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It’s 5 a.m., and Miya Atsumu can’t sleep.
It almost surprises him, as he lays on his back and stares out the window at the richly dark sky.
It’s been a while since he’s had this much difficulty falling asleep. Usually his exhaustion from practice made it easy for him to pass out on whatever soft surface was closest to him, to the annoyance of someone who (despite everything) was too kind to leave him in the most uncomfortable positions possible.
Did that mean he got restful sleep?
Ha.
At least he was unconscious, that was good enough.
He’s been lying awake for hours now, barely able to recall when he actually got in bed. Definitely before midnight, probably. The only reason he even knew what time it was now was because of the digital clock nearby, softly illuminating its immediate surroundings with a pleasant orange glow.
Apparently the orange light was supposed to help with restful sleep or something.
He had definitely focused on that thing for at least an hour, watching the minutes tick by slowly. Not one second of it made him any sleepier, that’s for sure.
Insomnia is such a bitch.
It used to not be so bad for him. It was an excuse to stay up all night and do whatever he needed to do: Laundry, homework, studying. Anything, really. His mind ran faster than he did, and sometimes it was all he could do to just get out of bed and focus on something besides fruitlessly trying to sleep. It royally fucked him over for the next day, but at least he’d be ahead on his work.
In high school, Osamu would exasperatedly remind him to not stay up all night, then go to sleep at a reasonable and healthy hour, leaving Atsumu awake in the dimly lit kitchen as he worked until the wee hours of the morning. Kita would get mad at him the next day and tell him over and over again just how important sleep was for practice, but nothing ever changed. He couldn’t magically make himself sleep. He’d get rest when he needed it. Sometimes it was at lunch, sometimes it was on the train.
But after graduation, he was alone. There was no one to remind him to go to bed, no one to get mad at him the next day, no one to let him sleep during a break in practice because the bags under his eyes were particularly dark, no one for him to rest his head against on the train ride home.
His insomnia definitely got worse. He stopped being able to even go to bed to begin with, pushing himself to the point of passing out nearly every other day. But he relearned how to handle it, for better or for worse. It may have meant he was operating on less than three hours of sleep per night, but at least he was managing. At least he was going to bed at some point, even if that point was an hour before he had to leave for practice.
Things were almost to the point of no return when his world drastically shifted.
Ya pass out one time at practice, and suddenly everyone thinks yer dying.
But it wasn’t completely awful. It was the catalyst for something great. Even if it sucked in the moment.
Someone came into his life again, someone to be that person to fall asleep against, who could remind him to go to sleep, to stop him from going out way too early to burn off his anxious energy.
But that meant he couldn’t distract himself in all the ways he had taught himself in the past. He couldn’t go for a run, he couldn’t work, he couldn’t do anything to distract himself from the racing thoughts that jumped from one thing to the next, making his anxiety settle in his body like a 50 pound weight.
Instead, he was forced to lay on his back in the darkness with only his thoughts to focus on.
That wasn’t true, though. There was something he could focus on.
Someone he could focus on.
Atsumu carefully rolls onto his side, facing the sleeping man next to him.
The light from the streetlamps living out their last early morning moments filters in through their window, illuminating Kiyoomi’s figure in an ethereal way. His soft glow enchants Atsumu, making him think it’s all just a dream, that he actually fell asleep hours ago and Kiyoomi’s not actually laying next to him. Eventually he’ll wake up, alone and cold.
But he’s not asleep, and Kiyoomi is very much next to him in all his stunning beauty.
How is he so lucky to have someone so amazing?
The blanket falls just below Kiyoomi’s hips, and the shirt he stole so rudely from Atsumu is riding up his body, showing off all his perfect curves and the cute moles that sit just above the line of his boxers. Atsumu’s seen them before (he’s seen all of Kiyoomi’s moles) but he’s still going to study them like his life depends on it.
Maybe it does.
He reaches out to gently touch Kiyoomi’s back, ghosting his hands over his moles and traces lines between the ones that are visible and the ones hidden beneath his clothes. He’s memorized where each one is by now, and can find them with his eyes shut.
How is Kiyoomi so willing to put up with him?
Atsumu shouldn’t be thinking like this. He knows this, but he can’t help it. As the sky outside brightens from deep purple to rich blue, his sleep deprivation begins to catch up to him. It’s becoming more and more difficult to ignore the thoughts that enter his head.
There’s no way he was the right guy for Kiyoomi. There had to be better guys than Atsumu out there, ones that wouldn’t annoy Kiyoomi endlessly, ones that wouldn’t be a source of infinite frustration.
He moves his hand from Kiyoomi’s back to his hair, gently running his fingers through it. He presses the faintest of kisses to his skin, moving from his neck to the sliver of exposed shoulder.
He was lucky to have Kiyoomi within arms reach. As much as he thought he wasn’t worth it, Kiyoomi was still there.
Atsumu desperately hoped he wouldn’t leave.
Kiyoomi makes a quiet, sleepy noise as he rolls over to face Atsumu. They’re close, and even though it’s probably the hundredth time they’ve shared a bed, it still makes Atsumu’s heart skip a beat.
He moves his hand from Kiyoomi’s hair to cup his face, rubbing his thumb along his cheek. Kiyoomi’s eyes are open, but still heavy with sleep as he stares at Atsumu. He’s studying his face, and Atsumu can tell he’s being scrutinized.
“‘Tsumu…” He murmurs, “Go to sleep…” His voice is rough and scratchy, and Atsumu would stay awake for the rest of time if it meant he could keep hearing it.
“‘Kay.” He whispers, both of them knowing that probably won't happen. He keeps his hand on Kiyoomi’s cheek until he moves.
There’s a faint pressure on his lips, but it’s gone before Atsumu can even kiss back. An arm moves around his waist, and suddenly Kiyoomi is nestling his head beneath Atsumu’s chin. There’s only a brief moment before his breathing is even again, and Atsumu is only a little jealous of how easily he seems to fall asleep.
The warmth from his body lulls him, soothing the tumultuous waters of his thoughts. He can feel sleep beginning to creep up on him for the first time in who knew how long.
He wants to lay there as the sun rises, focusing on the way Kiyoomi’s arm feels around him, or how his head feels leaned against his shoulder, or how their legs tangle loosely together. He wants to feel every inch of Kiyoomi, and focus on the way his breath feels against his skin.
The only reason he’s ever grateful for his insomnia is for moments like these, where Kiyoomi’s sleepiness makes him forget about his adversity to physical contact.
With Kiyoomi grounding him though, his eyelids start to feel heavy.
In his last waking moment, his only thought is that maybe he is good enough for Kiyoomi.
Then against all odds, sleep comes for him.