying me coffee.”
Atsumu lit up in an instant. “I’ll buy ya coffee every day if I gotta. I’m not above bribery.”
“You didn’t agree to the other part.”
“Take yer free coffee and be grateful.”
So Kiyoomi rode to practice with Atsumu for the second time.
Only this time, Atsumu did not return Kiyoomi home after practice was over.
“Where are we going?” Kiyoomi asked when Atsumu took a left where he should have taken a right.
“Dinner.”
“I’m in my practice clothes.”
“It’s real casual, don’t worry.” He looked Kiyoomi over. “Plus, you look hot.”
“Eyes on the road, Atsumu.”
-
“Do you take all of your dates to your brother’s restaurant?”
“Nah, only the ones who are obsessed with his umeboshi.”
Kiyoomi snorted. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “Is your brother working?”
“That workaholic? I’m sure. He never takes enough time off.” With that, he hopped out of the car, casual and cheery, as if this was no big deal. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Kiyoomi was doomed to overthink everything forever.
“I’ll get us the best table,” Atsumu said with a wink as they walked in. “I know the owner.”
“It’s seat yourself,” Kiyoomi said. Plus, the restaurant was mostly empty, with two customers waiting in the to-go pick up line and a couple nestled into one of the small tables on the far end of the room.
“Yeah, but I still know the best table.”
At the sound of his twin’s voice, Miya Osamu stuck his head out from the kitchen. “Back already, Tsumu? I’m gonna have to put up a ‘No Scrubs Allowed’ sign.”
“Ah, you know that wouldn’t keep me out.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Actually, you should be a lot nicer to me. I’m yer most loyal customer and yer biggest promoter.”
“And my biggest pain in the neck,” Osamu added. Atsumu stuck his tongue out.
Kiyoomi had seen the Miya brothers interact many times, but their relationship still baffled him. They teased each other constantly, bickered almost as much as they laughed, and yet they never seemed to grow tired of each other. Kiyoomi couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed with his own siblings, or the last time one of their jokes had felt like it was shared with Kiyoomi, rather than targeted at him. Was it because Atsumu and Osamu were twins? Because they had shared everything since before they were born? Was that why nothing—not even Osamu’s decision to leave volleyball after high school or the fact that he was dating one of his and Atsumu’s high school friends—had ever come between them?
Atsumu approached the counter, and Osamu’s attention finally shifted to Kiyoomi trailing a few steps behind. “Hey there, Sakusa,” he said, his mouth twitching with a barely restrained smirk. “What brings you in today?”
“Umeboshi,” Kiyoomi said.
“Uh huh.” There was a glint in his eye that made Kiyoomi’s cheeks fill with warmth. At least he’d put his mask on.
“Ya want any other flavors Omi?” Atsumu asked, still completely unbothered.
“Uh, sure. Whatever you want to get.”
“Who’s this new agreeable Omi?” Atsumu teased in a low voice for only Kiyoomi to hear. Then, to his brother he said, “Give us an assorted pack. Whatever’s good today. And extra umeboshi.”
“Sure. I’ve been playing around with some new recipes, too. I’ll add a couple of those in exchange for yer feedback.”
“I’ll never say no to free shit.”
“How much do we owe for the others?” Kiyoomi asked, reaching for his wallet.
Atsumu snorted. “You don’t owe him anything, Omi. It’s my treat.”
“Don’t be too impressed, Sakusa. He also gets the friends and family discount.”
“And I have the punch card,” Atsumu reminded, whipping out a colorful business card. “I’m two purchases away from a freebie.”
Atsumu paid, then showed Kiyoomi to the “best table”—a booth by the front window.
“You already told your brother about us.” It wasn’t a question.
Atsumu blinked. “’Course I did. He’s my best friend. Haven’t ya told Motoya?”
“No.” It was half true. He hadn’t told Motoya about the new developments in the Atsumu situation (the situation, of course, being Kiyoomi’s years’ long crush) but he had complained to Motoya last Friday about his deal to watch a movie at Atsumu’s apartment. So when Kiyoomi’s texts suddenly stopped on Saturday night and for most of Sunday, then Kiyoomi answered his cousin’s FaceTime looking both dreamy and guilty, he hadn’t needed to say anything at all. “He does, uh, he does know, though. He guessed.”
Atsumu whistled. “That’s some guess.”
“He may have had a certain amount of awareness in advance. About… things.”
Atsumu’s foot grazed Kiyoomi’s under the table. “Oh? Ya been gabbin’ to yer cousin ’bout how irresistible I am?”
“More so about how I wish your mother had never had twins.”
“Wow Omi, did ya just wish Samu dead in his own restaurant?”
“Not Osamu,” Kiyoomi clarified. “He can stay. He makes good onigiri.”
Atsumu hooked his foot around Kiyoomi’s ankle. It was terrifically distracting.
“You wish I was never born, Omi? I’m hurt.”
Kiyoomi’s chest felt tight. Was he breathing normally? Could Atsumu tell if he wasn’t? He longed for the nervous, fumbling Atsumu from Saturday night. He didn’t know how to handle the boldly flirtatious and newly empowered Atsumu. He bit his tongue, not trusting his own words.
Atsumu leaned forward. “Ya know, you said us a minute ago. Sure makes us sound like boyfriends, don’t ya think?”
“I hope you didn’t tell your brother I’m your boyfriend.”
“That is absolutely what he told me, Sakusa,” Osamu said, suddenly appearing with their food. “Shoulda known he was exaggerating.”
“Hey!” Atsumu chimed in. “No ganging up on Atsumu time. We are dating though, ain’t that right, Omi?”
Osamu looked down at Kiyoomi expectantly, and Kiyoomi realized that even if Osamu liked to give his brother a hard time, Atsumu was not the one being cornered in this situation.
“For now,” he said.
Atsumu flashed a toothy grin up at his twin. “From Omi, that’s basically a marriage proposal.”
Kiyoomi kicked him. Atsumu yelped.
On the drive back to Kiyoomi’s apartment, Atsumu sang along to the radio. He was not a gifted singer. Kiyoomi didn’t know whether to be endeared or annoyed. But Atsumu seemed content to let Kiyoomi sit in contemplative silence, so Kiyoomi wasn’t going to argue with that. It was… nice. Weird, but nice. More like a scene in a movie than a scene in Kiyoomi’s life.
Even for all the years he’d known Atsumu, spending time with him like this was utterly foreign to Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi didn’t typically enjoy new experiences. He liked consistency. Comfort. Routine. Was there a future for him where this could become routine? Atsumu appearing in the mornings to drive Kiyoomi to practice every day? Casual dinner dates after long days of training? Drives home through city streets, and Kiyoomi admiring the way the streetlights glowed on Atsumu’s face? Would he want that? Would he get tired of it? Become overstimulated and claustrophobic? Or would all nights feel as serene and quietly romantic as the first?
It was a puzzle that could not, apparently, be solved just by thinking about it. Kiyoomi pursed his lips.
Well, it wasn’t like he needed answers yet. It had only been four days. This future was all purely hypothetical. It wasn’t real. Not yet. Maybe not ever. A lot could still go wrong.
Atsumu’s singing began to quiet as they neared Kiyoomi’s apartment. His eyes drifted toward Kiyoomi nearly as often as they watched the road—something Kiyoomi noticed because he had not looked away from Atsumu even once the entire drive. The cheery smile he’d worn all night began to falter.
“What?” Kiyoomi asked, worry gnawing a hole through his chest. Kiyoomi wasn’t great at reading emotions, and according to Motoya, he had a bad tendency of callously trampling over the feelings of others without realizing. Had he done something wrong at dinner?
“Whaddaya mean, what?”
“It seems like you’ve got something on your mind.”
“Oh.” Atsumu let out a forced, high-pitched laugh. “Nothin’ really.” He pulled into Kiyoomi’s parking lot. Kiyoomi didn’t know why this made his stomach drop. “I was just thinkin’… about kissin’ you goodnight.”
Kiyoomi’s stomach dropped in a very different way. “Oh.”
Atsumu parked and unbuckled his seatbelt. “So, can I?” he asked, fully pivoting to face Kiyoomi.
“Yes,” Kiyoomi said immediately, sounding breathless and flustered even to his own ears. He still hadn’t caught his breath by the time Atsumu leaned over the center console and slid his hand into Kiyoomi’s hair. Atsumu, by contrast, let out one shaky breath as his lips met Kiyoomi’s.
The first kiss was gentle. A sweet nothing whispered against lips. The brush of noses. Fingers lightly winding through curls.
The second kiss was the first kiss, but in slow motion. Lingering and sweet as honey. Hours passed in seconds. Kiyoomi wanted to live in this kiss for as long as possible. When Atsumu withdrew, Kiyoomi followed. He hadn’t finished saying goodnight.
Atsumu released one hand from Kiyoomi’s hair and pressed a thumb to his lips, holding all 192 centimeters of Kiyoomi in place with a single touch as he reestablished a breath of space between them. The intensity in his eyes sent a shiver through Kiyoomi’s entire body.
The third kiss was wanting. Atsumu tugged them back together with a dizzying speed that had Kiyoomi’s stomach swooping and his breath catching. Kiyoomi’s hands fumbled their way toward Atsumu and clutched tightly at the cotton of his T-shirt to keep him close. The third kiss was not one kiss, but a dozen. Curiosity that grew into something needier as the rhythm turned from a slow dance into a gallop. Each caress of lips and eager press of tongue left Kiyoomi more elated and delirious than the last.
He hadn’t realized how intimate a kiss could be. Open, vulnerable mouths unable to hide the intensity of their hunger. The feeling of another person’s exhales on his face, the mingling of two breaths into one. Kiyoomi felt entirely surrounded by Atsumu, even with the car’s center console keeping their bodies apart. The car was Atsumu. The growing temperature in the car was Atsumu. Everything was Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu.
He wanted—fuck, he wanted too much. More than he was prepared to want.
On the edge of desperation, he forced himself to turn away, gasping for breath. “I should—I should go upstairs.”
Atsumu smiled against his jaw. “You don’t have to.”
Yes, he really, really did.
“I think that’s enough for one night.” He tapped against Atsumu’s collarbone and withdrew completely from the embrace. Atsumu’s eyes were half-lidded and hazy, like they often were after a couple post-game drinks with the team.
“Some g’night kiss,” he said, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yer a real good kisser, ya know.”
Kiyoomi didn’t say anything. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the glistening spot on Atsumu’s bottom lip that his hand had missed. He’d done that. He wanted to do it again.
“Goodnight, Atsumu,” he managed.
“Night, Omi.” He leaned across the car. Kiyoomi’s breath stopped as Atsumu’s face neared his own. He didn’t think he would survive another kiss from Miya Atsumu tonight. But Atsumu only leaned over him to open the car door.
“That was unnecessary,” he said, still a little breathless.
Atsumu chuckled. “I like seein’ ya squirm a little.” He sat back properly in his seat. “See ya tomorrow. Bright and early.”
Of course he’d be back. There’d be no shaking him loose now. Kiyoomi didn’t know how he should feel about that. Pleased? Horrified? Anxious? Or was that eagerness twisting his insides into knots?
He climbed ungracefully out of the car, needing the cool night air to clear his head. “Tomorrow,” he said.
That night, Kiyoomi laid awake in bed for hours, heart pounding, mind racing.
He’d wanted Atsumu for a long time. He was used to the wanting, and the space it took up in his chest. He’d made himself comfortable with the wanting once it had become clear that it wasn’t something he could easily dispose of. He’d done the next best thing. He’d found a storage closet in the back corner of his heart and tucked that wanting safely away on one of the shelves—still there, always still there, but properly inventoried. Manageable. Not out of mind, but at least out of sight.
But that kiss in Atsumu’s car was not a storage closet kind of wanting. It didn’t fit on the shelf. Hell, it didn’t fit in the closet at all. This wanting stormed down the halls. It threw open every window. It screamed and yelled and beat against Kiyoomi’s chest from the inside.
Kiyoomi didn’t know how to handle this wanting. He didn’t know where to put it. He’d never felt less in control of his actions and emotions.
He’d never realized before how that tender, quiet, hopeless wanting he’d placed on that shelf all those years ago could become a wild, dangerous creature when given even a scrap of attention. Maybe that wanting had never been docile at all. Maybe it had just been starving. And now that Kiyoomi had taken it out and fed it a few table scraps, the wanting wouldn’t stop until it consumed everything in sight. Until it ate Kiyoomi alive.
To: Miya Atsumu
(1:42am)
What are you doing to me?
Day 5
When Kiyoomi was younger, he’d read the book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie and experienced great stress over it. He’d thought, you give a mouse one single cookie and now he has all these other expectations? That’s unreasonable.
Now as an adult, he understood that the book was more than just a supposedly funny book for children. It was a warning.
Because if you gave an Atsumu a kiss, he also started having all kinds of expectations.
If you gave an Atsumu a kiss, he wouldn’t leave you alone after.
“Wanna go grab dinner again?” he asked as they climbed into the car after practice on Thursday. “I know a place that isn’t owned by my brother.”
Discomfort squirmed under Kiyoomi’s skin. “We just went out yesterday. We can’t just spend all of our time together, you know.”
Atsumu, unoffended, said, “Why not? Not like you have a surplus of friends here in Osaka. Who else ya gonna spend yer time with?”
“Myself. I like having quiet time.”
Did Atsumu never need a break? Did he never crave a peaceful night to himself? When did Atsumu take time to think, surrounded as he was by the presence of others? What would Kiyoomi do, who would he become, if he was kept outside his comfort zone for such an extended period of time? He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
Atsumu nodded, like he understood. “I could just come over, then. We can be alone but hang out in the same space,” he said, like he didn’t.
The discomfort wormed deeper. He’d forgotten how unreasonable Atsumu could be. “That’s not how it works.”
“Sure it is. I shared a room with Samu for eighteen years of my life. The only kind of alone time I got was when we were each doin’ our own thing in the same room.”
Kiyoomi could barely imagine that. Alone time was Kiyoomi’s most constant childhood companion.
“Well, I need more alone alone time than that.” He hesitated, then admitted: “It’s how I recharge.”
“Oh. It’s like, an introvert thing?”
Kiyoomi fidgeted in his seat. “I guess so.”
Atsumu sighed, but his eyes were fond as he appraised Kiyoomi. “S’pose we do need a fully-charged Omi. I’ll take ya home.”
Day 6
“Enjoy your holiday break, team,” Coach Foster said after Friday’s practice. “Get some rest, eat some food, but don’t let yourselves get too lazy. We’re going to hit the ground running in the New Year.”
“Yes, Coach,” the team replied.
“And Bokuto, don’t call or text me. I’ll be out of the country.”
“Yes, Coach,” Bokuto said, sounding a little glum.
As the team dispersed, he grumbled, “Why was that second reminder only for me?”
“Because yer the only one who texts Coach night and day, Bokkun,” Atsumu said, slapping his teammate on the shoulder.
Hinata jumped in front of Kiyoomi and blocked his path to the showers. “What are you guys doing for the holidays? I’m leaving for Miyagi tomorrow morning! And Kageyama is heading home too! I already made a list of like, fifty things I wanna do with him while we’re on break.”
“I don’t think any of us wanna hear the stuff you wanna do to Kageyama, Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu teased.
Hinata whacked his arm. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Atsumu-san! I said with him. Like exchanging Christmas gifts. And we’re gonna do a shrine visit with the old Karasuno members on New Year’s Day.”
Hinata continued to chatter as the team washed up and changed, calling out his plans over the shower stalls for all to hear. Bokuto eventually joined in, too, spilling the details of the “extravagantly romantic” Christmas Eve date he had set up for Akaashi. Kiyoomi didn’t mind the noise. Hinata and Bokuto were easy to tune out, and at least this way no one had the chance to ask him more about his own holiday plans.
But of course, there was one teammate who wouldn’t let Kiyoomi slip out the door unnoticed. Not that Kiyoomi could slip out unnoticed if he’d wanted to, as said teammate was also his ride home.
“So, Omi-kun,” Atsumu said, waiting at his locker with a gleam of excitement in his eyes, “I found this new drama on Netflix that seems like an Omi kind of show. Ya know, one of those moody romances with a dashingly handsome lead. You wanna come over and watch it? If yer feelin’ charged up enough, ’course.”
Kiyoomi was still feeling a little emotionally raw from their kiss in the car Wednesday night, which had been so simple yet still had Kiyoomi touching his lips in wonder days later. A devastating kiss. The kind that made Kiyoomi actually want this thing between them to work out, so he could get countless other kisses just like it. He was terrified and exhilarated and barely able to look at Atsumu without feeling horribly exposed. Vulnerable. Naked. And if he let Atsumu get too close, surely he would notice.
But also… Kiyoomi was supposed to be dating this person. Maybe it was normal to feel this way around the person you were dating. Maybe Atsumu didn’t notice anything amiss.
He considered Atsumu’s suggestion. While the offered date sounded fairly innocent and laid-back on the surface, there was an unknown variable at play. Alone with Atsumu at his apartment on a Friday night? Now that they had been dating for nearly a week, would Atsumu have certain… expectations? If the way he boasted in the locker room was even a little bit accurate, he wasn’t exactly the slowburn, gentlemanly type. The mere thought sent Kiyoomi spiraling into himself. He hadn’t even finished processing kissing Atsumu, let alone—
“Just watching a show?” he clarified. “This isn’t an excuse to invite me over to your apartment for… other things?” His face felt hot.
Atsumu bit back a smile. “So dirty! No, Omi. I didn’t mean like Netflix and chill. I just meant we could watch Netflix and… y’know, chill.” He cringed. “Okay, I get how that sounds now. Do you wanna come over and watch TV with no ulterior motives?”
Kiyoomi snorted. Relief was a cool balm on his burning cheeks. “Sure.”
-
They picked up dinner and brought it back to Atsumu’s place where Atsumu, to Kiyoomi’s horror, carried the food directly to the couch.
“I eat on this thing all the time, Omi. It’ll survive.”
Kiyoomi’s nose scrunched. Atsumu laughed.
The show was in Korean, which meant both Kiyoomi and Atsumu had to keep their eyes on the subtitles. It was a bit of a relief, actually, to be forced to pay attention. It stopped Kiyoomi from thinking about other things, like Atsumu mere inches from him on the couch, so close that Kiyoomi could smell his body wash.
Things felt comfortable. Almost normal—like they’d spent dozens of weekend nights like this, instead of two. Takeout boxes on the coffee table, a drama that Kiyoomi actually did find himself enjoying, and a content Atsumu, becoming quieter as the episodes wore on and his eyelids started to droop.
“Do you want to stop here for the night?” Kiyoomi asked after the fourth episode.
“No,” Atsumu insisted. “Wanna keep watching.” He scooted across the couch to lean against Kiyoomi’s side. Kiyoomi’s stomach squirmed and fluttered in a way that had become increasingly common since Miya Atsumu had become a series regular character in Kiyoomi’s life. “One more.”
Kiyoomi couldn’t find his voice. He let the next episode play.
Atsumu was asleep in minutes.
Kiyoomi felt Atsumu’s slow, even breathing. He didn’t quite snore, but he wasn’t a quiet breather. Kiyoomi’s eyes fell to his sleeping face.
Oh.
Atsumu looked cute like this. Peaceful. Without his sharp smiles and the mischievous glint in his eye, he looked… soft. Almost innocent. Kiyoomi suddenly understood how Atsumu could have watched him sleep for an hour the previous weekend.
The TV still played in the background, unintelligible to Kiyoomi without the help of the subtitles, but he didn’t care. They’d have to rewatch this episode later anyway. Kiyoomi would much rather watch Atsumu’s face, half-smushed against Kiyoomi’s arm as he slept.
What was he supposed to do with all of these feelings? Where could he put them? Where could he store them safely, where they wouldn’t be allowed to grow too unwieldy?
Maybe dating was like keeping a houseplant. The more he watered it, the more it wanted to grow, the more it became constrained by the confines of its pot. Eventually, Kiyoomi would need to repot it if it was to keep growing. A plant with nowhere to grow would become root-bound, its roots tangling dangerously together, and then it wouldn’t be able to grow no matter how often he watered it. But the solution to this problem was high risk. Moving a plant to a bigger pot was easier said than done.
Put a plant in too big of a pot, and root rot was likely. Any amount of water could be detrimental to a plant in a too-big pot. It was dangerous to give a plant too much. He could end up killing the very thing he wanted to save.
And if he didn’t fail? The plant would keep growing, and Kiyoomi would had to keep finding larger and larger pots to plant it in. Where did it stop? What happened when he didn’t have a bigger pot? When he gave the plant the entirety of his body to grow into and it still didn’t have enough room? How much space could one plant possibly occupy? How much care would it take? How much water did Kiyoomi have to give? And what if the roots grew deep into his chest and wrapped around his heart and demanded a bigger pot once again, but there was nothing more for Kiyoomi to give, and they grew more and more tangled until an inevitable root death took them both?
A choice had to be made. Give the plant too little and kill it, give the plant too much and kill them both, or rip the plant free now and cut his losses. Let the plant grow somewhere else, in more fertile soil than Kiyoomi had to offer. He wasn’t willing to do any of those things, but even not choosing was making a choice. Kiyoomi was stuck.
Literally, he was stuck. With Atsumu asleep on his arm, Kiyoomi could not even reach for the remote. When the episode ended, he tried to gently pry himself from Atsumu so he could turn off the TV. The second Kiyoomi was free of Atsumu’s body, however, Atsumu groaned and blinked awake.
“Omi?” he mumbled, speech slurred. He stretched out to feel where Kiyoomi’s warmth had gone.
“I’m here.”
“Don’t leave, I was just resting my eyes for a second.”
A gentle smile found its way onto Kiyoomi’s face. “You’ve been asleep for nearly an hour.”
“Have not,” Atsumu said, almost pouting now. “I wouldn’t fall asleep on our date.”
“It’s fine. I should probably get home anyway.”
“Well, let me grab my keys and I’ll drive ya.”
“No,” Kiyoomi said automatically. “You’re tired. I’ll take the train.”
“I’m not gonna make you take public transit when I got a clean car.”
“Atsumu, it’s okay.” He wished they’d stopped at his apartment to pick up his car, but that was a lesson for another time. He could wear his mask and shower right when he got home. He had done it countless times when he lived in Tokyo. Better that than Atsumu getting into a car accident.
So Kiyoomi went to put on his shoes and Atsumu sulked about it, then followed after him.
They lingered together in the genkan for a minute. “I guess I should get going.” He steeled himself before leaning forward to kiss Atsumu lightly on his frowning mouth. “Goodnight.”
“Wait.” Atsumu caught Kiyoomi by the sleeve. “Monday is Christmas Eve. I wanna spend it with ya. Whaddaya think?”
Kiyoomi thought about plants and pots and roots. Did people who were only recently dating spend the most romantic holiday of the year together? What did it mean if they did?
But with Atsumu looking at him with that quiet, almost self-conscious hope, there was really only one thing that Kiyoomi could say. “Okay.”
Day 7
It was not okay.
Or rather, it was marginally okay… until it wasn’t. It was marginally okay until Atsumu texted Kiyoomi to tell him that an unexpected snow storm was supposed to blow through Osaka on Christmas Eve, and would Kiyoomi be okay with a night-in instead of going out to dinner, and maybe staying the night so neither of them would have to drive home in the snow.
It made sense. It was a practical, safe alternative. Hadn’t Kiyoomi just preached safe driving on Friday night?
He was on the verge of a nervous breakdown about it. A breakdown that had him going on a two-hour run, stress-cleaning his entire apartment from top to bottom, and panic-calling Motoya in the middle of the night.
“Do you think Atsumu wants to have sex?” Kiyoomi said the second his cousin answered the phone.
“Kiyo?” Motoya’s voice was slow and groggy. “What time is it?”
“Late. Early. I don’t know. I just finished scrubbing the floors. He invited me to stay over on Monday night. Because of the snow storm.”
“Atsumu did? That sounds reasonable.”
“It’s a sleepover on the most romantic holiday of the year. It’s so obvious.”
The line was silent for a long moment. “Do you want to sleep with him?”
“No,” Kiyoomi said automatically. He took a breath. “I mean, yes, obviously. But no. Not right now. That would make things…” Uncomfortably serious. Unbearably real. “Complicated.”
“Then don’t sleep with him. It’s only been a week. If you’re not ready, I don’t think Atsumu would pressure you. He’s kind of a confident jerk, but he’s not a complete asshole.”
No, Atsumu wasn’t a complete asshole. He wouldn’t make Kiyoomi do anything. Kiyoomi knew that.
So why did the thought make his heart pound so hard?
Day 8
Kiyoomi’s stress and anxiety mounted all through Sunday.
He was functioning on almost no hours of sleep. He worked himself ragged at the gym. He reorganized every drawer and closet in his apartment. Then, when there was nothing left to distract his body or mind with, he paced around his apartment for half the night.
Kiyoomi had created quite the conundrum for himself. When he was around Atsumu, his brain was so full of Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu that he barely had space to think. When they were apart, he had too much room to think and overthink and stress and question everything. It couldn’t be good to be with someone who made him feel like this, could it? How was Kiyoomi supposed to make rational decisions under such conditions? The last time he’d spent the night in Atsumu’s bed, he’d agreed to this whole dating thing that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. What vulnerability would Atsumu wheedle out of him this time? What line would Kiyoomi be tempted across on an entire snowed-in night, without even the security blanket of his feigned indifference to throw between them?
He wouldn’t do anything that he’d almost certainly regret later. He wouldn’t. It was way too soon to be thinking about that. And anyway, he could control himself.
… was what he told himself in the comfort of his room, all alone and without temptation smiling charmingly in front of him.
Kiyoomi needed to get a grip. Figure his shit out before he saw Atsumu next. If he didn’t want to lose his sense entirely, he needed a strategy to keep some distance between them.
Even if Atsumu looked at him with those soft, puppy-dog eyes and smiled every time Kiyoomi entered a room. Even if he cooked Kiyoomi breakfast and kissed him in parking lots and fell asleep on his shoulder. Kiyoomi needed to be careful. Slipping too deep into his feelings for Atsumu would only lead to trouble down the road, where any number of hazards were surely lying in wait. How could Kiyoomi trust in a future built off of one week of dating?
No, he needed to guard his heart, even if Atsumu made him feel like it might be safe with him.
This thing between them was so, so delicate. Kiyoomi didn’t know if it would all fall apart the moment he tried to embrace it.
Day 9
In the blue-lit predawn hours of Christmas Eve morning, Kiyoomi woke up shivering.
What the fuck?
He knew he had turned the heater on before going to sleep, but he felt miserably cold. No, he felt miserable, full stop. His head throbbed and his muscles ached. Had he worn himself down with his workouts and cleaning, and it was just catching up to him now? He swallowed, and his throat hurt.
The worrying combination of symptoms had him stumbling out of bed and toward the bathroom. Fuck, his body hurt.
He had a terrible, creeping suspicion about what was wrong. He opened the recently organized bathroom cabinet and retrieved his thermometer.
Please no please no please no, he repeated silently over and over as he placed the thermometer under his tongue and watched the numbers creep up.
38.5 degrees. A fever.
Fuck.
He swallowed around a lump of panic.
Maybe it was just overwork. Maybe he could take some medicine, go back to sleep, and wake up in a few hours as good as new.
-
He did not wake up good as new. Not at ten in the morning, and not when he woke up a third time at noon. He was impossibly tired. It hurt to move. It hurt to stay still. He needed to go to the store for more medicine—and maybe some soup—but he couldn’t get out of bed. Maybe once enough time had passed for him to take his next dose of medicine.
He texted Motoya, but his cousin’s response was neither helpful nor comforting.
From: Motoya
(12:33pm)
whoa… did you stress yourself out so much that you broke your immune system? that hasn’t happened since we were kids.
He ignored two texts from Atsumu in the early afternoon. What could he say? This wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he’d imagined creating space between them. This should have been a solution to all his worries of the past days, but it didn’t feel that way.
He ignored another text a few hours later. The guilt gnawed at him. Putting off the inevitable wouldn’t change the situation or make anything better.
At five o’clock, Kiyoomi’s phone rang.
“Hello?” he answered weakly.
“Omi, where have ya been? I texted you three times today. What time do you wanna come over? It’s gonna start snowing in the next hour.”
Kiyoomi hesitated. He closed his eyes. Was it the fever making him feel like he was about to cry? “I have to cancel. I have the flu.”
“What?” Concern spiked the pitch of Atsumu’s voice. “Why didn’t ya say anything earlier? I was at the store a few hours ago, I coulda brought you stuff.”
Kiyoomi exhaled shakily. “I didn’t want to… disappoint you. I guess.”
“Omi. I’m more worried about how yer feelin’ than our canceled plans.”
“I feel”—like shit—“fine. It’s mostly just a fever.”
“I could come over. You shouldn’t have to take care of yerself when yer sick.”
Kiyoomi’s eyes snapped open. “No. I’m fine. I don’t want to get you sick.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“I care. And you should too. You’re supposed to go back to Hyogo in a couple days, right? You want to be sick for the New Year?”
Atsumu contemplated in silence. Kiyoomi realized this was the first time they’d ever spoken on the phone. It was difficult to know what Atsumu was thinking without the help of his overly expressive face.
“At least let me drop off a care package or something.”
Kiyoomi’s throat felt even tighter than before. Tears threatened at the corners of his eyes. “Don’t. I have everything I need here.” A lie, but Atsumu didn’t need to know that. Kiyoomi had fucked things up enough already. Outside the window, the first snowflakes had begun to fall. “Besides, it seems like the storm is already starting. You should stay in.”
“Ya know, yer a real difficult person sometimes,” Atsumu said, sounding annoyed for the first time in the conversation.
“Yes, I’m aware.”
Another silence. Kiyoomi didn’t know if the twisting in his stomach was a new flu symptom, or a symptom of dating Miya Atsumu. He wiped a hand down his face. “I should probably go. Merry Christmas, Atsumu.”
Atsumu gave a resigned sigh. “Merry Christmas, Omi.”
Kiyoomi did not know how much time had passed since his call with Atsumu when he was awoken from a fitful nap to the sound of banging from down the hall. Kiyoomi, a light sleeper even on his best of days, buried his face in his pillow and tried to ignore it.
The banging persisted. After a few moments, a voice joined in. “Omi! Open the door! I’m freezin’ my nuts off out here!”
Kiyoomi would have tensed up if his whole body wasn’t already tense and sore. “Stubborn idiot,” he grumbled. Then he dragged himself out of bed, trudged down the hall, and pulled a face mask off a hook before answering the door.
Despite his shivering body and snow-damp hair, Atsumu’s eyes gleamed. “Hiya Omi-kun, Merry Christmas part two.” It looked like he might be smiling, but the lower half of his face was covered by a white surgical mask.
“You don’t listen,” Kiyoomi said, sounding weaker and more tired than intended.
“What can I say? I’m a real difficult person, too. Let me in before I become an Atscicle. Ya get it? An Atsumu icicle?”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. He stepped aside.
“Wow, giving in already?” Atsumu kicked off his shoes. “Either being sick has made ya soft, or ya just like me so much ya can’t say no to me.”
“You’re too stupid for your own good. Meian and Coach would kill me if you froze to death.”
Atsumu chuckled. “Impossible. I’m too hot to freeze to death.”
Kiyoomi didn’t dignify that with a response. “What are you doing here?”
Atsumu held up a grocery bag. “I brought ya some stuff. I know you said that you got what ya need and yer fine and everything, but after we hung up, I thought about it, and I remembered yer fulla shit and never actually ask for help when ya need it. And no one should be sick and alone on Christmas.”
Kiyoomi didn’t know what to say to that. Because Atsumu was right; Kiyoomi didn’t ask for help. He didn’t lean on others. He’d never learned how. And Atsumu knew it. Those setter’s eyes were never turned off. He was an observer. He read people in an instant. Kiyoomi wanted to flinch away from that knowing gaze. He wanted to hide his face, his heart.
But there was nowhere to run.
“You could have gotten in an accident on the way here.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t.” He ruffled Kiyoomi’s hair. “Although no promises on the way back. Snow sure is pickin’ up. I guess I should stay a while, huh?”
Kiyoomi sighed. Maybe being sick had made him soft.
Or maybe… maybe it was the second option. Maybe Kiyoomi liked Atsumu too much to say no to him.
-
“What have ya had to eat today?” Atsumu asked, making himself at home in Kiyoomi’s kitchen. Kiyoomi cringed at the thought of the freshly cleaned space falling into the hands of Miya Atsumu, but he didn’t have enough energy to protest. He’d just clean it again once he was feeling better.
“Um.” He swallowed hard. “Food.”
Atsumu’s eyes narrowed. “Wanna specify?”
“No.”
“So, nuthin’.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
Atsumu made a loud buzzer noise that rattled through Kiyoomi’s pounding head. “Wrong answer. Gotta have good nutritious foods and fluids to get yer body strong and healthy.”
“I just want to sleep.”
“Then go rest on the couch or go to yer room. I’ll make ya some okayu and come get ya when it’s ready.”
Kiyoomi grabbed his softest throw blanket from the basket beside the TV and curled up on the couch. He didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep with Atsumu messing around in his kitchen, but at least this way he could be comfortable while also keeping an eye on him.
Kiyoomi realized, belatedly, that this was the first time Atsumu had ever been to his apartment, and already he acted like he owned the place and Kiyoomi was his house guest. But he was too drained to have any feelings about this new development.
He watched Atsumu work from a distance until his blinks became slower and his thoughts gave way to the fuzzy blur of half-sleep. The kind of sleep he got on the team bus after games, where his body and eyes would go into sleep mode, but his ears never really stopped hearing the sounds around him.
Which was how, after an indeterminate amount of time, he heard Atsumu walk into the living room and crouch down right in front of his face. Kiyoomi blinked drowsily back to awareness.
“Hi.” Atsumu’s voice was softer than usual. “Do you wanna eat here or in the kitchen?”
“Table,” Kiyoomi mumbled.
Still cold and aching everywhere, he wrapped himself up in the blanket and followed Atsumu to the kitchen.
Atsumu set a bowl of porridge down in front of Kiyoomi, garnished with umeboshi. Kiyoomi’s throat felt uncomfortably tight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had okayu when he was sick. Maybe the family housekeeper had made it for him as a young child? Although she’d never added any pickled plum to hers.
Kiyoomi looked up at Atsumu, who had taken the seat opposite. “Eat,” Atsumu urged. “It’s not too hot. I tested it. It’s tasty, too.”
Kiyoomi was skeptical.
“Eat,” Atsumu repeated. “Ya liked the tamagoyaki I made last weekend, didn’t ya?”
As if in response to Atsumu’s question, Kiyoomi’s stomach growled. Kiyoomi, embarrassed and irritable, removed his mask and reached for his spoon.
Rice porridge had never tasted so good.
Atsumu watched Kiyoomi while he ate, the crinkle of his eyes a suggestion of the smile hiding behind his mask. Kiyoomi could imagine that smile so clearly, and caught himself missing it. He blamed it on the fever.
“You’re staring,” Kiyoomi said, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth in case any porridge lingered there.
“I didn’t know you could look so cute,” Atsumu said, teasing but fond. “Yer like a little Omi babushka, wrapped up in that blanket.”
Kiyoomi grumbled in protest.
After finishing the porridge and putting his mask back on, he rose with effort and started to walk the bowl to the sink.
Atsumu followed at his heels. “What are ya up to over there?”
“Washing this before the remnants get crusty and gross.”
The bowl was snatched from his hand. “I’ll take care of it. S’what I’m here for. Sit back down.”
Atsumu turned the water all the way to hot and thoroughly washed the bowl, utensils, and the pot one by one. Kiyoomi blinked several times, but the image in front of him did not become any less true. Atsumu was good at this. Caring for people.
Kiyoomi, on the other hand, was not good at being cared for.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said as Atsumu set the pot to dry on the rack.
Atsumu shrugged. “Ya know, there was this one time in high school that I wore myself out real bad and ended up sick. I thought I’d be super tough and push through it. Show everyone how strong I was. But then my captain sent me home, and he left a care package for me.” He scratched the back of his head, color creeping up over the top of his mask. “I’m not gonna lie, I just started cryin’. No one had ever done something like that for me before. I think it’s time I pay that kindness forward. Everyone deserves to be taken care of when they’re sick. Especially stubborn shits who pretend they don’t need it.”
Kiyoomi looked everywhere except at Atsumu. “I’m not much of a crier.”
Atsumu snorted. “’Course that’s yer takeaway.”
He leaned across the space between them, carefully examining Kiyoomi’s face. “Is it time for yer next dose of medicine yet?”
“No, I still have to wait another hour,” Kiyoomi admitted. It felt like a lifetime away.
“How do you feel right now?”
“Everything hurts.” Fever aches were bad enough, but coupled with Kiyoomi’s hyper-mobility, he felt as if he’d been run over by a truck. It was not good for his body to stay in the same position for too long. A day spent bedridden with fever had taken its toll in a big way. Even his fingers hurt.
“How about a bath? Get you all cleaned up, then medicine, then rest.”
A bath did sound nice.
“Okay.”
-
To Kiyoomi’s relief, Atsumu did not try to join him in the bathroom. No excuses about helping poor sick Kiyoomi wash his body; he gave Kiyoomi space. Although that caused Kiyoomi a different type of anxiety, as he heard Atsumu’s footsteps moving through his apartment, the TV clicking on. As if Atsumu was perfectly comfortable in Kiyoomi’s home.
After soaking in the tub for thirty minutes or so, Kiyoomi climbed ungracefully out and changed into fresh lounge clothes. He splashed cool water on his face and arranged his hair into something more closely resembling his usual style, although without using any of his curl products, it still looked more crumpled and frizzy than anything. It didn’t matter. He’d be asleep soon anyway.
He found Atsumu on the couch, watching some American Christmas movie with the volume turned low. “Feeling any better?”
Kiyoomi thought of lying. Wasn’t that what people always wanted: to hear you were fine, even if you weren’t? To make them feel better, even if you couldn’t do the same for yourself?
But he didn’t think that wouldn’t work on Atsumu.
Kiyoomi let his shoulders sag and shook his head. “I forgot how miserable it is to be sick,” he confessed. “I hate this.”
Atsumu eyed him carefully. “Did ya know that hugs are beneficial to yer health? I read that somewhere.” He opened his arms wide. “C’mere.”
“It’s like you’re asking to get sick.” Kiyoomi kept his feet firmly planted.
“I’m askin’ to have ya close to me,” Atsumu corrected. “I’ll take the risks associated.”
Kiyoomi sighed. He took a few hesitant steps toward the couch, leaving room for Atsumu to get to his feet. But Atsumu didn’t rise. Instead, he gently guided Kiyoomi down to sit sideways across his lap.
“What are you doing?” he asked with quiet alarm as Atsumu maneuvered Kiyoomi’s head to rest in the crook of his neck. They were so close like this. Kiyoomi could feel the fabric of their masks brush together.
“Shh.” Atsumu wrapped his arms around Kiyoomi and held him close. The shivering eased. Had Atsumu always been a walking, breathing space heater? Kiyoomi sank into the hug, letting out a ragged breath.
It was… nice. More than nice. It was the first truly good thing he’d felt all day. And if sitting on Atsumu’s lap, burying his face in Atsumu’s warm skin, and slowly winding his arms around Atsumu’s body brought color to his cheeks, well, it was all lost in the flush of fever anyway.
After a while, Atsumu moved one hand up to stroke through Kiyoomi’s hair. He alternated his movements, carefully carding his fingers through the curls sometimes, massaging sometimes, lightly scratching his head sometimes. It felt unbelievably good. Can’t-keep-your-eyes-open good. His head had been killing him all day, but under Atsumu’s caring, reassuring touches, he felt a reprieve from the unbearable pounding. He sighed in relief and contentment.
Atsumu’s hand stilled briefly. His whole body stilled. Kiyoomi couldn’t see what was going on with his face.
Before Kiyoomi could worry he’d done something wrong, Atsumu readjusted to draw him in even closer. “Baby,” he whispered, not condescendingly, but like a confession. Then he returned to his previous ministrations.
Kiyoomi melted into his touch. He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to.
He’d never experienced this kind of intimacy before. Comforting touches, hugging someone just to be close to them. Tender, whispered words. He’d never had someone drive to his apartment in the snow to make dinner for him. Plenty of people liked him, and some people even loved him, but no one had ever cared for him like this.
And maybe tomorrow, Kiyoomi would panic about what all of this meant, and where they would go from here, and how much of himself he had already put into the hands of a man he’d only been dating for a week, but that was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, he closed his eyes and let himself drift in and out of sleep in the comfort of Atsumu’s arms.
He was glad Atsumu had come after all. It was nice to be cared for.
After what must have been at least thirty minutes, if not longer, Atsumu jostled Kiyoomi lightly and said, “Hey sleepyhead, you should take yer next dose of medicine before bedtime.”
Kiyoomi hummed something that sounded like a coherent sentence in his head, but had Atsumu asking: “What’d ya say, baby?”
“In a minute,” Kiyoomi repeated.
“Yer being so sweet right now,” Atsumu practically cooed. “Who are you and what have ya done with my mean Omi?”
Kiyoomi made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. Atsumu chuckled and tightened his hold.
It was longer than a minute later when Kiyoomi’s eyelids started to droop once again.
“Hey, I’m not yer bed. My legs are dead asleep right now.”
A small smile tugged unbidden at Kiyoomi’s lips. “You’re the one who dragged me down here.”
“Dragged? That why ya been curled up on my lap for an hour like a house cat? And anyway, I’m not complaining.”
“You literally just complained about your legs.”
“Nah, that was just a statement of fact.” He brushed his fingers through Kiyoomi’s hair once more, then curled a finger under his chin and tilted his face so their eyes met. “It was worth it.”
Kiyoomi couldn’t move, caught up entirely in the warmth of Atsumu’s honey brown eyes. The ache in his chest had nothing to do with being sick. They stayed like that for a long moment before Atsumu leaned in and pressed his mouth carefully, chastely to Kiyoomi’s through their masks. Kiyoomi would later blame his fever-addled brain for thinking that it was one of the most strangely tender moments of his life.
When Atsumu pulled back, his eyes were practically twinkling. “Do you want some tea with your medicine before bed?”
“That sounds nice,” Kiyoomi said, a little dazed.
Atsumu shifted Kiyoomi off of his lap and onto the couch cushion, then headed back toward the kitchen. Kiyoomi heard the sink running and Atsumu rummaging through his cabinets. With great effort, he rose from the couch and made his way to the kitchen, where he found Atsumu fiddling with one of the tea strainers. “Fancy setup ya got here, Omi-Omi. I just buy the little bags of tea.”
“I like tea,” Kiyoomi said.
“What kind do ya want?”
“Green. I should have some sencha in there.” He sat down to wait while the kettle heated.
“Oh, by the way—” Atsumu placed a small, poorly wrapped box on the table in front of Kiyoomi, “I know we’ve only been datin’ a week, but I got you a little somethin’ for Christmas.”
Kiyoomi shifted in his seat. “I didn’t think we were doing gifts,” he said. “I’m not a gift person.” He had learned over time that that was not something people liked to hear when they were actively handing you a gift, but if Atsumu wanted to date Kiyoomi, he’d have to find out sooner or later.
“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t really planning on getting you anything, but then I saw it and, well, it made me think of ya. So I had to.”
Kiyoomi frowned. What could remind Atsumu of Kiyoomi?
“A weasel?” he asked, withdrawing a mug adorned with cartoon weasels chasing each other around the perimeter. “Like my old team?”
“When yer team beat us at Interhigh back in the day, I cursed yer name and yer stupid mascot. I swore I was gonna defeat you one day. Then along the way, I became a lot more interested in dating ya than destroying ya. But I still think of ya whenever I see these cute, smug little bastards,” he said. “Plus…” (Kiyoomi could practically see Atsumu smirking under his mask) “I’m weaslin’ my way into yer heart.”
Kiyoomi mustered up enough energy to snort, but didn’t call Atsumu out on his corny line. Instead, he swallowed around a lump in his throat. He was no good at this—dating, feelings, talking about those feelings. “Th-thank you. For the gift.”
Atsumu looked almost unbearably fond as he pulled Kiyoomi close. “Yer letting me get away with all kinds of stuff tonight.”
“You’re taking advantage of a sick person,” Kiyoomi said, leaning his weight into him.
Atsumu chuckled. Then he served Kiyoomi tea in his new cup.
“I can…”—Kiyoomi cringed—“get you a gift. I guess.” He was almost as bad at giving gifts as he was at receiving them.
Atsumu shook his head. His eyes were bright. “Don’t worry about it, Omi. You already did.”
-
“Are you tucking me into bed?” Kiyoomi asked, eyebrow cocked as Atsumu pulled the sheets and duvet back.
“So what if I am?”
Kiyoomi made a face—partially obstructed by his mask but still properly chastising—then got into bed.
“I thought you don’t like to sleep with pajamas on. Want me to undress ya?”
Kiyoomi threw his spare pillow at him. “You’re enjoying all of this too much.”
“I’m spending Christmas with the second most gorgeous man in professional volleyball, how could I not be enjoying it?”
Now that he was in bed, Kiyoomi’s exhaustion was quickly catching up to him, but he was still awake enough to ask, “Second most? Who’s number one?”
“That’s who you’re spendin’ Christmas with,” he said with a wink. Kiyoomi groaned.
“Okay, fine, fine, let’s call it a tie, yeah? Hottest couple in volleyball.”
“It’s only been a week,” Kiyoomi mumbled.
“Yeah, well, I’m feelin’ optimistic.” He tucked Kiyoomi into bed and removed Kiyoomi’s face mask. “But we can save all that relationship talk for once yer feeling better. You should sleep.” Then, Atsumu tucked his own mask under his chin, showing his whole face for the first time all evening. There was a soft smile on his face. “Night, Omi. Merry Christmas.” He bent to kiss the crown of Kiyoomi’s head, then turned to leave the room.
“Wait,” Kiyoomi murmured, reaching out with his rapidly waning strength to catch Atsumu by the wrist. “Don’t drive. The snow.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Atsumu assured.
“Kay. But,”—he couldn’t keep his eyes open now—“you have to leave in the morning. I meant what I said about not wanting to get you sick.” He couldn’t tell if his words slurred together, or if that was only to his own ears.
“Sure thing, Omi.” He took Kiyoomi’s hand properly and squeezed it. Kiyoomi heard the bedside lamp click off, and Atsumu’s hold loosened. His fingers began to slide through Kiyoomi’s. Kiyoomi clutched at Atsumu’s fingers with the last of his energy, trying to keep him there, even if he couldn’t say why. Atsumu let Kiyoomi hold on, saying nothing as he stood there in the dark room, standing over Kiyoomi’s bed while his breathing began to slow. He wanted to tell Atsumu that this was just like that stupid, terrible scary movie Atsumu had made him watch last weekend, but he couldn’t open his mouth. His body refused to be awake anymore.
“I like you so, so much,” Atsumu whispered. It was the last thing Kiyoomi heard before sleep claimed him entirely.