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The first thing Atsumu registers is cold – the chill of night permits throughout the entire room, curling around his sheet clad body, worming its way into the gaps, and making itself known as his eyes flutter open to greet the new day.
The next thing he notices is a constant heaviness which clings onto his limbs, pulling them down and making it so every small movement uses up an abundance of his energy. It makes him feel useless, unable to drag himself out of bed and start his day – stupid body, stupid mind.
Curling in on himself, his covers tighten around him in a suffocating manner, but it helps to make him feel slightly more secure. A sigh slips past his lips as he blankly stares out his window at the bleak outdoors. The dreary weather reflecting his current mood, ironic in its persisting misery.
A bad day, then. Today is a bad day. That’s okay, Atsumu has had plenty of bad days before and he has always managed to fight his way through them. But that is always easier to say when it’s a good day – when he isn’t dragged down by the weight of his own thoughts and feelings.
Yesterday was another bad day, although in a different type of context – in the form of a devastating loss against the Falcons which Atsumu has placed all the blame on himself for, which is a common occurrence.
A setter binds the team together, the focal point of communication and decisions. Atsumu should hold his team together – so if a loss is their final result, it must mean he had done something wrong down the line, he let everyone down and it sucks. Really bad.
Time passes, hours slip away and Atsumu remains in place, physically unable to urge his body into moving – into doing something, anything. He barely even registers the sound of his front door clicking open, his thoughts sluggish in their process of noticing shuffling noises coming from the hallway next to his bedroom.
“’Tsumu?” A gentle voice filters through the room, a tone that isn’t usually matched with its owner and is reserved purely for Atsumu alone. Kiyoomi takes tentative steps into the musty room, cautiously approaching as he so often does when Atsumu sinks into his own head.
Atsumu presses his knees firmly against his stomach, his cheek is squished where his hand is laid underneath it, “Hey Omi,” He sounds pathetic, voice weak as it curls around the wobbly greeting. He feels the bed dip behind him.
“Hey, love,” A reassuring palm spreads across his hip, a thumb draws patterns into his sleep shirt. Atsumu closes his eyes at the sensation, attempting to home in on it and get some feeling back into his body, “You weren’t answering your phone.”
Atsumu uselessly blinks towards the device, which still lays on charge on his bedside table, “Sorry, I couldn’t…” He trails off, bringing the back of his hand to rub against his eyes, he isn’t crying – too exhausted to do so.
Kiyoomi urges Atsumu to roll over onto his back so he can lean forward and press a soft kiss to his forehead, “Don’t need to apologise, I am just glad you’re okay.”
Atsumu gathers the strength to place his hand on Kiyoomi’s cheek, “I didn’t mean to worry ya, m’just not havin’ a great day.”
Kiyoomi moves so he can prop himself up comfortably, looming above Atsumu in an embrace that creates a safety blanket around Atsumu’s entire being – its reassuring. Atsumu is so grateful for Kiyoomi, who always seems to know exactly what to do and say, “That’s alright, do you want to talk about it?”
A slight shake of his head, “Maybe later, can you just … can you just stay here?”
Kiyoomi hums, places a single kiss on the bridge of Atsumu’s nose before he arranges them in such a way that Atsumu is curled up against his chest, strong arms are wrapped securely around him – he feels safe from prying negative thoughts and emotions that promise to deplete him entirely. Long fingers trace patterns into Atsumu’s back and Kiyoomi snuggles his nose into bleached hair, pressing his lips against the top of his head every few minutes in reassurance.
Atsumu lets his eyes flutter shut as he just revels in the presence of the man who means the absolute most to him. Tilting his head up to kiss below Kiyoomi’s chin which urges Kiyoomi to glance down at him, “M’sorry, Omi.”
Kiyoomi nudges his nose down against Atsumu’s, “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
Now of all times is when Atsumu feels tears lining his eyes. He shuffles closer to Kiyoomi, burying his face into his neck, “Just feel like I can’t do anythin’ right. I know I didn’t perform badly yesterday but I let the team down, we should’ve won.”
The grip around him tightens, “It wasn’t your fault, losing is a team effort and it’s on all of us if we lose, you don’t have to put so much pressure on yourself, you played amazingly. We will do better next time, okay?”
Atsumu sniffs but gives a nod of his head, clinging his arms around Kiyoomi’s waist and tangling their legs together. He lets out a small sigh, feeling some of the fog clear from his brain just by the mere presence of the other.
“Get some sleep, I’ll be here.”
The alluring heaviness in his eyes takes over and Atsumu slowly drifts off into the blissful world of the unconscious. Just before he fully succumbs he mumbles a small, “I know ya will.”
Kiyoomi, the steady constant in his life – someone he doesn’t think he will ever be able to live without.
A few hours later, Atsumu is being coaxed awake by a gentle shaking. His eyes blink open hazily before they fall on a Kiyoomi who has a small smile plastered on his lips.
“I made you something.”
“Nmm.” Atsumu mumbles as he drags a hand down his face, “What is it?”
Kiyoomi climbs onto the bed, arranges himself so he is sat cross-legged with his knee digging into Atsumu’s left side. Atsumu takes note that Kiyoomi is now wearing one of his old faded Inarizaki shirts, as well as – is this cheeky bastard also wearing Atsumu’s favourite pair of sweatpants? Didn’t this man arrive in his own clothes?
Atsumu is so distracted by how utterly adorable his boyfriend looks that it takes him a few moments to realise there is a plate of fatty tuna hovering before him. His first smile of the day tugs at the corner of his lips as he sheepishly takes the food from Kiyoomi’s grasp.
“Ya made me fatty tuna.” He whispers downwards, feeling a sudden rush of fondness. A blush tinges his cheeks, and he shies away when he sees Kiyoomi’s grin grow bigger at the sight.
“You are so cute.”
Atsumu splutters, shoving his face into his own shoulder as he attempts to force a faux glare in Kiyoomi’s direction, “How can ya just say stuff like that?”
Kiyoomi doesn’t miss a beat, “Because it’s true. Now, eat.” He gestures to the plate.
Atsumu huffs, knows his face is burning a bright red as he chews at the fatty tuna, “Yer lettin’ me eat in bed, you never let me do that.”
Kiyoomi has taken to walking around Atsumu’s room to clean up, it isn’t in complete disarray but Atsumu knows his boyfriend’s tendency to nit-pick, “Just this once.”
Something in his voice tells Atsumu that isn’t true, but he keeps quiet.
A comfortable silence blankets them, something Atsumu has always appreciated. Just existing in the same space as Kiyoomi makes everything seem like it’s going to be okay, because as long as he has him by his side then what can truly go wrong? He has already won.
On the outside nobody would suspect that Sakusa Kiyoomi has the biggest heart, but as Atsumu watches him re-arrange the sock draw – eyebrows furrowed, and lip caught between his teeth – he knows that he lucked out because Kiyoomi does nothing but look after him and constantly make him happier than he has ever been. Atsumu is reminded each day how grateful he is, how in love he is.
Not everyone gets to have this. Yet, he does.
“Omi.”
Kiyoomi has moved onto the underwear draw, it almost makes Atsumu giggle to see how determined the man is about the order of his pants.
“I love ya and… thank you.”
There are a few minutes where Atsumu finishes up his food – it was surprisingly good; he will have to interrogate about whether or not Kiyoomi had actually made it or just rung up Osamu – whilst Kiyoomi does the finishing touches to his everlasting organisation.
After placing his plate on the bedside table, Atsumu feels Kiyoomi crawl back onto the bed. He doesn’t stop until he is kneeling right next to Atsumu. Hands come up to sandwich his face and ink eyes bore into honey ones.
“You don’t ever have to thank me Atsumu, ever. I am here for you no matter what and I love you, so much. So much that it’s honestly pretty embarrassing.”
Atsumu lets out a wet chuckle, this time tears of happiness pool in his eyes as he stares back at a firm but loving gaze, “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone how bad ya have it fer me.”
A smile graces Kiyoomi’s lips. Beautiful. So beautiful. And it’s all for Atsumu.
Those lips press against his own in a quick but meaningful exchange. Atsumu clings onto Kiyoomi wrists as he attempts to convey how thankful he is through the glide of his mouth.
Later, Atsumu finds himself once again draped over Kiyoomi in an embrace he never wants to leave. They are watching some Korean drama that Kiyoomi had been persistent about getting into, Atsumu caved purely because of how adorable an excited Kiyoomi was.
Atsumu is sure it’s interesting, if the light in Kiyoomi’s eyes as he speaks is any indication. Yet, his attention lies on the man gesturing wildly at the television screen. The flashing lights paint his face and illuminate his pale skin in such a way that he becomes the centrepiece of the room – of Atsumu’s life.
Atsumu looks at Kiyoomi and thinks.
Bad days suck. They just suck a little less thanks to you.
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