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When Atsumu wakes, he knows it’s going to be a bad day.
It always starts like this: He dreams of a dark and empty tunnel, and no matter how many steps he takes forward, there is no end. The farthest point is pitch black and when he looks back, it is the same—miles and miles of nothingness. The sound of rushing water suddenly fills his ears and he frantically strains his eyes to look for the source. There’s nothing. He’s completely dry but his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin as if he’s been left out in the rain for too long. He feels water up to his neck. How does he feel everything and nothing at once? He thinks he’s going to drown, and no one’s here to save him. He takes a final gasp of air and—
Atsumu’s eyes snap open and is met with the white ceiling of a room he’s all too familiar with.
Kiyoomi’s room. Kiyoomi’s bed. Kiyoomi.
He’s a little disoriented, but all he feels is his heart hammering against his chest, almost like water has begun to fill his lungs once again.
No, no, don’t try to recall. You know what happens when you do—
And then it comes crashing down when his mind betrays him and fills every thought with fears and insecurities he’s tried so hard to overcome. He clenches and unclenches his fists as tears sting his eyes and start to blur his vision.
But he’s not going to cry. He refuses to.
It’s true, people know Atsumu as someone who’s never afraid to be frank, or to make himself be heard. And it’s no lie that Atsumu likes to run his mouth sometimes, but when it comes to expressing the slightest bit of vulnerability, he absolutely loathes it. He feels so, so small. He thinks of that tunnel again, with no way of getting out or yelling for help either. With this recurring thought, Atsumu distances himself from people because he’d rather not burden them when he loses semblance of control in his life.
But he can’t seem to distance himself from Kiyoomi, though. Not when the other is with him right now. He thinks it’s stupid and unnecessary, to be upset over something like this.
He attempts to drown out his thoughts and shifts his focus to the pitter-patter of rain outside, the soft breathing behind him, and the comfortable weight resting on his waist. He tries to ignore everything, he turns his body and crowds himself into Kiyoomi’s space even more. The room is dark, with only a bit of dull light that slips through their blinds and creates a faded line on Kiyoomi’s side. Kiyoomi is a lot softer when he’s asleep. Atsumu tries to steady his breath in the same rhythm Kiyoomi’s shoulders slowly rise and fall.
If there’s anything Atsumu realizes in a life with Kiyoomi, it’s that he’s lucky. Sometimes he doesn’t think he deserves it—but he’s lucky, nonetheless.
Atsumu doesn’t go back to sleep. He doesn’t realize how much time has passed watching Kiyoomi until he shifts and blinks an eye open. Kiyoomi is beautiful like this— his hair, mussed from sleep. His nose, scrunched up from trying to suppress a yawn.
“Morning, Atsu—” Kiyoomi suddenly lifts himself up, rubs the sleepiness off his eyes with the back of his hand, and leans on an elbow on his right side before turning his attention back to Atsumu fully. “Are you okay?” Kiyoomi’s eyebrows furrow in concern and confusion.
It is only then when Atsumu realizes he’s crying, when Kiyoomi lifts a hand up to wipe off the tears that are freely flowing down his face. Atsumu tries to blink away the tears, not even knowing why he let himself cry in the first place when he said he wouldn’t. Damn it.
“What’s wrong?” Kiyoomi cards his fingers through Atsumu’s hair, taming the disheveled blond locks.
Atsumu thinks about playing it off as nothing, he could, but Kiyoomi has long been acquainted with Atsumu to notice when something’s wrong. He’s long familiarized himself with Atsumu’s tells. All the way from his frustration when he flubs a serve, to inconveniences like these. So Kiyoomi’s aware, but he asks Atsumu anyway— just to let him know that he’s here, and that he cares.
“A-another off day, I guess…” Atsumu rasps out, realizing how dry his throat has gotten from forcing to swallow down the lump that keeps creeping up.
Kiyoomi hums. “We can talk about it, but later.” He helps Atsumu sit up and rubs his back in small circles. “A shower might help you. I’ll make breakfast while you’re at it. Is that okay?”
Atsumu’s mind and body feels too heavy to even move, but he guesses that Kiyoomi’s right.
In the bathroom, Atsumu leans his head against the tiles as he lets the water cascade down and the steam surround his body. He takes a deep breath and then lets it out before he starts washing himself properly, in hopes that he could scrub all these thoughts away too. After a few minutes, he steps out and dresses himself again. His mind is still clouded, but he’s clean now, and that makes him feel a little better.
Atsumu, now fresh out of the shower, enters the living room and just stands there, feeling a little lost. He watches as Kiyoomi sets down cutlery and bowls on the table.
Kiyoomi senses his presence and looks up. “How are you feeling?”
“Was still kinda in my head back there, but better, I think.” Atsumu mutters, unsure.
Atsumu gets a smile in return, it’s small, but warm. “That’s okay. Eat first, we can talk later.”
Atsumu walks towards the dining table and takes a seat across Kiyoomi. There are two pieces of grilled mackerel and two bowls of miso soup. What sets their sides of the table apart, Atsumu notices, is that instead of a bowl of plain rice on Atsumu’s side, there are the two pieces of tuna onigiri that he had picked up from Osamu’s store before heading to Kiyoomi’s place the night before.
He remembers he planned to share the other with Kiyoomi, so he looks up and offers one to him. Kiyoomi shakes his head softly. It’s okay, you can have both of them.
They eat in silence, Kiyoomi searching Atsumu’s face every now and then, trying to decipher whatever could be going on in Atsumu’s mind. Occasionally, he will knock his ankle against Atsumu’s, and Atsumu will softly bump it back, just to reassure Kiyoomi that he isn’t the reason for Atsumu’s mood today. He never is.
For Kiyoomi to think he did something wrong to make him feel this way is the last thing Atsumu would ever want in this universe.
After breakfast, Kiyoomi tells Atsumu to wait for him on the couch. Atsumu hugs his knees close to his chest and leans his head on them, watching Kiyoomi in the kitchen from the living room.
“I’m not sure how you’re feeling exactly, but this might help.” Kiyoomi stands over the couch and reaches out a mug of hot tea towards Atsumu. He takes it and Kiyoomi then sits down cross-legged on the couch, with his body turned towards Atsumu.
It’s quiet again, the only noises coming from the rain outside and the morning news on the television. Atsumu supposes he should explain to Kiyoomi the reason for his low spirits today. But how can he, when he doesn’t even understand what he’s feeling? It’s like the world has come to a complete standstill and he doesn’t know what to do, or who to look for. He goes for the next best thing on his mind instead.
“Sorry,” Atsumu starts.
“What for?”
“Ya always have to deal with me when I get like this. If I were ya I’d get tired of me, too.”
“I would never get tired of you. You have nothing to be sorry for, Atsumu. It happens.”
Atsumu looks down at his almost empty mug and sighs. “I just don’t know why I feel like this sometimes.” His voice cracks a little at the end.
“Hey, come here,” Kiyoomi gently pries the mug off Atsumu’s hands and places it on the coffee table across them before resuming his previous position on the couch. “Look at me.” He cups both of his hands around Atsumu’s face and gently turns it to look at him.
Atsumu leaves it in himself to get lost in Kiyoomi’s eyes for a moment. This way, he wouldn’t have think about anything else for now.
“You don’t have to always keep everything to yourself. You can let them out to me all you want,” Kiyoomi leans his body closer towards Atsumu. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Atsumu lets out a shuddering breath, tears—burning—threatening to spill out of his eyes again.
“I know,” He leans forward and tucks his face into the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck. “Thank you, Omi.” He mutters quietly against his skin.
“I got you, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi turns his head and plants a featherlight kiss on Atsumu’s left temple. “You’re fine.”
Atsumu doesn’t think he’s capable of forming coherent words right now. Not when the pain and love he feels are so overwhelming it renders the rest of his senses useless. So he wraps his arms around Kiyoomi’s waist instead and squeezes lightly to thank him— and to tell him that he loves him. And Kiyoomi lets him.
Atsumu knew today was going to be a bad day. It still is. But now he knows this won’t last a long time.
Not when Kiyoomi’s with him— here, now, and always.