Archive of Our Own

Kiyoomi is in a self-destructive spiral. This has to be what’s happening- there’s no other way to explain this sudden erratic behavior. He’s feeling helpless and trying to get control back, so he’s- he’s here. 

The only thing is that there’s no trigger to explain his actions. Just Miya Atsumu.

Kiyoomi’s breathing is ragged and stuttering as he stands rooted in place, in the middle of the sidewalk in the pouring fucking rain with no umbrella. There’s no mask to cover the lower half of his face, his pale skin rapidly cooling as the cold rain slaps against his skin with an almost comical sound; a sound that no one would ever truly hear unless it was the rain hitting their own skin, a feeling and a sound so indescribable no matter how many times you reach into your head to find the words. It’s a stupid cliché, like in a movie scene, and the thought only sends Kiyoomi into a fit of raucous laughter. 

A movie scene.

Kiyoomi has never been so reckless. He watches the forecast meticulously, planning his week ahead. He knows when he’ll need an umbrella, sunscreen, a thicker jacket. He should have had an umbrella today, but he hadn’t spent the night at his own apartment like he’d planned, and thus began the series of events that landed him here. 

No umbrella, mask tucked in the front pocket of a hastily-packed sport’s bag that he’d ultimately forgotten to grab on his way out the door anyway, and in clothes that aren't even his, Kiyoomi finds himself in his current position pondering just how the hell he allowed this to even get this far. He wishes for nothing more than a do-over, a chance to go through the last year without falling in love, but a voice that’s not his own reminds him that the characters in a movie don’t get a second chance, and he’s not just an actor in his own story- he's the main character. 

There are no do-overs. 

But everything’s getting too far ahead of itself right now. There’s a beginning to this story, after all. 

-

Sakusa Kiyoomi thinks he might just be the worlds’ unluckiest man. He wonders what he’s done to deserve this- this, being the fact that the gods have seemingly decided to give him metaphorical hell by inflicting not one, not two, but three high school rivals on him by putting them on the very same team that he just signed a long contract for. Kiyoomi feels sick to his stomach as he stands in line with none other than Bokuto Kotarou, Hinata Shouyou, and Miya Atsumu, all four of them having signed onto the MSBY Black Jackals around the same time, and meeting their teammates for the first time this afternoon. 

Kiyoomi wonders if it’s too late to back out. He hears Ushijima is playing for the Schweiden Adlers. 

The feeling of his new teammates’ eyes on him is overwhelming. Kiyoomi’s never been good with introductions, because those involved shaking hands and he’s always felt squeamish touching others. Something about not knowing where those hands have been, what they last touched, when they were washed last, makes Kiyoomi’s skin crawl and paranoia creep up his psyche. One touch could spark the next pandemic, or give him bacterial meningitis that paralyzes him from the neck down and then he’d die, or worse, never play volleyball again, and- 

He’s catastrophizing. Only slightly. He takes a deep breath behind the plain black face mask that adorns his face, thankful that no one can see the way his lip quivers as he says, “It’s a pleasure to be working with you all. I’m in good hands.” 

“Welcome!” Comes the expected greeting, and then an unexpected lack of touch. In college, when he’d introduced himself, he’d gotten claps on the back and shoulder punches and even a hair ruffle or two- they'd heard about how much of a powerhouse Kiyoomi was in middle and high school and had thought he would be welcoming to their touch; he's expected similar now. Kiyoomi straightens, looking at the line of professional athletes in front of him. They offer grins and thumbs up, but no one offers so much as high-five. 

“Coach, uh, told us about your thing with touching...” The captain, Meian, if Kiyoomi remembers correctly, says sheepishly and he sends a lopsided grin his way. Kiyoomi wants to cry, though he can't tell if it's from relief or embarrassment. Instead, he finds a place in line as the next rookie is introduced and handed his jersey. Kiyoomi grips his own in shaking hands. This is it. He’s finally going pro. Next, he just needs to make it to the Olympics. 

“It’s great t' get to play with ya all! I’m Miya Atsumu, but you can just call me ‘Tsumu. Miya’s my brother. Lookin’ forward to a great season!” 

Huh. 

Kiyoomi knew what Miya sounded like, but only vaguely. He’d only ever really heard the guy talk from across the volleyball court, choosing rather to read the transcripts of any interviews he’d done simply because he could read them faster than a video would play back. Back at the All Japan youth camp, they’d spoken briefly and Kiyoomi remembers that conversation ending in bickering. No wonder he had shut that interaction, along with any memory of his voice out of his head. His voice, and the dialect he speaks with, has a boyish charm to it- it feels inviting, and warm, much different to Kiyoomi's more formal, neutral-toned voice. 

It's nice. 

“Welcome!” 

Miya falls back into line and Hinata steps forward. “I- I’m Hinata Shouyou! I’m honored to get to work with such cool athletes! Thanks for having me!” 

The adjustment period after joining the MSBY Black Jackals is, as expected, a long one. And an awkward one. After being opponents with all of the other rookies for most of high school and college, working with them is just that- an adjustment. It doesn’t help that Kiyoomi has never been the best at making friends, though not for lack of interest; he’s just always come off as standoffish and mean when he wasn’t trying to be. At some point, he just accepted that no one was willing to be friends with him and that was okay. Sometimes it felt like his teammates at Itachiyama were his friends, though he thinks that mostly was thanks to Komori. 

The thing is, Kiyoomi most of the time feels like a stranger planted in his own body. Like an actor in a play who, despite being cast in their dream show, didn’t get the part they wanted- leaving them floundering, trying to memorize a role they hadn’t even thought of from a script they never got. Trying to make friends while balancing his own role in the show is hard. So he rarely tries anymore. Kiyoomi, if he wasn’t so...odd, for a lack of any other words, would probably be as charismatic and boisterous as Miya or Bokuto. He’s confident enough in his abilities as a volleyball player, and he’s attractive enough to garner quite the fanbase; a fanbase that followed him from high school, to college, to the pro leagues. Even still, Kiyoomi rarely actually has fans approach him after games or when spectators are allowed to watch practice. He knows why without having to even ask. Because as confident as he is in his abilities at volleyball, he wasn't as confident in himself in any other aspect. He's never been able to make good conversation, especially with strangers- and then there's the whole physical contact aspect of meeting with fans. Hugs, handshakes, cheek kisses. Even just the thought makes Kiyoomi feel squeamish and sick. 

He doesn’t know how to describe it, because whenever he tries to vocalize his thoughts to someone he gets weird looks and told to ‘suck it up.’

Even if they’ve just washed their hands, if he and, say, Bokuto even brushed wrists during a high-five Kiyoomi would be sent into a spiral that would leave him dissociated and spaced out for the rest of practice. Because, even if Bokuto’s hands are clean, when was the last time Bokuto cleaned his wrists? His wrists, which touch everything that his hands do, but very rarely are thought about in the hand-washing process- unless one was as conscious-minded as Kiyoomi, that is, which people rarely are. Is Bokuto a night shower person, or a morning shower person? A lot can happen during the night before you go to sleep, after all. What did he do on his commute to practice today, has he given any of the other players his signature hair-ruffle-turned-noogie combo yet today? Kiyoomi’s mind swirls just thinking about it. He couldn't imagine even attempting to do something like that with a total stranger. 

It’s taken a long time for Kiyoomi to accept the reality of his life- the constant, intrusive thoughts that hit him at random times. And a lot of therapy. His therapist tells him that he’s catastrophizing, and the first step in calming down when he begins to spiral is to recognize that he’s doing it. If he’s conscious in the fact that he’s being irrational, he can begin to slowly rationalize and ground himself in the present. 

It only works about half of the time. 

One would think that Volleyball is a horrible sport for someone like Kiyoomi, and from the outside he’d agree; everyone touches the ball, the same ball that’s touched the floor that their shoes and sweat touch, their breath coming in short pants that suck in the air salonpas and sweat of other players. But for some reason, all of those thoughts and worries leave Kiyoomi’s mind on the court. He feels powerful playing volleyball, a feeling that he doesn’t often feel in his day to day life. When he’s spiking the ball with force enough to concuss a grown man, he never wants to leave the court. So he’s thankful, at least, for teammates who also don’t seem to tire easily. They’re still a bit too energetic sometimes, but they seem to recognize his limits well- or, at least better than his college team had. 

An unlikely partner comes in the form of Miya Atsumu- yet another thing that, on paper, Kiyoomi shouldn’t like. And yet their synergy on the court is undeniable. Atsumu is a great player, and this Kiyoomi knows. Has known, since high school when he would stay up late at night researching his opponents before games to try and strategize. Their interactions had been brief during All Japan, but Kiyoomi remembers Miya’s cocky attitude and tendency to push boundaries something that pissed him off. They’d gotten at one another’s throats more than once during drills and two-on-twos, but when it came to actual practice matches they fell into a natural rhythm. 

It’s like that now. They work well on the court together, but...

“Omi-Omi, why don’t’cha come out with us ever? ‘s good team bonding, y’know!” 

“Quit calling me that,” Kiyoomi grumbles, his shoulders stiffening as Miya enters his personal space not for the first time since the bus ride started. He’d get up and move if he wasn’t already pressed against the window of the bus. He has half the mind to push Miya out of his seat and into the aisle. “I just don’t see the point of going out and getting drunk with everyone. What’s the point of team bonding if you don’t remember it the day after?” 

“We do things other than drinking,” Miya says with a frown, and from behind them Bokuto laughs and reaches around to clap him on the shoulder. 

“Good one, Omi-Omi! He’s kinda right, though, Tsum-Tsum, that is kinda what we do. We should do something else. Like hiking! ‘Kaashi and I go on weekly hikes, I’m sure he’d be fine if I took the boys with us one of these day-” 

“Ugh, boringgg,” Miya groans. He slumps in his seat and Kiyoomi bites back the urge to warn him how dangerous it is to do such a thing at all let alone in a vehicle without any seatbelts. Instead, he rolls his eyes and pushes back any thoughts of getting involved in a ten-car pileup on the freeway. 

“Of course you would think hiking is boring. I think Bokuto is right for once, if we do something for team bonding we should do something that actually benefits us individually and as a team.” 

“Yeah, Tsum-Tsu- Hey, what do you mean for once?!” 

“He means yer an idiot most of the time.” Miya says, subdued, and still slumped over in his seat. He raises his middle finger up at Bokuto, “Bitch.” 

“Woah, what did I do?! So mean, Tsumu~!” Whines Bokuto, who falls back against his own seat, which jostles Kiyoomi from behind. His eye twitches. “Meian-san, Omi-kun and ‘Tsumu are being mean~!” 

“Shut up, tattle-tale!” 

“Bokuto, Atsumu, quit antagonizing Sakusa! We’re almost to the gym, and we still have recap, so don’t go scaring him off so soon!” 

Miya and Bokuto’s response is immediate and simultaneous. “He started it!” 

Kiyoomi does not smile, even if his team’s laughter really makes him want to. 

They go on a hike two weeks later, and Kiyoomi thinks it’s not the worst way he’s spent a Sunday afternoon. 

-

“So then there I was, right, covered in food and-” 

To say Kiyoomi dislikes locker room talk is an understatement. It's crude and far too personal, and most guys their age can only talk about hooking up or other aspects of their sex life that makes Kiyoomi feel uncomfortable. Luckily, his team isn’t very raunchy, but when the talk inevitably shifts from volleyball to personal life, Kiyoomi is left floundering, uncomfortable and stiff. He doesn’t know who he should be listening to, if anyone at all, when conversations begin to merge and voices overlap and how he should go about talking about relationships- a topic that often comes up in the locker room when all of his teammates seem to either be taken, pining, or players. The four ‘monster generation’ rookies of the team each fit snugly into those categories- except for Kiyoomi. Bokuto is happily taken, Hinata can’t decide where his loyalties lie between more than one setter from high school apparently, and Miya is... well, Miya. 

Miya “Raging bisexual mess, but at least I have a six pack so shoot your shot,” Atsumu, or at least that’s what he boasts in his social media bios, is a player if Kiyoomi’s ever seen one. He’s always bragging about some date or another he’s been on recently, but it’s never with the same person. Kiyoomi usual tunes him out, to respect the poor saps that Miya talks about rather salaciously the day after a wild night out. 

...For the most part. Sometimes, the stories of how disastrous his dates are can get kind of funny at the expense of Miya, which Kiyoomi loves to use as bait to antagonize him whenever he can. Stories like the one he’s telling right now. 

“He’s not being helpful at all, he’s crying, and we still can’t find the guy’s phone- turns out it was in his pocket the entire time! I crawled in a dumpster for the guy, and he never even called after! I knew he’d be trouble, but I thought I’d at least get laid. I’m never online dating again.” 

Kiyoomi snorts, shaking his head, and only realizes he’s done it out loud when Miya’s hand stills on his shoulder, where he’s currently helping wrap an ice pack around. 

“It’s not funny, Omi-kun, stop laughing!” 

“It kinda is, though, Atsumu-san!” Hinata calls from across the gym, laughing, and Kiyoomi finally allows a real laugh to shake his frame. 

“How stupid do you have to be to not have him check his pockets before diving into a dumpster?” Kiyoomi asks in bewilderment. He’s not even disgusted at the idea, he’s that amused at the visual he’s been given. He can practically see Miya covered in dumpster food just to win the attention of the poor sap he fooled to go on a date. 

“Hey, I don’t need you guys gangin’ up on me! I was blinded by the guy’s crocodile tears, okay? I wasn’t thinkin’ about anything other than gettin’ im to stop crying!” 

“You know, I never took you as the type to gay panic, I mean- you’re such a jerk, I half expected the story to end with you leaving him to search the dumpster himself or something. It’s weird to think you’d willingly get your clothes messed up for someone you just met on tinder.” 

“I’ll have you know, Omi-kun,” Atsumu growls, starting to wrap his shoulder again with more fervor- probably so he can stop touching Kiyoomi, “I’m not as big of a jerk you think I am. Just because you wouldn’t go out of your way for a girl doesn’t mean I wouldn’t for my date.” 

“What makes you think I’d go out with a girl?” Asks Kiyoomi, and that really wasn’t supposed to come out of his mouth. His cheeks burn hot in embarrassment as Miya’s hands once again freeze. Miya’s cheeks are a bright crimson to match Kiyoomi’s, and his mouth hangs low as his eyes scan Kiyoomi’s face for any traces of sarcasm. When he doesn’t, he continues wrapping, his hands shaking slightly. 

“Touché, Omi-kun. Touché.” 

There is no other mention of Kiyoomi’s sexuality. Instead, Miya begins to bitch about something else as he finally rips the saran wrap off and pats the edge down. Kiyoomi rotates his shoulder as best be can with the ice surrounding it, and stands with a slight nod of thanks to Miya as Meian takes the saran wrap and starts wrapping Oliver’s shoulder next. 

Kiyoomi, although the slip was minor, feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest at any moment as he begins to pack his bag. He needs to get home before he says something else stupid. 

Logically, he knows it shouldn’t matter. It was pretty evident that the MSBY Black Jackals were a fruity bunch- just look at them, their rookies alone are all queer and no one really cares. They’re respected as athletes no matter what. Kiyoomi knows this, but saying that he likes guys out loud even if his teammates are the only ones to know, is scary. He’s sure his parents would accept him no matter what and would just be happy he’s actually interested in anyone at all, but there’s still a lingering fear in the back of his head when he thinks about the prospect of bringing a guy home some day. It feels like- like a commitment. Like if he confirms it, there will be no way to take anything back. He doesn’t like there not being an escape route. 

Not that anyone, guy or girl alike, would want to dig into Kiyoomi’s baggage enough to want to date him anyway. 

So he shouldn’t worry. 

He really shouldn’t worry. 

He does anyway. 

There isn’t any mention of his sexual preference that day, but two weeks later finds Kiyoomi and Miya in a similar position- Miya wrapping Kiyoomi’s shoulder after practice, their bodies closer than Kiyoomi would prefer, Atsumu’s warm hands a stark contrast to the cold icepack pressed against Kiyoomi's shoulder. However, this time they’re one of the last people in the locker room; the other two rookies on the team are in the showers (singing a horrible duet version of some anime opening they both watch), and the other, older members of the team have all left already. 

Which just leaves Kiyoomi and Miya. Alone. In silence. 

Kiyoomi’s hair drips slightly, curls still damp and heavy from his shower, onto his shirt and Miya’s hands as they hold the bag of ice in place with one, the other clumsily trying to find the end of the saran wrap. Clucking his tongue, Kiyoomi grabs the roll from Miya and carefully separates the edge and dangles it in front of him. 

“Thanks,” Miya mumbles, taking the end and finally beginning to wrap it around Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “How’s it feelin’ today? The ice working?” 

“Better, I suppose. I’m just waiting for the trainers to tell me I don’t have to do the ice wraps anymore, it’s uncomfortable.” 

“Ya had to ‘ve done some in high school as well, right? So you should be used to ‘em.” 

“Being used to them and liking them are completely separate. I like them as long as they keep me from popping a shoulder out of it’s socket, but that’s about it.” 

Miya snorts, a smile slipping onto his face that Kiyoomi catches out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t think Miya realizes he he’s doing it. “As direct as ever, huh, Omi-Omi?” 

“I don’t see why I wouldn’t be.” Kiyoomi grumbles, a stubborn blush crawling up his face. He wonders why it has to be Miya that wraps his shoulder. They have other teammates. If he could do it himself he would. “But should you really be the one talking to me about self care? I can see the look on your face during stretches, and when we run jumping drills. Are you warming up enough?” 

“Of course I am! I don’t know what look you’re talking about.” 

“Sure,” Kiyoomi says. “Just don’t come whining to me when you injure yourself- a lower body injury is always harder to heal than a shoulder or upper back strain.” 

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Miya says flippantly, and Kiyoomi frowns. He hadn’t meant to sound naggy. He was being serious. He turns his head, careful not to jostle his arm too much as Miya nears the end of the roll. He’ll need to grab another to secure the ice fully. Miya doesn’t look at Kiyoomi, but Kiyoomi looks at him. 

“I’m being serious, Miya. I’m sure you were scolded enough in high school and college, but just because you aren’t moving around often as a setter doesn’t mean you won’t. I’ve seen those wild tosses you like to do. If you do one on a day you don’t warm up properly, you could hurt yourself.” 

Miya actually makes eye contact with him then, and Kiyoomi notes his cheeks are dusted a bright red. It’s only then that he realizes how close they are in this position, and Kiyoomi’s turning to face him and address him sincerely was probably making this very, very awkward. He should turn away. He should apologize. He should- 

“Are we gonna kiss, Omi-Omi?” Miya asks, his voice teasing, and Kiyoomi scowls. Of course he’d make a joke instead of admitting he should work on himself. Asshole. 

“Bold of you to think you’re my type, Miya.” 

Miya's jaw drops. “I’m everyone’s type, Omi-Omi.” 

“You keep telling yourself that.” 

Kiyoomi turns his head away, forcing down a smile at the indignant huff he receives from Miya in return. He very pointedly ignores the fact that his chest is pounding. Are we gonna Kiss Omi-Omi? 

Yeah, that’s something Kiyoomi doesn’t want to deal with right now. 

-

One of the perks of being a professional volleyball player that’s not in highschool anymore is the fact that they aren’t stuck playing only local teams during practice matches. 

One of the downsides is actually having to leave the prefecture for said practice matches. 

Kiyoomi knows logistically that the Black Jackals can’t expect every team they play to come to them, and yet he still feels white-hot dread creep up every time Meian or coach Foster mention a practice match. He’d, so far, been unlucky enough to room with Bokuto twice out of the four times they’ve traveled for a match. The other two times had been with Oliver and Adriah, who were somewhat better, but ideally one of these days he’ll get the longest straw and be the one allowed his own hotel room. 

Today is not his lucky day. 

In fact, it’s probably more unlucky than his first day with the Jackals, when he’d found out he would be playing with his high school rivals. 

“Hey, it’s not so bad, is it? Don’t have that look on yer face,” Miya pouts at Kiyoomi, who, even if his face is covered mostly by his facemask, looks visibly upset. Miya doesn’t seem to have taken serious offence, having seen Kiyoomi’s reaction when he was assigned Bokuto two trips in a row because “you’re the most like Akaashi-san out of all of us, you’ll do him some good.” 

Honestly, it’s surprising that coach didn’t realize how bad of an idea that was after the first time. 

“No offense, but you piss me off so much I’d rather dig my eyes out with a spoon than sleep in the same room as someone that chews as horrendously loud as you do. I can only imagine the mouth noises you make in your sleep- it’s making me sick just thinking about it.” Kiyoomi grumbles. Bokuto laughs and claps him on the back. 

“Lighten up, Omi-Omi! You’re gonna be besties with Tsum-Tsum by the end of this, I’m sure!” 

“Doubt it, but hey, maybe Omi-Omi will surprise us this weekend.” Miya replies, following them into the building, and he turns and gives a wink in Kiyoomi’s direction. “I wouldn’t be surprised at all if Omi-kun fell for my roguish charm by the end of this.” 

“Gross,” Kiyoomi groans. He wants to jump off the roof. “Please never say anything like that ever again.” 

Miya just laughs. 

Surprisingly, Miya’s a good roommate. Kiyoomi supposes he shouldn’t have doubted him- he is a twin after all, he’s probably used to sharing space and being courteous of others. He keeps his things in a neat pile on his side of the room, sports’ bag and duffle of luggage sitting next to one another on the floor at the foot of the bed. He has headphones ready so his phone’s noise doesn’t bother Kiyoomi, and he’s quick to shower so there’s still hot water left. Not that Kiyoomi plans on showering- he’d rather die than step foot into a hotel shower, and their stay is short enough to justify not taking one. They’ll be able to shower in the gym’s showers tomorrow, and that’ll do until they leave to go back home after their match. 

Miya and Kiyoomi are in the hotel room after dinner, coaches orders, because apparently the team they’re playing tomorrow had studied each player intensely, and he wants them all at their top form. Usually, if they have the free time, the team likes to go out for a night on the town- which can go south pretty quickly, depending on how shit-faced Meian lets Bokuto and Hinata get (read: how much the other players can distract Meian while Bokutoand Hinata sneak drinks). Kiyoomi rarely joins in on the festivities, but he’s been present enough times to wonder just how in the world Bokuto manages to get up and actually enjoy exercise the next morning after being so drunk the night before. Kiyoomi thinks, sincerely, that that man is superhuman. However, because of that exact reason, coach has banned them from going out tonight- leaving Kiyoomi and Miya alone together once more. 

Meaning Kiyoomi is subjected to even more, non-volleyball talk with a teammate. And Miya is making is positively impossible for him to enjoy it. With Bokuto or one of the older members of the team, he can let them take over a conversation. But Miya expects regular call-and-response or he gets agitated. 

“So, I’m surprised I didn’t see ya, like, spraying a shit ton of Lysol the second your foot touched the floor.” 

Kiyoomi frowns. “Is that a dig at me or something? I know I’m a germaphobe, but that’s just rude.” 

“Oh,” Miya cocks his head to the side. “Sorry? I just mean- well- hotels are kinda gross, right? I’ve always hated ‘em- ma and pops always made ‘Samu and me share a bed, or sometimes I’d sleep with a blanket on the floor. Y’ see a lot from that angle.” 

Kiyoomi and Miya share a shudder. 

“I suppose they are, but I kind of just...zone out when I stay at hotels.” Kiyoomi says with a shrug. He’d never really thought about it before, because he was telling the truth when he said he zones out. Almost all of his memories of hotels are of being dissociated and purposefully not bringing himself back because he knows he would lose his cool if he thought about all of the people who have slept in the same bed as him, how many feet have touched this same carpet, fingers brushed the switch on the bedside lamps. It’s not until he looks up and sees Atsumu’s raised eyebrow that he realizes that not everyone thinks the same way he does. “Besides, if I brought stuff to clean the room with I wouldn’t have much room for luggage.” 

“I s’pose,” Miya says thoughtfully. “But I guess whatever gets ya through it, huh? ‘Samu doesn’t like hotels either, but he doesn’t like ‘em ‘cause he likes sleepin’ in his own bed. Own meaning, the one at our parent’s place. He couldn’t care less if we shared, we’ve been doin’ that since we were babies. Says the hotel bed just doesn’t ‘feel right,’ or whatever. He’s weird like that sometimes.” 

“I can sort of understand that. Even if it’s the same as the one I own, there’s something comforting knowing the bed I have at home is there when I get back. I know exactly what’s happened to that mattress and the sheets, and what they've been through.” 

“I figured you’d get it,” Miya snorts. “I think you’d like ‘Samu if you ever met. More than you probably like me.” 

There’s a somber look in Miya’s eyes when he say that, and it makes Kiyoomi panic for a moment- he knows he and Miya don’t get along well, but he doesn’t hate the guy. 

“I’m sure we’d get along, yeah, but anyone related to Miya Atsumu is probably not very high on my list of favorite people.” 

“Hey! Now that’s just cruel, Omi-Omi, and you were just digging at me for being rude.” 

“I said what I said.” 

“Come on!” 

Kiyoomi laughs, turning his head to see Atsumu sitting cross-legged on the bed next to his, his cheeks red and puffed out like a petulant child. Right about now is when Kiyoomi would say something stupid and make conversation awkward and forced but instead he finds himself intrigued and so he asks, “You and Osamu, you’re still close?” 

“I mean, as close as we can be? He lives so far away, and without volleyball in common, we don’t always have something to talk about and we argue instead. But we’re still twins, and I’ll always love ‘im- don’t tell ‘im I said that, though.” 

Kiyoomi chuckles. “I hadn’t thought about it, but now that I know you don’t want me to, I’ll have to remember this conversation if we ever meet.” 

“Don’t you dare, Omi-Omi.” 

“Try me, Miya.” 

Kiyoomi and Miya continue to talk until Kiyoomi begins to get tired and they call it a night, Miya slipping his headphones over his ears to play music while Kiyoomi goes to sleep. Kiyoomi thinks he wouldn’t mind having Miya as a roommate again. 

-

Kiyoomi meets Miya Osamu strictly coincidentally, even if he and Miya had only talked about him three weeks prior. 

As Kiyoomi had predicted all those months ago, Miya sprains his ankle during their practice match the day after their hotel stay. Most other setters would have given up and let the ball drop, proclaimed “we’ll get the next one!” But Miya Atsumu is not a quitter, and that is something Kiyoomi is becoming acutely aware of the more time they spend time together. 

Speaking of spending time together...

He doesn’t even want to be at Miya’s apartment, really, but since Miya’s been benched for three weeks he’s been in a mood almost worse than one of Bokuto’s emo modes and coach Foster has assigned each person on the team “Atsumu time” to try and “keep his spirits up.” Kiyoomi thinks it’s stupid, but he’s never been one to skip out on commitments simply because he doesn’t want to do them. Which is how he’s found himself for the last two weekends spending his Sunday afternoon hanging out with Miya Atsumu. Today is the last Sunday before Miya can return to practice and technically Kiyoomi doesn’t have to be here now that Miya is able to move around and his mood has significantly improved, but he’s grown used to coming over now. And it was an...alright way to kill some time. It's weird. Kiyoomi feels an odd sense of familiarity and comfort around Miya that seems to grow the more they talk. Kiyoomi finds himself wanting to punch Miya less and less, another unfamiliar feeling budding in his chest. That part is somewhat scary- and he avoids is as best he can, because he doesn't like the way his stomach rolls and heart flutters in Miya’s presence. He know it means something, and he doesn't know he wants to find out just what that something is. 

“Y’know, you’ve been coming over for the last three weeks, I figured ya’d get better at this.” 

“I don’t play video games on my own, Miya. I can’t get better if the only time I play is with you.” 

“What, not a gamer, Omi-Omi?" 

“Definitely not.” 

“Well what dy’a do in your free time, then?” 

It’s becoming more and more common for them to talk about things that aren’t volleyball, especially after they roomed together. The visits to Miya’s apartment haven’t helped that; after all, it’s awkward to spend hours talking about work when you’re trying to relax at home. The only thing is, is that Kiyoomi’s always been awkward and hard to converse with. Relating to others and being able to continue a conversation has never been his strong suit. Most of the conversations they’d been able to have without getting at each others’ throats has been pure luck. Thankfully, Miya seems to be more than willing to carry their conversations, and fill in where Kiyoomi can’t. 

“Well, not much. I work out, read, watch sports on t.v...” 

“But no video games?” 

“I wasn’t allowed to be on them very much in primary school, and so by time I was in high school I just kind of gave up on them and focused on volleyball.” Kiyoomi shrugs. He looks at the screen pointedly, for some reason embarrassed that he’s not like his peers. “Sometimes I’d play with my siblings when they were home, since they didn’t know what else to do with me. Or Motoya would make me play with him and his friends. Otherwise, I just kind of got used to not doing much.” 

“That sounds so boring.” 

“Well, you always had a sibling your age to hang out with, so I can see how you’d think that. But I was pretty content by myself.” Says Kiyoomi. Atsumu huffs at the mention of his brother. 

“It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, ya know. We’re both different people with different hobbies.” 

“Well how do you spend your free time then? Womanizing and abusing your power as a semi-public figure to get girls to go out with you?” 

It honestly doesn’t need to be asked- Kiyoomi can see the litany of half-finished, long-forgotten hobbies strewn across Miya’s apartment. Miya’s always come off as absentminded, and like he’d give up something the first time it didn’t work out, and so it makes sense really. Just looking at the unfinished logic puzzles, forgotten instruments and games, and dog-eared books strewn across Miya’s apartment makes Kiyoomi anxious, but he can imagine how the multitude of hobbies might appeal to a girl. 

If you don’t look deep enough to see the books and puzzles aren’t finished, Atsumu gives off the vibe of smart and athletic, a dangerous combination for sure. 

Before Miya can reply, however, a voice calls out from the entryway, “Pardon the intrusion~” 

Neither had heard the front door open, and their heads whip towards it- Kiyoomi with mounting horror at the idea that Miya doesn’t lock his door and oh god we’re going to get murdered, oh g-

“Samu, what the hell?! I’m gonna take yer damn key away if you keep lettin’ yourself in like that!’ 

“What, scared ‘ll walk in on you havin’ sex or somethin’? You don’t have anything to worry about on that front, ‘Tsumu, you’ll be a virgin forever.” Miya’s carbon copy says as he toes his shoes off in the entryway, a paper bag dangling from his hand. He has yet to look up, but when he does and his eyes land on Kiyoomi they widen in surprise. He averts his gaze, covering his eyes with his hand out of respect. “Holy shit, were you actually havin’ sex?” 

“What? No, what makes you-” Miya looks down and finds that he is, in fact, shirtless- a fact that Kiyoomi had wrinkled his nose at upon entering but had accepted as an inevitable, as they were in Miya’s own apartment and he therefore didn’t need to get dressed. He’d honestly forgotten about that. 

“Trust me, Osamu-san, Miya couldn’t get me to bed even if he were interested.” Kiyoomi says in some form of what he hopes is reassurance as he nonchalantly scoots further away on the couch. Miya gasps. 

“Rude, Omi-Omi! I’ll have you know, if you weren’t such a prude I bet I could get you to-” 

“Gross, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu says, cutting off the sentence before it can go anywhere, and Kiyoomi is once again thankful for the other twin's respect for others.  Kiyoomi doesn't want to hear what Atsumu thinks he could get him to do. “I was bringing some onigiri over to celebrate you going back to work tomorrow, but since yer actin' like that I can leave. Didn’t know you had a friend over, either.” 

“Teammate, actually, we’re not friends,” Kiyoomi offers, which makes Osamu laugh. “Coach is making all of us babysit while Miya’s on light work only. It was my day. If you want to spend time with your brother, I can leave-” 

“Nonsense, you were here first! I made more than enough for all three of us to eat, if you’re hungry.” 

“Yeah, Omi-kun, you can stay. ‘Samu’s food is the best, you’ve gotta try some!” 

“...If you’ll have me, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” Osamu is a professional chef, he owns a restaurant, he knows his food safety and sanitation procedures. 

“Great! But ‘Tsumu, you need to throw on a shirt, jesus.” 

“This is my apartment, I can be shirtless if I want, ‘Samu!” 

Dropping the bag on the kitchen counter as he walks farther into the apartment, Osamu crosses his arms over his broad chest and leans against the doorframe. It’s amazing how such a cocky gesture reminds Kiyoomi so much of Atsumu- though, he shouldn’t be surprised. They’re identical twins, after all. It’s no wonder they’re so similar in their mannerisms. 

“We’re not eating until ya do. Your friend is probably too nice to say it, but no one needs to see your scrawny ass shirtless, let alone anywhere near food. You’ll ruin my appetite.” 

“Hey fuck you, you didn’t have to come over today! I wasn’t expecting company.” Snaps Atsumu, which makes Osamu raise an eyebrow. 

“...But you still had company over before me?” 

“Huh?” Atsumu looks over at Kiyoomi. “Omi-Omi doesn’t count.” 

Osamu snorts, and Kiyoomi looks at Atsumu in bewilderment. ”What the fuck does that even mean?” He deadpans, and Atsumu jumps up with flushed cheeks. 

“What the fuck ever, I’ll get dressed, assholes,” Atsumu grumbles on his way down the hall. Osamu laughs, slipping onto one of the stools at the island in the kitchen. 

“Man, he’s such an ass.” 

“I’m glad to see he at least antagonizes everyone, even people he loves.” Kiyoomi says as he stands from his spot on the couch. He moves to the kitchen and grabs out three plates for them, pulling out two of the stupid energy drinks Atsumu likes and offering one to Osamu. He refuses, instead pulling his own drink from the bag he’d brought. Kiyoomi shrugs and pops the tab of one, knowing it would annoy Atsumu to no end that he’s drinking one of his drinks, but if he’s going to spend time with both twins he’s going to need the caffeine. “I thought maybe he just disliked me and wanted to see me suffer.” 

“Oh, no, he definitely annoys people because it’s fun to make them mad, but that’s just ‘Tsumu- he actually only annoys the people he cares about,” Osamu says with a shrug. Kiyoomi frowns at him, confused. That doesn't make sense. 

“Huh?” 

“Well, he’s always been pretty emotionally constipated, I’m sure you’ve noticed. He’s always trying to impress, but also almost always insecure about showing that he wants ya t’ notice, so he acts out instead. Pesters the hell outta ya. Y’know? Teasing, bickering, the whole lot,” Osamu shrugs. He takes the cap off of his soda and takes a drink. Kiyoomi watches, still confused. “If he really disliked you, Sakusa-san, he’d tell ya. That’s the one thing he’s straightforward about when it comes to feelings.” 

“...Right...” Kiyoomi mumbles, still not sure he understands. He doesn't ask how Osamu knew his name when he hadn't gotten around to introducing himself. Before the conversation can continue, Atsumu traipses out out of the room fully dressed instead of in just the sweatpants he’d been in earlier, looking much more like himself. 

“Alright, bitches, whadda we have?” 

Osamu's nose wrinkles. “God, I hope you choke.” 

They eat together, and it’s surprisingly fun. Osamu has a personality that meshes well with Atsumu’s, making the places where Atsumu is rougher on the edges...smooth. It’s clear that Osamu and Atsumu have perfected the art of understanding one another, having had over twenty years of practice, and even though Kiyoomi doesn’t fully understand where the conversation takes them he finds himself enjoying it nonetheless. The food is, as expected, delicious. However, all good things must end, and as the clock nears six Osamu remembers that he still has a train to catch and begins to pack up. Kiyoomi, having not realized how late it was, also starts to get ready to leave. 

Because Atsumu had been cooped up in his apartment for weeks, he insists on walking Osamu to the train station and Kiyoomi to his apartment a few blocks away. Kiyoomi can do nothing but accept this, allowing himself to be shepherded out of the apartment with Osamu by an excited Atsumu. The sky is slowly turning to muted pinks and purples behind heavy-looking clouds, and Kiyoomi remembers vaguely there being a weather report about rain coming in. Luckily, he’d packed an umbrella in his sports’ bag the night before. 

The rain holds out until they make it to the train station. Atsumu insists on waiting with Osamu until the train arrives, so Kiyoomi waits outside away from the evening crowd forming on the train platform. He ponders just walking home and leaving Atsumu, but then he remembers the idiot setter had left his apartment with no more than his keys in hand, not even a wallet or phone, and sighs. He should at least share his umbrella on the way to his apartment. The idea makes Kiyoomi’s nose wrinkle in distaste. That would mean risking getting himself wet, as well, since neither of their wide frames can fit a comfortable distance apart while also being under the umbrella all the way. 

Atsumu comes out from inside the train station, but before Kiyoomi can offer, he rushes out into the elements with a grin on his face. “Race you home, Omi-Omi!” 

“Miya Atsumu, you are an absolute idiot.” Yet somehow, a smile pulls at the corners of Kiyoomi’s mouth as he watches Atsumu (when had he started calling him that in his head?) run ahead of him. Rain falls in a light drizzle, but Kiyoomi remains untouched as he tries to catch up. Atsumu, however, embraces the droplets as they fall, risk of catching a cold be damned. “Get over here, will you? You’re going to get sick, and you just got cleared to come back.” 

“C’mon, lighten up! It feels nice!” 

“You know what won’t feel nice later? Bodyaches and chills when you wake up tomorrow morning after running in the rain all night.” 

“Aw, ‘re ya worried about me, Omi-Omi~?” Atsumu teases, and Kiyoomi’s eye twitches. He absolutely is not. 

“I just don’t wanna deal with the shitty tosses I’ll get with you out of commission. Hinata may be a well rounded player, now, but he’s still shit at tossing the ball how I like it and I don’t know how much longer I can deal with those tosses if you’re out of commission for another week.” 

“Well, he’s a hitter at heart, so can ya blame ‘im?” Atsumu finally pauses, waiting for Kiyomi to catch up. There’s a somber look on his face now, a drastic shift to the happy-go-lucky look that had been there just moments ago. “He’s worked hard. ‘m glad to have him as a teammate.” 

“Why so sappy all of a sudden? I want cocky Atsumu back,” Kiyoomi deadpans, only for his face to drop when he realizes he’s said Atsumu’s given name and not his surname. His cheeks burn as the somber look quickly fades into something much more Atsumu-like- a Cheshire grin, teeth bared almost predatorily. 

“Ah, Omi-kun, what was that? You like it when I’m cocky? Or ‘re you just jealous I’m not complimenting you~?” Atsumu asks, the teasing tone of his voice just a hint off from flirtatious. Kiyoomi swallows when he realizes that Atsumu has finally made it under his umbrella, far far too close. He shoves Atsumu’s shoulder slightly, pushing him back into the rain. 

“Nevermind, you can get sick and die for all I care,” He snaps. Atsumu’s laugh rings in his ears as he jogs to catch up to Kiyoomi, now keeping a respectable distance between them as he once again takes shelter under his umbrella. His mind chants still too close, still too close, but he doesn’t push Atsumu away this time. 

“So mean to me! You’re so uptight all the time~ Don’t you ever do childish stuff?” 

“Like run around the rain without an umbrella?” 

“Well, yeah, like that,” Atsumu says. “It feels good.” 

“Good?” 

Atsumu laughs at Kiyoomi’s indignant look. “Well, yeah! Ya think I’d willingly let my beautiful hair get smooshed down by rain if it didn’t feel good?" As if in cue, a bit if rain from Atsumu's hair drips onto Kiyoomi’s hand, which holds tight to the handle of his umbrella. "It’s like- It’s therapeutic. Haven’t you seen a movie, Omi-kun?” 

“Of course I have. Like that’s supposed to make a difference? You’re not an actor in a movie, you’re a real person.” It’s something Kiyoomi reminds himself of often. You’re not an actor. Your body is yours. You are real. 

He feels pretty fucking real right now. 

“I suppose you’re right, if you look at it like that, but,” Atsumu says with a shrug, and it’s probably the easiest he’s acquiesced in a conversation. “Actors get a second chance. The characters don’t. I’m the character, not the actor.” 

“...I don’t understand.” 

“Sometimes, you just have to jump into the rain and feel it for yourself. You’ll get it then.” 

“I don’t think I want to ‘get it.’” Kiyoomi grumbles. Their shoulders are touching now. Under the fabric of his windbreaker, the sleeve of which is emblazoned with the logo of the Black Jackals, his skin burns. 

Atsumu shakes his head, a small chuckle shuddering his frame -or maybe that’s just the cold finally seeping through his clothes and into his core- as his face once again morphs into something somber, yet fond. Kiyoomi doesn’t understand why it makes his heart do a somersault. “You’ll have your movie moment some time, Omi-kun. You’ll have to tell me when that happens.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Now, take a picture of me! I left my phone at my apartment and I need a new insta post!” 

Kiyoomi shakes his head, but pulls his phone out anyway.

As predicted, Atsumu catches a cold the next day. 

-

The peaceful sort of half-friendship they have isn’t always the thrilling thing it usually is. Sometimes it’s like they’re in highschool again and they just can’t get along for the life of them. Though they’re far and few between nowadays, there are still days where Kiyoomi’s over-active mind makes him paranoid, and unbearably cruel and resistant to any form of affection. He feels horrible when he finally grounds himself, and then the catastrophizing comes back tenfold- his friends, if they even considered themselves that in the first place, must hate him. His tongue is sharp, body stiff as a board at even the simplest pat of the back, his plays sloppy. Bad days ruin every aspect of the day, throwing him off his rhythm at every turn. 

Today is a bad day. 

He knew it would be from the moment he woke up; an unpredicted rain falls in heavy droplets outside, with no signs of lightening up, and Kiyoomi had planned to take a long run before practice in the afternoon. He’d tried to do some at-home workouts to try and get rid of the energy, but everything felt wrong and so he gave up on that pretty quickly. His lunch had gone bad in the fridge and he’d been too paranoid to grab anything else from it after discovering that, so he finds himself going to work with half a sleeve of saltine crackers in his stomach because that was all that he could force down his throat. 

So he’s a little crabby when he shows up to the gym and finds out coach wants them to do film instead of going through their usual practice routine. Sue him. 

Atsumu seems to also be in a mood, which is almost never good for anyone. His pouting serves only to annoy Kiyoomi, whose icy response to conversation annoys Atsumu, who in turn decides to retaliate by pestering Kiyoomi when they finally finish film and start practicing for real. 

“Omi-kun!” 

The ball flies over to Kiyoomi, far too quick and at a weird angle, and it takes Kiyoomi a moment to catch up- he slams it on the other side of the net anyway, though with difficulties. Kiyoomi glares over at Atsumu, panting. 

“You could’ve tossed that to Bokuto and we still would’ve gotten the point.” 

“But you got it anyway~” Atsumu says, whacking Kiyoomi on the back, and Kiyoomi visibly flinches. He does not need to be pushed today. 

“Whatever. If you’re going to toss to me, at least make them good. I just won’t hit it next time.” 

The rage in Atsumu’s eyes make Kiyoomi smirk as Adriah tosses the ball over to Hinata to serve. Putting his arms up behind his head, he turns away from Atsumu before the setter can reply. The air around them stays thick for the rest of practice; Atsumu continues to toss risky sets, but Kiyoomi continues to hit them. By the end of practice they’re bickering more than they did even before they started becoming closer, even as they begin to stretch and cool down. 

Kiyoomi is absolutely ready to go home and just sleep the rest of the day, hope tomorrow is better, but the gods are seemingly testing him today because just as he’s about to escape with his bag a hand falls onto his shoulder. 

“Sakusa-san, why don’t you go out with us for drinks? We’re only hitting happy hour, and I promise we’ll be out by time the dinner rush comes.” 

Kiyoomi’s nose wrinkles and he tries to subtly inch out from under coach Foster’s hand. “I’m not feeling well, actually. I should probably head out.” 

“Ah, are you sure? 

Coach probably regrets hiring you. You’re such a buzzkill, and he probably hates dealing with your bullshit. 

Kiyoomi smiles. “Maybe next time. I really don’t feel well.” 

“Alright. Don’t push yourself, okay, Sakusa-san? Sick days are always an option.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Kiyoomi knows he’d never actually take one unless he’s on his deathbed, but coach doesn’t need to. He bows slightly to coach Foster before once again attempting to duck out of the training facility without being noticed. The rain, in the four hours he’d been at practice, had finally ceased, and the sun is low in the sky as he steps outside and takes his first real breath of the day. His relief is once again short lived when he hears a rumble of thunder in the distance. So it wasn’t going to stay like this the rest of the night. He’d hoped maybe he could make up for that missed morning run. 

With a sigh, Kiyoomi begins to walk towards the train station. He makes it about a block before he hears his name, and when he recognizes the voice behind it he cringes. 

“What do you want? I already told coach I’m not going out tonight.” 

Atsumu skids to a stop next to him, hands on his knees as he takes a moment to catch his breath. “I- I’m not either. I don’t know how Bokuto still has it in him to go out when we went out to celebrate him and ‘Kaashi’s anniversary last night.” 

Ah, so that explains Atsumu’s sour behavior. A hangover. 

“You know, people are going to think the Black Jackals is a team of alcoholics one of these days with how many parties you guys go to.” 

“Hey! It’s not that- wait, yeah, it is that many.” Atsumu sounds offended at first, before he takes a moment to actually think about it. “But hey, we’re young, can you blame us? The older guys all settled down pretty well, I’m sure we will too once the novelty wears off.” 

“I doubt it.” Kiyoomi deadpans. Atsumu laughs. 

“They all have people to go home to, though. I’m sure if they were single, they would come out with us more often.” 

“Ah, so that’s why you’re such a party animal, Miya? You’re lonely?” Kiyoomi means it to be teasing, but Atsumu’s face drops and Kiyoomi frowns. “Sorry. That was rude.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Atsumu says, trying to brush it off. “I mean, you’re kinda right though, at least for me; Bokuto has someone to go home to and he goes out all the time, I think he’s just stupid.” Atsumu laughs. “But I’m so used to living with someone, it’s kinda lonely at my apartment. You might be used to it, since you were basically an only child, but I'm not. 's too quiet at my place.” 

Kiyoomi thinks back to the dozens of unfinished projects and books at Atsumu’s apartment, his collection of video games, the dates he regularly goes on, and suddenly it makes sense. Atsumu’s really fucking lonely. 

“Jesus, Miya, you know you can just hang out with friends, right? You don’t have to go out to the bar with them every night to spend time with them.” 

“I know that!..I just forget.” Atsumu admits, his cheeks flushed. Kiyoomi thinks he understands- he knows if he weren't invited, he wouldn't do anything with the team. They swipe their metro cards as they arrive at the underground, and stand on the platform, waiting for the train to come. Kiyoomi feels a familiar anxiety crawl its way up his chest as they wait; he’s always hated public transit in general, but taking the underground is the worst- only seconded by taxis. There’s no escape route, no easy way to get off. Not to mention that if he missed his stop, he doesn’t know where he’d land or how to get on the right line to get back to his apartment. Their train pulls up and they hop on with the rush hour crowd. Kiyoomi sticks closer to Atsumu because touching him, as undesirable as it is, is much better than brushing shoulders with some random salaryman. “I don’t know how you do it, never goin’ out, Omi.” 

“I’m not a hermit, Miya.” 

“You’ve gotta admit, you rarely go out with us, and you never talk about having other friends, so it’s pretty easy to assume that you are.” 

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. It's just like Atsumu to go and tease someone right after opening up like he did. “This is why you don’t have any friends besides who you play volleyball with. Even then you piss them off most of the time, too.” 

“Hey, you jerk!” Atsumu gasps dramatically. Kiyoomi flinches at the volume of Atsumu’s voice and looks around. No one seems to be paying them mind- for now, though that may change when the doors close and the car starts moving. He elbows Atsumu in the side, glaring at him. 

“Shut up, will you? You’re gonna make people mad being so loud.” 

“You worry too much about that stuff, Omi-Omi.” Atsumu grumbles, but he shuts up anyway. They stand there in silence as the train finally begins moving, and Kiyoomi stumbles a little bit, caught off guard- Atsumu catches him, a set of firm hands on his waist holding him in place. Kiyoomi’s back stiffens and he resists the urge to punch him- instead, he nods in thanks and takes a small step away. They’d already been at one another’s throats most of practice and, apparently, the commute home; he doesn’t need to argue more. The train moves impossibly slowly, and Kiyoomi spaces out for most of the ride. Public spaces, especially ones with crowds like events or trains, are the worst. They can easily become overwhelming, especially when it’s already so easy to overwhelm Kiyoomi. There’s just- there's so much sensory input, and there’s no way to control it- unknown variables that leave him anxious and unable to think much about the world around him. He’s able to separate his anxiety and function normally in crowds, but sometimes, like on bad days, he isn’t. 

Like right now. 

One of the salarymen standing nearby has very strong cologne. Kiyoomi can smell it through his mask. It’s suffocating, and Kiyoomi feels like he might pass out if he breathes any more in. So he holds his breath. The idea that, even through the thick mask he usually wears out in public, he can still smell something like cologne is terrifying- if that can get through the mask, what else can? What particles, germs, diseases can still get to him even if he protects himself? 

A school girl is listening to music, and if Kiyoomi strains his ears enough he can hear it through her headphones. Not that he has to- she's tapping the beat against the metal rinds of a notebook with a pencil as she reads through what looks more like doodles and friendly notes rather than any actual class notes. Kiyoomi's hand twitches. He wants to ask her to stop, but keeps his mouth shut because a baby wailing somewhere amongst the crowd pulls his attention away from her tapping for a moment. When he tries to look outside the window to calm himself down some, he finds himself dizzied by the flashing lights that illuminate the underground so he turns back to just staring at his feet. He runs out of breath and so he starts to breathe shallowly, feeling nauseous as the tapping once again catches his attention. What would happen if he just reached over and-

An elbow collides with Kiyoomi’s ribs and he coughs and gasps, taking in a deep breath of the overwhelming scent of cologne as he lifts his head and glares at Atsumu with wild eyes. "What?" 

“Our stop’s coming up. You looked like you were spacing out.” Atsumu says, not looking at Kiyoomi. He’s holding one of the overhead hand rails. Gross. Kiyoomi huffs. 

“I was not.” 

“Right.” 

Kiyoomi is able to stay present the rest of the ride. As soon as they make their way out of the underground station and into fresh air, he whips off the facemask and sucks in a much needed breath. Atsumu laughs at him, raising his eyebrows. 

“What, was the air thin down there or something?” 

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi growls, all thoughts of being peaceful gone. Atsumu is so insufferable. “Why did you even get off here? There has to be a stop that's closer to your place.” 

“Nope. This line goes towards downtown by Bo’s place after this stop.” 

Kiyoomi hums in lieu of an an answer. Atsumu doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Hey, you seemed off today. ‘nd you were spacin’ out on the train. Penny for yer thoughts?” 

“Why do you care? We’re not friends.” 

“You sure we aren’t? We hang out outside of work, we just walked home together, you’ve met at least one of my family members- I’d say that’s pretty friendly to me.” Atsumu says. Kiyoomi frowns. He’s right, and Kiyoomi can’t deny it. Damn it. There’s a long pause as Kiyoomi thinks of what to say. He focuses on the annoying scrape of Atsumu’s feet on the concrete as he looks ahead, because that's all he can really think about without losing it, he thinks. The quiet surrounding them as they slowly make their way into a more residential part of the city is peaceful. Calm. Very much unlike Kiyoomi's brain right now. 

“...It’s just been a rough day, is all.” He finally says. Atsumu hums. 

“Why’s that?” 

“I don’t know,” Replies Kiyoomi. He does know, but it’s complicated. Atsumu doesn’t want to hear it. 

Atsumu’s always defied expectations, though, and so he says: “Sure ya do! Y’ can’t just say it’s a bad day without knowing why it’s bad.” 

“Yes you can, Miya.” 

“Well, what classifies as a bad day to you, then?” 

“Well, obviously a day where nothing good happens and you can’t seem to catch a break. That’s been my day.” Kiyoomi says. He feels the frustration begin to build up at Atsumu’s childish curiosity. He just wants to go to sleep, why does the train station have to be so far from his apartment? “It’s just been one thing after another today, and I’m annoyed, that’s all.” 

“Right, right. Wanna hash it out? What’s been going wrong?” 

“Why are you so interested?” Kiyoomi snaps, turning to Atsumu finally, and he frowns when he sees the other man’s face drop. 

“...Just thought I’d be friendly. Thought we were finally gettin’ along. Sorry for assuming, Omi-Omi.” 

They walk again in silence, and for some reason that just makes Kiyoomi’s heart race faster. It should be the end of the conversation, Kiyoomi should be fine with that, and yet he finds himself floundering, doing mental gymnastics to try and find a way to apologize. He really hadn’t meant to upset Atsumu, even if he was getting on Kiyoomi’s nerves. They bicker and argue, but Atsumu had been right when he said they were friends, as remiss as Kiyoomi is to admit it. He didn't want Atsumu to think he didn't want to be friends. It's just- it's confusing. Why the hell should Atsumu care? Kiyoomi should apologize. Tell him he appreciates the effort, but he doesn't want the pity, thanks anyway. 

But Kiyoomi is stubborn, and so in lieu of apologizing, he just starts talking. 

“...Well, I was planning to go on a run today,” He starts. “Didn’t happen because of the rain. And then the rest of the day didn’t go like I planned, because I didn’t get out on my run. And then coach had us do film instead of weights before practice when it was weights on the schedule for the week. And I’ve just been spending all day trying not to rip my hair out and scream.” 

“That’s what has a stick up your ass? A morning run?” 

“I plan my days out pretty concretely, Miya, so yes.” Kiyoomi says, already regretting opening up. “It’s stupid, I know. That’s why I wasn’t going to talk about it.” 

“I don’t think it’s- yeah, okay, it’s a little weird, but not stupid.” Atsumu admits. He has a thoughtful look in his eyes. “I mean...It’s not much different than when you do your thing with hand washing, or not touching things out in public, or wearing a mask even when you’re not sick. It’s weird, but it’s not hurting anyone. It’s just another quirk about you or whatever.” 

“But it is stupid. Who gets so riled up about missing a run?" 

“You? Why’s it matter if it’s stupid? I get annoyed at stupid stuff all the time.” 

“But this is different.” 

“How?” 

“I don’t know,” Snaps Kiyoomi. He hates this feeling. Being annoyingly vulnerable and talking about his- his bullshit senseless thoughts. 

Even still...

“I don’t want to think like this,” Kiyoomi offers weakly. He doesn’t know what else to say. 

“Then why do you?” 

“I...” Kiyoomi takes a deep breath. Why does he?  “...Have you ever felt so stuck in a situation, so trapped, that you don’t know what you’d do if you suddenly weren’t? If you were free?” 

“I mean...No, not really.” Atsumu says. “Do you feel like that? Like, with your whole...everything?” 

Kiyoomi laughs. Actually laughs. “Exactly. I...I have a pretty strict way I like to go about my life. Because I’ve worked out the best way to do so without triggering my brain to start overworking and worrying about the- the germs, the thousands and thousands of ways I can die or be maimed or humiliated, or- or- you know. So I plan things out. I make sure my day goes exactly like it’s supposed to, because if it isn’t I’ll start worrying about the worst case. I don’t want to have to plan things, I don’t want a stupid run or a change in practice routine to fuck up my whole day, but I can’t. And I don’t know if I’d ever adjust if I suddenly didn’t think like I do.” 

Atsumu nods along as Kiyoomi speaks, a furrow in his brow as he stares at the view in front of them in contemplation “I...I don’t think I understand, fully, but...thanks for telling me.” 

“Sure. It’s whatever.” It’s not whatever, Kiyoomi’s mind supports, and he has to agree for once. He’s never told anyone this, never let himself be so vulnerable- because every time he’s tried, he’s been cut off and talked over. So why did he just let it all out with Atsumu? He thinks long and hard for a while, but nothing comes to him. He supposes it’s because they’re friends, and it came up in conversation; it would be rude to change the subject. 

It occurs to Kiyoomi later that night as he’s going to sleep that he’d told Atsumu all of that because he wanted to- because he wants Atsumu to know this part of him, just like he knows the rest of him. If he really didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t have. He would’ve avoided Atsumu’s questions all together. Friends talk to each other like that all the time, right? So why does the thought make Kiyoomi’s heart race? 

He tries to push down the thought that maybe he likes Atsumu, and that's why he's being so open with him, as soon as it bubbles to the surface. It’s too late. 

So you like him? Interesting. 

“...God damn it.” 

-

Their latest win against the Adlers comes with more celebration than usual.

Winning a game always comes with some fanfare, but with this last game not only securing them a guaranteed next match in the season tournament but also taking Hinata’s ‘win count’ above Kageyama’s (in a competition only they seemingly are keeping count in), the youngest member of the MSBY Black Jackals has insisted they all gather to have drinks immediately after the game. Kiyoomi had found it childish, and insisted on just going home to shower and go to sleep, but that was about five drinks ago. 

Bokuto’s apartment is nice, from what he can gauge with the amount of alcohol and noise he’s trying to process. It’s relatively clean, although Kiyoomi has a feeling that if he wandered down the hall and into the single bedroom down there that it would be a different story. He’s surprised at the state of the place, considering he knows Bolkuto, but then again he supposes Akaashi-san keeps him in check. The one-bedroom apartment is definitely far too crowded to have the whole team in, though; they're drinking and roughhousing like they’re teenagers again, undoubtablt making enough noise to rival the crowded stadium they'd played in just hours before. But Bokuto’s apartment has impeccably thick walls (of which Kiyoomi does not want to know how he found that out) and so it was the top choice for the rowdy group to hang out in. Because all of them together is bound to be noisy- and that was a correct assumption. Their sports bags, or at least the ones belonging to those who didn’t drive here, lay piled up in the genkan. It’s going to be impossible to find a match to their shoes when they’ve had so many drinks that they can barely tell their lefts and rights apart. Kiyoomi can’t find it in himself to care. 

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe he’s just finally relaxing his boundaries around his teammates like he had slowly done back in high school. Either way, Kiyoomi hardly grumbles when Oliver bumps into his side as they sit on the couch; he does, however, swat at Bokuto’s hand when he thinks he can ruffle Kiyoomi’s hair without consequence. 

“Ow, Omi-kun! Hey, I’m sorry, I thought that was cool.” 

“I didn’t even hit you that hard,” Kiyoomi says in reply, not looking back at Bokuto. “I can hit a lot harder, though; I was the top ace in high school, you know.” 

It’s supposed to be a threat. The grins he receives from his teammates makes him think they mistook his words for teasing. 

Bokuto groans. “Do you need to remind me?! I made it to the top three once!” 

“Once,” Inunaki snorts, and Bokuto collapses dramatically against the back of the couch. He begins to lament how unappreciated he is, and Kiyoomi decidedly tunes him out as he stands to go grab another beer. He wobbles on his feet and is shocked for a second at the realization that he’s drunk. 

Kiyoomi knows his limits. He’s no lightweight- he's a big boy, after all. He can drink four, five drinks just fine normally and get just on the edge of tipsy. It would probably take well over eight for him to actually get drunk drunk, and he never surpasses that limit because he knows what comes after a drunk night. He knows this, and yet here he is, drunk. It makes sense, but it's still shocking. It's his fault, though; he’d drank on an empty stomach after burning all of those calories playing volleyball, and he’d been all but dragged out to celebrate before he could rest or eat something. 

If he has a hangover in the morning, the first on his list to get revenge on is Hinata Shouyou. 

“Hey, Omi-Omi, y’good?” 

Kiyoomi looks down at Atsumu, who looks at him from where he’s seated on the floor with concern in his eyes. It’s...weird. Kiyoomi usually wants to punch him, especially when he gets that weird look on his face, but right now he just kind of wants to kiss him. “I’m fine. Grabbing another drink.” 

Atsumu raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. “Alright. Grab me one more? Then I’m probably headin’ out, if you wanna excuse to dip early.” 

“Miya Atsumu, leaving a party before it’s over? Maybe you are grown up, now.” 

“Shaddup,” Atsumu gripes, rolling his eyes. Kiyoomi chuckles and finally begins moving, the room swaying slightly as he makes his way to the kitchen. He grabs two beers from the fridge, takes a moment to hold one of the cool bottles against his forehead. He should probably take Atsumu’s offer to use him as a scapegoat, because he really should stop drinking after this one. 

“‘n I said to him-” 

Hinata is sprawled out on the floor when Kiyoomi returns, drunkenly trying to explain a conversation he’d had with Kozume Kenma a few days ago. Kiyoomi doesn’t notice this until he’s about to hand Atsumu his drink and he trips over the spiker. Kiyoomi flails, thankful neither bottle had been opened yet, but he can’t be thankful for too long because he falls face-first against Miya Atsumu, and the shit eating grin he receives in return when he looks up makes his stomach clench and heart hammer. 

Hinata drawls out a lazy, “Sorry, Sakusa-san~” but he doesn’t seem sorry at all. Not as apologetic as he would be sober, at least. I see how it is, Shouyou. I don’t need to be hungover to make you my bitch at practice tomorrow. 

“I see you’ve fallen for me~” Atsumu croons, and Kiyoomi is suddenly reminded of the horrifying predicament he’s in. Atsumu had, apparently, stolen Kiyomi’s spot on the couch when he went to go get another drink; his legs were already slightly spread, but now sit wider to accommodate Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi, whose knees press against the edge of the couch, forearms pressed against Atsumu’s chest to brace his fall since his hands are full. Kiyoomi, who absolutely abhors physical contact, especially if it’s physical contact with someone like Atsumu, who makes his brain melt if they’re too close on the bus rides to games or whenever he laughs or when he sends a particularly good toss just for Kiyoomi. 

“Fuck off,” Kiyoomi all but growls, pushing off of Atsumu with probably more force than necessary. He shoves himself into the couch between Atsumu and the arm rest, trying to reclaim his spot, much to Atsumu’s chagrin. Atsumu slides back onto the floor, opening his hand to take the second beer, but Kiyoomi childishly clutches it to his chest. “Just for that comment, I’m making you get your own. These are both mine now.” 

If he sticks his tongue out, it’s the alcohol talking. Atsumu huffs out a laugh at the display, rolling his eyes. 

"Fine, if you’re gonna be like that, I don’t want it anyway. But if you aren’t finished with both of those when I finish my last one, you can’t ditch out on the party with me, so you’d better finish fast.” 

And, well. Kiyoomi really wants to go home. So maybe it’s a bad idea, but he pops both bottles open anyway and gets to work. 

A long fifteen minutes later finds Kiyoomi watching Atsumu as he tilts his head back to get the last of the beer from his bottle, the amber color reflecting playfully against Atsumu’s neck from the angle Kiyoomi is watching him from. Something in the back of Kiyoomi’s head tells him to try and recreate those shadows in the form of hickeys. He pushes that thought down and instead offers, “You’re finally finished?” 

Atsumu regards the two empty bottles in Kiyoomi’s lap with wide eyes. “You’re finished? I was only joking when I said you couldn’t come with me, dude. How many is that for you tonight?” 

“More than enough. I wanna go now.” I wanna go with you. 

“Yeah. Yeah, man, you probably need someone to walk you home anyway. Here,” Atsumu takes the empty bottles when he stands. “Go grab your shoes, I’ll let everyone know we’re headed out.” 

“You better not say anything stupid about me being a lightweight, asshole.” Kiyoomi grumbles. Suddenly the lights in Bokuto’s apartment are far too bright, the sound of their teammates’ cheerful conversation buzzing in Kiyoomi’s ears like a swarm of angree bees. He stands with the help of a steadying arm from Atsumu and makes his way to the door without saying goodbye. Atsumu said he’d tell them goodnight for him. He doesn’t even care that that sounds suggestive. he just wants to sleep. 

Kiyoomi is very glad he’s the spacy kind of drunk that barely wobbles on his feet, and not the slurring, stumbling, embarrassing kind. He’s only ever really gotten drunk in front of those he trusts- a very select few teammates from high school when they met up again after graduation, Komori more than a few times, but that’s about it. His roommate from college, once. If his teammates on the Black Jackals were to see him in any other kind of drunken state because he stupidly drank far more than his limit, he might just actually need to resign from his contract and plead for the Adlers to take him- but, even then, Hinata would probably tell Kageyama and he’d still be humiliated. 

He’d be laughed out of the professional volleyball series. 

Yeah, he’s lucky he’s a spacy drunk. 

Kiyoomi waits what feels like forever in the genkan. He’d managed to find his shoes and his bag in the heap pretty easily- he’d had the right sense of mind to set his to the side, so his wouldn’t be directly touching anyone else’s but wouldn’t be in the way. While he waits, he finds Atsumu’s too- it’s not hard to find the stupidly gaudy MSBY keychain some 9 year old fan drew for him or whatever the story was, and Atsumu’s shoes are the only ones besides Hinata’s that are plain athletic trainers, even outside of practice. Hinata’s are an ugly bright red that almost matches in shade to his hair, and so Kiyoomi seeks out the pair of black and gold, worn out tennishoes among the seven pairs of shoes in a messy half-pile, half neat arrangement. 

“Alright, let me just find my stuff and we can- Oh. thanks, Omi-Omi!” Atsumu perks up when he sees his shoes already separated from the pile, his bag slung over Kiyoomi’s shoulder. He slips them on quickly, not even pausing to untie them. It makes Kiyomi want to lecture him on taking care of the things he owns, but he bites his tongue if only so that the walk home isn’t full of bickering before it even started. They embark outside, into the cool night air. Summer has long since left, and mid-autumnal temperature drops have begun in preparation for winter. The air at night can cool down enough to chill to the bone if you’re unprepared. 

And, since they both came straight from a game, neither Atsumu or Kiyoomi are prepared. Their warmup jackets aren’t enough to keep them cool, and considering Kiyoomi is freezing through his own joggers, he assumes the same of the flimsy fabric of Atsumu’s “lady killer” grey sweatpants that he wears often when he’s not in shorts or running around the locker room in just his boxers. They’re fit for a day of watching film or doing light cardio, but not to keep the cold out and body warmth in. If they were to be stranded somewhere right this instant, Atsumu would probably be the first to succumb to the elements. The asshole would probably fight hypothermia the whole way, trying to convince Kiyoomi to give him his own clothes to try and stay warm, but it would be a fruitless effort. Frostbite can begin to set in as fast as-

“Oi, Omi-Omi, you’re thinkin’ weird stuff again, ain’t ya?” Atsumu drawls as if it’s the most normal thing for him to be talking about. He’s looking at Kiyoomi through the corners of his eyes, a worry line drawn tight on the bridge of his nose. 

“Intrusive thoughts aren’t just ‘weird,’ Miya, but yes.” 

“Right, right, you’ve told me before. Wanna tell me about ‘em?” 

“You know, normally, a good friend would try and distract someone away from their intrusive thoughts, not pull them deeper into them.” Kiyoomi regrets those words as soon as they leave his mouth. Atsumu shifts his whole body to half face Kiyoomi at an odd angle. His eyes shine as bright as a child’s on christmas, he looks as if he’s just won a prize at a carnival, a sucker at a doctor’s appointment, and- and all because Kiyoomi called him his friend? 

What kind of idiot does that? 

“We’re friends?” 

Kiyoomi changes the subject immediately. “You’d die if we suddenly got trapped right now. It’s cold. You’ve always preferred thinner clothing to show off your muscles, and that’ll really feel like a kick in the ass when frostbite kicks in.” 

“It’s barely even 4 degrees out, winter has about two more months.” 

“My phone said it was 3 when we left.” 

“Oh, wow, one degree difference.” Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Either way, we aren’t gonna get trapped anywhere on this walk home ‘cept maybe the metro station, but we don’t got a reason to head over there. So we’re home free, Omi-Omi! It’s three more blocks straight, two left, and one straight to your place and then back two to mine. No unexpected open manhole covers, no weird warehouses, no buildings about to collapse and trap us in rubble. We’re good.” 

Kiyoomi is too startled by the fact that Atsumu isn’t trying to talk him down to even think about saying an, “I know that, idiot, I’ve lived with this reality for over twenty years.”  In all of his years, he’s never had someone try and work around his intrusive thoughts instead of trying to use logic; they just tell him to stop worrying, that the theories he’s come up with in his head are baseless but not giving him an answer as to why they’re baseless in the first place. It even took Komori a while to get the hang of, and even then his method of dealing with them are to ignore them altogether. 

“Frost bite only takes about an hour to penetrate skin, Miya. You’re far too underdressed for the cold. I at least have a chance.” 

“It almost sounds like maybe you’re cold. D’ya want my jacket? You can just ask, y’know.” 

“I- I am, but that’s not- ugh, you’re insufferable..!” Kiyoomi stumbles on his words, the combination of alcohol and Miya Atsumu brain rot forcing him to actually think about his next response instead of just throwing out an insult. Before he can do so, however, Atsumu is already slinging his warmup jacket off and over Kiyoomi’s shoulders with a self-satisfied grin. 

“There! Now you won’t be cold.” 

They stand there, in the middle of the sidewalk at one in the morning, staring at each other a moment. Appraising one another. Kiyoomi wants to wipe that smirk off of Atsumu’s face, and by now he’s not even surprised when his first thought is kiss him, and not punch him. 

He figures, fuck it, if he can’t get rid of the thoughts he might as well try it at least once- and no better time as when they’re both shitfaced. So he does. He kisses Atsumu. 

Atsumu’s lips are chapped, that’s the first thought that runs though his mind. Kiyoomi’s hand is fisted in the loose fitting, light tee shirt that was under Atsumu’s jacket, trembling slightly as he holds Atsumu in place. Kiyoomi’s second thought is about how absolutely revolting he should think this is. He thinks about that strange, cottony feeling you get in your mouth when you workout for too long without water; thinks about the amount of celebratory takoyaki and onigiri they’d both eaten, the copious amounts of mixed alcohols that Bokuto had had in his apartment. Kissing Miya Atsumu, especially in this moment now, should not even be on the table. 

Yet here he is. Kissing Atsumu. And he’s actually kind of enjoying it. 

They pull apart after a few seconds (actually about 20) with a resounding ‘pop’ and, okay, Kiyoomi is at least a little grossed out by that. Does that happen every time you kiss someone? As they pulled apart, Kiyoomi is reminded of two things: 1) How he absolutely should not have just done what he just did. And 2) Just how much alcohol he’d drank. 

It must be pretty obvious on Kiyoomi’s face, because the awed look on Atsumu’s switches pretty quickly to concern, and he gently takes both hands and places them on Kiyoomi’s shoulders, hesitant. It doesn’t even occur to Kiyoomi that even when they kissed, Atsumu didn’t touch him because he was worried about making Kiyoomi uncomfortable. He’s too busy trying to decide which feeling to address first- “Oh god, I just kissed one of my coworkers,” or “I’m going to throw up right now, in the middle of the street, I should try and make it to that garbage can-” 

"Hey Omi? ‘re you, uh- you good?..Ya look- Ya look really pale...” 

The next moment is where Kiyoomi blacks out. 

The next thing Kiyoomi knows, he’s waking up in an unfamiliar bed, with an unfamiliar alarm clock sitting on an unfamiliar bedside table next to the bed. He is naked. He can tell this without even looking, because he feels his skin against the too-slippery top sheet covering his legs, and feels the chill of the morning air against his half-exposed torso. He’s never liked sleeping with a top sheet. It always manages to get untucked and tangle his legs in it, no matter how soundly Kiyoomi sleeps. Which, considering the clock reads 11:30, must have been very soundly. When Kiyoomi tries to remember the events of the night before, and how they led to him being in this strange bed, he finds he can’t provide an answer- only a throbbing headache behind his temples and a gap where any memories past 10 pm should be. And that lack of an answer is terrifying. His fear is only amplified when he feels a body shift next to him in the unfamiliar bed under the unfamiliar sheets, and a leg brushes his, and-

“Omi-kun?..Ya up?..” 

It’s Atsumu’s voice. He’s in bed, naked, with Atsumu. 

Kiyoomi opens his mouth to reply, but instead he retches and scrambles up to get to the restroom. 

He’s been to Atsumu’s apartment enough times to know it's the closest door to the kitchen- even with that knowledge, he barely makes it to the toilet before he vomits, his body shaking violently with each retch. When he finishes, he slumps against the toilet bowl with a groan. His brain protests, yelling at him to get up, get off of that, when was the last time Atsumu cleaned his toilet, he probably pees all over this- the asshole definitely seems like the guy that doesn’t aim well, there’s so many germs in this one spot- 

Shut the fuck up, He shouts back at his brain. A low whistle at the door alerts Kiyoomi to Atsumu’s presence, but he doesn’t look up. 

“So mean, Omi-Omi, and to think I was coming to check up on you. I haven’t even said anything!” 

“Did I say that out loud?..” 

Atsumu laughs brightly, his delight grating on Kiyoomi’s ears. “Man, you look rough.” 

“You don’t need to rub it in,” Spits Kiyoomi. Only a little bit of actual spit comes out. He gags and throws up again, tears pooling in his eyes. God, this fucking sucks. He feels so disgusting right now. “How are you not sick right now? We were at the same party.” 

“That we were, but you still drank probably twice as much as I did. I only had four beers.” 

“Four? I had seven.” 

“I was planning on goin' on a hike with Bo and Shouyou today, didn’t wanna be hungover for it.” Atsumu shrugs. He looks surprised at the amount Kiyoomi had drank, but doesn’t comment. “I thought it would be funny to be the only one out of the three of us that could actually look at the sun.” 

"You absolute dick,” Kiyoomi groans. He tries to stand, but nausea knocks him right back onto his knees. “So you weren’t drunk at all?” 

“Barely tipsy.” 

Suddenly Kiyoomi feels sick for another reason. Atsumu never gave off the vibes that he would take advantage of someone drunk, even if he’s a jerk sometimes. Yet here they both are, in their underwear, and Kiyoomi can’t remember a lick of the night before. If they were both drunk, it would've been a different story. But they weren't both drunk. Sober Kiyoomi would not have found himself in this position. Fuck drunk Kiyoomi. 

"Fuck you," Kiyoomi hisses. He doesn’t know if it’s directed at himself or Atsumu. Either way, Atsumu laughs again- a full-bodied, amused, laugh that normally made Kiyoomi’s heart skip but right now makes his ears ring. When Kiyoomi actually manages to stand on shaking legs, he wobbles a moment and Atsumu is there- a gentle hand falls on his lower back, the other loosely grabbing Kiyoomi's upper arm.

"Careful, Omi-kun," Atsumu says, his voice low, and Kiyoomi shudders. He swallows thickly before pulling his arm from Atsumu's grip.

"I'm fine. Where's my clothes?"

Atsumu's eyes widen. "Shit! I fell asleep before I was able to throw them in the dryer! I'm gonna have to start the wash cycle over..!"

...What?

"My clothes are in the wash?"

"Well, I knew you wouldn't go home in throw up covered clothes, so yeah," Atsumu says as if it's the most obvious thing. Kiyoomi frowns, his brows furrowing, and Atsumu seems to realize he's not connecting the dots. "Do you not remember throwing up last night?"

"I threw up?"

"Yes, oh my god, you threw up all over the both of us and started crying like a baby," Atsumu says, and a shit-eating grin slips onto his face before quickly dropping. "Wait. How did you think you ended up naked in my bed then?!"

"I don't know, I was just assuming we hooked up," Kiyoomi murmurs defensively. He regrets saying that immediately after it leaves his mouth, because Atsumu's cheeks flush a deep red and he's positive he's made him uncomfortable. "Well what do you expect me to think? I blacked out with you and woke up in your bed. Why didn't you bring me to my apartment? I live two blocks away from your place!"

"Yeah, but that was two blocks farther than I thought you could go. After you threw up, you were sobbing like you'd just shot a guy. I thought you were having a panic attack you were hyperventilating so much. There's no way I was hauling you an extra two blocks when I could've just gotten us cleaned up here."

"Us?"

"I said you threw up all over the both of us, weren't you listening?"

"How in the hell did you get so close to me that you were in the splash zone?"

Atsumu's cheeks flush bright and he looks like he short circuits. "I- I- Uh- well, we were-"

And, as Atsumu sits there floundering, Kiyoomi's memory of the night comes flooding back. He leans against the counter, scared he might pass out.

"We kissed."

"Well you kissed me, technically-"

"We kissed, and I threw up on you immediately afterwards," Kiyoomi says, still trying to process everything. He feels that far-away feeling he gets when he starts to think too much begin to creep in- his fingers are going numb, his toes, moving upwards slowly. He needs to leave. He needs to go. Kiyoomi begins to move, only to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror and he’s reminded of one more thing. “Can I- Can I borrow some clothes?” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, right. Sure!” Atsumu blinks once, twice, and then swiftly on his heel to go down the hall. He doesn’t look at Kiyoomi’s mostly naked body once, and Kiyoomi doesn’t know whether to feel shame or relief. Deciding that Atsumu has seen him less dressed in the locker room, Kiyoomi follows Atsumu down the hall a few paces behind. The air around them is thick and awkward. Atsumu goes to his dresser and finds a pair of sweatpants similar to the joggers Kiyoomi had on the night before and a big sweatshirt. “I’d lend you my jacket, but it’s kinda in the wash right now too...I hope this’ll keep you warm for now, I know your hands get cold pretty easy." 

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi murmurs, not quite sure he could talk even a little bit louder without crying. He starts getting dressed, his throat still burning and head still aching. He slips the clothes on quickly, not looking anywhere but his numb hands; when he finally does look up, he sees Atsumu has pulled on just a pair of sweatpants. 

“I’ll make some toast and coffee. You should eat something after throwing up so much,” Says Atsumu, and Kiyoomi nods robotically. He doesn’t plan on staying that long. He just needs to find...his things... ”Your mouth probably feels gross. I have a toothbrush still in the package in the drawer. My toothpaste isn’t anything fancy like the charcoal stuff you use, but you’re free to use it.” 

Atsumu disappears in a blink, and Kiyoomi thinks his legs might go out under him again, so he sits down on the bed for a long while.

He feels flattered at the offer, and the consideration- and he’d do anything to get the taste of vomit from his mouth, so that motivation pushes him once again to the bathroom. The toothbrush is set out on the counter, still in it’s packaging. Atsumu’s toothpaste is behind the faucet. He squeezes the toothpaste on it and begins the rigorous toothbrushing routine he has. Routine right now sounds great, actually. As he starts meticulously scrubbing each quadrant, his mind betrays him: 

He kissed Atsumu. Atsumu kissed him back. Atsumu kissed him back and didn’t touch him without his permission. He kissed Atsumu and immediately threw up all over him. 

There’s something akin to relief that he’d misread the situation. He’s not going to lie. But a part of him wishes that they had had sex, because surely a drunken one night stand is far less awkward than throwing up all over your coworker before you can actually confess your feelings to him. Was he actually going to confess last night? 

He spits, rinses his mouth, and when the taste of vomit is still there he begins to repeat the process, scrubbing harder. 

Even after all that, Atsumu didn’t look uncomfortable towards Kiyoomi. Didn’t look grossed out, or like he had any intention of bringing up the kiss at all if Kiyoomi didn’t first. Kiyoomi does not plan on talking about it again. 

“Omi-Omi, toast’s done! Your clothes should be done in the wash in like, twenty minutes!” 

Right. Food. 

Kiyoomi spits, and grimaces when he finds blood in the sink. He rinses his mouth and gargles well, running water over the blood and toothpaste mix at the bottom of the sink. When he enters the main part of the apartment, Atsumu is putting a plate with two slices of toast, topped with ham slices and american cheese, in front of one of the chairs at the island. He drops two more pieces of bread on a pan and starts unwrapping another two cheese slices. Kiyoomi hesitates, looking at the plate as he wonders if he can even stomach anything. 

“I washed my hands, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Atsumu says over his shoulder, a knowing tone in his voice that sets Kiyoomi’s heart on fire. When the hell did Atsumu get to know Kiyoomi’s tics and habits so well? “Thirty seconds with soap and hot water, not just my hands but up the wrist a little bit too.” 

Tears return to Kiyoomi’s eyes, but for a different reason this time. He blinks them away as he turns to the sink himself. “Thanks. I wasn’t planning on staying for breakfast.” 

Atsumu doesn’t look over at him, but his shoulders slump ever the slightest. “Oh. Sorry for keepin’ ya, then, Omi.” 

Kiyoomi lifts his head and looks over at Atsumu with wide eyes. Atsumu very rarely calls him by his nickname without the added flair of an extra “Omi” or an honorific at the end. It feels far too comfortable, far too real, and suddenly Kiyoomi feels much more exposed than he did when he was standing in front of him in only his underwear. 

“It’s fine, I’m not going to leave now that you’ve already cooked. But I really should afterwards.” 

“Of course,” Atsumu says. “I have to get ready to go on my hike with Bo and Shouyou.” 

“Doesn’t look like you’re going to get to do it, today,” Kiyoomi murmurs, nodding to the large window that sits on the opposite wall to the kitchen. “My phone said rain today, and the clouds look like they’re coming in pretty quickly.” 

It’s true. The curtains weren’t drawn over the windows in Atsumu’s room when they woke up and there had been a mostly clear sky. That was only probably 20 minutes ago, if that, and now the sky was covered in a light grey color, darker clouds hovering in the horizon like a promise. When Atsumu follows Kiyoomi’s gaze he groans. 

“Damn it! I should’ve checked the weather. Now I’ve gotta text the guys, and my phone’s dead from last night.” 

“Where’d you put mine? I’ll text them before I leave.” 

“You’d do that?” 

“I don’t see why I wouldn’t.” Kiyoomi mumbles, his cheeks burning. Hands now washed, he sits down at the island where Atsumu had set his plate. He’d do it now, but he doesn’t want to go touching his phone -which is probably one of the most unsanitary items ever- and then his food. It’s not like the two minutes it takes to eat will affect anything anyway. “Were you going to go to that place we went to as a team?” 

“Yeah! It was a really cool spot, and the views were great for Insta.” 

“Ah, so you were going for the pictures, not for the experience.” 

“Hey! I am more than capable of enjoying the moment. I would’ve taken some pictures, but I also would’ve been present or whatever.” 

“Sure,” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, a fond smile on his face as he takes a bite of his toast. “You know, this is pretty much just a grilled cheese.” 

Atsumu’s nose wrinkles and he sticks out his tongue. “Yer starting to sound like ‘Samu, there, Omi. I’ll have you know, this is great hangover food.” 

It is, as much as Kiyoomi hates to admit it. He doesn’t eat a lot of cheese, since he prefers a traditional Japanese dish over most other foods, but it feels warm and comforting to his sick stomach and the little bit of protein the ham, even if it’s sliced deli meat, serves to perk Kiyoomi up a little bit. Atsumu finishes his own toast and slides it onto a plate, grabbing two cups and a bottle of Ibuprofen from one of the overhead cabinets before joining Kiyoomi at the island. He still doesn’t have a kitchen table. 

“Here, take this.” 

Kiyoomi takes the bottle, eyeing it carefully before dumping two of the tablets out and into his hand. He swallows them quickly, and immediately gulps down the water from the glass Atsumu pushes his way as well- he gags a little bit, his reflex still a little sensitive from the throwing up he did, but he manages to keep what he’s eaten so far down. They eat together in silence, Kiyoomi finishing slightly before Atsumu, and while Atsumu finishes his food Kiyoomi rinses his plate and grabs his phone from the coffee table where he’d seen both of their phones sitting before. Unlike Atsumu’s, his phone is still alive, though barely. He shoots a quick text to Bokuto and Hinata letting them know about their change in plans. 

From: Kiyoomi Sakusa
To: Kotarou Bokuto, Shouyou Hinata
Atsumu’s phone is dead, but he said you guys will have to reschedule your hike today since it’s going to rain soon. See you at practice Monday morning. 

 

“I texted them for you. I’m going home now,” Kiyoomi says. He heads to the door, and hears Atsumu scramble up from his chair. 

“You’re leaving?” 

“Yeah. I need to shower.” 

“You can stay and play video games, if you want. You still have yet to beat me at Smash.”  

“I’ll take a raincheck. It’s going to start raining soon, and I don’t want to get stuck at your apartment all day." 

“What, couldn’t get enough of me last night, you think you might lose control and kiss me again~?” Atsumu teases, and Kiyoomi’s eyes widen. Atsumu sucks in a breath. “...Too far?” 

“I’m leaving now,” Kiyoomi uselessly announces, turning and finishing the walk to the entryway and stuffing on his shoes. He grabs his keys and his bag, but before he can leave, Atsumu grabs him by the wrist- an unknown, unfamiliar moment between the two of them. Atsumu’s always been pretty good at not pushing Kiyoomi’s boundaries, even if he likes pushing buttons. He’s never touched Kiyoomi more than necessary, never sought out more. Kiyoomi’s wrist burns as Atsumu drops it, and his bag slips down his arm and to the floor. 

“Your laundry.” 

“I’ll come pick it up tomorrow.” 

“You won’t even stay an extra hour for your clothes to dry?” 

“I-” Kiyoomi swallows. “I can’t. I need to- to shower, and do some...chores around the house...” 

Atsumu’s face hardens and he turns. “...Alright. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” 

“Right." 

So he leaves. He gets all the way down the stairs before he realizes he’d left his bag in the entryway, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. 

He’d already promised to come over tomorrow, so what’s the point? 

Kiyoomi walks quickly, trying to get as much distance between him and Atsumu’s apartment as he can, and when he reaches his own apartment building he finds that it’s simply not enough distance. So he keeps walking. And walking. And walking. Twenty minutes later, he finds himself in a park he goes through on his runs. There’s no one else around. Taking in the sight, Kiyoomi pants like he’s just ran a triathalon three times over- he’d been thinking about the situation he’d found himself in the whole walk, and finds his mind still warring when he stops to breathe. 

It’s impossible to say he doesn’t like Atsumu anymore. And way, way too late- you don’t just kiss someone you don’t like, even if you are drunk as hell. And while Atsumu is insufferable and annoying, and mean, and arrogant, he’s also so many great things that make Kiyoomi’s heart stutter. Funny. Surprisingly thoughtful. Street smart. Stupidly handsome. Charming. Kiyoomi can see him being a great partner, a loving one, but therein lies the issue- 

Dating is, and always has been, out of the game for Kiyoomi. 

Dating involves unknowns. Kiyoomi doesn’t do unknowns. There’s no keeping up with a whole other person all day every day, no way of knowing how they go about things and their personal hygiene until you move in together and see it firsthand. Because Atsumu is his teammate, and they’ve shared a hotel room once or twice, and a locker room every day, this fear is assuaged only slightly. Even still, without that to worry about, there’s the issue of intimacy. Kiyoomi is prone to sticking his foot in his mouth when talking about anything other than volleyball, for one, and second comes the whole ‘physical contact makes me physically ill’ deal. Kiyoomi would be completely fine dating someone if it was only emotional connection because, even if he struggles, he’ll get there eventually. Touch is such a different, more difficult, concept. It took him years of practice and reassurance from Komori to be comfortable with even an arm around his shoulder or a gentle punch to the side or arm by teammates. High-fives are even pushing it, and god forbid anyone actually tried to go in for a hug- 

The thing is, Kiyoomi could see himself trying, if it's Atsumu. He’s just really bad at giving up control, especially for something he doesn’t know will last. He hopes it would last, if he ever got brave enough to address the elephant in the room, but he doesn’t know that and that’s scary. Kiyoomi has a lot of rules that he has to follow, he doesn’t know how anyone else would survive through it all; his morning routine, the stupid thing he has about outside clothes touching anything in his apartment that he hasn’t deemed “outside appropriate,” the need to double, triple, quadruple check things before he completes a task, his intrusive thoughts and weird compulsions- he doesn’t know if he can hide all of that, but knows that no one will love all of him. So he doesn’t try. He wants to. though. 

If Kiyoomi was anyone else, Atsumu would be perfect for him. His charming wit and unique understanding of the incomprehensable. 

But Kiyoomi is just Kiyoomi, no one else. A lot of the time it doesn’t feel like it, but he is. And there’s no way someone would want to be with Kiyoomi. Half of the time Kiyoomi doesn’t even feel like he’s in his own body. Who the hell would want to stay with him when he doesn’t even want to be him? 

The first drop of rain makes him flinch almost comically. It hits the back of his neck like a bullet, shocking his body back to the present instead of being stuck in his own mind. He looks around the park with wide eyes and sees the sky has darkened significantly, and fat droplets of rain are falling on the ground. Cursing, he reaches for his phone as he ducks under a tree to hopefully mitigate some of the downpour while he gets an uber but when he pulls his phone out he finds it dead. He curses even louder. and once more just to get his frustration. That's just his damn luck, isn't it? There’s no way he’s taking a taxi. Bus is out of the question, too; even if he could muster the courage, his wallet with his metro pass is in his bag which is at Atsumu’s apartment. Which means it’s either sit here and wait or walk 20 minutes home in the pouring rain. And suddenly he just really wants to crawl into bed and forget about the last 24 hours. So, begrudgingly, Kiyoomi pulls up the hood of the sweatshirt Atsumu borrowed him and starts walking. 

He manages to get probably five blocks before he’s completely soaked. He feels as miserable as he more than likely looks to passersby, with their umbrellas and car. He can’t even be bothered to care about the stares he’s receiving, honestly. By time he reaches the train station that he and Atsumu walked Osamu to only a couple of months ago, Atsumu’s words from that day come to mind and he pauses. In the moment he takes to stop walking and ponder, a car slows in attempt not to spray him with their tires but they hit a puddle and he’s caught in the spray. Instead of disgust, however, Kiyoomi feels giddy. 

Holy shit, this is my movie moment, isn’t it? 

Kiyoomi’s breathing is ragged and stuttering as he stands rooted in place, in the middle of the sidewalk in the pouring fucking rain with no umbrella. There’s no mask to cover the lower half of his face, his pale skin rapidly cooling as the cold rain slaps against his skin with an almost comical sound; a sound that no one would ever truly hear unless it was the rain hitting their own skin, a feeling and a sound so indescribable no matter how many times you reach into your head to find the words. It’s a stupid cliché, like in a movie scene, and the thought only sends Kiyoomi into a fit of laughter.

A movie scene.

Kiyoomi has never been so reckless. He watches the forecast meticulously, planning his week ahead. He knows when he’ll need an umbrella, sunscreen, a thicker jacket. He should have had an umbrella today, but he hadn’t spent the night at his own apartment like he’d planned, and thus began the series of events that landed him here.

No umbrella, mask tucked in the front pocket of a hastily-packed sport’s bag that he’d ultimately forgotten to grab on his way out the door anyway, and in clothes that aren't even his, Kiyoomi finds himself in his current position pondering just how the hell he allowed this to even get this far. He wishes for nothing more than a do-over, a chance to go through the last year without falling in love, but a voice that’s not his own reminds him that the characters in a movie don’t get a second chance, and he’s not just an actor in his own story.

There are no do-overs.

Maybe he just needs to accept that. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t remember much about the walk to Atsumu’s apartment. He just knows that he's shivering and shaking like a dog as he raises a fist to knock at the faux wood of the front door. He waits there a long moment, his heart in his throat; he waits so long that he almost decides to turn around and pretend he was never here, but the door opens and Atsumu comes into view. He looks confused that Kiyoomi is there, which is understandable- just an hour ago, he'd all but ran out of his apartment. 

"Omi-kun? What's up, did ya forge-" 

"I don't like dating. The idea of kissing someone, and letting them know about all of my problems makes me absolutely sick." 

Atsumu reels back, confused. There's a frown on his face as he steps back. "I- Okay? You already rejected me once today, Omi-Omi, you don't need to rub it in." 

"No, not- I- ugh," Kiyoomi pushes past Atsumu and into his apartment, not wanting to air out his business in the hallway. He runs his hands over his face and then through his hair, fingers tangling uselessly in the dark curls. "I don't like dating, it's a bunch of useless get-to-know-you stuff, and then there's the actually getting to know you thing that comes after that, but I- I already did all of that stuff with you. You're the only person that I've ever talked about my intrusive thoughts with, openly, that hasn't been a therapist. I feel like- you- you're insufferable, and annoying, but you make me feel safe. Like even if you don't understand, you'd still listen and let me know that I was heard. No one's ever actually made me feel like that before." 

"I- You think that about me? I just thought you hated me..." 

"Why the hell would I still hang out with you if I hated you, idiot?" 

"I don't know, don't look at me! You're the one that always talks about how sometimes you think things you know aren't real!" 

Atsumu's face is red, and his arms are drawn close to his chest, like he's scared he'll get burned if he reaches out. So Kiyoomi reaches out for him. He takes a step forward, into Atsumu's personal space, and takes a deep breath. "I think you're ignoring a big part of what I was saying, so let me try something else: This morning, when I was trying to remember last night, I was under the impression that we hooked up. And in that moment, I was ready to just accept that." 

"Right," Atsumu nods, dazed. 

"I was the one that kissed you last night." 

"Uh huh." 

"And I just told you that I don't like dating, but I would if it were you." 

"Right." Atsumu says again. There's a long pause. Then, it clicks and Kiyoomi watches as Atsumu's eyes blow wide and his jaw drops. "Are you asking me out, Omi?" 

"Yes, idiot," Kiyoomi growls, pulling Atsumu by the collar into a kiss all too similar to the one they shared the night before. This time, however, Atsumu's hands find Kiyoomi's body immediately, one falling on his hip and the other on his chest. His lips are still chapped, but this kiss tastes infinitely better than the one last night; less alcohol and bad decisions, more fresh toothpaste and remnants of coffee. Kiyoomi, spurred on by the fact that Atsumu hasn't rejected him, pushes Atsumu against the wall. He wonders in the back of his mind if he's still drunk, because he's never been this bold, but he knows he isn't. 

When they pull back, Kiyoomi takes a moment to take in the wreck Atsumu is, panting. Atsumu grins crookedly down at him, his cheeks red. "Yer not gonna throw up on me again, are ya, Omi?" 

Kiyoomi punches Atsumu square in his still shirtless chest. "Fuck you, don't make me regret this." 

"Sorry, sorry," Atsumu laughs, raising his hands in surrender before allowing them to fall on Kiyoomi's hips once more. His eyes don't leave Kiyoomi's form, even for a second. It makes Kiyoomi shudder. "So, uh- Should we go inside and talk? Like, actually talk? About what this means?" 

So they do. 

There's a lot of talking, and Kiyoomi isn't entirely present for all of it, but he's there for enough of it. Enough to give Atsumu boundaries, and to hear the boundaries Atsumu gives him in return. Then, when the talking is done, there's a lot of...nothing. They just sit together on the couch as if nothing was different- as if this were a normal visit from Kiyoomi. The only difference, really, is that they sit a little closer on the couch and brush hands every now and then. Their touches are still hesitant, but Kiyoomi can't find anything uncomforable or awkward there, like he'd thought he would. It's- 

Well, it's nice. 

Kiyoomi wants this to last. 

He fully intends to go back to his apartment, but he's just so tired, and Atsumu's couch is comfortable, and- well, they already slept in the same bed the night before, it wouldn't hurt to do it again. So he sleeps over. 

-

To: Kiyoomi Sakusa
From: Kotarou Bokuto 
Ohoho? Omi-Omi, how do you know Tsum-Tsum’s phone is dead? In fact, didn’t you go home with him last night? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  

To: Sakusa Kiyoomi
From: Shouyou Hinata
Thanks Sakusa-san!! But how did Atsumu-san tell you to tell us if his phone is dead??? Are you with him??? So jealous! Invite me over sometime, Sakusa-san  🥺 🥺 🥺 🥺  👉👈

When Kiyoomi wakes up the next morning, he can already feel the weight of his decisions from the last 48 hours pinning him down. His nausea has long since subsided, but a splitting headache throbs at the base of his neck and against his temples, snot clogging his sinuses. With a groan, Kiyoomi rolls over in bed and thinks about killing Miya Atsumu. This is all his damn fault. Asshole. 

Before Kiyoomi can get too far into his plan, however, an arm wraps around his waist and pulls him farther under the covers. “Finally awake?..” 

“It’s only eight in the morning, what do you mean finally?” 

Atsumu laughs, burying his face against the nape of Kiyoomi’s neck. Kiyoomi can feel that his hair is damp and can smell the aggravatingly strong scent of his body wash. “I’ve been up for two hours already.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re a morning person,” Kiyoomi groans, which only prompts Atsumu to laugh more. “I take everything I said last night back. I’m breaking up with you.” 

Atsumu lifts his head from Kiyoomi’s neck and Kiyoomi turns to look at him, his cheeks flushing when he sees the fond look in his eyes. “We both know you won’t actually spend the night a lot, so I don’t think y’ gotta to worry about me wakin’ ya up early just yet. But when ya do start comin’ over I promise I’ll let ya sleep.” 

“You’d better.” 

Kiyoomi turns around so they’re facing one another now and nuzzles into Atsumu’s chest. It’s weird how naturally they just fit together- though he supposes they've been dancing around it long enough. He smiles against Atsumu's chest, only for his smile to turn to a frown when his phone dings again. 

"They're bugging you, too?" Atsumu asks, and Kiyoomi raises his head. 

"They're bugging you?" 

"They haven't stopped annoyin' me about why you were the one to text them since yesterday. I have them muted until I can give them a piece of my mind at practice tomorrow." 

Kiyoomi groans. "Don't remind me about practice. I'll deal with them, and then I'm going to shower." 

"Go get 'em, babe~" Atsumu cheers weakly, and Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow. Atsumu pouts back at him. "No babe?" 

"No way in hell." 

"Ah, I'll get ya used to it eventually." 

"I'm sure you will." 

From: Kiyoomi Sakusa
To: Kotarou Bokuto, Shouyou Hinata
I will murder you both if you ever bring this up again.