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They’re at a training camp when it happens. He feels his head getting heavy and his stomach clenches occasionally. The whole world seems off somehow and when he stands up after the coach finishes running through drills, he stumbles and his vision goes a little blurry.
He’s definitely not sick though. Sakusa Kiyoomi does not get sick. Getting sick means germs, it means being dependent, it means no volleyball.
It means losing control .
“No, it’s just allergies,” he mutters to himself. And later when he’s wide awake listening to Atsumu happily snoring away in the bed next to his because his stomach keeps bothering him, he rationalizes that he probably ate something bad. After all, training camp food isn’t known to be the best.
They’re practicing spiking in the gym when suddenly there’s a blinding ache in his head. He winces and grabs his head, forgetting he’s in a gym with the whole team. Atsumu seems to be the only one to have seen it and he gives Kiyoomi a weird look, but thankfully even the obnoxious setter knows when to leave it alone. Kiyoomi has never been more grateful for his silence despite all the ridiculous comments he has suffered from knowing the setter since high school.
He thinks he’s good at hiding it (but what does he even need to hide? He’s not getting sick. He’s never sick), but after a particularly bad spike, their coach fixes him with a concerned but pointed look and Kiyoomi just avoids his eyes and quickly moves into position for another spike.
After the hundredth botched spike, Atsumu can’t hold back anymore. He corners Kiyoomi with his hands held out in front of him as if trying to calm a crazed animal when Kiyoomi is busy trying to keep down the ill-considered gulps of water he had just drank.
“Hey, Omi-Kun, are ya feelin’ alright? You’ve been off the past few days and uh,” he pauses, running his hand through his pretty (wait, pretty ? Since when does Kiyoomi think of Atsumu as anything except a nuisance?) hair, “yer kinda drinkin’ outta my water bottle,” he points at Kiyoomi’s hand that is holding the bottle and Kiyoomi freezes.
“Oh s-sorry,” he chokes out, pushing the bottle into Atsumu’s chest. Their fingers brush as Atsumu grabs the bottle from Kiyoomi’s hand. He forgets to avoid touching Atsumu, forgets to be disgusted after drinking out of his water bottle, forgets to worry about all the germs that could have been passed between them in that interaction. His head which had felt heavy all week suddenly feels light and his limbs aren’t doing what his brain wants. All Kiyoomi can think about is how he needs to get out of the gym immediately .
He quickly wobbles his way into the change rooms and into a bathroom stall ignoring the concerned “Kyoomi!” called after him. He gags over the toilet and blames it on a late reaction to drinking out of Atsumu’s water bottle. Fortunately, after a quick battle against his stomach, he’s able to keep his stomach contents where they belong. Unfortunately, however, he hears the change room door open and someone enter the bathroom.
“Omi-kun?”
Ugh, of course it had to be Atsumu. He doesn’t respond, opting to instead half sit, half collapse onto the toilet seat, registering how gross it is but feeling too lousy to care.
“I brought ya yer water bottle if you want it,” a hand appears under the stall door holding his water bottle (with ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi’ written on it and everything) and right next to it is a packaged mask that he doesn’t recognize, “I grabbed a mask for ya as well, we’re pretty much done practicing anyway.”
Kiyoomi accepts the mask and his water with shaky hands, feeling overwhelmed with a burst of gratitude for Atsumu who, despite annoying Kiyoomi more often than not, has never once made him uncomfortable. He has always respected the boundaries Kiyoomi sets, has never made him feel stupid for needing these boundaries, and even goes as far as to make sure other people respect said boundaries. He takes a small sip of the water and pulls the mask over his mouth and nose, feeling slightly more himself with it on.
The room is silent for a few moments and if Kiyoomi closes his eyes he can imagine what Atsumu looks like right now leaning on the wall, sweat starting to dry from the cold air, eyebrows furrowed in concern, he’s probably rubbing the back of his head trying to think of what to say next.
Kiyoomi decides to save him the trouble and with some difficulty, pries himself off the toilet and opens the stall door. He avoids making eye contact and moves around Atsumu, being careful not to let their shoulders touch.
“Omi-Omi,” oh God, not that nickname now, “ya look fuckin terrible. Are ya sick or somethin’?”
Kiyoomi turns back to look at Atsumu, eyebrows pulled inwards. He looks unfairly attractive with his stupid bleached hair paired with his eyebrows pulled taut on his forehead and his teeth worrying at his bottom lip (Kiyoomi wants to tug on the blonde strands, wants to smooth his finger over the lines in his forehead, wants to be the one biting at his lip).
“Kiyoomi?” Atsumu moves closer and if possible looks even more worried and it makes Kiyoomi’s heart ache with want.
“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi chokes out a little harsher than intended, “I’m just tired. I don’t get sick, Miya”
He pushes out the door and makes his way to his bag pulling out his shower necessities. Atsumu enters the changeroom a few seconds after Kiyoomi and approaches him slowly.
“Omi-kun you know it’s not the end o’ the world if yer feelin’ sick right?” Atsumu raises his arm as if to put his hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder but quickly thinks better of it and clenches his fist. His voice sounds softer but the concerned lilt hasn’t lessened. Kiyoomi turns away from him and forces his eyes shut, squeezing his shirt and wondering why he can’t just be normal. Atsumu sighs and reluctantly returns to the gym.
Kiyoomi removes the mask with shaking fingers and discards it with great reluctance because Atsumu gave him that mask. Atsumu cared enough to keep extra masks with him just in case. Atsumu came to check on him.
He spends way too long in the shower letting the borderline boiling water wash away the germs and sweat. His head spins a little from the heat but ultimately he feels slightly better and thinks he can get through dinner and then finally get the rest his body is craving.
He pulls his clothes on after drying off and opens a new mask wishing it was from Atsumu and scoffing at the thought. Finally, he exits the showers and rushes through the change room, weaving through his teammates on shaky legs and ignoring Hinata and Bokuto as they call after him with voices that pierce his ears and make his head pound. He sighs quietly with relief when the door shuts behind him.
“Hey, Omi-Omi,” Kiyoomi’s heart stops for a few seconds and he nearly jumps out of his skin at the appearance of a voice behind him. He turns around, clutching his shirt over his chest and glaring at the laughing setter in front of him. Atsumu’s eyes crinkle shut and the little gasps of breath he keeps taking before dissolving into the next string of giggles is overwhelmingly cute.
Kiyoomi’s heart skips a few beats for an entirely different reason.
Something in his face must change because Atsumu’s laughs finally taper off and he makes an indiscernible face for a second before his usual obnoxious and everlasting smirk reappears.
“I can’t believe the one time I’m not tryin’ to scare ya, I actually do,” Atsumu grins. Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and internally curses out his clenching heart for betraying him at the sight of Atsumu’s tongue slightly poking out from behind his teeth.
“Why were you waiting out here like a creep?” Kiyoomi shoots back, avoiding eye contact. His Gran used to tell him that she could tell exactly what he was thinking just by looking into his eyes. She was probably overexaggerating but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.
“Well since yer obviously completely fine and definitely not at all sick,” Atsumu says rolling his eyes, “I thought we could go get some dinner. And yes I already showered, ya didn’t notice me even though I was in the stall right next to ya.”
Kiyoomi stays silent and turns to walk in the direction of the cafeteria. He pauses and turns around expectantly when he doesn’t hear Atsumu’s loud footsteps.
“Are you coming or not?”
Kiyoomi is glad his mask is still in place to hide his smile when Atsumu’s entire face seems to light up and he jogs up to meet him.
***
Unsurprisingly it’s dinner that really does Kiyoomi in. He knows that not eating anything is unhealthy, especially for an athlete, but his stomach won’t stop rolling and just the thought of eating is enough to taste bile in the back of his throat. The comfort and alertness his shower had provided him has long since worn off in favour of a blinding migraine and weariness throughout his entire body.
He manages to force a few bites of food down without too much trouble. He chews slowly and swallows harshly to force the food into his stomach while listening to Atsumu complain about something insignificant. Okay, he’s not really listening, partly because whatever Atsumu is talking about is definitely extremely unimportant, but more so because he can’t stop freaking out about how he suddenly finds this idiot cute. Sure, he’s noticed before that objectively Atsumu is attractive, (he and his twin didn’t have an entire fanbase for no reason) but wanting to kiss him? Run his hands through his hair? This is new territory.
Before long, his thoughts are interrupted by a growing feeling of discomfort. The mixing smells of everyone’s food start to aggravate his stomach even more than spiking had. The cacophony of sounds grows as the rest of the team make their way to the cafeteria. His head pounds. Everyone’s voices seem so far away. His vision tunnels and he can feel his hands shaking.
A panicked “Kyoomi!” being called is the last thing Kiyoomi registers before the world fades to black.
***
He regains consciousness slowly, still at the cafeteria table and scrunches up his nose at his upper body being splayed out over the table.
Kiyoomi sits up slowly to avoid nausea and instantly groans as the pounding in his head returns.
“Omi-kun, ya with us?” Atsumu asks, voice laced with the same concern as earlier but with a new urgency in his tone. When Kiyoomi meets the setter’s frantic eyes, he is overwhelmed by his thoughts from earlier. His addled brain decides that a response is too much to produce so he simply closes his eyes and leans his head against Atsumu’s arm, fully intending to go right back to sleep.
“Hey, none of that, we need ya awake right now. Think ya can walk or am I gonna have to carry ya?” Atsumu asks, lightly tapping on Kiyoomi’s arm.
“I can walk,” Kiyoomi mumbles. He forces himself upright, ignoring the stirring in his stomach that starts back up and allows Atsumu to help him into a half-standing, half-leaning situation. Atsumu pulls Kiyoomi’s arm over his shoulder for support and Kiyoomi rests his head on Atsumu’s shoulder, closing his eyes again to fight off the dizziness that overcomes him.
“Alright, let’s get ya to the infirmary ya big baby,” Atsumu starts walking slowly towards the exit, pulling Kiyoomi along with him.
***
When they get to the infirmary, Atsumu wipes down the examination table wordlessly, pulls on a mask of his own, and helps Kiyoomi onto the table. Kiyoomi’s brain runs a mile a minute thinking about the germs and filth that must linger in the air. His hand twitches towards the sanitizer he keeps in his pocket.
When Kiyoomi pulls the bottle out, Atsumu holds his hand out in front of him expectantly. Kiyoomi furrows his eyebrows but still pours a healthy dollop onto the setter’s hand.
“So now you care about personal hygiene?” Kiyoomi asks skeptically.
“If it makes ya more comfortable right now, sure,” Atsumu answers as he rubs the sanitizer in, completely unaware of the spiral his words have sent Kiyoomi into. Kiyoomi takes to examining his hands, willing the heat in his cheeks and ears to go away.
He’s still mulling over Atsumu’s words when their personal trainer walks in. She greets them quickly, then takes his blood pressure, temperature and performs countless other standard check ups.
“Okay Sakusa, it looks like you’ve contracted a standard flu, you just need to get some rest and nutrients. You must have fainted because you weren’t taking care of yourself. If you aren’t feeling better in a few days you should either come back or see your regular doctor for some antibiotics. Other than that, try to maintain a safe distance from others to avoid spreading the sickness,” she reports, pulling off her gloves, “Oh and you should also isolate as much as possible,” she says to Atsumu.
They thank her and make their way to their assigned room. A bit of Kiyoomi’s strength has returned, but he still weasels his way against Atsumu’s side for reasons he’d prefer not to disclose. If Atsumu realizes that his support is unneeded, he doesn’t show it and drapes his arm across Kiyoomi’s back with a slight chuckle. It rumbles through Kiyoomi’s body and makes him smile despite the discomfort that continues to grow in his stomach.
He almost makes it to their room without incident.
They’re turning the corner to the hallway that leads to their room when Kiyoomi trips over his feet and his stomach lurches.
He bends over, pulling his mask down quickly as a gag makes his body jerk. He feels tears form in the corners of his eyes from the feeling. When was the last time he even threw up? Maybe in high school when Komori’s parents were away and he was forced to stay with Kiyoomi’s family while he was sick. Ugh, Kiyoomi shudders just thinking about it.
Atsumu bends over next to him and helps Kiyoomi up silently. Luckily, they notice a public bathroom one door down from them and they clumsily rush through the door. Kiyoomi staggers to bend over a toilet holding a hand over his mouth as another gag overtakes him. He swallows harshly to keep what little amount he ate for dinner in his stomach as the tears flow over his waterline and down his face.
“Omi-kun it’s gonna feel so much better if ya just let yer body do what it needs to,” Atsumu says gently.
Kiyoomi shakes his head frantically, producing yet another gag as his body disagrees with the rapid movement.
“Kyoomi, come on, now’s not the time ta be stubborn. I know it’s gross and embarrassin’ but it’s gotta come up eventually,'' Atsumu hesitantly rests his fingers on Kiyoomi’s back and when Kiyoomi doesn’t flinch away, the rest of his hand settles and begins rubbing small circles into his back. Kiyoomi closes his eyes and relaxes slightly into the touch. He can’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed when someone other than his family touched him.
Despite the slight comfort Atsumu’s hand gives him, his stomach continues to revolt and he is wracked with yet another gag. This time he can taste the bile in the back of his throat and he swallows it back down. This proves to be a terrible decision as it all comes back tenfold and despite his best efforts to keep it all down, Kiyoomi loses everything he ate throughout the day into the porcelain bowl beneath him. Atsumu’s other hand moves into Kiyoomi’s hair and holds it out of his face. The smell and sight of the vomit brings up another round of gagging, so Kiyoomi closes his eyes tightly to try and ignore it.
“Yer doin’ great Omi, it’s almost over,” Atsumu soothes, still rubbing circles into Kiyoomi’s back.
Tears continue to make their way down his face as his stomach empties itself, only stomach acid burning its way out of his throat at this point. Before long Kiyoomi finds himself dry heaving uncontrollably, his hands gripping his pant legs to avoid touching the toilet. His body finally settles down and exhaustion sets in, sending his body tumbling backwards. Atsumu catches him easily and they stumble their way to the sink.
Kiyoomi pulls out his handkerchief and watches as Atsumu gently takes it out of his hand. He furrows his eyebrows, but out of curiosity keeps his mouth shut. He observes, mesmerized, as Atsumu checks the temperature of the water and dips the handkerchief under the water. He raises the handkerchief to Kiyoomi’s face and gently wipes around his mouth before folding the handkerchief and wiping the tear tracks from under his eyes and down his neck.
Atsumu’s other hand is cupped at the nape of his neck and his face is close enough that if Kiyoomi were to reach out, he could soothe the wrinkle between Atsumu’s eyebrows. Kiyoomi’s eyes trail down Atsumu’s face, stopping to rest on the mask where Atsumu’s lips would be if they weren’t covered.
He doesn’t know how long he fixates on the blue of the mask, but when he finally realizes he is staring, it seems that Atsumu finished wiping Kiyoomi’s face a while ago judging by the feeling of his now-dry cheeks. Kiyoomi meets Atsumu’s gaze, heat rushing through his cheeks and ears. He averts his eyes and focuses his gaze on the thread coming loose on his pants.
Atsumu clears his throat awkwardly to break the silence, “Alright, Omi-kun, back to the room we go. Ya need ta sleep.”
After washing their hands, they resume their position from earlier, albeit a little awkwardly and set off for a final time out the bathroom and down the hall to their room.
***
The door to their room clicking shut behind them sounds like heaven to Kiyoomi. He sighs in relief and sags his shoulders even more than usual. Atsumu helps him to his bed which Kiyoomi flops across gracelessly and closes his eyes, not bothering to get under the covers, let alone change into pajamas. He rests his arm over his eyes and listens to Atsumu shuffle around quietly to avoid aggravating Kiyoomi’s headache.
Without any distractions, his brain wanders back to how close Atsumu was in the bathroom. What it would have felt like to caress his fingertips over Atsumu’s cheek. Would his skin be soft? He knows Atsumu isn’t a neat freak like him, but he’s also seen some of the skin care products he uses, remembers asking about it, remembers Atsumu’s indignant scoff, “Beautiful skin like this doesn’t come easily Omi-Omi!”
He wonders what Atsumu’s lips would feel like on his, where Atsumu would hold him while kissing him, whether he would be soft and timid or all-consuming like he is in volleyball.
He’s beginning to drift off when a pile of fabric smacks him in the face. He starts and yanks the fabric off, glaring when he finds Atsumu stifling a laugh behind his knuckles.
“Omi-kun you need to change and brush yer teeth, I don’t want to deal with ya complaining about yer gross breath,” Atsumu sticks his tongue out for emphasis and Kiyoomi’s cursed heart begs to crawl out of the cage Kiyoomi has kept it in for all his 22 years of life. He hastily shoves it back in, adds another lock, and ignores the sound of his heart banging against the bars.
He forces himself up slowly and goes to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He looks at his rosy face in the mirror and splashes cold water on his face in an attempt to get rid of the heat. He just hopes Atsumu thinks it’s from the fever. He changes and brushes his teeth slowly to avoid being alone in the room with Atsumu. He washes his face and forces some ibuprofen down to combat his fever. When he can no longer stall, he reluctantly exits the bathroom.
He is met by the sight of a shirtless Atsumu and he averts his gaze before he has a chance to memorize the dips and curves that start at Atsumu’s collarbones. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Atsumu shirtless before, but it’s different now. His brain is all fuzzy from the fever and they’re alone. He slips into bed and burrows under the covers, letting out a loud and dramatic groan.
“Omi-Omi, I didn’t take ya to be so dramatic when yer sick. Who knew it would only take a flu to bring the Sakusa Kyoomi down to my level?” Atsumu laughs, loud and obnoxious, but Kiyoomi can only think of it as endearing. And that’s how he knows he is truly and utterly fucked.
Oh , he thinks. “Fuck off ‘Tsumu,” he says, voice muffled from being pressed up against the pillow. He feels sleep pulling at him, but he can’t quite fall into its grasp. He’s too cold, his pillow is too squishy, the covers are too scratchy. He tosses and turns to no avail and sighs.
He hears Atsumu pull his covers out and makes a split second decision he’ll probably end up regretting. He calls out Atsumu’s name gently, getting a hum of assent in return.
“Can you,” he pauses for a moment to collect himself, “Can you come sleep with me?” He’s glad the room is dark enough to hide the expression on Atsumu’s face. He doesn’t think he could handle seeing Atsumu’s reaction. There is a heavy pause that lingers before he hears Atsumu make his way to the other side of Kiyoomi’s bed. He sighs in relief and relaxes his muscles.
He lets Atsumu get comfortable before shuffling his way over to burrow his way into Atsumu’s side, an imitation of the position they were in earlier. Atsumu makes a noise of surprise, but leaves it at that and threads his fingers into Kiyoomi’s curls, gently petting his head. If Kiyoomi were a cat he’d be purring happily away. He sinks into the feeling of comfort and allows his mind to drift away into a much needed sleep.