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It had been almost a year of dating him, and Kiyoomi was starting to realize that Atsumu was picking up a habit. After forming habits and routines his entire life, Kiyoomi wasn't sure how to handle watching it happen to someone else, analyzing the little changes to life ever since they started living together. All of Kiyoomi’s habits centered around his mysophobia, so to some who didn’t know him better, his habits were unhealthy. Obsessive. Someone would roll their eyes watching him wash his hands for the tenth time in an hour, but that was only because he had to keep touching things he absolutely knew weren't clean. And if anyone saw his shower routine, he knew they would certainly groan.
Atsumu was still blissfully unaware as to why it took Kiyoomi so long in the bathroom, and Kiyoomi was going to keep it that way as long as he felt necessary.
So, for better or for worse, Kiyoomi was at a loss when he realized Atsumu had started falling into specific patterns. Most were good. They gave Kiyoomi this weird, choked up feeling in his chest, like when Atsumu came back from class and wouldn't touch him until he'd washed his hands and changed into different clothes. He did it even on Kiyoomi's good days when he could forgive Atsumu for being eager and wanting to hold his hand or kiss him, something Kiyoomi was improving at.
But he almost lamented at how the new habits stuck, because whether Kiyoomi was having a good or bad day, Atsumu stuck to them out of principal. He probably wasn't aware of it, but that was what made it so easy to relax around him.
Sure, Atsumu was stubborn. He was stubborn enough to push Kiyoomi when he thought he could get away with it. Because, at the end of the day, he was a spoiled brat. Kiyoomi blamed it on the fact that he was detached from his twin for the first time in his life—something Atsumu had divulged to him late one night at the start of their second year of university—and that meant he was an unbridled, chaotic force, altogether different from the other young people exploring their new independence at university.
Yet, when Kiyoomi laid out what he needed once he and Atsumu started sharing an apartment—even before then, when they had started dating—Atsumu complied.
It wasn't all smooth and easy right away. When Kiyoomi had wrenched his hand away the first time Atsumu had reached out to him, he'd crashed and burned, gave Kiyoomi the cold shoulder for three days, and Kiyoomi had only heard from Osamu that he was moping around depressed.
"He thinks the next time he sees you yer gonna break up with him," Osamu had told him. "I said he was bein' ridiculous, but he never listens when it's important."
So, just as Atsumu had to come to terms with Kiyoomi's mysophobia, Kiyoomi had to come to terms with the fact that Atsumu was a drama queen.
Which was probably what led to his most recent habit that Kiyoomi had started noticing.
It had been two weeks before midterms. Their free time had significantly decreased, especially for Atsumu, who was taking higher level courses than he should have as a second year, but he was still making time for movie dates on the weekends. Kiyoomi didn't care either way. If they didn't have time for it, they didn't have time, but Atsumu was adamant.
He lasted twenty minutes sitting on their couch before he was passed out. There was about a full couch cushion of distance between them—Atsumu had learned not to press his luck, though Kiyoomi was sure he was just being passive aggressive about it—but his head was tipped back, mouth open, and he was snoring. Kiyoomi could do nothing but stare at him in disbelief, that usual feeling of affection and disgust welling up within him. He could only take a few minutes of that, already debating on turning the movie off and leaving Atsumu there for the safety of their room, which would be missing Atsumu and his ugly snores.
But then Kiyoomi thought of how Atsumu would complain if he woke up in their living room, alone and in the dark. Kiyoomi would never hear the end of it, he was sure.
In one last-ditch effort, he moved closer. He could have just as easily pushed Atsumu over, anything to stop him from snoring, but then he definitely would have woken up and the movie would be ruined.
The movie was already practically ruined. Kiyoomi had stopped paying attention the second the disturbance had arisen.
Kiyoomi didn't initiate contact often. He was only good for holding hands on a good day, one that wasn't too hot, meaning their hands wouldn’t sweat together, and one that wasn't too cold. Kiyoomi wasn't going to give up the warmth of his pockets to hold Atsumu's hand and suffer. Besides, one of them might get sick.
But he moved himself until their knees and shoulders touched.
Kiyoomi sighed. "You're hopeless," he breathed out and jostled Atsumu just gently enough to tip his head onto Kiyoomi's shoulder. He cringed, resenting the extra weight, but Atsumu's snores stopped with the new position, and Kiyoomi was willing to make the trade.
So, maybe it was Kiyoomi's fault that he had started this new habit of Atsumu's. Maybe he should have just left when the movie was over so that Atsumu wouldn't have to find out what Kiyoomi had allowed just this once.
Well, he had thought it'd be just that one time, and he'd thought he could excuse it just because they were both feeling the exhaustion leading up to the dreaded week of midterms. But it wasn't like Atsumu was just randomly falling asleep around the apartment or nodding off in class. Even the times Kiyoomi went to check on him at the library the following day, Atsumu was studying diligently.
However, same time next weekend, despite how Kiyoomi argued that if Atsumu wanted to study, then he should skip and just study, Atsumu was asleep again. This time, it only took him five minutes—the first scene hadn't even ended—and he was out, taking the liberty of using Kiyoomi's shoulder as a pillow without asking.
And again, Kiyoomi endured.
"Instead of sleeping on me, you should just study," Kiyoomi said later when he was getting ready for bed and Atsumu was still sitting at his desk with his lamp on. If his new routine was anything to go by, Atsumu would stay like that until the early hours of the morning. Kiyoomi didn't know. He slept with a sleep mask on, so the light didn't bother him, and when he got up in the morning, Atsumu was already gone for his 8 a.m. class. "Then, maybe you could go to bed at a normal hour."
But all Atsumu did was hum in response and flap his hand, not looking up from his notes.
And Kiyoomi had nothing more to say to that, so he set the sleep mask over his eyes and stretched the strap so it snapped against the back of his head. It was one way of letting Atsumu know he was annoyed with him, if Atsumu cared to notice.
If he was too blunt, Atsumu would just clam up and sulk.
They had both formed an unhealthy habit of being passive about their frustrations when snide comments didn't seem to be enough—Kiyoomi was well aware—but it was always over little things or it built up until Atsumu boiled over and they dealt with it anyway, so Kiyoomi let it go.
If it was important, well then, they argued until it got worked out. That was what Atsumu was used to growing up with Osamu, though his fights with Kiyoomi rarely got as physical as those from his childhood, from what Kiyoomi had heard.
So, Kiyoomi figured he'd only have to deal with Atsumu's obsessive studying until midterms were over, and then again when finals came at the end of the semester. Maybe this would teach him to choose his course load more carefully for the fall, but they'd be entering their third year. The difficulty would only continue to increase, and Atsumu had screwed himself by jumping in early.
But Kiyoomi still wanted to figure out this new habit of Atsumu’s.
Once midterms were over—and Atsumu survived like Kiyoomi told him he would—their movie nights went back to normal. Atsumu stayed awake the entire time. He kept their unspoken rule of at least half a couch cushion of distance between them.
Kiyoomi experimented first, since Atsumu wouldn’t bridge the gap between them unless Kiyoomi explicitly said so or it was an accident. Because their movie nights were their most private time together, he started there. He waited until the movie was in full swing before he picked his feet off the ground and settled them into Atsumu’s lap.
Atsumu was stunned at first, and Kiyoomi smirked at how his wide-eyed stare was locked with the television screen as he processed this new change.
He’d decided back when he held Atsumu’s hand for the first time that there was a silver lining to his mysophobia. Because Atsumu was just as inexperienced as Kiyoomi with this whole dating thing. He didn’t need to say anything. It was clear just by how he braced himself to plunge into every little thing, like the first time he held his hand. Then, how he reacted every time Kiyoomi reached for his hand afterwards as if it was some big thing. Something precious.
It was cute how he clung to every display of affection like he wasn’t aware of it. And Kiyoomi was the one with the power to cause such reactions. The red in his face when Kiyoomi held his hand somewhere new, like in line at the cafeteria or when they were driving out on a rare date. The soft exhale that escaped his lips the second before Kiyoomi kissed him without warning.
The thing was, Kiyoomi took note of all of Atsumu’s little habits when it came to how he responded to Kiyoomi, and it had been easier since they started living together.
But this new one—Kiyoomi was determined to figure it out.
Atsumu glanced over at him as he slowly rested his hands on Kiyoomi’s ankles. Kiyoomi raised his eyebrows. Atsumu raised his back, both waiting for the other to object. When neither did, they went back to their movie without saying a word.
Atsumu still didn’t fall asleep, but he also went to bed at a normal time a few hours later. Maybe it was too soon after midterms to properly test out his theory, but Kiyoomi wasn’t finished yet.
It took a few weeks, but then Kiyoomi had his chance. It was the day after Atsumu had pulled an all-nighter. Kiyoomi always warned that he'd make himself sick, but as usual, Atsumu never listened. He had an exam that day, so he'd been up all night studying.
It was nothing nearly as bad as midterms, but Kiyoomi noticed the bags under his eyes when he met up with him outside of his class.
"Did you fail?" he asked and took Atsumu's hand.
Atsumu sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "It was fine," he said. "I think. I'm alive, and that's the most important thing."
"I suppose that is number one on the list," Kiyoomi said. "But you also shouldn't fail out of school."
"Huh?" Atsumu scowled, and Kiyoomi refrained from rolling his eyes. It took so much effort dealing with Atsumu when he got in a bad mood. He just started taking everything so personally. "I'm not. My grades’re fine."
"You're grumpy," Kiyoomi said flatly, then pulled Atsumu away from the sidewalk that led to their apartment building and toward the campus center. "Come on. Coffee. I have an essay to write."
"And I have a nap to take," Atsumu grumbled back. "Write yer essay yerself."
But he let Kiyoomi pull him along without putting up a fight. He was either too tired to object or too relieved that his exam was over to care about what happened next.
So, Kiyoomi led the way to the Starbucks inside, ordered Atsumu's drink, then his, and paid for both because he was feeling charitable. He kept Atsumu by his side by not releasing his hand, and Atsumu acted too exhausted to be able to break free. He dropped his forehead onto Kiyoomi’s shoulder. Kiyoomi ignored him.
After paying, Kiyoomi deposited Atsumu on the long stretch of booth but near the window, which he immediately slumped against. At the sight of his check pressed against the smudged glass, Kiyoomi made a mental note not to touch Atsumu’s face until after he’d showered.
No one else was in the sitting area, so Kiyoomi left him there while he went to wait on their drinks. When he returned, he found Atsumu with his legs spread out and his head tipped back, staring at the ceiling. Kiyoomi set the drinks on the table and pulled the table back, sidestepping in and sitting on the edge of the booth before Atsumu's tired brain could catch up.
"What the hell!" he squawked.
"What," Kiyoomi said, bending over to get his laptop out of his bag.
"Um, I'm pretty sure there are two seats." Atsumu reached out with his foot to kick the chair across from them.
"There are," Kiyoomi said and opened his essay draft.
Groaning, Atsumu fell back against the booth again. "We're gonna be here awhile, aren't we."
"It's due tomorrow," Kiyoomi said. "And I haven't had too much time to work on it. Why? Do you have something you need to do?"
Atsumu continued to groan as he got comfortable behind him. "No," he finally said.
"Then chill out."
Kiyoomi was almost positive that he’d be proven wrong. Atsumu would throw a fit and he wouldn’t get a single sentence of his paper written. Kiyoomi would endure for as long as he could, just so it didn’t seem like he was giving up—maybe five minutes—and then he would relent and return to their apartment where Atsumu could shut himself away in their room until his next class in a few hours.
But Atsumu didn’t throw a fit. In fact, he was so uncharacteristically quiet that Kiyoomi completely tuned him out. He had to. Having Atsumu pressed up against his back while sitting on this plastic booth at a table that so many people had already used that day was making his skin crawl. The public space was one thing. As for Atsumu, Kiyoomi had signed up to suffer ever since he said yes to dating him.
He was correct about it taking five minutes though. When he brought himself out of tunnel vision focus on his essay, there was more weight on his back. Atsumu had dropped his head on the back of his shoulder. Kiyoomi could feel his heavy breathing lightly against his ear.
His first reaction was to scowl, head demanding that he stand up at once to put a safe amount of distance between him and anyone else. The feeling of breath against his skin was almost too much, even if it was Atsumu’s.
But then, Kiyoomi looked down. Atsumu’s hands were limp on his own knees. Despite knowing he could get away with touch Kiyoomi if he really wanted to, he’d still kept that small amount of touch to a minimum. Kiyoomi smiled, something soft that he would never let Atsumu see, part endearing, part victorious.
Because he was right.
Atsumu had developed a nasty little habit of falling asleep on him.
It had been almost a year of dating him, and Atsumu was starting to realize that Sakusa was picking up a habit. Now, Sakusa was someone who was strict with his routine. That was one of the reasons that made it easy for Atsumu to remember all of the guy's ticks, what would piss him off, what Atsumu could get away with, and what had to be done, no questions asked.
But there was definitely a new habit Atsumu was seeing form, and Atsumu would know. He'd watched Sakusa plenty before they started dating, trying to figure out how to get under the guy's skin ever since he met him as Komori's roommate a week into their first semester. Because Sakusa was pretty—that was putting it lightly in Atsumu's opinion—and with his obsessive cleaning habits, he was just begging to be teased. That was a compliment, Atsumu would swear if asked.
There was something that Sakusa adjusted to quickly when they started dating. And by quickly, that meant six months into their relationship. Atsumu had his guesses about the handholding, secret suspicions that Sakusa had missed him over winter break or felt guilty for rejecting Atsumu's first attempt at reaching for Kiyoomi's hand, but he'd never voiced those aloud to Kiyoomi.
So, that became their middle ground. If Atsumu was in need of physical contact—something along the lines of "C'mon, Omi-Omi. Yer killin' me. I'm dyin' here"—then he could almost always get away with sidling up as close as Sakusa would permit and grabbing hold of his hand. And he'd use that as a starting point to gauge where he could go from there. If Sakusa was having a bad day, then at the very least, he would allow handholding.
But then, during the spring semester, they had their first class together. They hadn't gone out of their way to plan it out, it'd just lined up that way. Though Atsumu certainly wasn't going to complain about it.
They were in one of the university's big lecture halls. It was the biggest of Atsumu's classes and he knew it was for Sakusa as well because he tried to limit how many students were in a room at one time, no matter how big the room.
But like most of Atsumu's other classes, most of the students kept to the middle rows and a few others to the back, so for Sakusa's sake, they sat in the third row back on the first day of class. Not too close that Atsumu felt the professor was judging him for looking like a more serious student than his grades might be able to reflect, but close enough that Sakusa felt comfortable enough to sit there for the two hours they were required to sit through the droning twice a week.
Sakusa always appeared to be the diligent student, as far as Atsumu observed sitting with him through class for the first time. Outside of class, he was consistent with his homework and studying for exams, and his grades were always a hair better than Atsumu's, as ambitious as Atsumu was aiming to be that semester.
He studiously took notes, though he never asked questions. If something was unclear, he waited until after class, and even then, that was rare. He also stomped on Atsumu's foot if he so much as opened his mouth to whisper in Sakusa's ear.
But then, it was at the start of the second week of class, when Atsumu had given up on disturbing Sakusa during class, that something changed.
Atsumu figured he took notes just as well as Sakusa, but then the professor had started down one of his lengthy anecdotes, and Atsumu would rather doze off than try to remember anything not necessary for midterms. Barely two weeks in, and those exams still loomed weeks away. But if he dozed off, then Sakusa would probably do worse than step on his foot.
While he was debating this, and while the professor was talking about something that had happened while earning his doctorate, while Atsumu was leaning back in his seat, Sakusa's hand reached under the desk and tapped his hand resting on his thigh. Raising a brow, Atsumu didn't glance over, but he did overturn his hand. He never would have guessed that Sakusa would be the type to want to hold hands during class, but here they were.
But Sakusa didn't stop at just holding his hand. He took Atsumu's hand and brought it into his lap where he sandwiched it between both of his.
In a sense, it was way too surreal for Atsumu, who considered Sakusa taking the initiative to loosely hold hands just about as good as it could get. Sakusa didn't touch anything he didn't have to, always wore sleeves even on the hottest days so he could pull them over his hands to open doors or brush away crumbs from a table at lunch or whatever else if Atsumu wasn't there to insist on doing it for him. But now, both of his hands were wrapped around Atsumu's. The knowledge zapped along like an electric current through his veins until he thought he'd jump out of his seat and run straight out of the lecture hall in excitement. Though, doing that would mean the loss of Sakusa's hands and missing out on the second half of the lecture.
And he definitely didn't want Sakusa to let go.
But Sakusa didn't stop there. As their professor's voice droned one, Sakusa rolled Atsumu's fingers between the palms of his hands, traced his fingertips over his knuckles, down to his wrist, and back up again. He interlocked their hands while his other hand tapped fingers restlessly over the back of his hand. Atsumu had to stifle a laugh. He wasn't ticklish, but Sakusa's ministrations were enough to make him smile, whether or not Sakusa spotted it.
It was like his hand had suddenly become a fidget toy.
Once their professor finally got back on track with the day's lesson, Sakusa released Atsumu's hand and went back to his note-taking. When class was over, he made no mention of it and didn't even reach for Atsumu's hand, which Atsumu scoffed at and nearly sent him into one of his one-sided arguments.
Despite that, he refrained, hoping if he left it alone, Sakusa might hold his hand again in class.
As distracting as it was, Atsumu could always steal his notes and study extra hard to make up for it. He'd gladly make the exchange.
It happened again on Thursday when they had the class again. This time, even when Sakusa was taking notes, he reached for Atsumu's hand. Atsumu almost gave up his notes to oblige, but he settled on reaching his left hand across, under his right arm for Sakusa to take.
Atsumu started to wish for Sakusa to be in the rest of his classes, but then he would definitely fail all of his midterms with the distraction.
"Ya know," Atsumu finally said one day in class, because he couldn't not say anything about Sakusa's habit any longer. "You can just tell me you like holdin' my hand so much."
"Is the act of actually holding your hand not proof enough?" Sakusa whispered back, and Atsumu breathed out a sigh of relief at his poor foot being spared.
"Well, sometimes hearin' the words are nice, too."
"I like holding your hand," Sakusa said, but it lacked the feeling of someone who had appeared to become dependent on it. But then he added, "It helps me concentrate. Shut up."
And Atsumu was satisfied. To an extent.
"I can't say I hate yer new habit then," he said, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "But it's very distracting."
"I'm not the only one picking up new habits," Sakusa's voice grumbled back. "Maybe if you actually slept at night, you wouldn't be so easily distracted."
Atsumu yawned obnoxiously wide. "I'll think about it once midterms are over."
"It's an unhealthy habit."
"Don't start in on that again," Atsumu countered. "If ya really want me to get some sleep, curl up for a nap with me after class."
Sakusa glanced at him out of the corner his eye, his mouth a flat line, clearly unimpressed with Atsumu's offer. He looked back at the professor who was seeming to wind down from his most recent tangent. "We'll see."
Atsumu inched closer. "Is that a promise, Omi-Omi?"
"We both know how hopeless you are," Sakusa muttered, but he squeezed Atsumu's hand. "I'll probably end up saying yes. That's starting to become a bad habit, too."
“Hey,” Atsumu said as Kiyoomi was putting on his shoes at the door. “You’re going out to study tonight right? Tomorrow too?”
Kiyoomi looked back at him.
Atsumu grinned. “Let me come with you.”
Kiyoomi’s expression turned from neutral into that upturned brow, pinched nose look that he knew always got on Atsumu’s nerves.
“Why,” he said, no inflection, and Atsumu’s hands bunched into fists.
It wasn’t like Atsumu was in any of his other classes. He didn’t know anyone in those classes either. Still, Atsumu insisted, and when Atsumu had his mind made up, it didn’t really matter what mood he was in. That, and it took way too much effort to change it.
So, Kiyoomi let him come along, but that was only because Atsumu swore he’d keep his mouth shut and work on his own final prep.
Kiyoomi wasn’t sure why Atsumu had been so set on tagging along until they were an hour in. Silence was settled around their group in the library, interrupted only by a whispered question and an equally quiet answer offered in response. Then, it was quiet again while they read through their textbooks and solved practice problems.
Kiyoomi was doing problem after problem, hoping to memorize equations. They’d have most of them for the exam, but this professor liked to squeeze in a three-hour exam into the two-hour timeslot. He’d learned that the hard way during midterms.
Atsumu’s hand slipped into his under the table, and suddenly Kiyoomi’s mind was filled with static. His head snapped up, his eyes squinting, blurry after staring at the text so closely for so long. Then he looked over at Atsumu beside him.
Smug as ever, Atsumu didn’t even bother looking up from his book. “You were fidgitin’, Omi-kun,” he murmured soft enough that the others couldn’t hear.
It was only in the stillness that holding Atsumu’s hand brought that Kiyoomi realized his leg had been bouncing, fingers tapping restless on his knee under the table.
“You said it helps ya focus.” Atsumu finally looked up, pouting at him. “I don’t mind. I’m only readin’ for the memorization section.”
“Is that why you were scheming to come along?”
Atsumu let out a soft laugh. “I wouldn’t call it schemin’, but you could just say thank you and get back to yer work.”
Kiyoomi considered him for a moment. A word of gratitude here meant Atsumu saying something like Remember that time when I… later on down the line, and Atsumu’s favors always had some kind of ulterior motive behind them.
Besides, Kiyoomi didn’t like using words when action said it better. Atsumu was the same. That was why if he said thank you now, Atsumu would still be on his high horse.
You’re welcome, Omi-Omi. So how great am I, huh? I do so much for my boyfriend.
And Kiyoomi liked keeping Atsumu humble.
So, he threaded their fingers together and turned back to his studying.
Atsumu clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth at the arrogance but returned to his reading, his mood stubborn despite how Kiyoomi’s thumb stroked across the back of his hand. Kiyoomi would pay him back.
And despite how Atsumu complained about Kiyoomi’s ungratefulness, he continued attending the study sessions. He continued holding Kiyoomi’s hand, reaching out the second before his fidgeting would surely drive their group insane as Kiyoomi zeroed in on his work unawares
Atsumu kept this up while doing his own studying, falling back into the same habits as midterms. He pulled all-nighters, ate crappy food, insisted on movie nights before falling asleep on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. It was painful to watch, but Kiyoomi knew that Atsumu would take even worse care of himself if Kiyoomi spoke up—that passive aggressiveness again—or he’d ignore him.
Just like Kiyoomi, Atsumu zeroed in his focus on his work, and with his class load, he was surely stressed. At least Kiyoomi knew the time and place to be consumed by work. For Atsumu, once again, there was no off switch until it was over.
Eventually, Atsumu stopped joining Kiyoomi’s study session in the library. Instead, Kiyoomi suspected he was in some dark corner on the above floors, hiding away from distractions. When Kiyoomi returned home that night, Atsumu was still out, and when he woke early the next morning, there was still no sign of him, no sign that he had even been there since yesterday afternoon either.
There wasn’t much Kiyoomi could do beyond send him a text to eat something and to come home before he rotted away in the library. He had his own exam to get to. His last one. He did pity Atsumu for having all of his at the end of the week.
When he came back to the apartment after a harrowing two hours of remembering formulas and writing until his hand cramped to finish on time, Kiyoomi knew Atsumu had returned as well. His shoes were left haphazardly in the doorway and Kiyoomi could hear him pacing around their bedroom as he walked in.
Kiyoomi opened the door.
Atsumu froze in the middle of the room, all the lights out, both hands twisting fingers into his hair. He looked on the verge of a meltdown, if one hadn’t already started.
Kiyoomi sighed through his nose. “What’re you doing.”
Atsumu crossed the room and hands went to Kiyoomi’s shoulders, which was probably a good thing if he didn’t want to go bald in his twenties.
“I’m freakin’ out, Omi. I’m freakin’ out.” He gave Kiyoomi a shake. “I have three exams tomorrow and I used a physics equation for a calc problem on my practice test and I was tryin’ to find out why it wasn’t workin’ for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes.”
Kiyoomi tried not to sigh again because Atsumu would definitely hear him and it would make his meltdown all the worse.
“I’m gonna fail, Omi,” he continued before Kiyoomi could say anything. “And I can’t afford to take these classes again. I’m gonna fail and drop out and move back home and ‘Samu will graduate and get this awesome job and I’ll end up working for him. Do ya know how depressing that is, Omi? And you’ll break up with me ‘cause ya hate long distance, so what’ll be the point, right?” Atsumu groaned through his teeth and sank to his knees, hands sliding from Kiyoomi’s shoulders to take hold of his jacket.
Kiyoomi stared at the opposite wall for a second, breathing in deeply so he wouldn’t snap or sound too callous without meaning to.
“I’m not going to break up with you if you fail your finals.”
Atsumu looked up at him. His eyes were red, but there hadn’t been any tears. Yet. It was probably the lack of sleep.
“That’s not what I said, Omi-Omi. I said I’m gonna drop out and move back home. Then, you’ll break up with me ‘cause ya hate long distance.”
“I don’t hate long distance.”
He didn’t. Actually, someone would think Kiyoomi preferred it because he wouldn’t have to worry about the more physical aspects of a relationship. If Kiyoomi was having a bad day, he wouldn’t have to worry about protecting Atsumu’s feelings first.
He just hated the texting.
After Atsumu had stopped calling for one reason or another, he had resorted to texting him at all hours of the day. And it wasn’t like Atsumu wrote out full conversations. He didn’t have the patience. No, he sent memes, and the only thing worse than Atsumu’s obnoxious mouth were memes. So, after a full day of nothing but references Kiyoomi didn’t get, he hated to admit it, but he actually missed Atsumu’s voice.
He sighed, not caring if Atsumu heard, and bent down to haul him to his feet.
“Look, you’re not going to fail.”
“But the equation—”
“You want to know why you mess up your practice test?”
Atsumu stared back at him, and Kiyoomi’s eyes narrowed.
“Because you haven’t slept in two days,” Kiyoomi gritted out before pushing Atsumu away from him and toward his bed. “Go take a nap and calm down.”
“I can’t. There’s too much material to go over, and my exams are tomorrow,” Atsumu said with his back to him. Then he turned back around. “’Sides, I’ve tried, Omi-Omi. Tried takin’ a nap earlier today and it didn’t happen.” His eyes focused on a point far away over Kiyoomi’s shoulder as he thought back. “Might’ve been the Red Bull coffee I made or the Monster I had after that.”
“You’re going to kill yourself.” Kiyoomi followed after him and gave Atsumu another push until he was practically falling into bed. “Lay down. Don’t move.”
Atsumu was already halfway into bed, so there wasn’t much use protesting further with Kiyoomi looming over him. Once he was sure that Atsumu wasn’t going anywhere, Kiyoomi went to change. He found a clean pair of sweatpants and then went out of the bedroom to put his bag and school stuff away properly. He stopped to give his hands a more thorough wash as well.
When he returned, he found Atsumu laying on his back, staring at the ceiling with his hands folded over his stomach. He looked like he was ready to be lowered into the ground. Kiyoomi pursed his lips at Atsumu’s never-ending stamina for dramatics.
“Move over,” Sakusa said.
“I am sleeping,” Atsumu replied, not breaking eye-contact with the ceiling. Then he glanced Kiyoomi’s way. “Can’t you tell?”
Before Atsumu could avoid it, Kiyoomi slid his hands underneath him, one under his shoulders, the other under his thighs and flipped him over. Flailing, Atsumu nearly rolled with the momentum against the wall.
“Omi,” Atsumu hissed, and Kiyoomi could tell there was real anger beginning to simmer there, but he was too busy laying down on the bed and taking up the space Atsumu had occupied just seconds before. When Atsumu righted himself and tried pushing himself away from the wall, he was half on top of Kiyoomi, who grunted when Atsumu’s elbow went into his gut.
“I am trying to be nice here,” he got out, his voice strained.
Atsumu flipped around in bed until he was on his side facing Kiyoomi. He had never been on a boat before, but Kiyoomi had to wonder if this was what seasickness felt like.
“What’re ya doin’?” Atsumu asked, the anger gone from his voice.
“I’m letting you sleep on me,” Kiyoomi said, resigning himself to this fate for the remainder of the afternoon. “You’ve been doing it since midterms. Whenever you overwork yourself and don’t rest, you always end up falling asleep on me the first chance you get.”
“Oh come on,” Atsumu scoffed. “That’s so sappy. I’m not—”
Kiyoomi raised a brow.
Atsumu sputtered off the end of his sentence, and if the lights had been on, Kiyoomi suspected he’d see a blush reddening Atsumu’s face.
“Just do it,” Kiyoomi continued. “You need to turn your brain off before your exams tomorrow or you’ll keep running yourself into the ground.”
“I don’t run myself into the ground,” Atsumu bit back weakly. “I know my limits.”
“I’ve been watching you do it all week,” Kiyoomi said. Then he unfolded his arm, as much of an invitation as he was willing to give. “Don’t worry. I’ll wake you as soon as I become uncomfortable.”
“Oh, so generous of you, Omi-kun” Atsumu muttered under his breath, but he sidled up alongside Kiyoomi and tentatively laid his head on his shoulder.
It was awkward at first. They never cuddled. They’d never even slept in the same bed before. Kiyoomi allowing Atsumu to fall asleep on him on the couch back during midterms was the first time they’d done something so unguarded. Every time since, Kiyoomi had been in control—Atsumu being too tired to do more than fall asleep where he was at the time.
So, this was the first they were both aware of it happening—either able to give up at any moment.
“Yer so bony, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu mumbled into Kiyoomi’s chest.
“You weren’t complaining every other time you used me as a pillow. You really want to complain now that I’m offering? I’m helping you out, Atsumu, so shut up for once.” Kiyoomi drew up his free arm to flick Atsumu in the forehead, not hard enough for him to reel backwards.
“Yeah, yeah—” Atsumu rubbed his forehead against Kiyoomi chest as if to nullify any pain “—yer takin’ precious study time away from me. Don’t think I won’t forget this.”
He was out not ten minutes later. His mutterings just got lower and lower, muffled into Kiyoomi’s shirt, until they petered out altogether and he was asleep.
Kiyoomi tucked his chin to watch him in the dim light of their room. Atsumu’s hair had lost its normal waviness this week and fell flatter on his forehead. His dark lashes just barely brushed his cheeks and he slept with his mouth parted just enough that Kiyoomi was sure there’d be drool on his shirt later.
He couldn’t say if Atsumu’s developing habits were good or bad, but Kiyoomi could say with certainty that all those new habits were beginning to circle around him. But then—thinking back to the library sessions—it seemed Kiyoomi was developing a few tendencies as well. Tendencies that Atsumu was just as mindful of.
He also knew that his skin barely crawled anymore when Atsumu touched him, even on bad days. Even an hour later, when Atsumu had flipped onto his stomach and was half sprawled over Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi was okay with that.
“I should still probably be annoyed with you,” Kiyoomi said so quietly that his voice nearly cracked with the effort. In his sleep, Atsumu’s nose wrinkled. “But I guess it’s alright, as long as it’s you.”