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It’s a Monday when everything goes wrong. Kiyoomi has never liked them, but he wishes just for once, that someone out there will cut him some slack for making the stupidest life decision when he signed up with the MSBY Black Jackals.
The moment Kiyoomi sets his foot on the court he knows something’s up immediately. Although, he doesn’t take credit for this newly discovered ability to detect imminent, migraine-inducing stupidity. No, in fact, that goes to his teammates who aren’t slick enough when they stare him down from behind, give him accusatory glances and worst of all, speak of him as if he were the root of all evil. He might be, Kiyoomi thinks, when his captain asks him to stay behind after practice for a talk.
Meian has a severe expression on his face, his arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently when Kiyoomi slowly approaches him. He wonders if it’s too late to escape his death sentence.
“Sakusa, we need to talk,” Meian says, voice surprisingly gentle for someone so proud and it makes him intrigued. He must have really done something if his captain looks so concerned.
“Yes?”
“It’s about Atsumu.” Kiyoomi deflates and gets disinterested immediately. He looks away, pretends that the speck of dirt in front of his feet is Miya’s face, and tries to put out the stupid grin with the tip of his shoe. “Sakusa, cooperate. Did you say something to him?”
Kiyoomi’s face gets distorted with a grimace. What is there to say to Miya aside from his usual snide comments whenever Miya fucks up?
“Not that I’m aware of. Why?” Kiyoomi tries to recall if Miya flopped even more than usual today but comes up with nothing. An out-of-bounds-serve and several net touches, just like usual. Same old mistakes.
Meian just gives him a contemplative look before he shakes his head with an exasperated sigh and says, “Just be mindful around him, okay?”
Kiyoomi wants to point out that he has nothing to do with Miya on a daily basis, that he’d rather suffer through crowd surfing than have to deal with him but settles with a nod before he gets dismissed.
Kiyoomi doesn’t think much of it.
But he should have because Tuesday isn’t much better compared to Monday when it comes to practice. Everyone keeps staring, looking at him as if he were a convict on the loose. And when Bokuto has his eyes on him for far too long for Kiyoomi to be comfortable with, he snaps.
“What do you want?” Bokuto’s eyes get even wider for being called out so suddenly. He looks away sheepishly, taking a few steps away from him.
“Just thinking of something, Omi-Omi.”
“Then stop thinking,” he retorts snidely.
“Hard not to. Hey, is it just me or does Tsum-Tsum look, uh, bad?”
Kiyoomi wants to offer Bokuto a dictionary because he’s sure he can think of worse things to describe Miya with. He does look over the net towards their setter lazily, still in disbelief that he’s getting roped into some potential misfortune when he notices the red eyes and dark circles under Miya’s eyes. Huh.
It almost looks as if Miya’s been crying for the past few days and that he’s about to bawl again any time now, and Kiyoomi finds it highly unsettling if not downright terrifying. He can handle pretty much anything Miya dishes out on the court; either it be his assholery, his cockiness and stupid smirk, or his failures and incompetence when he’s overly excited. But tears? Sadness?
Kiyoomi hates dealing with such emotions, feels as if he’s in the middle of a land mine; nowhere to go but any step he's about to take ready to set off a bomb.
“He looks like crap,” Kiyoomi corrects and settles into a defensive position when their coach blows the whistle, and mutters, “Not my business, though.”
“Yeah? Huh.”
Wednesday comes as a blessing because there is no practice. Kiyoomi dedicates it to cleaning his apartment, catching up to the latest episode of a podcast and even video chatting with his cousin. It’s when he’s lounging on his couch with a book in his hands that his mind wanders away from him.
He keeps thinking of Miya, how weirdly subdued he’s been the past two days and how… shitty he looked and lets himself mull over it. Maybe there is something going on with the blond, after all, if both Meian and Bokuto keep mentioning him. That still doesn’t explain why they’re seeking out him of all people, for his two cents though.
Kiyoomi snaps out of it and resumes his reading, files the thought as something unnecessary and vows to spray Miya down if he sneezes all over the court tomorrow. Miya better be sick because if it turns out to be about feelings and interpersonal relationships, then Kiyoomi’s booking it immediately.
Tomorrow turns out to be just as weird as the previous practices. Miya, still red-eyed, sniffles once or twice during the drills and it almost sends Kiyoomi into a panic, almost makes him rush to the locker room to bring out his spray bottle. He doesn’t get that far, though, because when Miya sniffles a third time Hinata and Bokuto drag him to the side and give him a look that tells him he’s done an unforgivable crime he needs to be punished for. He disagrees.
“Omi-san, do something.”
“Do what?” Kiyoomi growls, irritated, and glares at the hand on his shoulder until Bokuto lets it drop to his side. “If this is about Miya, I’m telling you, I haven’t done anything to him.”
“Really?” He meets Hinata’s dubious look with a glare of his own, dares him to go down this stupid lane and see what happens if he does. “Because it looks like you did, Omi-san, and if you two are fighting you should talk it out and apologize to each other! Y’know, like friends do!”
“What.”
Kiyoomi wants to know how exactly Hinata came to the conclusion that a) Miya and he are friends and b) where this notion of him picking a fight with Miya comes from. This is Miya’s fault, he’s sure of it.
“Look, Mr. I got a fever and got benched and have absolutely no fucking rights to butt into things,” Kiyoomi seethes, completely ignoring Hinata’s indignant squawk at his nickname, “There is no fight and there is no friendship between me and Miya. Now leave me alone.” He’s about to pull away from the two when Bokuto appears before him in an instant with his arms stretched out wide to the sides, cutting him off from taking another step forward.
“Wait, Omi-Omi! This is serious!” Bokuto tries to placate him, “We wouldn’t bother you if it wasn't. We just wanna know why Tsum-Tsum’s been all mopey this week.”
“And you think I have the answers for everything that pertains him?”
“Well, you did hang out with Atsumu-san last weekend, didn’t you?” Hinata shuts up immediately at his cold stare, but Kiyoomi reluctantly agrees that he does have a point.
He had run into him while he was shopping for new kneepads and seeing as Miya was there for some new trainers as well, it wasn’t hard to conclude that doing their shopping together would be better than separate. He should have realized by then how troublesome it was to get lunch with Miya, though, when the setter told him to look up from his food and snapped a picture of him.
Kiyoomi decides there and then that the next spike will hit Miya right in the face for daring to upload a picture of him to Instagram, no matter how excited the setter looked at the time.
“So what? It’s not my fault Miya’s in his weird funk.” Kiyoomi wants to point out that he’s not even sure what this is all about. He doubts Miya would burst out crying just from him insulting his piss-colored hair one too many times. Surely, even Miya must see what a travesty it is, right? “What makes you think it’s me?"
“Well,” Hinata begins, brows furrowed deeply in a serious mien, chin resting on his palm. His eyes, usually vibrant with excitement and challenge, are turning colder, more dangerous, by the second. “The moment Atsumu-san stepped inside the gym, Bokuto-san texted Myaa-sam, and Myaa-sam said he didn’t do anything out of the ordinary.”
Kiyoomi doesn’t want to know what the usual is, but he suspects that it involves a lot of caveman behavior and two rowdy men duking it out, both mentally regressed to the age of five.
“So, you immediately suspected me? When you know Miya’s carbon copy can and will share the same wavelength as him? When you know all Miyas are liars?” Kiyoomi doesn’t really agree with that sentiment. He’s sure Mrs. Miya is lovely and that she’s suffering just as much as he is.
“Omi-san…” Kiyoomi doesn’t manage to look away from Hinata’s puppy eyes in time, curses under his breath and wishes his resolve was just a bit stronger for him to resist it. “Just talk to Atsumu-san. If it’s nothing, then we’re sorry for doubting you.”
Guilty until proven innocent, he sees how it is. He growls at them, a grim satisfaction settling inside his stomach when he sees them flinch, before he leaves the idiots and goes straight for Miya.
The setter lets out an unholy shriek when Kiyoomi taps him on the shoulder, the water bottle in his hand squeezed tight and spraying water all over them like a fountain. He offers a sheepish smile when he meets Kiyoomi’s glare.
“O-Omi-kun?!” Miya squeaks out and Kiyoomi cringes at the sound as he tries to wipe off the excess water on him. Not only does Miya look like death has taken him he even sounds like death incarnate.
“Are you sick?”
“No?” Kiyoomi grimaces. That means something must have happened to him then and that sucks. He’s never been good at comforting people, doesn’t really know the right words to make them feel better, and knows his actions speak for him more than his mouth. If Miya is actually upset though…
“Did something happen?” Miya blinks, stunned, and stares at him as if Kiyoomi has suddenly grown another head out of nowhere. Kiyoomi feels like he has, too, his body prickly with unease for going out of his way for Miya.
“Not that I’m aware of, why? Did you do somethin’?”
“No,” Kiyoomi bites out, now far, too sensitive of being accused so much already in such a short span of time. “If it’s nothing then forget it.” If Miya doesn’t want to share then that’s on him, at least Kiyoomi tried.
The disapproving looks from everyone else says otherwise.
Friday starts off well until it doesn’t and Kiyoomi can hear something crash, feel something snap inside him when Miya, about to set him up for a quick attack, suddenly starts crying in the middle of their three-on-three. Kiyoomi doesn’t even react when the ball bounces off his head, doesn’t cringe when his face is smushed against the net briefly because he forgets to land in front of it. He’s too shocked, too appalled with the tears pouring out from Miya’s eyes to care.
The silence that comes naturally after such a display is deafening and Kiyoomi wonders if he should take a step forward, take matters into his own and make sure that Miya’s doing okay when Inunaki beats him to it and runs up to Miya’s side, hands hovering all over him.
“Ah shit,” Miya mutters loud enough for Kiyoomi to hear, and wipes away his tears as best as he can. Kiyoomi feels something constrict inside him when a new wave of fresh tears falls down Miya’s cheeks.
“Hey, Atsumu, you doing good? What’s wrong?” Miya only sniffles in response to Inunaki and waves him off.
“It’s nothin’. Just somethin' in my eye.”
Kiyoomi wonders where the notion of Miya being a great liar comes from because right now, he’s not fooling anyone.
“Sorry, Omi-kun. That one’s on me.” Kiyoomi nods at the sheepish smile and pained look, tries to find words to insult Miya whenever he usually flubs but comes up with nothing. He didn’t expect Miya to apologize so suddenly, deterring his sharp tongue immediately. It’s worrisome.
The sheer cold that runs down his spine implies that the opposing team, Meian, Bokuto and Hinata, are glaring daggers into him from the other side of the net. Do better, do better he can hear them chant. He doesn’t even know what he should improve on, he wasn’t the one at fault, right? He hates this slander.
It’s at the end of practice on Saturday that Kiyoomi gives up on trying to act nonchalant to this whole ordeal and to just go for it. He does not want to admit that the accusing and disapproving looks from everyone else got to him, or that he’s spent his hours worrying over Miya, wondering if he’s getting better or not. He’s just tired of seeing Miya’s messed up face already, that’s all.
“Miya,” Kiyoomi says and notes how endearing Miya is when he looks up towards him with a tilt to his head, “For the love of everything that’s holy, please stop crying.”
“…What.” Kiyoomi cringes at that. Miya's voice is completely garbled and it sounds as if he’s about to cry any moment now. His heart squeezes painfully.
“Wait, let me retract,” he says hastily when he meets Thomas disappointed look behind Miya. “If I did something, I’m sorry. Please stop crying.”
“That… doesn’t sound much better,” Miya points out and Kiyoomi knows. But he’s trying. Miya just looks at him, bewildered. At least he stopped crying. “I don’t know what you’re on about, Omi-kun. But trust me, I would have let everyone know if ya did do somethin' to me.” Oh, thank fuck. Miya fucking Atsumu is self-aware.
Kiyoomi nods, looks away from Miya and mouths a "fuck you" to all the members who falsely accused him for something he didn't do. They only smile back, apologetically. Miya’s sniffle brings his attention back to the setter, eliciting a frown from him. His heart shrivels at the red rimmed eyes and how pathetic Miya looks and Kiyoomi lets the urge to comfort Miya settle inside his chest.
“Then what’s wrong, Miya? You’ve been crying nonstop and it’s making my ears hurt.” It hasn’t, really. Miya is surprisingly quiet when he cries, just the occasional sniffle breaking the silence. He glances at his other teammates, some of them still with a disapproving look on their faces (he never said his comforting words were the best, cut him some slack!) while others are smiling widely with their thumbs high up in the air, encouraging him to continue. “If anything’s upsetting you, you should speak up.”
Not that Kiyoomi’s ever going to stay for such a spiel, but hey, maybe someone on the team will pity Miya enough to stay behind for it. His brain keeps telling him that he's a filthy liar. Shush.
“Uhm, I appreciate that,” Miya says with sheepish laughter. Kiyoomi winces, his skin crawling from the sound. He’s not used to hearing such a happy sound turn so wobbly and sounding closer to a sob than Miya’s usual, exuberant laugh.
He doesn’t think he can handle Miya looking miserable through another practice. He doesn’t want to admit it, but Miya looks much better when he’s smiling, even if it’s obnoxious and looks downright stupid most of the times.
“But I’m not upset.” …What. Kiyoomi can feel a headache approaching.
“Then why do you keep crying like a fucking baby?”
“Oh whoa, chill,” Miya says, offended, raising his hands in defense. “I can’t help it, okay. This always happens during this season.”
“The season of what? Assholes getting stuffed?”
“Haha, fuck you, Omi-kun. It’s allergies.” Everyone goes silent at Miya’s confession.
“Allergies.”
“Yeah, pollen allergy, y’know?”
“You’ve been crying for a whole week? Because of allergies? And you haven’t done anything about it?” Kiyoomi feels like a fucking clown but rejects the very thought, and convinces himself that if anyone’s a clown, then it’s Miya fucking Atsumu for not taking care of it. He can’t believe he's been worrying over Miya, only for it to be nothing but hay fever.
“I ran out of meds! Also, my contacts are itchy during pollen season so that’s why I keep cryin'.”
“You fucking idiot,” Kiyoomi bites out. “You’re not supposed to wear contacts when your allergies are… wait, contacts?” Leaning automatically into Miya's space, he scrutinizes his face and sees the golden irises being caged in by a faint outline around them, making the area just a tad sharper somehow. Huh, who would have thought?
“Yeah, my sight’s been gettin' worse so that’s why,” Miya explains lazily before he grins mischievously, and sets off all the alarm clocks in Kiyoomi’s head. “Wait, don’t tell me, you were actually worried about me? Aww, Omi-kun, ya didn’t have to!”
“Shut up.”
“Omi-kun, you're so sweet!”
“Cease and desist.”
“Does this mean we’re best bu–– ACHOO!” Kiyoomi stills and shares a horrified expression with Miya, before he slowly glances down at himself and feels Miya’s sneeze seep into his T-shirt. “Ah… S-sorry, Omi-kun…?”
Kiyoomi doesn’t respond verbally, instead he rummages through his bag and takes out his spray bottle, quickly uncaps it and in a flash dumps all the content over Miya’s head.
On Sunday, Miya comes over with his shirt washed at least twice. Kiyoomi makes sure that he’s taken his allergy meds before he opens the door for the setter, and when he finally looks at Miya’s face, just to make sure that the fool isn’t looking like a wreck, he takes a few steps back just from the sheer sight. Miya in black rimmed glasses is a look Kiyoomi didn’t know he would be absolutely floored by. Handsome bastard.