Archive of Our Own

A series of very terrible mistakes have led Kiyoomi up to this point — all of which could have been avoided, and yet here he is, in his own grave, one which he dug for all one-hundred-and-ninety-two-point-three centimeters of himself.

Because he’s an idiot.

But it’s too late to wallow in remorse now, and self-flagellation can’t do anything about the fact that he’s well on his way to attending a Miya family wedding. Put lightly, it’s a goddamn nightmare. He can barely stand just one, so how on earth is he supposed to handle a hundred of them?

He can only blame his sister at this point. Her and her awful baby made him do this. Regular baby showers are bad enough, but when you have them after the baby is born? It’ll be a cold day in hell before Sakusa Kiyoomi willingly stands around a room full of middle-aged ladies to pose for pictures with his four-month-old niece who yanked so tightly on his hair the other day that some of it actually came out. It makes no sense for a baby to have that much grip strength, and he’s convinced that she’s secretly a monster in the making. So no, Kiyoomi does not want to attend her baby shower, thank you very much.

He’d been so desperate for an escape route, anything to get him out of seeing that monster baby and to keep his scalp integrity safe, that when Atsumu had jokingly asked the team if anyone wanted to attend his cousin’s wedding with him over the weekend, Kiyoomi had leapt at the opportunity.

“By the way guys, I’m attending a wedding on Saturday,” Atsumu says casually. “And I can bring a friend if I want, so if anyone wants free food, just let me know!”

“Me,” Kiyoomi says immediately. “I’ll go.”

Atsumu blinks, staring at him in confusion. “Omi-kun, you’re...joking, right?”

“No,” Kiyoomi says very seriously. “Take me away, Atsumu.”

So, that had gone terribly. It was only after the initial glee had passed that Kiyoomi realized what he had truly signed himself up for. Now not only does he have one very angry sister blowing up his phone, he also has to mentally prepare himself for what’s likely to be the worst Saturday of his life.

Friday afternoon finds Kiyoomi reluctantly trudging after Atsumu when practice ends, hoisting a weekend bag over one shoulder and feeling the weight of the situation really start to sink in. Because he’s about to spend an entire weekend with Miya Atsumu, willingly. The wedding is being held in Hyogo, meaning it’s not actually too far from where Kiyoomi currently resides in Osaka, so he could technically get on a cab on the day of the wedding itself and be there with plenty of time to spare, but that’s assuming this is a regular wedding.

But it’s not, because this is a Miya wedding.

Atsumu had cheerfully informed him earlier in the week that they would be leaving for Hyogo the day before the wedding and not on the day itself, because weddings in my family always start early in the morning, and we’ll be late unless we arrive the night before at the very least. Kiyoomi shouldn’t have been surprised — of course Atsumu’s family would be the type to have full-day weddings. He can’t say he’s particularly thrilled with the prospect, seeing as a typical Sakusa family wedding takes place for only several hours in the evening and even those already last far too long for his liking. So the thought of spending an entire day interacting with dozens of Atsumus is almost enough for Kiyoomi to rethink his decision entirely. But then he remembers that the alternative would be to have his niece’s sticky fingers ripping out yet another lock of hair from his scalp, so Kiyoomi swallows his trepidation and braces himself for the nightmare to come.

Reluctantly, he follows Atsumu to his parked car outside the gym — Atsumu's the one driving today because they’re headed for his hometown and he knows the roads better. That, and also the fact that Kiyoomi is quite honestly a rubbish driver who should not be behind the wheel at all if they want to make it to the wedding in one piece.

“You can put your stuff in the back,” Atsumu says, opening the back passenger door.

Kiyoomi ducks slightly to place his bag inside, noting that Atsumu’s own duffel already rests on the opposite end of the seats. He hears Atsumu stifling a giggle as he tucks the seatbelt around his bag.

“What?” Kiyoomi asks, scowling. “I just don’t want my stuff falling off.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Atsumu replies, sounding amused.

“Okay, I’m done,” Kiyoomi says once his bag is nice and secure. He shuts the door and rounds the car to the passenger seat in front.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Atsumu says brightly, sliding into the driver’s seat. “My driving playlist is full of songs you’re gonna hate.”

Kiyoomi glares at the cheeky wink he sends his way, already regretting what he’s signed himself up for.






As promised, Atsumu’s taste in music is atrocious, and his vocal talent only worse. Kiyoomi thinks his ears might start bleeding if he has to listen to Atsumu sing along to one more Mariah Carey song.

“You’re not even singing the right lyrics,” Kiyoomi groans, head in his hands.

“Never paid attention in English class. I don't know what she's saying,” Atsumu replies lightly, before attempting to belt yet another high note he has no business attempting.

Normally Kiyoomi would complain about Atsumu being too chatty, but for once he’d rather have him yammer on than make dying whale noises right beside him. So he tries to start a conversation.

“Tell me about your family,” Kiyoomi asks, aiming for casual and hoping Atsumu doesn’t catch on to his scheme. “Anyone I should steer clear of?”

Atsumu stops his singing abruptly, glancing over with a lopsided grin. “Well, I’m glad you asked, Omi. I actually prepared a flowchart for you.”

Kiyoomi stares. “A...flowchart?”

“Yep,” Atsumu replies, popping the ‘p’. His eyes are still on the road as he speaks. “Look in the glovebox.”

Warily, Kiyoomi opens the glove compartment and fishes out a piece of paper that’s been haphazardly folded and stuffed inside. He wrinkles his nose at the mess within the glovebox before shutting it and focusing his attention onto the paper.

“If you unfold it, you’ll see that I drew a handy dandy flowchart just for you, Omi-kun!”

Gingerly, Kiyoomi does as he says, unfolding the A4 sheet of paper to find a diagram scrawled in pencil, Atsumu’s childish and round handwriting scribbled all over.

“What are these, hieroglyphs?” Kiyoomi complains, squinting at the paper.

“Don’t be rude,” Atsumu tuts. “I’ll have you know that I spent all of five minutes slaving over that.”

The flowchart is by no means helpful whatsoever. It’s a decision tree diagram, and starts off with “Should Omi-Omi talk to this person?” alongside a doodled face beside it. It looks nothing like anything or anyone, but the two dots over a pair of frowning eyebrows leads Kiyoomi to conclude that it’s somehow supposed to be him.

“This looks nothing like me,” he complains.

“So much criticism from you today, sheesh,” Atsumu replies lightly. “You wound me, Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, returning his attention to the paper. Following that starting question, it branches off into more questions, all accompanied by similarly badly-drawn doodles. The questions are all ridiculous, like “Is this person at least three bananas tall?”, or “Does this person have toes?”, and they all lead to an eventual box at the bottom of the page that says “NO” in bubble letters with a border of poorly-drawn flowers. Kiyoomi looks up, glaring at Atsumu.

“All this flowchart says is that I shouldn’t talk to anyone.”

“Exactly!” Atsumu chirps. “My relatives are pretty nosy if I’m being honest, so it’s best if you just stay clear of everyone. Samu and Sunarin will be there though, so you’ll still have some people to talk to. And there’s always me! Your teammate and longtime friend, the lovely Miya Atsumu!”

“Don’t speak about yourself in third person, it’s gross,” Kiyoomi grumbles, putting the flowchart back into the glovebox.

“Aw, not gonna keep it?” Atsumu whines, pretending to be hurt. “Even after all the effort I put into decorating it for you.”

“I don't want it,” Kiyoomi replies bluntly, shutting the glove compartment. “I’ll talk to only Osamu and Suna, got it.”

He’s not too close with either of them, but he’s met Osamu a few times and Suna plays on the national team with them so he thinks he can manage that at least.

Atsumu beams. “What a fast learner you are, Omi-kun!”

“Don’t talk down to me,” Kiyoomi hisses.

Atsumu ignores him, resuming his awful crooning once more.






When they pull up at Atsumu’s childhood home, it’s early evening and there’s already another car parked outside which Atsumu recognizes as Osamu’s.

“Come on,” Atsumu calls impatiently, duffel slung over an arm and waiting for Kiyoomi to unbuckle his own bag from the passenger seat. “Mom’s probably already made dinner, and if we don’t hurry then Samu’s gonna eat everything!”

Kiyoomi reemerges with his bag, only to meet Atsumu’s displeased expression. “You’re so slow, Omi!” he complains.

And then before Kiyoomi can even retort, Atsumu is locking the car doors and bolting for the front door. He knocks insistently, yelling all the while.

“Mom, your favourite child is home!” he screeches, loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear. “Let me in!”

“Stop that,” Kiyoomi hisses. “Your neighbours can hear you! And don’t you have your own keys?”

Atsumu shrugs. “Lazy to look for them. Mom! Open the—”

The front door swings open, revealing a scowling Suna. “Quit yelling already,” he complains.

“Ew, it’s you,” Atsumu says, making a face as he toes off his shoes.

“Your mom and Samu are busy in the kitchen,” Suna explains distractedly — he’s staring intensely at Kiyoomi instead. “Atsumu. What’s he doing here?”

Atsumu looks up from where he’s removing his socks. “Hm? Oh, you mean Omi-kun? I told you guys I was bringing him.”

“Yeah, but I thought you were joking,” Suna responds, still staring at Kiyoomi like he can’t believe his eyes. “Sakusa, how much did he pay you?”

“I didn't pay him anything,” Atsumu protests indignantly. “Omi-Omi is here because he wants to. Isn't that right, Omi-kun?”

“No,” Kiyoomi lies, just to mess with him. “Atsumu kidnapped me.”

“Omi!” Atsumu whines, looking betrayed.

Suna snickers. “Oh, this’ll be a fun weekend, I can already tell.”






Atsumu’s mother is...interesting. Kiyoomi had been mildly surprised to learn that Atsumu’s family name came from his mother's side, but after meeting the woman himself he thinks it makes sense — there’s no way that she couldn’t be the head of the family, not with how fiery she is.

“Atsumu I will cook you for dinner if you don’t stop making so much noise in my kitchen,” she threatens, brandishing a spatula menacingly.

Then, turning to Kiyoomi, she smiles sweetly and coos, “Kiyoomi-kun! I’m so happy to have you here. Make yourself at home and don’t be afraid to ask if you need anything, okay?”

“Uh, thank you, Miya-san. You’re very kind,” Kiyoomi stammers out clumsily.

“So formal,” she tuts. “Please, call me Minako.”

“Mom, you’re scaring him,” Atsumu complains. “Omi-kun’s like a cat, you gotta let him warm up to you first.”

“Don’t be rude to a guest,” Minako chastises him, tugging harshly on his ear. Atsumu howls in pain.

“Is there anything I can help with?” Kiyoomi asks politely, looking around the kitchen.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready,” Minako says warmly. “Atsumu, show him around the house, will you?”

“Okay!” Atsumu chirps brightly. “Come on, Omi-kun. Follow me!”

He leads Kiyoomi out of the kitchen and around the living room, pointing out certain fixtures and picking up little knick-knacks here and there.

“Oh! Here’s a photo of me and Samu from when we were seven,” he says excitedly, picking up a picture frame from the piano to show Kiyoomi. He then pulls the same bright grin as in the picture, except he’s not missing his front teeth this time. “Nobody could tell us apart back then. Quick, Omi! Guess which one’s me!”

Kiyoomi stares at the photo. Both twins are dressed identically, and their hair is way too messy to differentiate them by their parting.

“This one’s you, isn’t it?” Kiyoomi asks, pointing at the twin on the left.

Atsumu’s eyes widen. “How did you know? Wait. You guessed that, didn’t you?”

“No,” Kiyoomi says. “It’s your eyes. They always shine a certain way.”

Atsumu opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, then closes it again, looking strangely embarrassed for some reason. He puts the photo back down, mumbling something Kiyoomi doesn’t catch.

“What?” Kiyoomi asks, frowning.

“Nothing,” Atsumu replies quickly. “Come on, I’ll show you upstairs.”

Kiyoomi follows him up the staircase, glancing at the pictures lining the wall. There are countless framed photos of the twins and Minako, and Kiyoomi almost feels like he’s watching Atsumu grow up through these images alone. There are some of him as a baby, cheeks ruddy and so, so chubby, and others of him as an older child, donning matching outfits with Osamu and showing peace signs to the camera. And though they number far fewer, there are also some of him as a high schooler, holding trophies and wearing medals. It’s strange, for him to be looking at such personal photos from Atsumu’s life. Kiyoomi feels like he shouldn’t be here, like he’s intruding upon precious memories he has no right to be privy to. It’s far too intimate for him to be in Atsumu's childhood home looking at pictures of him from long before Kiyoomi even knew him.

If he’s being honest, he and Atsumu aren’t even that close — they’ve known each other for years but their friendship has never been anything deeper than that, just two acquaintances pulled together by the strings of circumstance and coincidence.

“Omi-kun?” Atsumu calls.

Kiyoomi turns away from the wall, looking up to find Atsumu staring at him from the top of the stairs. The late afternoon sun filters in through the window behind him, fanning out around him like a halo and bathing his features golden. For a moment, Atsumu almost looks like he’s been carved from gold himself. But then Kiyoomi blinks and the moment passes. He squints against the light.

“Are you coming? Or are you gonna stand there all day admiring my baby pictures?” Atsumu asks cheekily, still staring at him from the staircase landing.

“You were a really fat baby,” Kiyoomi snorts, beginning to climb the stairs.

“Mean!” Atsumu whines. “People like chubby babies anyway!”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

“Omi-kun!”






Dinner is an enjoyable affair. The food is great — Osamu and his mother are both excellent cooks, and the homecooked meal is equal parts delicious and nourishing.

“Kiyoomi-kun, here, have some of this,” Minako says, offering him a plate of shrimp tempura.

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi says, reaching out to take one with his chopsticks.

“I thought you didn’t eat shrimp,” Atsumu says, through a mouthful of rice.

“Oh! Are you allergic?” Minako asks, looking worried.

“No, I do eat shrimp actually,” Kiyoomi replies, feeling awkward now that all eyes are on him. “I just, uh, don’t eat them if their shells are on.

“Ohh,” Atsumu says, nodding in understanding. “Because you don’t like touching food with your hands. That makes sense.”

“Ah. We’ll leave more of the chicken for you, then,” Minako says.

Kiyoomi nods gratefully, but he can’t help but send a quizzical look Atsumu’s way. He doesn’t usually join the rest of the team for meals, so it’s surprising that Atsumu has already managed to catch on to his eating habits. It’s just the latest in a string of incidents that have left Kiyoomi feeling surprised by Atsumu’s unexpected thoughtfulness.

Sometimes when his wrists feel sore after practices, Atsumu tosses him an ice pack without a word, despite him not even having voiced his discomfort. Other times, when they’re paired together for interviews, he’ll spend an excessive amount of time talking with the reporter, enough to earn him somewhat of a bad reputation for being a microphone hog. Kiyoomi used to think it was because he enjoyed the attention, until Atsumu’s casual admittance that he only did so because he knew how much Kiyoomi disliked dealing with the press.

It surprises Kiyoomi every time, how considerate Atsumu can be, and he has to remind himself each time that Atsumu’s still an attentive person even under his convincing facade of uncaring apathy — it’s why he makes such a phenomenal setter after all, silently tuned in to his hitters’ quirks and tells. So he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised in the first place.






After dinner, Kiyoomi helps to do the dishes. Minako had initially refused his help, but he’d been insistent about it, so she eventually relented. But somehow Atsumu had managed to be even more stubborn than him, because he now stands before the sink, elbow-deep in soapy water while Kiyoomi stands beside him drying dishes instead.

“You know I could have done it myself,” Kiyoomi says pointedly.

Atsumu glances up from where he’s been scrubbing a pot with a sponge, and flashes a grin. “Yeah, I know. But you don’t like touching gross stuff, and dirty dishes are pretty high up on the list of gross things, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I don’t like touching gross stuff but I’ll do it if it’s necessary,” Kiyoomi says, sighing. He doesn’t like it when people treat him like he’s incapable of doing everyday tasks just because of his specific aversions.

Atsumu hums, resuming his scrubbing of the pot. “I know that. Still, it’s not like I mind doing it for you,” he muses.

And it’s back again, that strange, warm feeling in Kiyoomi’s chest whenever Atsumu does something nice for him. He frowns at the plate in his hands, running the terrycloth kitchen towel over it more times than necessary.

It’s an odd feeling, and Kiyoomi isn’t sure how to feel about it.






When the dishes are all washed and dried, Kiyoomi follows Atsumu upstairs to his old bedroom. He’d explained earlier that Osamu and Suna would be taking the guestroom with the singular bed, so they’re stuck sharing the bunk bed for tonight.

But that knowledge still doesn't quite adequately prepare Kiyoomi for this.

“You’re kidding,” he says, staring at the bed in question.

“What?” Atsumu asks defensively.

“I’m not sleeping on the top bunk,” Kiyoomi says flatly, eyeing the distance between the mattress and the ceiling with a distinctly unimpressed look.

“But the bottom bunk is mine,” Atsumu whines. “You can’t have it.”

“I don’t want it either,” Kiyoomi deadpans. “I’ll just sleep on the couch downstairs.”

“What? No!” Atsumu protests. “You’re a guest here! I’m not letting you sleep on the couch!”

Kiyoomi eyes the top bunk again, expression wary. “There’s no way it’s happening, Atsumu. If I so much as sit up in bed, it's an instant concussion for me.”

Atsumu looks up, staring at the bed in question with an unconvinced expression. “I think it’s fine,” he insists. “Samu slept there just fine for years.”

“Osamu also isn’t a hundred and ninety two centimeters tall, Atsumu.”

Atsumu shifts from foot to foot, evaluating this apparently newfound piece of information. He sighs after a while. “Fine. You can sleep on my bed. I’ll take the top bunk tonight.”

Kiyoomi feels bad all of a sudden. Here he is as a guest, being picky to the point where Atsumu feels like he has to give up his own bed.

“Nevermind,” he sighs. “I’ll take the top bunk. I’ll just have to be extra careful, I guess.”

“Are you sure?” Atsumu asks, eyebrows furrowed. “I was kidding earlier. You really can have my bed if you want.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

And the matter is dropped.






After a shower, Kiyoomi returns to find Atsumu sitting in bed and using his phone. There’s a towel around his neck, and his hair is still damp. He’s turned off the room light, so the only remaining light source comes from the small lamp on the desk. He looks up as Kiyoomi enters, flashing him a grin.

“That was long.”

“I didn’t know how to use your shower. Took me a while to figure it out,” Kiyoomi explains.

Atsumu’s smile falters. “You should have called for my help, Omi!”

“I was naked,” Kiyoomi says, unimpressed.

“You say that like that’s a problem,” Atsumu replies, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Stop being a horndog,” Kiyoomi hisses, narrowing his eyes.

“Only for you,” Atsumu replies lightly, gaze returning to his phone.

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, all too used to Atsumu's flirtations at this point in their friendship. Half the time he thinks Atsumu isn't even aware that he's doing it. He tosses his towel into the laundry hamper in the corner and then gingerly begins to scale the rungs of the ladder to his bed. He’s barely one rung up when he hears a snicker.

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi hisses.

“Didn’t say anything,” comes Atsumu’s sing-song reply.

Kiyoomi climbs several rungs higher, careful not to lose his footing.

“Have you never climbed a bunk bed before?” Atsumu asks, sounding incredulous.

“I was practically an only child growing up, what do you think?” Kiyoomi shoots back.

“Oh, so you’ve never experienced this, huh?” Atsumu says airily, and then the bed suddenly jolts.

Kiyoomi yelps from where he’s already on the upper bunk, hands gripping the sides of the mattress in fear.

“Fuck you,” he hisses. “What was that for?!”

Atsumu’s loud cackle is the only response he gets.

“Bastard,” Kiyoomi snaps.

“That was me going easy on you, Omi,” Atsumu’s disembodied voice comes floating up. “I used to kick the bed as Samu was still going up, just to see if he'd topple off the ladder.”

“You’re terrible, you know that?” Kiyoomi shoots back.

Atsumu laughs again, then goes silent as he presumably returns to scrolling through social media once more. Kiyoomi crawls under the freshly-washed covers, shifting every once in a while as he adjusts to sleeping on a new bed for the first time. Atsumu can probably feel the tremors each time he flips over in bed, but he doesn’t mention it. After a while, Atsumu’s voice comes floating up once more, considerably sleepier this time as he fights back a yawn.

“Omi? Are you gonna sleep now? I’m gonna turn off the light, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi replies.

“Mm.”

There’s a soft click, and then the room is shrouded in darkness. Kiyoomi hears shuffling as Atsumu gets back into bed.

“Goodnight, Omi-kun,” Atsumu whispers into the dark. “Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Atsumu.”

It’s silent after that, and Atsumu’s breathing quickly becomes slow and even. Kiyoomi is surprised to find that he doesn’t snore. He’s witnessed a sleeping Atsumu before, but it had always been naps and not proper sleep, so he couldn’t be sure. But there’s nothing but the sound of his slow, soft breaths now.

After a while, Kiyoomi himself drifts off too, lulled by the sound of Atsumu’s breathing from below.






Kiyoomi wakes with a start. He’s not sure what woke him up, but he’s always been a light sleeper so it isn’t entirely unusual for him to rouse in the middle of the night. He unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth, disliking the parched feeling it brings and deciding that he should get up for water. He pushes back the covers, sitting up in bed.

And smacks the top of his head right into the ceiling.

“Fuck!”

He cradles the top of his head, groaning in pain. Somehow in his sleep-addled state, he’d completely forgotten where he was, namely on an upper bunk of a bed in Atsumu’s childhood bedroom.

“Omi? Are you okay?!” Atsumu’s startled voice filters from below, having been jolted awake by the ruckus.

There’s a series of shuffling sounds, and then the desk light turns on. Atsumu stares up at him from below, eyes wide in panic.

“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi groans, head still in his hands. “Sat up too quickly. Hit my head.”

He expects Atsumu to laugh, but instead he sees Atsumu start to climb up the ladder. “Let me see,” he says insistently.

“Atsumu, no!” Kiyoomi hisses. “The bed isn’t meant to take both our weights!”

“Oh. Right. Oops,” Atsumu replies, shimmying back down. He stands there for a while, hands twitching by his sides. “Want me to go get an ice pack for you?”

Kiyoomi shakes his head, then hisses as it throbs in response to the action. “Nah, I’m fine,” he says weakly.

Atsumu continues to stare up at him worriedly. “Hold on, I’ll be right back,” he calls, before slipping out of the room.

He returns after several minutes with a pile of bedding, plopping it onto the ground by the bed and quickly gets to work arranging it.

“What are you doing?” Kiyoomi asks, peering at him from above.

“It’s a futon,” Atsumu explains, smoothing the duvet over the mattress. “I’ll sleep here tonight, and you can take my bed.”

“No, I’ll take the futon,” Kiyoomi decides.

Atsumu glances up. “Are you sure? It won’t be as comfortable as a bed.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kiyoomi says dismissively, beginning to slowly descend from the top bunk.

He steps over to the futon and crawls under the covers, staring up at Atsumu who looks down uneasily at him. “What?”

“Are you sure that’s fine?” Atsumu asks again.

“Yes, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi sighs. “I’m not fragile. Stop fussing.”

“I don’t think you’re fragile,” Atsumu mumbles. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“I am. Very, very, comfortable. Now will you turn off the light so we can sleep?” Kiyoomi grumbles.

“Okay, okay,” Atsumu replies, hopping over to switch off the lamp before crawling back into bed.

Silence returns momentarily, before Kiyoomi speaks into the darkness. “Sorry about waking you up, by the way. And thanks for getting the futon. You really didn’t have to.”

He’s not used to showing his gratitude so openly, but Atsumu has been nothing but gracious tonight, and he feels slightly guilty about how petulant he’s been.

“It’s okay, Omi,” Atsumu replies sleepily. “I’m just glad you’re comfy.”

“I am. Thank you, Atsumu.”

“Mm. That’s good.”

“Goodnight,” Kiyoomi whispers, turning his head to where he is. He can’t see him in the dark, but the futon is right beside the bed so he knows that Atsumu himself can’t be that far.

“Goodnight,” Atsumu mumbles back, sounding like he’s already halfway to dreamland.

“Sleep well, Atsumu.”

He doesn’t get a reply this time, but it’s okay.






When Kiyoomi wakes up again in the morning, it’s slowly and gently this time, eyes fluttering open to early morning light filtering in through a gap in the blinds. He exhales slowly, closing his eyes and snuggling further into the soft duvet. Atsumu hasn’t woken him up yet, so he assumes it’s safe to sleep in for a while more. He burrows deeper towards the warmth of his bedding until he hits something hard. It’s soft and very, very warm, but definitely something solid. Kiyoomi’s eyes fly open, an aborted scream on his lips as he comes face to face with Atsumu’s face.

He realizes with mounting horror that the warm duvet he’s been snuggling into has, in fact, been Atsumu himself. Somehow, in the middle of the night, he must have rolled off of his own bed and onto the futon alongside Kiyoomi. His blanket, tangled around his legs and half on the bed while the other half rests on the floor with him, is proof of his unconscious rolling. Kiyoomi begins to panic when he realizes that Atsumu’s arm is thrown around his waist, and one of his legs tangled with his.

They’ve been cuddling the entire time.

It’s mortifying. Kiyoomi is just glad that Atsumu is still fast asleep, so he can slowly begin to extricate himself from his limbs without waking him up, and then he’ll be none the wiser. But as he tries to wriggle out of Atsumu’s grasp, the blond clings onto him ever tighter like a limpet. Kiyoomi huffs in exasperation. After several minutes and multiple unsuccessful tries, he grows frustrated, eventually grabbing Atsumu’s arm and flinging it off of him entirely.

It’s the wrong thing to do, because Atsumu’s eyes fly open.

There’s a beat of silence as he stares back at Kiyoomi, their faces so close that their noses are almost touching. And then he starts screaming.

“W-why are you in my bed?!” Atsumu shrieks, scrambling away like he’s been burned.

“You’re in mine,” Kiyoomi hisses in annoyance, shifting to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. “You rolled off your own bed, dumbass.”

“Oh,” Atsumu says, face red as a beet. “I’m so sorry, oh my god.”

“Whatever,” Kiyoomi replies, irritated.

“That’s why I sleep on the bottom bunk,” Atsumu says weakly. “Because I roll in my sleep.”

“I can see that,” Kiyoomi retorts dryly.

“I’m sorry,” Atsumu squeaks again, avoiding his eyes.

“What time is it?” Kiyoomi asks, trying to change the subject. He really doesn’t want to think about this any longer than he has to.

“Just past seven,” Atsumu replies, looking at his phone now. “We don’t have to be up for another half hour.”

“Nevermind,” Kiyoomi says, already getting up. “I don’t think I can go back to sleep anyway.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu mumbles. “Me too.”






After a quick shower, Kiyoomi goes downstairs to find Atsumu similarly already dressed for today’s events and pestering Minako for breakfast.

“Mom, please,” Atsumu whines. “I’m hungry. Can’t I at least fry an egg for myself?”

“No,” Minako refuses, putting on a pair of earrings before the living room mirror. “There’ll be food after the ceremony, you’ll survive till then.”

Atsumu pouts, turning around. Kiyoomi walks over, frowning when he notices how badly done Atsumu’s tie is.

“Your tie looks terrible,” he snipes. “Didn’t your high school uniform include one? How do you still not know how to do it properly?”

“Uh, Mom used to pre-tie mine for me and then I’d just slip it on right before school,” Atsumu mutters sheepishly.

Kiyoomi tuts, shaking his head. “Come here, I’ll do it for you.”

Atsumu steps closer, already undoing his tie, but Kiyoomi stops him. “No, you don’t have to remove it. I’ll just redo it like this.”

He moves to stand before him, loosening the tie and beginning to do a Windsor knot. “See, you pull it over and under, then loop it around like this...and then you pull it out through the top...repeat that on the other side, fold it over...and pull through. There, finished. Wasn’t too hard, was it?”

He smooths down Atsumu’s lapels, tucking the tie neatly under and straightening it once more. Then he leans back slightly to admire his own handiwork. Atsumu clears his throat. Kiyoomi glances up at his face.

“Thanks,” Atsumu mumbles, cheeks very red and looking anywhere but at him.

Kiyoomi frowns slightly. “Why are you so blotchy? Are you unwell?”

Eyes widening in realization, he quickly steps away from him. “Oh my god, please don’t tell me you’re sick, Atsumu. I’ve been breathing the same air as you!”

“I’m not sick!” Atsumu squeaks, cheeks and ears still burning up.

“Then why’re you this red?!”

“It’s nothing! Um, I’m gonna, uh, go upstairs? Gotta check on Samu and Sunarin, yeah. To make sure they’re not still, uh, asleep?” Atsumu flounders, before he immediately bolts away.

Kiyoomi furrows his brows as he watches him go, not understanding Atsumu’s strange behaviour at all.






The wedding ceremony is an al fresco one, and even Kiyoomi has to admit that the venue is a pretty good choice. It’s the middle of spring, so the flowers are in full bloom and everything about the occasion is nothing short of breathtaking. Unfortunately, it seems Atsumu’s longwindedness is a family trait, because the speeches seem to go on and on for forever and then some, and by the time the vows and rings are exchanged, Kiyoomi thinks he might be the crankiest he’s ever been.

“Food,” he hears Osamu mumble, beelining for the banquet table full of hors d'oeuvres with Suna’s hand in his.

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu chirps, tugging on his elbow.

Kiyoomi thinks he might have hissed in response. He’s not too sure, honestly. His patience and blood sugar levels are equally low, people are jostling him in too many directions, and Kiyoomi is ready to commit first-degree murder any second now.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Atsumu mutters, sounding amused.

Kiyoomi might have hissed again, he’s barely lucid at this point. Five minutes later, he’s sitting in Atsumu’s car and for some reason, pulling away from the wedding venue.

“Where are you taking me?” he demands.

“I’m kidnapping you,” Atsumu replies, looking very bemused. “And now I’m taking you to a secondary location.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. “Atsumu,” he says lowly, tone threatening.

“Okay, okay,” Atsumu confesses. “I’m taking you to get lunch.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “Wasn’t there food back there?”

“Yeah, but it was all finger food and there were way too many people. You would have hated it. So I’m bringing you to my favourite restaurant instead.”

“Oh,” Kiyoomi replies, one again pleasantly surprised by his thoughtfulness. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m just hoping you’ll stop being so hangry after you eat something.”

“Asshole,” Kiyoomi says, but there’s no heat in it at all.






Atsumu eventually pulls up at a roadside by a small stretch of shops. Kiyoomi glances around suspiciously.

“Stop that,” Atsumu laughs, unclicking his seatbelt. “The food here is really great, trust me.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes, but follows him out of the car anyway. They step into a small ramen store, and Atsumu picks a table at the far end for the two of them.

“Atsumu-kun? Is that you?” an old lady calls, stepping out from around the counter.

“Yeah! Did you miss me?” Atsumu replies, bending over to let her pinch his cheeks. “It feels like forever since I’ve been here!”

“You and your brother used to give me such a headache,” she laughs, ruffling his hair. “Where’s Osamu-kun, by the way?”

“We’re back in town for a family wedding, so I thought I’d stop by, but Samu’s still at the wedding venue,” Atsumu chatters on excitedly.

“Ah! No wonder you’re dressed so handsomely today…”

Kiyoomi tunes out from their conversation, glancing around the store instead. There are some pictures pasted on a wall, and he blinks in surprise when he sees Atsumu in several of them. There are photos of him in his Jackals uniform, holding trophies and kissing medals, and even a newspaper clipping featuring the national men’s volleyball team with Atsumu in the red national jersey. Kiyoomi’s eyes wander, and he spots other photos of Osamu at the opening of Onigiri Miya. It’s obvious that the owner of this restaurant is close with the twins, and that they’re very beloved by her.

“Omi,” Atsumu calls from the counter. “What do you wanna order? Their tonkotsu and seafood ramen are really good.”

“Seafood is fine,” he replies.

“Okay,” Atsumu chirps, turning back to order.

After a while, he slides into the seat opposite Kiyoomi, humming quietly as he removes his suit jacket to hang around his chair.

“You seem close with the owner,” Kiyoomi points out.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Samu and I have been eating here since we were kids. She used to take care of us sometimes too, when Mom was busy with work. I think Samu might have gotten the idea of running his own restaurant from hanging out here all the time, to be honest.”

“Oh,” Kiyoomi replies, not really knowing what else to say.

He’s experiencing the same sensation from when he was in Atsumu’s home yesterday, a feeling of witnessing something far too personal and intimate. But this time, instead of feeling like he’s intruding, Kiyoomi finds himself strangely feeling warm all over. It’s a curious sensation, and it’s very, very odd.

“Oh, our food is ready,” Atsumu points out, getting up to bring their ramen over from the counter.

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi says as he slides the bowl of seafood ramen over.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Atsumu murmurs, passing him a pair of chopsticks and a spoon.

For a while after that there’s nothing but the sounds of them slurping their noodles, both clearly famished from not having had breakfast. Atsumu had been right — the food here is really good, even for someone as picky as Kiyoomi.

“I didn’t realize how much you liked shrimp,” Atsumu points out, nodding his head at Kiyoomi’s choice of ramen.

“It’s one of my favourite things to eat, actually,” Kiyoomi admits. “I just really don’t like having to deshell them with my hands.”

“That’s a shame,” Atsumu muses, mouth full. “You should get someone to peel them for you, that way you can still enjoy something you like.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “I’m not a baby, I don’t need anyone to do that for me.”

“It's not about being a baby, Omi-kun,” Atsumu tuts. “Sometimes people like to do nice things for other people because they care.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “It’s really not a big deal.”

Atsumu hums noncommittally in response.






When they’re done with lunch, Kiyoomi tries to pay but Atsumu beats him to it, slamming his card down onto the counter before Kiyoomi can even get his wallet out.

“Lemme treat you, Omi!” Atsumu chirps. “As thanks for coming back home with me this weekend.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I was the one who asked to tag along. And also why are you acting like the day’s over? We still have to attend the wedding reception this evening.”

“Yeah, but I’ve really enjoyed having you around so far,” Atsumu says, shrugging as he smiles sheepishly. “So let me pay for your meal this time!”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi says hesitantly, slightly taken aback by Atsumu’s strange words.

After paying, Atsumu bids the store owner farewell, giving her a hug and a promise to come back with Osamu again sometime, before they head out of the restaurant together.

“Hey, Omi,” Atsumu says smiling mischievously. “We’ve still got some time to kill before the reception, wanna do something fun?”

Kiyoomi eyes him suspiciously. “Sure,” he says warily, hoping he won’t regret this.






He should not have said yes to Atsumu. Because Atsumu has brought them to a nearby playground, one clearly meant for kids nowhere near their athlete heights and weights.

“Atsumu, we’re gonna break something,” Kiyoomi hisses, the swing set creaking dangerously beneath their combined weights.

Somehow, he’d managed to let himself be convinced into joining Atsumu on the swings.

“Relax, Omi,” Atsumu laughs. “You’re so tense all the time. Hey, you know what? Let’s compete to see who can swing higher!”

“What? No, Atsumu—”

But the blond is already kicking his legs and propelling himself forward and out, head thrown back in laughter. His eyes are scrunched shut, mouth wide open in pure unadulterated joy. And Kiyoomi can’t help it — not with how infectious Atsumu’s laugh is — he finds himself laughing right alongside him.

“Cheater,” Kiyoomi yells, kicking against the ground too. “You started without warning!”

“Too bad,” Atsumu teases back, eyes shining.

And, oh, have his eyes always been that golden?

“What’s wrong, Omi?” Atsumu taunts. “Afraid you can’t beat me?”

“You wish,” Kiyoomi calls back, finding himself unable to tear his gaze away from Atsumu’s eyes. “I’m gonna beat you, just you wait.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Atsumu shoots back, sticking his tongue out and blowing a loud raspberry.

It’s childish, and it’s obnoxious, and Kiyoomi should hate it but he finds that he doesn’t. And it’s spring and the temperatures haven’t even risen that much yet, but all Kiyoomi can feel is warmth spreading all throughout his chest.

How odd.






They’re plenty dishevelled by the time they leave for the wedding reception. Kiyoomi’s cheeks are hurting from laughing so much, his curls are falling all over his forehead and Atsumu’s tie is wonky once again. But it’s alright, because Kiyoomi can always fix both his hair and Atsumu’s tie.

“There,” he says, adjusting Atsumu’s tie once more outside the venue, a swanky hotel ballroom with more chandeliers than there are guests, it seems. “You really should learn how to do your own tie, Atsumu. Really, what would you do without me?”

“Who knows,” Atsumu murmurs, gaze locked onto Kiyoomi’s face.

When a moment passes and neither of them makes a move to step aside from each other, Kiyoomi clears his throat awkwardly. Atsumu blinks, and it’s like the haze is lifted from his eyes. He smiles sheepishly, stepping back slightly.

“Come on, Omi. Let’s go.”






At some point in the whole reception proceedings, they get accosted by a bunch of cooing relatives, but Atsumu thankfully makes up some excuse on the spot for Kiyoomi to leave and seek refuge with Suna and Osamu instead. But finding them is tougher than it looks, not least because the two of them have likely already slipped away to somewhere else in order to make out or something. He spots Minako at the far end of the room, but she’s chatting with someone else and Kiyoomi would rather not get roped into their conversation, so he just awkwardly stands around with a drink in his hand hoping for Atsumu to come rescue him soon.

He’s beginning to feel incredibly awkward, especially because several members of the Miya family have, for some reason, come up to him with knowing smirks on their faces. Someone even winked at him. It feels like he’s part of a secret everybody but him knows, and Kiyoomi has no idea what’s going on. He just knows that he’s beyond uncomfortable at this point.

“Are you Atsumu's friend?” an older man asks, approaching him with a curious look on his face.

“Yes,” Kiyoomi replies hesitantly, suddenly recalling Atsumu's advice not to speak with any of his family members if possible.

“Ahh, I see,” the man says, nodding in satisfaction like he's just solved a particularly difficult math equation. “You boys keep being the best of friends, alright? No matter what anyone says, you'll always have our support, okay? We're proud of you.”

Somehow, Kiyoomi gets the feeling that he isn't talking about their athletic accomplishments.

“Thank you?” he replies, feeling an acute sense of growing bewilderment.

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu calls from a distance away, barrelling towards the pair of them to stage a rescue operation. “Hello Uncle Yuto, sorry but I've gotta take Omi-Omi elsewhere. My, uh, mom is looking for us. Yeah.”

The man — Yuto — nods in understanding. “Go on, you two. I won't hold you back now. Remember, we're all very, very proud of you both. Take care of him, Atsumu.”

“Of course,” Atsumu squeaks, yanking on Kiyoomi's elbow and beginning to drag him away. Bye, Uncle Yuto, it was nice seeing you again!”

As soon as they're out of earshot, Kiyoomi hisses, “What the fuck was that?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Atsumu says dismissively, still tugging on his arm and hurrying them away. “Uncle Yuto says weird stuff all the time.”

Kiyoomi doesn't buy it for a second. “Atsumu. Does you family think that we're dating?”

Atsumu stiffens beside him, before letting out a laugh that sounds terribly forced. “Of course not! Why would you think that?”

“Because your relatives have been smirking at me all night,” Kiyoomi intones flatly. “One of them even winked at me. And your uncle just said a bunch of really weird things to us. So you’d better come clean right now.”

Atsumu finally stops speed-walking, fidgeting awkwardly as he turns to face Kiyoomi. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again. “Okay. Maybe they do think we're dating. But it's all just one big misunderstanding, I swear!”

“Oh my god,” Kiyoomi hisses, scandalized. “Did you tell them we were dating? Is that why you didn't want me to talk to anyone here? So I wouldn't find out?!”

“No!” Atsumu protests. “I didn't tell them anything! They just assumed!”

“And why would they assume that?!”

“Because they know I have a crush on you!”

As soon as the words are out, Atsumu gasps loudly, eyes widening in alarm as he smacks both hands over his own mouth.

“What?” Kiyoomi asks, feeling faint. “What did you just say?”

“I didn't say anything,” Atsumu lies, voice muffled by his palm.

“Don't lie.”

“I'm not. You're hearing things, Omi.”

“Atsumu.”

“Who's Atsumu? I'm Osamu with a wig on,” Atsumu says, very seriously.

Kiyoomi stares at him in disbelief. A moment of silence passes. Atsumu continues to stare back at him with a blank expression.

And then Kiyoomi bursts out laughing. “You're ridiculous, you know that? I can't believe I actually like you back.”

“...What?”

“What?”

“You like me?!” Atsumu squeaks out incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“Since when?!”

“I only just realized today, but I think I've liked you for a while now,” Kiyoomi says, shrugging. His tone is casual and his hands are tucked into his pockets nonchalantly, but the truth is that he's only doing so because his hands are shaking and his heart is in his mouth.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So...now what? Are we dating?”

“I guess so,” Kiyoomi replies, feeling the back of his neck heat up.

“Oh, cool.”

“Yep.”

Pause.

“Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we...hold hands?”

“Oh...of course.”

And that's how Minako finds them ten minutes later, holding hands while staring in opposite directions and both valiantly acting like they're not the colour of overripe tomatoes. She laughs at them, snapping another photo to add to the Miya photo wall.

Kiyoomi awakes with a startle, something large and warm and so very heavy having landed on top of him and knocked all the breath out of his lungs.

“What the fuck,” Kiyoomi gasps out, all while the heavy lump — Atsumu— wraps his arms around his midsection and nuzzles the back of his neck.

“Good morning,” Atsumu chirps. “Wakey wakey Omi!”

“Fuck off,” Kiyoomi grumbles, not yet awake enough to deal with Atsumu’s apparent chipper mood this morning.

“Grumpy, are we?” Atsumu tuts, squeezing Kiyoomi tighter. “Grumpy, grumpy Kiyoomi.”

“Go away,” Kiyoomi groans.

“Nope,” Atsumu refuses, planting a wet kiss to his cheek.

“Disgusting,” Kiyoomi complains.

“It’s past ten, Omi. Not gonna get out of bed yet?”

“No,” Kiyoomi says petulantly, refusing to even crack his eyes open.

“Manbaby,” Atsumu retorts, poking him in the ribs.

Kiyoomi curls away from the assault, scrunching his face in displeasure. “Don't call me that,” he grumbles, words muffled as he burrows into the blankets in search of warmth.

Atsumu’s grin grows larger. “My bad. You're not a manbaby, you're just a regular baby. Look at you, my sweet Kiyobaby. Omibaby. Goo goo ga ga.”

Kiyoomi snakes a hand out of the comforter to shoot him the finger. “Fuck you.”

Atsumu gasps loudly, scandalized. “Who taught my baby those words?”

Kiyoomi groans. “You’re so annoying.”

Atsumu laughs, the sound bright and clear, and much too loud for Kiyoomi’s sleepy brain. He turns away from the sound with a huff of annoyance, burying his face further into his pillow. Cool fingers brush his jaw lightly, attempting to tilt his head back. Kiyoomi stubbornly resists, pressing his cheek even deeper against the satin of his pillowcase. Atsumu makes a tutting noise.

“Stop that, Omibaby. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Says the grandpa,” Kiyoomi bites back.

An affronted noise escapes Atsumu, before he rolls over and plops all eighty kilograms of himself on top of Kiyoomi once again. Kiyoomi groans as he’s flattened against the sheets once more.

“Get off me,” Kiyoomi whines, attempting to kick him off.

“No,” Atsumu replies petulantly, caging him in with strong limbs. “Not until you take it back! I’m not a grandpa, I’m only five months older than you!”

“That’s five months too many,” Kiyoomi rasps out, because while he may be trapped and flattened under the weight of a well-conditioned athlete, it’s still not enough for him to give up being mouthy.

“Okay, then I won’t move,” Atsumu replies, just as petty. He wiggles around on top, getting comfortable. His elbows jab into Kiyoomi’s sides, eliciting a pained hiss.

“Ugh, okay fine. I’m getting up now, so just get off, will you?” Kiyoomi grumbles.

Atsumu makes a pleased noise at the back of his throat, rolling off of Kiyoomi and tugging on his wrists. Kiyoomi lets himself be coaxed into a sitting position, staring blearily at Atsumu’s bright grin.

“Come on, Omi. Time for you to get showered and dressed. Or else I'll leave you and drive back to Osaka by myself.”

"Okay. Goodbye," Kiyoomi replies petulantly, looking forlornly at the warm duvet instead. Atsumu frowns, then reaches forward to pinch his nose, hard.

“Ow!" Kiyoomi protests, holding his now very red nose. “You’re so mean to me now that we're dating!"

“That’s not true,” Atsumu says, pulling him out of bed. “I’m gonna take very good care of you, just watch!”

He stands behind Kiyoomi and pushes him into the bathroom with both hands, stumbling as he goes because Kiyoomi is being petty and leaning all of his body weight backwards.

“We’re going on a date, by the way,” Atsumu huffs, straining under Kiyoomi’s weight.

“We are?”

“Yeah. I have a reservation for a seafood buffet later. Gonna peel all the shrimp in the world just for you.”

Kiyoomi bursts out laughing. “Wow. And they say romance is dead.”

“That’s right,” Atsumu replies, sounding proud of himself. “I’m gonna romance you so hard with all the shrimp, Omibaby. So go get dressed already!”

“Okay, okay,” Kiyoomi laughs, finally stepping into the bathroom.

He turns around to send a soft smile Atsumu’s way, one full of fond exasperation. Because he’d started this weekend hoping to get away from a baby, but somehow or other wound up becoming someone’s baby instead.

He’s definitely not complaining, though.