Work Text:
This is a disaster, is what Miya Atsumu manages to think as he runs through crowded streets with his son clinging to his neck while blabbering about the newfound meaning for the color pink and the fact that ya forgot to ask me if I wanted ya to hold me before ya picked me up, daddy, this isn’t nice, ya know? It seems that, for the last three weeks, his son has been desperately trying to teach him manners, as he puts it, because making sure someone is comfortable having you around is really, really important, daddy.
So, yeah, maybe Atsumu did end up doing something right, despite Kiyoshi’s various complaints against his bad thinking, daddy, ya gotta know boundaries, whatever that meant for a four-year-old who, as far as he knew, didn’t even know what the word boundaries meant. Maybe he did end up raising a good kid, despite the mother’s complaints about him being way too clingy, too quiet, annoying at times. Kiyoshi is a handful, he won’t ever deny that, but he’s the best kid Atsumu could have ever asked for.
Waking up to his little face right in front of his, to his tiny smile and that strand of hair that never seemed to quiet down, was the reason why Atsumu didn’t mind being, quite literally, slapped awake with a whisper of g’mornin’, sleepyhead. Rushing to and back from work only to be greeted by his sweet laughter and an excited shout of daddy! was the reason why he put up with the long and tedious hours of an office job he never really wanted in the first place. But he’s an adult now, an adult with responsibilities and a child to care for, he can’t be bothered to indulge in fruitless, futile teenage dreams.
He’s sweating and panting once he reaches the daycare building, Kiyoshi tugging at his hair and telling him to put me down, put me down! as he dangerously rocks his body back and forth seemingly unbothered by the high probability of falling down. Daddy never lets me get hurt, he said once, and daddy always takes care of me when I do get hurt. He’s the bestest. It takes him a few seconds to catch his breath and an entire minute to bring himself to kneel down and let go of his son. As soon as Kiyoshi’s feet touch the ground and his eyes lock on the tall person wearing the pastel pink apron, a big smile climbs up his face and he wiggles away from Atsumu, a chain of Omi, Omi, Omi! following behind.
It’s a man, is the first thing Atsumu notices.
He has beautiful hair, is the second thing he notices.
Kiyoshi waddles up to him with his arms waving up in the air and Atsumu can’t help but mimic the smile that tugs at the man’s lips when he sees the toddler running straight at him. And then he stops. Atsumu furrows his brows, cocking his head to the side as he gets back on his feet. Just as he does that, the man kneels down, a smile still plastered on his face as he asks Kiyoshi are we excited today? Atsumu knows he shouldn’t have, but he can only think that oh, he’s pretty. Dark curls over his forehead and a small dimple showing on his cheek when Kiyoshi takes one step back and bows lightly.
“Omi-sensei!” Kiyoshi says, probably louder than he should have, and Atsumu can’t help the snort that eases its way through. “Can I hug ya?”
Oh.
Atsumu stares at the scene unfolding before his eyes, at the beautiful man who tilts his head to the side and opens his arms in an invitation for Kiyoshi to come closer, a whisper of you can always hug me lingering between them. He holds sunshine behind his eyes, Atsumu notices, and the breeze of spring as his smile grows wider. Kiyoshi takes the invitation, jumping up and wrapping his arms around Omi-sensei’s neck, burying his face in the crook of his neck and telling him I missed ya! Did ya know daddy and I… while the man softly stroked his hair and giggled along with him, his laughter tasting like the strawberry swirl vanilla ice cream they can’t live without.
When Kiyoshi finally lets go of him and turns around to wave at Atsumu, Omi-sensei’s gaze follows, smile slowly fading into a straight line as he waves, too. He has pretty eyes, is what Atsumu thinks before waving back, heat climbing up his cheeks. All of a sudden, and for some reason Atsumu isn’t really interested in digging at right now, his suit is suddenly constricting, the tie around his neck a death sentence for as long as Omi-sensei’s gaze is on him, for as long as he stands there with one hand in the air while the other rests over Kiyoshi’s head. Bye, daddy! Have fun at work!
I never do, he almost wants to say.
Instead, he blows him a kiss and turns around before Omi-sensei can see how red he is.
It’s already dark when Atsumu manages to get off work, his shoulders stiff and eyelids heavy as he walks around the crowded streets with the weight of the papers inside his briefcase pulling him down, down, down until he can no longer stand up straight. His muscles scream in agony as he takes every step, his throat dry and head pounding. He’s late to pick Kiyoshi from kindergarten, he knows that, and the thought that maybe, just maybe, he would have been better off had he stayed with his mother crosses his mind.
Don’t get him wrong, he’s a good dad and he loves his son, but work is demanding and he doesn’t have enough time to spend with him like what he assumes a good parent should. It’s one of those things no one teaches you in parenting classes, the weight of the responsibility that comes with a new life, the constant worrying and the feeling that you might not be good enough for them. Still, he believes he must be doing something right when Kiyoshi greets him with a big and bright smile as soon as he walks through the door, when he gives him a drawing with two people inside a big heart.
He’s prepared for that smile and a shout of daddy, you’re late! when he walks through the door, but instead finds himself staring at his son’s sleeping figure over Omi-sensei’s lap as he softly hums a lullaby, one of the thousands Atsumu had to learn and eventually forgot when Kiyoshi no longer asked him to sing him a song. He slowly strokes his fingers through Kiyoshi’s hair, head tilted to the side and a sweet, sweet expression on his face, the corners of his lips starting to part into a smile. Atsumu was right this morning, about the sunshine behind his eyes, about the spring breeze that flows through his smile, about his voice and the strawberry swirl taste of his voice.
He stands by the door for what seems like hours, his muscles complaining as he dares to take a hesitant step, the syllables of his son’s name rolling on his tongue, his vocal chords incapable of making any noise. Omi-sensei keeps humming, the small dimple starting to show on his cheek, his dark lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. Atsumu doesn’t know why, but he takes a step back again. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t seen anyone besides his family acting this loving towards his son or, maybe, he thinks, it’s because there’s something about this man that makes him lose all rationality. Or, maybe, and that’s what Atsumu chooses to believe in for the time being, he’s just tired from a long day at work and seeing someone lulling his son to sleep is something he’ll be forever grateful for.
Still, it’s Atsumu we’re talking about.
“Kiyo-chan,” he calls, voice loud, high-pitched and weird. Great.
He’s sure he hasn’t ever seen anyone whip their head around as fast as Omi-sensei does, eyes wide and mouth parted, a choked gasp escaping his throat. His fingers stop in their tracks, still intertwined with locks of bright brown hair, and he looks like he’s just seen a ghost. Atsumu tries to smile, but his muscles don’t seem to really understand the command, cheeks puffing out instead of going up to squish his eyes as they always do. He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a pathetic whimper of a wounded animal. His hands are sweaty and he doesn’t know what to do with them, the briefcase suddenly seeming a thousand times heavier.
“Can I help you?” Omi-sensei asks, a frown quickly taking over his features. He looks cute when he’s mad, is what Atsumu thinks, because he actually does. He pouts like a child, perhaps a consequence of constantly spending time with so many of them. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met?”
Atsumu lets out his pitiful excuse of a laugh again, “We haven’t,” he says, “not properly, at least. We did meet this morning, though? When I dropped Kiyo-chan off? Ya waved me goodbye and all. Sorry, that must’ve startled ya.”
“Oh,” is all that comes out of his mouth, frown slowly disappearing as a faint pink starts spreading across his cheeks, “I apologize, then.”
“No, no, s’alright,” he replies, cheeks slowly heating up as a smile climbs up Omi-sensei’s lips. He looks beautiful, is what Atsumu thinks. “How did he do today? He was very excited to come:, said staying home with me s’boring and he’d much rather be with Omi-sensei because ya sing him songs and let him do whatever he wants.”
At that, he laughs. “No, not whatever he wants,” he explains, “but I suppose we are less strict than parents. We’re here to help them socialize, mostly, and prepare them for school life, after all. Kiyoshi is a great kid. He loves the picture books and the bunny plushies. He’s always trying to help and trying to take care of the other kids when they cry.”
Atsumu smiles, pride bubbling inside his chest and flooding his veins. He looks down at his son’s sleeping face, mouth slightly open, hair thrown in every direction while Omi-sensei’s fingers start playing with them again. Without really meaning to, Atsumu finds himself directing his attention to the man in front of him, to the way his curls cascade down his forehead as he looks down at Kiyoshi’s sleeping face. He smiles at him like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon, like he’s a precious jewel he has to protect, like he’s the prettiest work of art ever created. Atsumu can kind of agree on that. He wonders if that’s how he looks like to the rest of the world, completely enthralled by his son’s presence, a goofy grin on his face whenever Kiyoshi makes a funny face when telling him about his day at kindergarten.
But, of course, he probably doesn’t look this beautiful. He doesn’t have dark green eyes, he doesn’t have midnight-colored curls that frame his face so perfectly like Omi-sensei does. He doesn’t have a laugh that tastes like strawberry swirl and he most definitely doesn’t hold spring breeze in his smiles. Because Omi-sensei might be the prettiest person Atsumu has ever seen, and trust him when he says that, because he’s seen a lot of people in his life.
Kiyoshi whimpers in his sleep and in less than a second, there’s a soothing touch to his cheeks, a brush of his thumb over the bridge of his nose, and a soft shush before he goes back to playing with his hair. He’s tired today, he tells him. He did a lot, he tells him. Here, I’ll give him to you so you two can go home now, he tells him. When he gets up, Atsumu finds out he’s taller than him, not by much, but still taller. He smiles when Kiyoshi whines as soon as Atsumu has his arms around him, slowly stirring awake with a whisper of daddy, yer here. Atsumu presses a soft kiss to his forehead, a barely audible I’m here, let’s go home whisper against his skin.
He nods slowly, eyelids fluttering up and down as he tries to fight the exhaustion, as he clings to Atsumu’s suit and rubs his eyes with a clenched fist. Omi-sensei walks around the room gathering Kiyoshi’s personal belongings. He hands Atsumu his backpack and crouches down just enough so that he can tell Kiyoshi that today was fun, wasn’t it? We should have more singing competitions. What are your favorite songs? I’ll bring them all tomorrow. Atsumu smiles when Kiyoshi starts giggling and excitedly telling Omi-sensei what his favorite songs are, the ones Atsumu has long forgotten, the ones he never asked to hear before going to sleep.
Perhaps he should start memorizing the lyrics again, if only just to hear him giggling like that.
Omi-sensei pinches Kiyoshi’s cheeks, a silly smile on his face as he takes one step back, finally looking at Atsumu again with a shade of darker pink across his skin. He looks like everything the poems talk about, of sweetness and adrenaline, the impact of attraction and all of the other things people don’t really know how to explain. It’s fitting, Atsumu thinks, since he looks like a mystery novel personified, a thriller Atsumu can’t help but want to drown in. Atsumu doesn’t know what it is yet, not exactly, but it feels pleasantly warm whenever he smiles at him.
“Thank you for staying here and calming him down until I arrived,” Atsumu tells him as soon as they reach the doorstep, Kiyoshi nodding softly against his neck. “I know it’s not, uh, the ideal. I have to apologize to ya, Omi-sensei, it was ve-”
“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he cuts him off. “That’s my name. So you don’t have to keep calling me Omi-sensei all the time. It doesn’t really, uh, suit you.”
Atsumu almost laughs.
Kiyoomi.
Kiyo-chan.
Omi-sensei.
“Omi-kun, then,” he winks. “Looking forward to seeing ya tomorrow.”
When Kiyoomi smiles, sweet and big and bright, one hand waving at them in the air, Kiyoshi comfortably tucked inside Atsumu’s embrace, tiny hand waving back, he can only think that maybe they’ll have to stop by the grocery store on their way home. They’re having ice cream for dessert tonight, he decides. They’ll have strawberry swirl vanilla ice cream, because that’s what Kiyoomi’s laughter tastes like, because maybe he’s known all along and maybe, just maybe, he’ll have Kiyoshi bring Kiyoomi, Omi-sensei, Omi-kun, a note telling him about the recipe for love.
Love, according to the Miya household (two residents), being a handsome man with two moles on his forehead, beautiful curly hair, amazing green eyes and pale skin. Oh, and of course, with laughter like their favorite ice cream flavor. Really, how could it go wrong?