Chapter Text
KIYOOMI
Hate was too strong of a word to describe how Kiyoomi felt about Miya Atsumu.
At first, Kiyoomi couldn’t care less about him. They had come across each other at national competitions, but none of those fleeting meetings had mattered. The first time they properly faced each other was on opposite sides of a net at the Inter-High.
“So, you’re one of the top aces?” the blond said after giving Kiyoomi a very inappropriate once-over.
Kiyoomi didn’t deign to respond. Itachiyama won, and Kiyoomi only saw Atsumu again at the All-Japan Youth Camp. There, he was able to assess how annoying the setter could be. He had some weird obsession with Kageyama, therefore, it was easy for Kiyoomi to veer away from him.
However, it all changed when Kiyoomi chose the MSBY Black Jackals. There was no running away. Atsumu was everywhere. Bokuto and Inunaki could be a lot more than Atsumu most of the times, but it was Atsumu who was the teaser.
So, it wasn’t surprising that Atsumu’s favourite hobby was to banter with Kiyoomi. Because Atsumu certainly gave plenty of opportunities for Kiyoomi to retort, and some days Kiyoomi just wasn’t capable of keeping his mouth shut.
That was simply annoying. What really exasperated Kiyoomi was everything else. How careless he could be. How stuck-up he was, even if he had the skills to brag. How much he pushed himself and others. How much improvisation he put into his plays out of nowhere. How he was almost as good as Kiyoomi at serving. How he seemed to have a personal vendetta against someone from every team. How hypocritical he was for criticising others when he was the one to have the worst mood swings. How much of a touchy person he was.
There was no escaping him.
Kiyoomi had failed in his preparations and research by not predicting this variable when choosing the Black Jackals. That was what annoyed him most of all. Because despite all the chaos that was the Black Jackals, they were great. And Kiyoomi wouldn’t exchange any of them that easily, not even Atsumu.
ATSUMU
Hate was too strong of a word to describe how Atsumu felt about Sakusa Kiyoomi.
He was one of his hitters, for starters, so he couldn’t really hate Kiyoomi. But he had never been teammates with someone so emotionally constipated and so easily disliked. Was this how his own teammates from middle school had felt about Atsumu? He could almost feel sorry for them.
But nah, Atsumu was definitely easier to deal with than Kiyoomi.
“I doubt that,” Osamu mumbled. “He seems like he’s got his head right, at least.”
“And I don’t?”
“Never did.”
Atsumu tossed a napkin at his brother. He dodged it.
“Ya can’t imagine how it’s like to work with him. He’s like... like a very, very, very grumpy version of Kita-san.”
Atsumu felt quite proud at his comparison, but once he met Osamu’s gaze, his twin had a teasing smirk on his face.
“Oh, that’s promising.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
After saying it out loud, though, despite every judgy glare from Osamu, Atsumu couldn’t stop seeing Kita in Kiyoomi. The care, the organization, the search for perfection, the dedication to every single thing he did. However, Kiyoomi did all of that while wearing the most judgmental and permanently disgusted expression on planet Earth. Atsumu wasn’t even sure if the guy was capable of smiling. Maybe to compensate for his flexibility, Kiyoomi lacked muscles in his face.
But after Kiyoomi’s first official practice game in the Black Jackals, when he came only as a pinch server for the last set, Atsumu saw it. Kiyoomi’s sincere smile. There were no teeth showing, but it was a smile. Kiyoomi hadn’t known, but Atsumu had caught him.
It gave him hope. Hope that their love for volleyball was enough to make them not hate each other.
Because if they did hate each other, it would be a pain in the ass to play with him.
Notes:
I have all chapters already written! I just need to revise them a bit better.
I'm aiming for weekly updates. (Most of them will include two chapters, because I'm a sucker for dual POVs.)
Chapter 2: Kiyoomi
Notes:
I'm not sure if Motoya and Kiyoomi went to the same college, but I'm headcanoning it.
This was supposed to be just a simple context chapter but it got away from me lmao
Chapter Text
Kiyoomi couldn’t care less about the MSBY Black Jackals’ first impression of him when he entered the gym. They already knew who he was and what he was capable of.
The whole team crowded him, member by member, and Kiyoomi answered every question bluntly. Most of them were older than him and far more experienced, so he tried not to be disrespectful.
Small-talk led them nowhere, though; he just wanted to get to work. It got to a point where he said so, and they disbanded. That cleared his view to find Miya Atsumu practising serves nearby. (Kiyoomi had hated Atsumu’s serves.)
Atsumu’s languid gaze found Kiyoomi’s glare. He spiked a ball against the floor in Kiyoomi’s direction. The newcomer didn’t take his hands out of his pockets, he simply sidestepped it.
“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” Atsumu pronounced slowly, walking up to him. Kiyoomi felt a frown growing on his forehead. “We meet again.”
Kiyoomi blinked at him. He was ridiculous. Always had been.
“No shit.”
And Kiyoomi walked around him, taking his jacket off.
“Sakusa, c’mon!”
Kiyoomi halted and took a deep breath. “What.”
Atsumu blinked, getting closer. Atsumu and his lack of respect for personal space. “You’re one of my spikers now.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Unfortuna— You’re jokin’.”
“I don’t joke.” And Kiyoomi turned away.
“Should’ve figured,” he muttered. “I can see that your sense of teamwork’s still as shitty. That could be a problem.”
If that’s how you want to go. Kiyoomi twirled around and took a couple of steps closer to Atsumu, who recoiled.
“If I recall correctly, Itachiyama won over Inarizaki under your captaincy. Who’s got the worst teamwork abilities then?”
Kiyoomi had learnt to keep his retorts to himself. But this was Miya Atsumu. If you didn’t answer him, he wouldn’t let go.
“Well, that’s in the past,” Atsumu responded with a forced chuckle. As if that semifinals game didn’t sting. “What does that matter now?”
“It matters that you better have improved to keep up with me.”
Kiyoomi had seen Atsumu’s games. Even in high school, he could keep up. But still, Kiyoomi was aiming for being better, and for that, Atsumu would have to level up to Kiyoomi’s way of playing as well.
“I thought people like Kita-san were supposed to be modest,” was what Atsumu murmured.
Kiyoomi was definitely frowning already. “Who?”
Atsumu shook his head and waved in dismissal. In that, he did that thing that had solidified him as a menace in high school; he tilted his head slightly down and looked up with hooded eyes to Kiyoomi.
“Ya just arrived at the pro league. Don’t overestimate yerself.”
Kiyoomi took off his face mask in one motion. “I know that.”
Atsumu raised his chin and let his gaze wash over Kiyoomi’s bare face. “I’ve been in a pro league since high school.”
“So?”
“So, I’m better than ya already.”
Kiyoomi’s hand shot towards Atsumu, catching a stray ball that was going to hit the back of Atsumu’s head and probably ricochet to Kiyoomi’s face. Atsumu blinked, slightly taken aback, as Kiyoomi brought the ball between them and then dribbled it once against the floor.
“Don’t overestimate yourself, Miya.”
And Kiyoomi walked away, intending to practise some serves.
“So, how’s Atsumu?” Motoya asked over their scheduled weekly phone call. (Motoya’s idea, of course.)
“I haven’t been complaining that much about him for you to ask.”
“Yeah, yeah. But I know him from Camp, and I know you.” Kiyoomi stopped folding his laundry to frown at the blank screen. “For example, I know you’re frowning right now.”
“I’m not,” Kiyoomi lied.
“Suna asked me the other day how it was going,” Motoya clarified. “He said that Atsumu can be a lot.”
“Yes, he can.”
“He also said that he’s essentially a jerk.”
“Yes, he is.”
Motoya snorted. “But that he’s a monster of a setter.”
Kiyoomi thought so, too.
“Where’s the yes, he is, this time?” Motoya teased. “Is it that bad that you can’t find some satisfaction from playing in the same team as him?”
Kiyoomi pressed his lips together. But he guessed Motoya was a safe person to admit it to.
“He’s a great setter and a great jerk.” Kiyoomi paused to think for a second. “That’s a good thing, actually.”
“Is... it?”
“Yes. With him there, people don’t jump to think that I’m the jerk in the team. Also, I can offend him without having to pretend I feel bad about it.”
Motoya took a while to answer, but when he did, the amusement in his voice was noticeable. “Well, it isn’t like you have ever pretended to feel bad about something you didn’t feel bad about.”
Kiyoomi just grunted in response.
“Oh, that was a nasty one!”
When he turned towards the voice, Kiyoomi found Atsumu too close. Instead of the annoying smirk that Kiyoomi had come to expect, Atsumu was staring at his face like he had forgotten something.
Kiyoomi felt his expression turn from a pleased one to a scowling one. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Atsumu tilted his head and hummed. “Gotta figure out what to call ya.”
“...Did you forget my name?” He didn’t put it beneath Atsumu; when the blond got into volleyball, he tended to forget everything else.
“No! It’s just that Kiyoomi-kun is a mouthful and Sakusa-kun is too normal. Sakkun? It takes the edge out of Bokkun, but I could do that.”
“Oya?” Bokuto was passing by and halted.
Kiyoomi kept glaring at him. One of the most infuriating things about Atsumu was that Kiyoomi’s glares and frowns didn’t deter him. Kiyoomi frowned deeper and just walked away.
Kiyoomi was usually one of the first to leave after practice. Alone. But right on the day his sister was passing by to drop some things he had left in Tokyo, they had a post-practice meeting. Which meant that they left the facilities at the same time.
“Omi!” his sister called once she glimpsed him, waving at him from beside the car.
Kiyoomi didn’t react. He just gave a curt nod to his teammates and quickened his pace. However, he heard Atsumu saying something behind him.
“That’s it.”
Kiyoomi halted to look at him. The setter was wearing his best shit-eating grin as he slowly brought his eyes to Kiyoomi.
“What?”
“What I’m callin’ ya. Omi-kun.”
Kiyoomi considered it better to just walk away.
“Hello,” he responded to his sister when he approached.
She smiled at him, nodded politely at the Black Jackals and motioned for him to enter the car.
“So, those are your friends?” she asked.
“Teammates.”
“Future friends?”
“Teammates,” he corrected one last time before closing the car’s door.
“Hello, Omi-san!”
Kiyoomi swivelled in his seat to look at the back. He turned accusingly to his sister.
“You brought the child.”
“Don’t call your own niece that,” his sister replied as she started the car and pulled them away from the MSBY parking lot.
“Where’s Toya-san?” his niece asked. She loved Motoya; all kids did.
“Not here.”
“They don’t play in the same team anymore, dear,” his sister clarified.
“Why?”
Kiyoomi was about to sigh when the gear in the car got stuck. On the third try, his sister managed to get the car moving smoothly, but Kiyoomi was already staring at her. His sister was a good driver, he knew that.
“When was the last time you went with this car to the mechanic?”
“Don’t start. It happens sometimes. It isn’t a new car, but it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Nee-san.”
“It’s a short trip to your place. We’re almost there.”
“But you came from Tokyo in this, and you have a child in the backseat.”
His sister turned to send him a quick glare. “Oh, so now you care about her.”
“Of course I care about her.”
“Omi-san cares about me?”
Kiyoomi could hear the smile in the child’s voice.
“I do not.”
His sister sighed deeply.
Chapter 3: Atsumu
Notes:
I just found out that Meian also speaks in Kansai-ben so I'm running with it until the end.
Chapter Text
It was weird how Kiyoomi kept himself so detached and still felt like part of the team in such a short time. The Black Jackals were a very welcoming team, but not even Atsumu had been so quick to fit in and that made him kind of jealous.
Kiyoomi scowled a lot (he would end up with premature wrinkles; Atsumu told him so; he scowled in response), and he complemented it by admonishing everyone at all times. Atsumu, at first, had been expecting him to be the quiet type of judging person. After all, he hadn’t spoken much in the Youth Camp. But no. Daily interactions with Kiyoomi showed that he quite liked to voice his thoughts. Atsumu wasn’t sure if he preferred him quieter.
“You forgot to charge your phone. It’s your fault. I’m not letting you borrow my charger.”
Atsumu looked from a frowning Kiyoomi to a sad Bokuto. Atsumu had warned Bokuto straight away about mood swings on court, but Bokuto had delivered. Off-court, though, like everybody else, he sometimes deflated, but that didn’t matter as much. In theory. In practice, since Atsumu and Bokuto had been the closest in age for some time, they ended up spending a lot of time together. They grew quite close; they even decided to share an apartment that year. It wasn’t that Atsumu had clicked with Bokuto, and the guy was more than a handful, but he was a nice person, funny without meaning to, who could go along with almost everything. And he was one of Atsumu’s hitters. He didn’t like to see Bokuto miserable.
“Don’t be so mean, Omi-kun.”
It wasn’t like Atsumu had ever been capable of stopping a Kiyoomi-rant, but he could show that he wasn’t liking this one.
Kiyoomi’s head swivelled to Atsumu.
“Lend him your charger, then.”
Atsumu turned his gaze away. “I can’t.”
“And why is that?”
“I only have one and it’s at home,” Atsumu muttered.
He glanced at Kiyoomi, who was narrowing his dark eyes at him.
“‘Kay. Fine. I only have one ‘cause I lent my extra to Bokkun last month and he lost it.”
Kiyoomi looked so smug that Atsumu wanted to hit a volleyball to his face. Both of them slowly turned to Bokuto. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Inunaki, who had clearly been eavesdropping, passed by them to fetch a towel. His gaze snatched on Kiyoomi’s phone, and he chuckled.
“Sakusa’s phone is different. His charger won’t even be of use for Bokuto.”
Atsumu shrieked at Kiyoomi, “Why didn’t ya start with that?”
“He has to learn to be prepared.” Kiyoomi shrugged.
Bokuto turned away, his head hung low. “Nevermind. I have one at home. I’ll wait until then.”
Atsumu fished for his phone to check the time. “But weren’t we goin’ shoppin’ for supplies, Bokkun? At this hour, it’s gonna take a while ‘til we get home.”
“Then why don’t we just go buy some chargers?” Kiyoomi asked, his attention on the fingers he had taped during practice. “You both need extras, and this way Bokuto can charge it at the shopping. Just enough to resurrect the phone.”
Atsumu’s and Bokuto’s heads turned in sync to gape at Kiyoomi. He kept assessing his hands for damage, unaware, until the silence got too suspicious. He looked up to them.
“What?”
“We?” Atsumu repeated.
“Aren’t you going shopping? I need some stuff too.”
They kept staring at Kiyoomi, trying to make sense of his words. Eventually, Atsumu let out a laugh. Meian, who wasn’t too far away, walked up to them to clap Kiyoomi’s shoulder.
“Sakusa team bondin’ outside the court. I’m proud.”
Kiyoomi glared at their captain. Meian took his hand away.
“Sorry,” he added lowly.
Kiyoomi frowned. “Well, now I don’t want to go.”
Atsumu had quite some jabs to send his way, but Bokuto stepped forward first.
“No! Come with us!”
It was hard for Atsumu to wrap his head around Bokuto. Kiyoomi had just been so mean to him, and Bokuto had been getting quite unhappy, but then, in the blink of an eye, he was now enthusiastically inviting the guy to come.
Atsumu couldn’t understand Kiyoomi either. He had just been acting like Bokuto’s carelessness had deeply offended him and his grandma, and now he didn’t seem to mind tagging along.
Atsumu stared at Kiyoomi, who was avoiding meeting everybody’s gaze. He was acting nonchalant, but it was obvious.
Atsumu got closer to him, nudging him with his foot. “Admit that ya love us, Omi-Omi.”
Kiyoomi raised his head to scowl at Atsumu directly. As usual. If he asked for Atsumu to drop the nickname, he would. (Maybe after a few times, though.) However, Kiyoomi complained about a lot of things and didn’t have the time to complain about the nickname. So, it was probably fine.
“I absolutely do not,” Kiyoomi stated, meeting Atsumu’s eyes.
Atsumu just grinned. Bokuto was already hopping behind him, chanting, “Omi-Omi loves us!”
Kiyoomi groaned. “See what you’ve done?”
Half of the Black Jackals were laughing their asses off.
Chapter Text
Team bonding. Team bonding was something that Motoya used to preach about in all teams they had been - elementary school, middle school, high school, college, - and Kiyoomi didn’t really see the appeal. What happened outside the court wasn’t supposed to affect what happened on the court. Teams already spent a lot more time than necessary together off practice, in meetings, in locker rooms, in trips, in waiting. But still, he had let himself be dragged along sometimes.
Now, however, he didn’t have Motoya to drag him. So, he was trying doing it on his own, just to check if it made as much of a difference as they all claimed.
That was how he ended up having a stroll with half of his team just to check some new bakery. After all, that day they didn’t have any training since most of the staff was occupied with try-outs.
“I heard there was some player from Brazil,” Inunaki was saying.
Bokuto, who was bouncing ahead, twirled around immediately. “Really?!”
Bokuto resumed walking, but backwards. Kiyoomi frowned; he was going to hit something.
“Who told you that?”
Inunaki shrugged. “Meian.”
“That’s so cool! My disciple went to Brazil.”
“...disciple?”
“Yes! Don’t you know what the word means, Tomasan?”
“That wasn’t what I...”
Kiyoome glanced around. Then, he stopped.
Atsumu had halted a couple of steps behind them, staring at a shop window. Kiyoomi glanced at the rest of their team going on ahead. Then, he turned around and walked up to Atsumu.
The setter didn’t sense his approach. He kept running his hands through his hair, staring at his reflection in the glass. Kiyoomi had found Atsumu doing that a lot lately.
“What are you doing?”
Atsumu full-on jolted. Kiyoomi could have basked in the reaction if he wasn’t so annoyed by the fact that Atsumu didn’t stop fixing up his hair.
“Usin’ this as a mirror.”
I can see that.
“We all need some self-conscience to look proper, but your vanity is getting out of hand.”
Atsumu lowered his hand to narrow his eyes at Kiyoomi.
“Ya sound just like Kita-san.”
There. Again that comparison. “Who?”
“Teammate from high school.”
Kiyoomi didn’t remember him. But he had never been excellent with names, especially with players that hadn’t gone pro.
Kiyoomi just hummed and whirled around, walking with wide strides to keep up the others.
“I was thinkin’ of lettin’ the blond hair grow out.”
Kiyoomi promptly stopped. Turned around. Stared at Atsumu’s face. “Why?”
Atsumu shrugged, his hands in his pockets now. “Samu let it. It looks good on him, so it’d look good on me.” Atsumu finally tore his gaze away from the window to Kiyoomi. “Why the hell are ya frownin’ so much?”
“Why would you give up on it just because your brother did?”
Atsumu blinked at him. He didn’t reply, so Kiyoomi let it go. He resumed his path towards the rest of the Black Jackals.
Atsumu rushed to his side. “Are ya implyin’ it looks good?”
“No.”
“But—”
“I’m implying that in high school it was way worse. In my opinion, it’s already a win what you’ve got now.”
Their team had waited for them, and they reached their teammates by the time Atsumu was saying, “I dunno if I should be flattered or offended.”
Bokuto abandoned whatever conversation he was having to come to them. He almost threw an arm around Kiyoomi’s shoulders, but he halted soon enough. He only did it to Atsumu.
“Are you speaking about Omi-Omi? Then definitely offended. That’s usually the right reaction.”
Kiyoomi didn’t respond.
how was your day?
Motoya’s regular check-in texts would be a nuisance if they hadn’t become part of Kiyoomi’s routine. Also, it was Motoya; if Kiyoomi took a bit longer to reply, there was no drama. So, he didn’t mind indulging his cousin.
Kiyoomi: I went team bonding. Are you proud?
Motoya: :-)
Motoya’s answer was the most predictable ever. Kiyoomi sighed before opening the notification to read all the messages. (Because Motoya had the annoying habit of sending several short messages instead of just one to deal with it. It was the most annoying because Kiyoomi was catching the habit as well.)
Motoya: very much, kiyoomi
Motoya: how was it?
Motoya: no, don’t answer that
Kiyoomi: Yes, it is better if I don’t.
That would be enough for Motoya to change the topic. However, since Kiyoomi was at it...
Kiyoomi: By the way, do you recall a Kita player from Inarizaki?
Motoya’s answer wasn’t immediate.
Motoya: suna’s always mentioning him
Motoya: their scary captain, right?
Motoya: i don’t think he plays volleyball anymore
Scary captain? That tickled Kiyoomi’s memory. Yes, there was a calm wing spiker that put pressure in all of that bouncy team when he came into court. Kiyoomi had quite liked his attitude. It was odd for the captain not to be a starting player, but he certainly deserved the title.
Kiyoomi: Yes. That one.
Motoya: why do you ask?
Should he answer? It was none of Motoya’s business, but it was proof that Kiyoomi was team-bonding.
Kiyoomi: Atsumu is constantly comparing me to him. I am trying to figure out if that is flattering or offensive.
Motoya: loooool
Motoya: so he considers you scary as well?
Kiyoomi thought a bit about it. Would he ever be capable of putting Atsumu in check with a look?
Kiyoomi: I highly doubt that.
Then he added
Unfortunately.
Notes:
And that's enough context! Next week we're starting with the plot(?) of this fic!
Chapter 5: Atsumu
Notes:
There's a bit of a timeskip here! Hinata has joined the team, and this scene is already after the match against the Schweiden Adlers.
Chapter Text
Shoyo and Bokuto were physically incapable of sitting still at the airport. They would bounce from one souvenir shop to the other, picking up the most random of things. It was amusing. But, after a while, Atsumu was growing bored. He left them to it and sat down near some of his teammates. He looked around for someone to bother.
“Meian-san, have ya seen Omi-kun?”
His captain didn’t even raise his gaze from his phone, shrugging. “He left a bit ago. Ya know how he is with crowds.”
And there it was. Something to entertain Atsumu. Finally.
He got to his feet and put his hands on his hips, glancing around.
Mission: finding Omi-Omi. Reward: a scowl.
The problem was that they were in an international airport. Atsumu had to be strategic.
The most obvious places were the corners with the less people. Kiyoomi certainly had an eye to locate them. Or maybe when he found one, he expelled everybody else through the sheer power of frowning.
Anyhow, Atsumu was finding it difficult to push through the menagerie of people. He was finding some places with potential, but there was no Kiyoomi in sight.
However, it didn’t take as long as he had expected. There was just an aura emanating from beneath some stairs. Atsumu knew Kiyoomi would be there even before he turned the corner.
“Omi-Omi—” Atsumu started to singsong. But he stopped once his eyes settled on Kiyoomi. His tall figure was mixing perfectly with the shadows, his head hung low, dark curls obscuring his face. But Atsumu still saw it. He didn’t have a mask on.
Atsumu’s gaze went down to find a mask at Kiyoomi’s feet. Not only that, but his backpack was also on the ground, some of its contents spilled, including a plastic bag with masks pouring out onto the tiles.
Atsumu raised his head to stare at his teammate.
“Omi-kun?”
He wasn’t listening. Kiyoomi’s eyes were transfixed, all his body tense, his breathing coming out ragged. Atsumu stepped closer, trying to get his attention.
“Omi.”
Nothing. Atsumu approached him slowly. Atsumu’s feet were almost touching the backpack, but still, no reaction.
“Kiyoomi.”
It was such an unusual sound in Atsumu’s voice that Kiyoomi, amidst everything, met Atsumu’s gaze and frowned. The man was a breath away from a panic attack and he still had it in him to frown.
“Are ya okay?”
“What. Do. You. Think.”
Well, that was good. At least he was honest and didn’t give an half-assed I’m fine, go away. It was Kiyoomi, after all; he couldn’t help but being blunt.
“What happened?”
It was kind of obvious, but Kiyoomi answered him anyways. “My mask’s elastics snapped. My extras fell.”
No full sentences. It wasn’t that weird coming from him, but it wasn’t totally normal either.
“Ya know our gate’s already announced, right?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t ya like to be there as soon as possible?” Atsumu motioned towards the general direction of it, hoping that having a schedule would move him.
Kiyoomi just shook his head. “I would. But not without a mask.” He shuddered at the thought. “Too many people.”
“Yeah, I figured as much.”
Atsumu advanced a step and crouched in front of Kiyoomi’s backpack.
The scowl deepened. “What are you doing?”
“Gettin’ you a mask.”
“I’m not wearing those,” Kiyoomi warned with a disgusted face.
Atsumu sighed. “I know that. But you’ve got hand sanitizer in this pocket, yeah? Can I use it?”
Kiyoomi stared blankly at Atsumu for one more second before nodding. Then, Atsumu fetched the small bottle. He disinfected his hands thoroughly and picked the stuff up from the ground. He settled Kiyoomi’s backpack over his shoulder to put the extra masks all the way inside their plastic bag. He pocketed them to throw away later.
He unclasped the hand sanitizer with a flourish and cleaned his hands again, holding Kiyoomi’s gaze. He needed the spiker to see he was doing this properly; it didn’t matter that the skin on his fingertips would probably get a bit too dry.
Atsumu put it away and reached for his own backpack. It was a lucky thing he hadn’t left it at the gate with the rest of the team.
“There ya go.”
Kiyoomi had never stared so hard at Atsumu’s hands.
“You have a mask.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an observation that Atsumu - and any other person with functioning eyes - could confirm on his own.
“Two. Ya want both?”
Kiyoomi kept staring, not intending to move. Atsumu sighed and took a step forward, extending his arm until it was a breath away from Kiyoomi’s chest.
Only then did Kiyoomi take it. He kept staring at it.
“You have two masks.”
“Yeah. Hafta be prepared for these things.”
At last, Kiyoomi raised his eyes to Atsumu’s face. At last, he blinked.
“Kita-san?”
Atsumu nodded solemnly. “Kita-san.”
Kiyoomi put the mask on. It was only then that Atsumu noticed his hands were trembling.
“This germs thing really affects ya, huh?” Atsumu offered Kiyoomi his backpack. He seemed quite reluctant to take it, so Atsumu just put it back over his shoulder again.
“I’m not a germaphobe,” was what Kiyoomi answered.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“I’m not.” At last, there was the biting stubbornness. “Not exactly, at least. I just like to be prepared.”
Atsumu looked around, assessing the people passing by from between the stairs.
“It seems like it’s more stressful than soothin’. So, what’s the point?”
“We are in an airport. It’s stressful by itself.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, you rarely think.”
Atsumu turned to face him, his mouth open for a half-formed retort, when his phone buzzed. He glared one last time at Kiyoomi and took it out of his pocket.
“Captain-san?”
“Our flight was delayed. Didja find Sakusa?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah.”
“Wouldja warn him, then? There’ll be more info in an hour, or so. It’s better if you’re all here by then.”
“Yessir.”
After a short goodbye, Meian hung up. Kiyoomi was staring at him intensely.
“Flight delayed,” he announced.
Even before he finished speaking, Atsumu knew Kiyoomi wasn’t going to react well. He just didn’t think the man would straight up enter a panic in front of him. Kiyoomi started pacing, going to grab his hair, but deciding against it, instead putting his hands in his pockets with so much force that Atsumu thought he was going to rip them.
“Omi-Omi?”
“Why couldn’t it be on time?” Kiyoomi didn’t stop pacing in the little nook they had beneath the stairs.
“Dunno.”
“I hate this.”
“I know you hate delays and crowds and unplanned twists but—”
“I fucking hate flying.”
Atsumu wasn’t expecting that. Not with that much emotion. Kiyoomi acted constantly annoyed, sometimes bored, rarely satisfied... But Atsumu had never seen him lose control.
Kiyoomi must have realised that, because he halted, meeting Atsumu’s gaze. He didn’t speak. Atsumu did. “And why’s that? Too many people in too little space?”
“I’m not a germaphobe.”
“Then...?”
Kiyoomi, despite the levelled tone, turned his head to stare at the ground. When he spoke, it was barely heard, “Can’t a man be afraid of flying?”
Atsumu blinked at him. He loved flying, he wasn’t getting it. “But is it the heights? Claustrophobia?”
“I don’t know, Miya. Maybe the fact that you are in a vessel in the middle of the air with one hundred things that, to speak your language, could go boom.”
“So... you’re afraid of flyin’.”
Kiyoomi turned to glare at Atsumu. “What did I just say?” Then, lower, brushing vulnerability and a threat at the same time, “Are you going to use that against me?”
“‘M not that much of a jerk.”
“I doubt that.”
Anyhow, Kiyoomi got almost imperceptibly closer to Atsumu. “What if I told you I rejected all the offers I got from overseas just so that I would fly the least possible?”
It wasn’t that surprising. Atsumu, and a lot of other people, had wondered whether Kiyoomi had gotten any offers, and if he did, why hadn’t he accepted them. Atsumu had even wondered out loud, to Kiyoomi’s face. However, Kiyoomi had just scowled harder at him. And not one person Atsumu had asked about it had any theories.
It only made it more impressive how Kiyoomi had put up with flights for so long without anyone noticing it was that bad.
“Ah, well... I chose to stay in Japan because I was afraid, too.”
All of Kiyoomi’s attention came silently to Atsumu.
“I was afraid of livin’ away from my family.”
Kiyoomi just shrugged. As if, even for the man that never spoke of his family, there were worse reasons.
That settled it. Atsumu cleared his throat. “So, what d’ya wanna do durin’ this hour? What makes it less stressful?”
“Schedules. Everything according to the plan. But that’s already out of the question.” Kiyoomi was complaining to the air but then turned to Atsumu with a familiar type of scowl. “Why do you even care?”
“You’re one of my hitters. I want ya in yer top form all the time, man.”
And that was the truth. But it only made Kiyoomi scowl harder.
“Speaking of top form, shouldn’t you be resting your knee?”
Atsumu fought the urge to look down at his feet, which he had been shuffling for the past few minutes. He had meant to sit down after finding Kiyoomi; after all, he still heard Kita’s voice admonishing him in his head from time to time.
“Well, but ya ain’t sittin’ in the middle of all these people now, are ya?”
Kiyoomi recoiled at the suggestion.
“Yeah. ‘Kay.” Now that Kiyoomi seemed to be calmer, Atsumu gave him back his backpack. He was quite reluctant to hold it but took it with his fingertips anyways. Atsumu then opened his own backpack, taking out a towel.
“Why do you even have a towel? I doubt Kita-san covered that.”
“Ya never know when you’ll end up sweatin’.”
Kiyoomi grimaced, and Atsumu turned to set his towel on the ground.
“There.” He righted himself up and motioned for the towel. “Wouldja like to sit down, princess?”
Kiyoomi frowned the hardest yet. Atsumu wasn’t sure if it was due to his words or his actions.
“You’re not sitting on the ground.”
“No. ‘M gonna sit on a towel.” Atsumu grinned easily at his face. “Unless ya don’t have one extra yerself. Then ya can take my towel. Just ‘cause I’m not gonna be chattin’ with ya standing in all yer 192 centimetres above me like a fuckin’ giraffe.”
Kiyoomi’s smug smirk at the mention to his height was predictable. He didn’t say anything else as he carefully reached in his backpack to take out a large plastic bag. He gave it to Atsumu without a word, and the latter crouched to set it right next to his towel. Atsumu plopped down on it with a huff. (Truth be told, he would have sat on the bare ground if Kiyoomi hadn’t been there to judge him.)
Kiyoomi followed next, lowering himself too carefully, not daring to take his soles a millimetre off the ground, trying to touch the smallest surface area possible.
He looked deeply uncomfortable, and that only amused Atsumu further.
Of course that Kiyoomi noticed it.
“I’m shoving this in your backpack later.”
“Sure, no problem.”
That nonchalance riled Kiyoomi up further. Yeah, this could be fun.
Atsumu forced his attention away from Kiyoomi for a bit, staring at the window across them. It was raining softly against the glass, but it was impossible to hear it inside the packed airport. Yet, there weren’t many people passing by their zone.
Atsumu was tapping his fingers against his leg because, as Osamu had always complained, it was impossible for him to sit still for more than five minutes.
“Since when d’ya hate flyin’?” Atsumu glimpsed a dark-coloured bird passing by the window. “Oh, said it like that, it’s like ya hate Shoyo-kun.”
“What.”
It was quite interesting how Kiyoomi’s questions didn’t sound like questions half of the time.
“Shoyo-kun says he likes to jump like he’s flyin’. Also, that was Karasuno’s motto.”
“Hum.”
“So?”
“So, I’m not going down the memory lane now with you.”
“That means you’ve got no idea.” Atsumu turned to smirk at Kiyoomi. He looked away. That confirmed it was the right assumption. “C’mon. Why not? We’ve got a while. I bet it’s gonna get even more delayed.”
“Why. Do. You. Say. That.”
“Sorry, but it tends to happen. Be mentally prepared for it.”
As expected, Kiyoomi didn’t respond. Atsumu was about to turn back to the window when Kiyoomi spoke.
“Why don’t you wear a mask if you carry masks?”
“Ya never know. Just in case.” Atsumu shrugged. “Samu became a bit of a clean freak when he started his business.”
Kiyoomi hummed his approval.
“Don’t say ya like my brother more than me.”
There was silence.
“Omi-Omi?”
Kiyoomi met Atsumu’s gaze dead on. “You told me not to say it.”
“Omi-kun! I gave ya a mask! I’m here makin’ ya company!”
“I didn’t ask for it, did I?”
“That’s it. I’m leavin’.”
Atsumu started standing up, unsure whether he should really go to the gate or just mockingly doing it for the offense, when Kiyoomi’s hand shot to grab his arm. Atsumu stared down at it.
Kiyoomi didn’t waste any time to recoil and disinfect his hands.
“Do I disgust ya, by any chance?” The moment the words left his mouth, he thought he would fare better without knowing the truth.
But Kiyoomi only grumbled, “I don’t know where you’ve been with that jacket.”
Atsumu sighed but sat back down on his spot by Kiyoomi’s side. He didn’t talk, pretending to still be annoyed. But Kiyoomi’s actions spoke louder than his condescension.
Also, maybe it was the twin part of him, but Atsumu wasn’t going to leave one of his team’s behind.
Surprisingly, Kiyoomi was the first to pierce the silence, lowly, as if the words were getting out of his mouth against his will. “Distract me.”
Ah, so that was why ya grabbed me.
“Well, that’s what I do best, ya say.”
Atsumu was sitting next to Shoyo on the plane. Beside Shoyo, by the window, was Kiyoomi’s seat. Atsumu only found out once he ended up staring at the back of Kiyoomi’s head during boarding. The spiker flinched every time someone pushed him to reach the overhead luggage or to get to a seat. It was chaotic. The kind of chaos and carelessness that he knew Kiyoomi hated, the cherry on top of his aerophobia.
When the three of them arrived at their row, having a bit more breathing room, brushing past one another in familiar movements, Atsumu pondered asking Kiyoomi how he felt. Just to know what terrible adjective he would use. But Shoyo spoke first.
“Omi-san, would you mind switching?”
Because he was a man-child who loved the window seat. Everyone on the team knew that. However, it was Kiyoomi they were talking about. Atsumu - and Shoyo himself, judging by the tone he had used, - was expecting him to refuse. Because there had to be order, there were rules, there was planning and he had to follow accordingly, or whatever excuse Kiyoomi had in his mind. Instead, he nodded vigorously and quickly stepped aside for Shoyo to pass.
Shoyo didn’t react for a moment, and then he beamed, bouncing to his new seat. Atsumu stared at Kiyoomi. So, watching from the window the place where he could fall into was a big, fat no. It made sense.
Atsumu took a step closer to him, careful not to touch him, in fear he would sprint off the plane.
“D’ya prefer the middle or the aisle, by the way?”
Kiyoomi shook his head, looking from the window and Shoyo to the empty seats.
“No aisle. People. Passing by.”
“Then, you’d prefer to be sandwiched between me and Shoyo-kun.”
“I’d prefer not to be here at all.” Kiyoomi raised his dark gaze to Atsumu’s face. “But yes.”
Probably just because Atsumu and Shoyo weren’t random strangers. Kiyoomi knew they hadn’t been sick as of late and that they would jerk away if he scolded them for space.
Atsumu motioned for him to pass. Kiyoomi frowned - just slightly, just a tiny little bit of normal Kiyoomi - and took his place.
After everyone was settled, which always took a while for the most ridiculous actions from people who should know how to behave on a plane, and several huffs from Kiyoomi later, they were ready to go. Atsumu took his fox-themed neck pillow off.
“D’ya want this?”
Kiyoomi glared at him from the corner of his eye. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”
Atsumu shrugged. “Didn’t ya want a distraction?”
Kiyoomi looked away, gripping his seatbelt. “I can’t sleep anyways.”
Atsumu leaned back. “Awake distraction it is, then.”
Chapter Text
The Black Jackals’ hotel rooms assignment scheme, Kiyoomi found out, was an ongoing process. Sometimes, it was at random. Other times, it was by age. Now, they were going for jersey numbers. That all meant that Kiyoomi ended up sharing with Atsumu more often than not whenever they didn’t get individual rooms. Also, Kiyoomi, for some reason, seemed to annoy a few people when sharing rooms, and Atsumu had never put on a formal complaint with Coach.
Which was... fine. Now, however, it was a bit embarrassing, considering that Atsumu had seen him like that. Moreover, he had stayed behind with Kiyoomi. For hours. On the airport and then on the plane. Kiyoomi was a bit sick of hearing Atsumu’s voice, but it had been for his sake, so he didn’t have it in him to complain. He was more grateful for how Atsumu had pretended not to see Kiyoomi’s nerves than anything else the blond had done in his lifetime.
So, Kiyoomi behaved as normal, hoping the situation would be forgotten.
“You’re going to wash your hands first of all,” Kiyoomi ordered once Atsumu closed the door behind them.
Atsumu stared at Kiyoomi as he motioned for the setter to step aside so that Kiyoomi could spray the doorknob. Then, the light switches. The remotes. Soon after, Kiyoomi fetched his disposable gloves and went to the bathroom. Once it was cleaned, he headed straight for the bed, pulling apart the sheets and picking at the mattress, checking for suspicious blotches or signs of bugs.
During all this routine, Atsumu didn’t move. He just stared around the room, his attention sometimes lingering on Kiyoomi’s actions, waiting. Once Kiyoomi glanced back at him, taking his gloves off, Atsumu finally walked away from the door. He went to the bathroom, and Kiyoomi heard him washing his hands.
When he came back, still whistling, he halted by the free bed and pulled a corner of the sheet off, peeking like Kiyoomi had done. Kiyoomi ignored him. Maybe it was a mocking gesture, but Atsumu had a curious expression on, as if not knowing what he was even looking for.
Kiyoomi went to his suitcase to sort his things for the night. Atsumu just plopped on top of the covers of his own bed, scrolling on his phone.
Kiyoomi was ready to go to bed for the night by the time Atsumu finally went completely quiet. Kiyoomi glanced at him. He was rubbing his eyes, and a yawn followed.
Kiyoomi watched him from the corner of his eyes as the setter stood up, stretched and headed for the bathroom.
“Don’t turn off the lights yet. ‘M gonna be quick,” he said as he passed Kiyoomi.
Kiyoomi waited until he was a few steps away before saying, low but clear, “Thank you.”
After a second of silence, Kiyoomi turned to look at Atsumu. He was expecting the blond to shoot a joke or to ask what the hell Kiyoomi was talkin’ ‘bout. But there was nothing. Atsumu just stared back at Kiyoomi, understanding in his eyes.
“No problem. You’re my team. You’ve got nothin’ to thank me for.”
“Hum.”
Atsumu waited in case Kiyoomi wanted to add anything else.
He didn’t.
Kiyoomi took out the little box that contained his earplugs.
“Do I snore that badly or d’ya use that every night?”
Kiyoomi pondered not answering.
“Both.” He glanced at Atsumu, who was pouting ever so slightly. “Fine… It’s not that bad.”
Yet, Atsumu didn’t turn off his light. Kiyoomi turned to him, finding him staring at the ceiling.
“It’d be hell for me.” Then, Atsumu’s eyes met Kiyoomi’s frown. “To sleep with earplugs. Too much silence.”
“Typical.”
He reached for the light, but Atsumu interrupted him.
“‘M serious. I fuckin’ hate sleepin’ alone.”
Kiyoomi blinked at him. Atsumu turned to the ceiling again with a sigh.
“You’ve got no idea how hard it was at first. And I still haven’t gotten used to it.”
Kiyoomi didn’t really care. But Atsumu was making an effort not to be a menace that day. So, he ceded.
“You share an apartment with Bokuto and Hinata. Don’t say that’s too quiet for you.”
Atsumu snorted. “Yeah. But when it’s time to sleep, they pass out completely. It’s like sharing a flat with the dead.”
Kiyoomi wouldn’t even try to understand.
“But ya know, just havin’ someone rustlin’ in the same room’s quite comfortin’.”
“I don’t move much in my sleep.”
“I figured.” Atsumu sighed, finally turning off the light. “But ya still breathe, don’tcha?”
There was something deeply disturbing about Atsumu being soothed by listening to Kiyoomi breathe, like a creep. He said it that much.
“Yeah, whatever. Sleep tight, Omi-Omi.”
Atsumu turned in his bed, and Kiyoomi did the same. They were probably back-to-back.
Kiyoomi was about to pop an earplug in when he heard suspicious rustling from Atsumu’s bed.
“Are ya serious?”
Kiyoomi turned to face him, although he couldn’t see him in the dark. “What?”
“Ya don’t even say good night back?”
“Was I supposed to?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, good night. I hope you wake up tomorrow morning.”
But no, Atsumu wasn’t done, judging by the screech he let out. “Who’s the creep now? Geez.”
“What?”
“Ya don’t hafta say it like that. It’s like you’re wishin’ I’m dyin’ in my sleep.
“I’m not.”
“Are ya sure about that?”
“Yes. After all, we have a game tomorrow.”
There was a pause.
“Oh my goodness, you’re impossible.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment!”
Notes:
Next chapter there will be some juicier confessions :)
wonderM07 on Chapter 1 Sun 24 Aug 2025 12:02AM UTC
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Sjaloba_ai on Chapter 1 Sun 24 Aug 2025 02:44AM UTC
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NightOwlet01 on Chapter 1 Sun 24 Aug 2025 11:39AM UTC
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