Chapter Text
I love you.
The three most difficult words in the world.
But what else can I say?
Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping
i. DENIAL
The air is sticky, just on this side of uncomfortable with humidity. Kiyoomi can guess the face he’s making when he feels it fighting to crawl its way up the back of his neck.
“Yer even slower than usual today,” Atsumu says. Kiyoomi only shrugs.
The humidity should have tried harder, he thinks, and glances at Atsumu’s smiling face inches away from his own. Today, Atsumu has decided that throwing an arm over Kiyoomi’s shoulders is what he wants to do. So, the humidity has nothing over him, or his smiling face. It has nothing over the smell of citrus or the warmth Atsumu harbors. Kiyoomi is forgetting something he was meant to remember—but what he does know: Atsumu is supposed to be categorized the same way he categorizes minor inconveniences, maybe like the damp that sticks to the back of his neck, on humid days. It’s easier to wash that off though, the same way it’s easier to forget the things he’s not supposed to.
Atsumu wins out to be the greater complication in a series of smaller ones. Winning is something he’s good at, and in all other ways that makes Kiyoomi’s life easier.
“Yer all lazy, actually” Atsumu says, to which the rest of the team moan their complaints in reply.
Kiyoomi buries his hands deep in his pocket, and he only realizes he’d been holding his breath when Atsumu, finally, detaches himself to walk ahead. He can still smell it—lemon—it’s the closest thing he can ascribe it to, distinct and characterizable and… he’s going to hurl himself over a tall ledge. Petulantly he brushes his hands over the tops of his shoulders, as if that’s going to brush the smell away. The tips of his fingers feel icy as they brush over the skin on the back of his neck, summer sticky. He shouldn’t be thinking about Atsumu, he realizes, and presses into the warmed skin harder.
When he makes it to the steps of the bus he pauses, hoping to swallow down the sense that seems to be evaporating with the sweat on his skin. He does not have feelings for Atsumu he thinks, mulishly. Caught up in all of his stubborn resolve he’s the last to climb on, and is unsurprised to see that everyone is settled in their unofficial spots—almost everyone. When he finishes hauling his bag into the over-head, he almost startles backwards, all awkward and long limbs in the objectively cramped space, to Atsumu standing just in front of him.
Kiyoomi swallows back the snappish tone he’s wanting to take. Atsumu hasn’t done anything. “What?”
Leaning back on his heels, Atsumu looks off to the side with hands in his pockets. “Sit over here, Omi.”
Kiyoomi’s eyebrows flatten, not relaxed, but in a new show of confusion. “What difference does it make if I sit here or there?” He asks, after a somewhat drawn-out pause, unsure of what else to say. He’s not trying to be rude, but he doesn’t seem to be picking up on whatever subtext he was too lazy to parse for sense.
Atsumu smiles at him, closed-mouth and cheeky, “Well, I cleaned it for you. So it’ll save time if nothin’ else.”
Kiyoomi takes pause, thinking about how he’d been the last to climb on. Normally they boarded together, if only because Atsumu was particularly stubborn about clinging to him after every game, when Kiyoomi was too tired or too happy to care too much.
“Oh…thank you.” Kiyoomi is sure his face is in a dire state of frown-lines for the situation, but he can hardly help it.
Stiffly, he steps forward, brushes past warm, warm, lemon and sits. “Miya—” he tries to say as soon as he’s settled, only to drop off. He doesn’t really have anything to say, but he has a feeling Atsumu is expecting something.
I appreciate it, would work, or maybe that was kind of you, because Atsumu does nice things for him, and it would be a waste to leave them all unacknowledged. But he’s pitiful at saying what he wants to, even when he means it, and it makes Kiyoomi wonder if all those kind acts are wasted after all, on people like him who can hardly muster up the words to say as much. Sometimes his head feels like a pitcher of water, over-filled and spilling outwards. Inconsideration leaking into his mannerisms, it must show all over his face.
Atsumu sets his knee on the seat next to his and leans in, close and then closer, and Kiyoomi blinks up at him with wide eyes. He’s got that smile on his face, like he doesn’t even know it’s there. “Are ya feelin’ okay, Omi-kun?”
As if on a moment’s reflex Kiyoomi swipes at the back of his neck. He can feel Atsumu’s presence there, like it’d never left, and he smells that lemon-citrus, and although the bus is air-conditioned he swears he’s sweating, somehow. He doesn’t have feelings for a teammate, let alone the likes of Atsumu.
“Hmm, tired?” Atsumu ventures. “I can sit somewhere else, if that helps.”
Kiyoomi tries to relax, shooting him a look from the corner of his eye. “If you want.” Yes, actually it would be a great help to me if you stayed far, far away.
Atsumu is expecting this answer from him it seems, because he doesn’t miss a beat between it and his response to say, “Or I could sit extra close to ya, and make sure yer feeling better asap. I’m a great nurse.”
“Do what you want,” Kiyoomi snaps back, all tight lines again. He turns away to look out of the window as soon as he says that, because he knows Atsumu is taking that as an invitation. He feels Atsumu sit next to him not a moment later and sighs.
He’ll sleep on the way home, no big deal. Oh, and he does not have feelings for Atsumu Miya.
—
Turns out falling asleep is harder than he anticipated it would be, when the person you’re having a hard time so much as breathing around is half a foot away. He almost wishes Atsumu was being annoying, then at least he’d feel validated, correct in his manner of dealing with the situation at hand. Instead, he feels like an asshole.
“It’s not as good as somethin’ like an ice bath, but it’ll do in a pinch. ‘Samu saved me a hundred times with these back in high school.”
Kiyoomi nods, holding the disposable ice pack to the top of his thighs. They hadn’t been hurting that much, but Atsumu seemed insistent on drilling for some sort of explanation as to why he’s “actin’ strange” and hadn’t let up until Kiyoomi gave something. “Thank you,” he says again, because that’s all he can manage right now.
“‘S no problem Omi. Make sure you rest up, you’ll be fine.”
Kiyoomi resists his urge to either smile or roll his eyes, “I know. I am a professional athlete.” Atsumu nods along, so earnestly sincere it makes something in Kiyoomi’s chest rattle loose.
He doesn’t feel anything for Atsumu, he doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t. “I’ve been at it longer than ya have, though. Maybe ya should start adressin’ me by Atsumu-san instead, until yer caught up.”
Kiyoomi snorts, watching the scenery pass by, “As if. I don’t even call you Atsumu.”
The lack of response causes Kiyoomi to turn his attention back towards Atsumu, who seems to be thinking over his next choice of words carefully. He’s smiling the same thoughtless grin he always does, and Kiyoomi nearly regrets turning around. So much about what makes Atsumu desirable, what makes him charming and sweet is accidental. It’s the ice packs and the smaller smiles. (Not everything though, because even if Kiyoomi is loath to admit this outloud, Atsumu can be just as charming when he wants to be as when it’s non-intentional.)
“Atsumu-sama?” Atsumu suggests into the quiet. Kiyoomi pretends to clear his throat while trying to think of something to say that isn’t entirely mortifying.
“Miya is fine.”
Atsumu clutches his chest, wounded dramatization undermined by the toothy grin on his face. “Omi-kun, so heartless.”
Kiyoomi turns back towards the window, heart in his throat. How he wishes that were true.
Unfortunately, he does end up falling asleep, waking to the low murmuring of everyone gathering their things and piling out of the bus. His face is snug against Atsumu’s shoulder, and when the grogginess wears off just enough for him to realize this, he has to be very deliberate in the way he doesn’t go stock-still and give himself away.
“I’ve got it. He was nodding off fer a while before he gave in.”
Kiyoomi can feel the tremors running through Atsumu’s body when he speaks, and the warm tremble seeps through the point of contact of his cheek against his shoulder, even through the layers of clothes and his mask.
He registers some sort of reply, distorted by the panicked bumping of his heartbeat in his ears—more footsteps as the steam of players make their way off. Kiyoomi wonders what Atsumu is waiting for, when exactly he plans to wake him up so they can leave, but it wouldn’t very well serve him to conveniently wake up now, would it? Atsumu would know. The late afternoon sun falls over the both of them like a blanket, and Kiyoomi feels it warming his eyelids. He should move, even if it means Atsumu realizes he hadn’t been asleep—
Kiyoomi comes very close to a fate worse than that when the ghosting touch of a hand comes sweeping over his hair. He almost makes a sound, probably the choking of trying to dislodge his heart from where it’s still snugly at the base of his throat, but manages to stay still, breathe. If he blushes and if the tips of his ears actually go red like Atsumu claims they do when he’s embarrassed, he’s in trouble.
“Ya really…” Atsumu’s low murmur breaks the utter silence, of what Kiyoomi assumes is now an empty bus, before he pauses and trails off. Kiyoomi wishes badly that he wasn't pretending to be asleep (for many reasons), but mainly so he could make Atsumu finish his thought. “The sun looks good on you.” He whispers, and if Kiyoomi weren’t literally on him, it would have gone unheard.
He’s not sure how much longer it takes before he’s “woken”, and he hopes he’s convincing enough of an actor that Atsumu doesn’t notice he isn’t as bleary-eyed as someone who just woke up should be, but he’s out of there in record time anyway, so Atsumu doesn’t have much of a chance to analyze him.
Maybe Kiyoomi has feelings for him. That doesn’t mean anyone will ever have to know about it.
—
The memory of Atsumu, all quiet unthinking consideration, haunts him for every hour he’s awake the two days following, and he is more than happy to replace it with the Atsumu he’s actually familiar with, one he has equipped himself to (sort of) deal with. There’s so much hype, mainly to account for the lull in energy two days prior, from the team that Kiyoomi hardly notices Atsumu is missing until the proper start of practice.
Kiyoomi tells himself the swell of disappointment he feels is a non-issue, and it’s more likely concern than anything else. So he has to deal with the lingering memory of Considerate Atsumu a small while longer. When he finally manages to work up the nerve to ask, halfway through practice, he decides Hinata is probably his best bet.
Hinata, who does happen to know what’s happened, seems confused about being asked.
“He didn’t tell you?” He asks, like Kiyoomi and Atsumu kept in contact all hours of the day. Kiyoomi tries not to bristle, and then tries not to think about why he wants to. Hinata is a hard person to be upset with.
“He wasn’t feeling well!” Bokuto says suddenly, like he’s announcing news that isn’t objectively unfortunate. “He’s just tired, though. Hinata and I were gonna stop by after practice.”
Kiyoomi nods, understanding this as the invitation that it is. If he gets a few glances from the two of them for the rest of practice, Kiyoomi tries to pretend he doesn’t notice.
—
“Tsum-Tsum! We’re coming in.”
Kiyoomi finds barging into someone else’s residence without knocking a bit crude, but given the circumstances he doubts Atsumu is going to pitch a fit. He takes his shoes off, and already familiar with the outlay of his place from a past visit, makes his way to the kitchen to set out the food they’ve brought. He doubts it’ll be as comforting or tasty as something Osamu could offer, but they can’t all be chefs.
He hears the muffled sounds of excitement and chatter coming from a room down the hall, and feeling awkward standing around Atsumu’s kitchen alone, ventures to follow it.
He’s yet to step foot in Atsumu’s room. It’s cleaner than he’d expected, especially for someone who may or may-not be sick and tired right now. Stepping towards the bed, he sees Atsumu’s eyes widen when he spots Kiyoomi.
“Omi-kun!” he starts, a happy smile on his face. Kiyoomi’s heart is beating too loudly for the situation. “I didn’ know you were comin’ by.”
“Of course I would,” Kiyoomi sounds back, and then looks down, apologetic about the bite in his tone. “Aren’t you the one who told me to get some rest? Maybe you should take your own advice.”
Atsumu, perhaps used to Kiyoomi’s way of being, doesn't seem too put off. He beams back, as if that alone is going to distract everyone from the topic at hand, and pats the spot next to him.
Kiyoomi snorts. “Are you joking? I’m not climbing into bed with you.”
“I’d feel so much better if you did. Shoyo-kun and Bo-kun have no problem with a lil’ cuddlin’”
Kiyoomi’s face pinches in his effort not to break into laughter, “You’re delusional,” he says, but dutifully makes his way over to stand next to him. Still far away enough no one could get a hand on him. Bokuto gathers Atsumu and Hinata in his arms and squeezes, and Kiyoomi does laugh at the pained sounds they both make.
“So—are you sick?” Kiyoomi asks, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Or overworking yourself, like a dumbass?” Kiyoomi tacks that last part on, just for good measure. Atsumu sticks his tongue out at him, like a child would, and Kiyoomi peels his gaze away when he realizes it leaves him feeling more endeared than annoyed.
“Who said I wasn’ takin’ care of myself? Sometimes these things are outta my control y’know. You should be nice to me, especially after I played nurse for you on our way home.”
Neither Bokuto nor Hinata blink at this, and while what Atsumu says is both true and objectively tame for his manner of being, it makes Kiyoomi red up to the tips of his ears. Even his mask can’t hide the mortified look on his face.
“Die then,” he mutters, and promptly removes himself to wait for them in the kitchen. It looks like Atsumu is back to his usual self, but Kiyoomi is still desperate to know why his heart is squeezing in his chest.
—
“So, ya really wanted to come check up on me that bad? Even at the risk of me bein’ sick?” Atsumu is crowding Kiyoomi’s space. Normally Kiyoomi would find this mildly annoying, today it sends him into a mild panic.
Taking a step away, Kiyoomi pretends to busy himself with something from the cabinet. “You are a part of my team,” he murmurs, trying to behave as he would any other time. He places the extra bottle of seasoning he doesn't need on the counter; Atsumu doesn’t seem to notice.
“Omi-san was worried about you, in his own way,” Hinata says to Atsumu, somewhere behind them at the table.
“You’re a part of my team,” Kiyoomi tries again, more forcefully, hoping it says what he can’t. “I’d be worried about any of you.”
“He asked about you,” Hinata continues, “He came to see you.”
Kiyoomi gives up on trying to save face, grabbing his plate and marching over to sit next to Hinata, who is apparently happy to share most things freely.
Atsumu follows a moment later, much less concerned about eating than he should be. “So you are worried about me though, just to clarify.”
Kiyoomi sighs. Hinata and Bokuto laugh at his expense. “Please eat your food.”
“You want me to eat,” Atsumu says around a mouthful of food, and Kiyoomi grimaces at the display, “Because you’re worried. Just to clarify, of course.”
Kiyoomi wonders for the upteenth time just why he finds Atsumu so impossible to get out of his head. “Actually I came over here to get rid of you for good.” He pretends not to be pleased at the way Atsumu seems to be all smiles at his being there, or how he seems to be all over him, even more so than usual.
...
ii. ANGER
Kiyoomi’s birthday falling snug at the end of their season is not ideal. Last year, it had fallen nearly two weeks exactly before the season’s end and because of this, Kiyoomi was too busy to remember it at all.
For all intents and purposes, it was a good thing, never having largely celebrated something as trivial as his own birthday. Being part of the jackals has changed things for him, this unfortunately has boiled down to having to be aware of its approach.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?” He’d asked, coming home after an exhausting day of practice, to several over excited faces staring back at him. Komori had the audacity to laugh at the horror stricken expression Kiyoomi had greeted them with, and to his further horror, the photo had been spread around faster than he could wipe the look off of his face. Atsumu denies it having been his home screen for a while, but Kiyoomi doubts most things he has to say.
This year, now aware of the terrifying possibilities, Kiyoomi marks his own birthday in his phone, set with a reminder and all. This year, to his apprehensive relief, there seems to have been a deviation in plans.
“We wanna take ya out, Omi-Omi. We realized that surprises weren’t really yer thing, okay, but that means we can do better this year!”
Kiyoomi sighs, and tries his best to swallow his pride. They are his teammates, possibly his friends, and if it made them happy he could survive a night out. So he agrees and declares that as long as it wasn’t a packed room of people, he could deal with it. Dealing with it, turns out, is something he only gets worse at as time goes on.
“Okay. And we’re here!”
Kiyoomi looks up from his phone. “You brought me to a bar. For my birthday. You decided that the second best option to putting people in my house was a—“
“Ah, ah. You should be thanking me right now. If I’d left it up to your teammates you’d be somewhere far worse.” Komori pauses, looking thoughtful. “Jumping out of a plane, probably.”
It’s manageable, for the most part. It may be ridiculous to say, or think or feel for that matter, but the past two years of being on the Jackals might have changed him. The thought of spending another birthday alone isn’t a sad thought, but the explicit difference between alone and without the certain people he has come to love… felt lonely.
That doesn’t mean he’s going to pretend to be happy about it.
“Omi-kun!”
No, not even then.
Atsumu isn’t far behind the call of his voice, all smiles. It isn’t long before he’s glued to Kiyoomi's side, either.
“If you want to keep your arm you’re going to get it off of me.” Kiyoomi turns away, half-desperate to find a comfortable corner to hide in. He’s changed his mind about doing things for the happiness of his teammates; he should celebrate at home, alone, where he can keep the destructive influences of Atsumu away from himself.
“What! Omi,” Atsumu draws his name out, like that’s supposed to do something, “It's yer birthday, don't be mean.”
Kiyoomi glowers at him over his shoulder, “If anything, I should be allowed to be as mean as I want. Please tell me your birthday gift is leaving me alone.”
Atsumu’s overly cheerful pretensense falls away, a familiarly annoyed tick overshadowing the smile he’s trying to maintain. Immaturely, Kiyoomi feels like smiling. “I’m gettin’ a drink.”
Kiyoomi straightens a bit, watching him make his way over to the bar. Everyone seems to be respectfully giving him space, waving from their smaller groups of conversation. Komori expectedly disregards this completely to drag him over to every one of them. He needs a drink of his own.
—
It's between drink number two and three, after awkwardly trying (and probably failing) at striving for everyone else’s standard of kind and polite, that Kiyoomi realizes he’s severely out of practice. He wrestles with the thought that this might be due in part to Atsumu, who is uncharacteristically far away from him.
“What did he say?” Kenma, Hinata’s small and strangely intimidating friend asks. He and Kiyoomi are both busy reading over Hinata's shoulder, one on either side, at the text on his screen.
Hinata’s impressively fast typing is shaking the screen enough to leave it shaking and impossible to read, though Kiyoomi is unsure if he’d be able to decipher what was going on even if it were read to him. “Kageyama says he’s going to win our next match—which is half of everything he says.” Hinata responds.
“Who?” Kiyoomi asks. The name sounds familiar.
“Kageyama,” Hinata and Kenma respond. Kenma looks at Hinata with a quiet fondness, and while Kiyoomi is usually not one to involve himself in the business of others, he can’t help but wonder. He sees on Kenma’s face what he sees in a lot of people when they look at Hinata, at least the ones who see Hinata for who he really is.
Kiyoomi, perhaps discomforted by these insights, scratches the back of his neck, takes another sip from his rapidly emptying glass and wonders what someone with a modicum of social skills would say right now.
The culmination of his pondering results in blurting, “Are you two dating?” Which must be the opposite of what anyone else would say, but then again he can’t be sure of even that. Kenma looks surprised by his question for half a second, which unknown to Kiyoomi, can be quite difficult to achieve.
Hinata, oblivious to all of this keeps typing, “Yeah. Kenma’s the best.” Kiyoomi feels strange watching Kenma watch Hinata, the feeling one gets when intruding on a moment not meant for them.
“Okay,” Kiyoomi says, “Good luck texting… the setter.” Kiyoomi knows of Kageyama, knows he plays for the Adlers at least, but he feels as though he’s missing a lot of vital information here. He’s just happy he hasn’t made for a terribly awkward situation, yet.
Kenma sighs, an exasperated sort of look on his face, and Kiyoomi tilts his head in question. “I think they should kiss,” Kenma elaborates, which not only doesn’t clear anything up, but is not something Kiyoomi has a response for; thoroughly bewildered, he nods sagely and moves on.
It’s between drinks three and four, wondering why he’s been left alone to try and parse social edicate, that Kiyoomi becomes properly annoyed that Atsumu has apparently taken what he had said seriously and left him alone. Kiyoomi is buzzed enough to sniff Atsumu out himself, just to make sure that he understands how annoyed he is. He finds him with Bokuto and Akaashi, who are all half shouting across the room to Inunaki and Meian.
Akaashi isn’t actively participating in the chaos, but he seems content to sit beside and be jostled around by Bokuto in the meanwhile.
“Hello Sakusa-san.”
Kiyoomi nods at him, “Akaashi-san.” Despite general belief and their similar dispositions, they don’t have that much in common, but their means to differing ends has made for interesting conversation. Especially in moments like these.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Akaashi asks him. Kiyoomi nods, pleased his question has given him the opportunity to do what he had come over here to do in the first place.
“I appreciate everyone being here for me.” His gaze slides off of Akaashi to Atsumu, who Kiyoomi thinks is still caught up in the half-room conversation, but he’s not. He’s looking intently at Kiyoomi, drink in his hand. Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. “Although socializing isn’t a strength of mine.”
Atsumu tilts his head at him. Kiyoomi snatches the drink right out of Atsumu’s hand, pulling his mask down to take a swig, “Atsumu doesn’t seem to have the same problem, though.”
Atsumu blinks down at his hand, now curled around empty air. He purses his lips, but it seems more amused than annoyed. Kiyoomi takes another sip.
“Well it sure is nice of you to come say hello ta us, ya know that?” Atsumu says. Kiyoomi stares back flatly.
“Why are you over here?” Kiyoomi asks, cutting to the chase. Atsumu blinks at him owlishly, as if he not expecting it. Kiyoomi wouldn’t have much of a problem saying anything right now, which he realizes through his sudden brain fog isn’t something he would normally be thinking. “Everyone keeps talking to me.”
Atsumu frowns between his brows, stuck on what to say. Kiyoomi has a hard time not focusing on the wrinkle, caught up in the look of his confused pout.“Well… It’s yer party, I would hope so.”
“Except for you,” Kiyoomi goes on, unconcerned with the attention the two of them have garnered. Atsumu shifts in the bar stool awkwardly. “You…left me alone.”
Atsumu doesn’t recover in time to respond, this time, if the look of open surprise is anything to go by.
Bokuto supplies his own comment, regardless. “That’s not nice, Tsum-tsum!”
“I have to agree with Bokuto-san,” Akaashi adds.
Kiyoomi nods, pleased to see his upset doesn’t go unjustified. Atsumu looks slightly bemused, but stands up. “Right. So ya want me by your side? Just to make it explicitly clear?”
“Obviously, Miya. It’s my birthday,” Kiyoomi enunciates the last part of his statement extra carefully, just to make sure Atsumu understands. Atsumu, now looking more flushed and less bemused, does a bad job of fighting the smile off of his face. Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, wondering if he should grab Atsumu by one of his stupid cheeks and tell him to knock it off. Hmm… maybe he’s had too much to drink.
“We are going now,” Kiyoomi demands, and tugs on one of Atsumu’s sleeves. Atsumu is giving him a searching look, and if Kiyoomi were a bit more sober, he might worry about that. But Atsumu follows him away, so it’s not really Kiyoomi’s problem—for now.
—
“And then he says ‘they should kiss’,” Kiyoomi explains to Komori, in a poor imitation of Kenma’s voice. Atsumu, who is serving as his social buffer again, seems thoroughly amused by Kiyoomi’s confusion.
Komroi nods, turning to squint over at Hinata, “I mean… I agree with him, though.”
“For sure,” Atsumu says. Kiyoomi’s mouth twists in a show of displeasure; he should have known better than to think he’d not be the odd one out. “I don’t understand people, let alone romance.”
“I really have to agree with that,” Komori says. “That you don’t get romance, I mean. I understand it fine.”
“Don’t you have anything to add?” Kiyoomi pokes Atsumu hard in his side, and it’s as he’s doing it that he realizes it’s a stupid thing to say. Atsumu gives him a hard enough time as it is, without encouragement.
Atsumu’s eyes shift from Kiyoomi’s face to the rest of the open room. “I don’ know. Sometimes people aren’t great at romance. I’d be a hypocrite if I made fun of ya for it.”
Kiyoomi feels like jabbing him in the side a second time. “That’s never stopped you before.”
“Whatever. Maybe I’m tryna be nice to ya here.”
“It wasn’t very nice when you left me alone earlier.”
Atsumu huffs, his cheeks puffing out. Kiyoomi tells himself it would still be a bad idea to pinch them, probably. “I can’t win with ya. I do what you want and yer mad, I don’t and yer mad.”
“Well if the birthday boy won’t ask, I’ll have to,” Komori interrupts, leaning forward in his seat. He levels his gaze towards Kiyoomi, despite his question clearly being directed towards Atsumu, “What would you win, Atsumu? If it were possible to win?”
“Komori,” Kiyoomi starts to protest, because he thinks he ought to, but there isn't much bite to it. He’s curious, in a morbid sort of way, about what Atsumu might say.
“Is this some sorta set up?” Atsumu asks, instead of answering the question. He’s frowning between his brows again.
“You’re never going to win him over,” Komori responds, now looking at Atsumu in mostly-probably disinterest. “Not with that attitude.”
“Excuse me?” Atsumu asks. He has a sweet face, doesn’t he? Round and open and always so expressive. It makes Kiyoomi laugh, watching him gape across the table to Komori, who’s much more blunt than people give him credit for.
“Interested?” Kiyoomi asks, because the sweet, the round, the open, it takes a toll on him sometimes, and it results in that exact brand of dumb.
Wide eyes shift from Komori back to him, but Kiyoomi only has a moment to bask in Atsumu’s attention before his gaze closes off. Kiyoomi realizes with a sudden sense of clarity that he’s said the wrong thing. “Is it funny, Kiyoomi?
The sound of his full name coming from Atsumu is foreign enough that it seems to echo in the fog of Kiyoomi’s thoughts, loud and unwelcome. He is Omi-kun, most of the time, when Atsumu is feeling borderline polite. He is Omi-omi, when Atsumu is feeling playful, or annoying, which overlap a lot. He’s Omi, for most of the in-betweens. Kiyoomi doesn’t belong in this equation, though.
“Ah- we didn’t mean it that way, Atsumu.”
“Mean it what way?” Kiyoomi asks. He turns his questioning toward Komori, who is looking bashful about something. This conversation, along with it’s subtext is lost to him, clearly, and Kiyoomi’s lagging thought process isn’t helping him parse through any of it.
“Forget it,” Atsumu snaps back, but Kiyoomi is sure that he doesn’t want to.
“You’re not allowed to be mean to me. It’s my birthday.”
“I’m not the one bein’ an ass here.” Atsumu crosses his arms angrily, squeezing himself against the shared booth.
“Me? I don’t even know what’s upset in the first place.”
“No, I guess not.”
Confused, is about all Kiyoomi is feeling. “Do you expect me to read your mind? What’s your problem?”
The laugh that breaks from Atsumu is sharp as a whip, the cracking of waves against rock, and Kiyoomi is anything but prepared for it. “That’s rich, coming from you. It’s fine for you expect me to know exactly what yer thinkin’. God forbid I ever do the same.”
“Is this about earlier?” The bubbly happiness the alcohol had been giving him gives way to feeling more like an annoyance, only clouding his ability to keep up. The waves, wherever they’re coming from, are foggy. “You don’t have to stay with me… if you don’t want.”
“That’s the problem.”
“What?” Kiyoomi asks, desperate for a line to be cast out to him, something material that he might be able to understand.
The room isn’t spinning, but Kiyoomi can hardly keep his focus on any one thing before his vision goes fuzzy around the edges, and it’s making it impossible to read the intricate features of Atsumu’s expression. Those are the most important parts, though, when he’s being stubborn.
He doesn’t get an explanation, only a half-angry, “I’m goin’ to the bathroom. Be back in a bit.”
Komori had taken his leave in the middle of their argument(?) and Kiyoomi doesn’t blame him. Unsure of what he’s done, Kiyoomi thinks it’s probably worth apologizing about, if Atsumu really thinks it’s worth so much fuss.
—
Kiyoomi feels stupid, for the first and hopefully last time, about sitting alone in a booth. Atsumu is taking forever, if he even wants to come back and explain himself, so he ends up wandering over to Bokuto and Akaashi. While it initially surprised him, if there are people who won’t pry unless given permission, it’s the two of them.
Bokuto, despite his own moods swings, isn’t one to pick up on the deeper emotions of others. Akaashi, on the complete opposite end of this spectrum, has a sixth sense for being able to read a room, and with the tact not to ask questions.
That doesn’t stop them from giving him looks at his dramatic sulking, in the time it takes him to finish drink six, anyway.
“I don’t know what I did,” Kiyoomi says. There must be a science to brown eyes, the way they lure you in with the promise of warmth and then leave you wanting.
Akaashi is the ever-patient listener, which Kiyoomi is grateful for. It doesn’t even bother him when Kiyoomi ends up propped up by him at the bar, which isn’t very fair. Kiyoomi is heavy, objectively. He’s tall, lean, volleyball player heavy, and Akaashi no longer trains like the rest of them.
“Kiyoomi-kun, if I may, I think the two of you should talk honestly with one another.”
“So I’ve been told.” Kiyoomi sways in place, although he’s sure he’s being held up-right anyway. The ground is moving too much. “But I think… I’m bad at it. And it made Atsumu upset.”
It’s been a while since Kiyoomi has been so close to someone like this, close enough for the warmth of Akaashi’s body to be noticeable. He’s unsure there’s ever been a day in his life that Kiyoomi has enjoyed the feeling of casual proximity, maybe not even tolerated it, and this train of thought leads to thinking of Atsumu, hanging off of him only earlier today.
“I hope it’s not too forward of me,” Akaashi blurts, and then lowers his voice to say to a less embarrassing volume, “but I’m not sure Atsumu could stand to be mad at you. Not for long.”
Pathetically, Kiyoomi hopes for this to be true. He’s certainly tipsy… perhaps drunk enough to admit this small truth. He hopes against hope that Atsumu isn’t actually angry, about whatever mysterious grievance he has. He hopes that if there is no small grievance, and Atsumu is mad at Kiyoomi himself, for being confusing and hard to read, harder to deal with, that it’s not unforgivable.
“Akaashi-kun.”
Kiyoomi’s body reacts all on its own, seeking the sound of Atsumu’s voice, even if his tone is as sharp as it had been earlier. Even frosted over, Kiyoomi wants to seek him out, get closer.
“Atsumu-san.”
“Omi,” Kiyoomi is tugged, and where the ground had been spinning before, he feels it rotate under his feet. “I think ya should drink some water.”
Mm, Atsumu, Kiyoomi thinks, ridiculous even to his non-sober brain. He would probably say something snarky right now, if he could think of anything. Something along the lines of “Why do you care?” But he’s fairly happy being tugged around if it lands him with Atsumu’s arms snug around his shoulders. What was it he was thinking about casual proximity?
“‘Tsumu…” Kiyoomi mutters.
“Water,” Atsumu repeats, and Kiyoomi would most definitely do anything he’s asked to say where he is.
The water is nice, doesn’t burn his throat at least, since he isn’t tasting much until he’s slightly more sober. He’s surprised to see he drains the glass, Atsumu pulling it away from him empty.
“I told you I’d be back in a second.” It would be cruel to Kiyoomi if the feeling of fingers drifting over the skin of his forehead end up being a delusion. Opening his eyes to confirm for himself, Kiyoomi is happy to see Atsumu is pushing a few fly-always back, his skin chilled from holding the glass.
“Mm, feels nice.”
The movement staggers, and Kiyoomi whines about it before it resumes. “Maybe… you should go home.”
“You want me to go home?”
“I think you should go home.”
At some point, his eyes had drifted shut again, and Kiyoomi has to open them and try to stand up straight to say as coherently as he can, “Don’t be mad at me, okay?”
Atsumu blinks at him, “Why would I be mad?”
The response is genuine, from what he can tell, but Kiyoomi still wants to be sure. He puts his hands on either side of Atsumu’s face, careful as he can be. “I don’t want you to be upset with me… it bothers me. Do you get it?”
There’s squinting, on Atsumu’s end, “Yes, Omi-kun. I think.”
“You’re skin is soft,” Kiyoomi replies, and then has to spend a sensible forty-five minutes saying goodbye to everyone.
—
Atsumu insists on taking him home, which is unnecessary because Kiyoomi would have let him without protest. He feels bad when sitting in the back of the cab though, because the fare is going to be way too much, and he must be starting to think clearly again, because embarrassment is an emotion he can feel again.
The first five minutes of the ride are dead quiet except for the sound of tires rolling over wet asphalt, the sound luring him into sleep. Kiyoomi gets struck with a very strong sense of deja-vu then, only now he’s the one leaning against Atsumu’s shoulder.
“Atsumu.”
“Omi.”
Kiyoomi sighs. “Don’t say my name anymore… Don’t get all tense, I’m comfortable.”
“What am I supposed ta call you then?”
“Not Kiyoomi.” It sounds stupid coming from Atsumu. “If you’re going to give me a dumb nickname just stick to that.”
The tension finally seems to leak from his shoulders, “Oh. Okay, ‘s no problem.”
“And sorry,” Kiyoomi murmurs. “That I’m hard to get along with.”
The same hand that was brushing his hair away earlier is back, and Kiyoomi hopelessly wishes that it becomes a thing, at least until the time it takes him to think straight again. “You are really prickly. But I like that about ya.”
“It’s okay if you don’t.” Kiyoomi can see the flashes of yellow light sliding over his eyelids even with them shut. “Thanks for the party.”
“The only thing I don’t like about you is when you start saying stuff like this.”
“Right.” Kiyoomi tries hard to stay awake for the rest of the way home, wanting to hold onto the moment as uselessly as the streetlight holds onto the hurried passing of a car.
...
iii. BARGAINING
The first step in overcoming a problem: admit you have one. If Kiyoomi were anyone else, well adjusted, not raised as an only child with a skewed view of how the world works, he might admit that he can’t have it both ways.
Kiyoomi learned early that making the world work for him was not so hard. Sit quietly in class and teachers learn to like you. Never cause problems at home and your parents might let you pursue the pro-league after undergrad. Never draw unnecessary attention, and people pay you more of it. He knows how to get what he wants without having to say it in so many words, and yes—he can have it both ways, if he wants. That’s how it’s always been.
Miya Atsumu is the wrench in his plans for success, maybe not in any way that could seriously hinder him, but in a way that is noticeable and that—is quantifiably too much.
Waking up curled around the throbbing ache of his headache, insides sore from hacking up the unsafe amount of alcohol he ingested some hours prior, and thinking of Atsumu before planning out how long it’s going to take to feel some measure of clean again, well that could be a problem.
So Kiyoomi needs to rearrange some things. If he shoves all of that—an extremely temporary but aggressive form of affection for a certain Miya—back into the box from which it should have never escaped, he can come up with a plan that leaves him free of any further trouble.
He can work the system, he has a near perfect success rate.
—
Kiyoomi’s entry point for a plan of attack begins with a cursory glance at google.
How to avoid catching feelings isn’t of much help, mostly gossip columns full of tacky advice on why it’s a bad idea to involve yourself too quickly with someone, usually with an extra-friendly reminder on why wanting to hold the hand of a friend is the kiss of death. The article entitled How to get rid of feelings, mocks him, reminds him in curling pink font how pathetic he’s actually being right now.
You deserve someone who wants you, he reads, double texting is sooo not sexy, and he’s ready to die now, actually.
He doesn’t double text, he doesn’t even respond to texts. What is someone supposed to say to “This cat looks like you” texts sent at 2am, anyway. Don’t get him started on those. What is the fascination, that they both have black hair—no, he’s not going down that rabbit hole. Tentative plan A is a failure. If he’s going to fight this, it’s not going to be scrolling the poorly written advice of white twenty-somethings.
—
The thought process of a non-white twenty-something poorly disguised as advice isn’t a full step in a better direction, as it happens.
“I told you two to talk already. I’m not taking you seriously until you do.”
Kiyoomi glares at him from where he’s fully wrapped himself in his blanket, saved for special occasions such as these. He hasn’t had to use it in a while, and it’s hardly succeeding in making him feel even the slightest bit better.
Komori takes a long sip from his mug, the selfish bastard only ever comes over to steal Kiyoomi’s special stash of tea. “That blanket you cling to isn’t gonna help you either. Maybe if you called Atsumu over, though, I’d bet money he’d be willing to hug it all better. Have you seen his arms?”
Kiyoomi’s face is already buried in a throw pillow before Komori gets to the end of that sentence. Maybe he can suffocate himself. “Shut up,” He lifts his face up to glare as fiercely as he can manage, which has never worked on Komori anyway but whatever, “And don’t talk about his arms. Since when do you even—ugh, just shut up.”
“Objectively, his arms are… good. Good, nice arms. He’s attractive. What’s so embarrassing about that?”
“What isn’t!” Kiyoomi chucks a pillow at his face, “You don’t know him like I do.”
Komori rolls his eyes, taking another sip from his mug. “Yeah I’ve only had to hear you gush—sorry, complain about him for the past two years. My deepest apologies.”
The blanket is a lost cause, and so is this conversation. “Go home. I’m going to bed.”
Komori sputters, and even after Kiyoomi told him that if he spilt a single drop of anything on his polished floors Komori would be licking it off the floor himself. “The last train left an hour ago. I’m staying.”
“A tragedy. Goodnight.”
“Hold onnnn, hang on. Don’t look at me like that.” Komori, now standing in Kiyoomi’s only path to his only bedroom, seems intent on standing his ground. Kiyoomi can take him. “Move or I’m shoving you to the ground.”
“Jeez. Come, sit for five more minutes.” Kiyoomi groans. “Have you considered trying to do anything about it?”
“I don’t have a problem. Not… really. This is a preventative course of action,” Kiyoomi mutters, staring longingly at the other side of his apartment.
“Right. How about a dating app? Since you’re so hell-bent on never talking about anything.”
That makes him laugh, a genuine belly laugh, and when he can breathe long enough to see Komori’s serious-looking face again he nearly doubles over a second time.
“Oh you’re being serious. You’re right, why didn’t I think of that? I love meeting new people who’ve probably never probably sanitized themselves a day in their lives.”
“First of all, the fact that you just said and meant it, is seriously, seriously bad news for the possible dating pool. But if we embellish, and omit where needed, I’m sure we can find you a good home in no time.”
Kiyoomi feels himself frowning. “I am not a fucking cat.”
“That’s not what your teammates say—Ow! You bitch, you actually pushed me.”
“It’s not happening. Forget it.”
—
“Now Omi-kun, there’s no need to be frowning down at yer phone like that. I thought that glare was saved fer me.”
“The fact you think having a glare for someone on reserve is worth bragging over tells me all I need to know about you.” The fact that Kiyoomi already knew everything he needed to know the first time they met is closer to the truth. Whatever pathology Atsumu has conjured may not be entirely incorrect though because…
“I’m just annoyed right now.” Kiyoomi isn’t so sure trying not to sound like a petulant child is successful, but he has every right to. Although, he always thinks that.
There’s a low laugh that builds up in Atsumu’s chest in response, a rumbling that starts low and steady, and always seems to linger even after Atsumu’s smile begins to fade. Kiyoomi hates it with a fierceness unknown to most of humankind. It’s got a nasty success rate at making Kiyoomi stupid enough to want to hear it again.
“An’ why’s that darlin’? Yer order of disinfectant wipes ship late?”
Kiyoomi is infinitely grateful his face is buried in his locker, because he can’t stop the way his body reacts to hearing Atsumu call him darlin’ like he has any fucking right to. “Can you piss off?” Is what he eloquently has to say about it.
“There’s no way I can leave my teammate to suffer in silence like this. Talk ta me.”
“You really want to know?” The misplaced anger Kiyoomi has been harboring because of his own inability to deal with his emotions makes him want to talk. He could probably use with getting something off his chest, even something this embarrassing. “I have a date.”
The pin drop silence that follows is not comfortable. Kiyoomi can feel the prickling sense of Atsumu standing nearby behind him, his eyes probably glaring into the back of his head. He swallows his nerves, turning around slowly. “I know it’s stupid. You can laugh.”
Whatever humor had been in Atsumu’s tone, or his face only a few moments prior is long gone. There’s a deep wrinkle in between his brows and Kiyoomi doesn't think back to his birthday. His mouth is turned sharp and awkward. “Oh. Well that’s great. I never thought I’d see tha day.”
That stings, and it takes a moment for Kiyoomi to ensure he doesn’t thoughtlessly show it. “Some people like me. Alert the press.”
Atsumu takes a break from the aggressive neck rubbing he has going on, eyes widening. “I didn’t mean that. I meant that, well I never thought I’d see the day you gave someone a chance. You’re great… obviously. I mean—you’re gorgeous, haha. Anyway.”
The second pin drop silence is no more comfortable than the first and isn’t broken by either of them, but by the sound of Hinata bursting into the locker room, towel dangling around his neck. Atsumu’s relief upon seeing him is palpable. “Shoyo-kun! I need to talk to you. In a room that isn’t here.”
“Oh hey guys!” Hinata springs over to the two of them, both stiff with awkwardness. “What are we walking about? And why in another room?”
“Because. Let’s go.”
Although he may seem oblivious, Hinata can be one of the most in-tune people Kiyoomi has known. Can be is the most important part of that observation. His wide eyes switch between the stiffness of Kiyoomi’s shoulders to Atsumu’s wobbly excuse for a smile, before he tilts his head at Kiyoomi.
“What were you guys talking about?”
“Nothing,” Kiyoomi murmurs at the same time Atsumu blurts out, “He’s got a date an’ I don’t wanna take any more of yer time Omi, so.” Atsumu is swinging his arms wildly in the direction of the door, but Hinata stays rooted to the spot.
“Really? Who asked you out? It wasn’t Atsumu-san?”
“Of course it wasn’t!” Atsumu’s arms have gone from a general gesture towards the door to directionless flailing.
“I really doubt… that would ever happen.” If there is one thing someone needs to know about getting your way, it’s that it’s about being able to read people. Kiyoomi is certain he has enough of a read on their relationship to say so.
Whatever Hinata is about to respond with is lost to Atsumu forcibly clamping his hand over his mouth and jerking his body away, still desperately trying to leave. Hinata is strong, pure muscle, and Kiyoomi is not surprised to see Atsumu struggling.
Kiyoomi sighs. This certainly wasn’t a bad omen.
—
> What’s his name again?
It’s too warm out for Kiyoomi to hide in his hoodie with the zipper pulled way past acceptable, but he certainly tries to make do with what he has. Which is too little.
Did you even bother looking at the profile I made <
His surname is Kaneko. TRY to be nice <
Traitor. Kiyoomi thinks, righteously upset. Truth be told, he still doesn’t do anything he doesn’t have to. Komori wants to help, and Kiyoomi wants to be closer to normal again.
The walk to the coffee place ‘he’ has supposedly agreed to go to isn’t a long walk from his apartment, at least. He has no qualms about getting up and leaving if he has to. It’s been a while since he’s actually made an effort to meet new people outside the immediate sphere of work, and while his stomach isn’t fluttering at the thought of going on what is essentially a blind date, maybe there is potential.
That is, until he actually sees who he’s on a date with.
“Kiyoomi-san, hello,” Kaneko greets. Kiyoomi gives a polite bow in greeting.
Awkwardly, they stand there a moment before Kiyoomi makes a weird jerking motion towards one of the free tables outdoors. Kaneko’s face lightens with a small smile as he follows, and Kiyoomi wishes Komori would have been here, so that he could be strangled.
Kaneko is attractive, tall, fit from what Kiyoomi can tell, and has a striking likeness to someone he knows. His hair is… blond. Which on its own, isn’t too uncommon, but his eyes, and from the preview he got of his smile, it seems like too much of a coincidence.
“So you’re a volleyball player?”
Kiyoomi’s eyes snap from the probably creepy stare he had been giving down to the table, his menu staring back mockingly. “Yes. I play for MSBY.”
“You look like a volleyball player,” Kaneko continues, and Kiyoomi tries desperately not to appear too awkward about being checked out. That’s normal, people on dates are allowed to do that. He tries not to slouch.
“It’s a big part of my life… I went into pro-league after university.” He might worry about sounding boring, if his mind wasn’t racing. Does he actually look that much like Atsumu, or is he seeing what he wants to?
“Hm. Pretty and smart.”
Kiyoomi chokes on air, though not noticeably. “Thanks.” This was a terrible idea.
It doesn’t go as terribly as Kiyoomi expects. Kaneko is actually pretty funny… in an immature kind of way. He does in fact have a nice smile, and he made Kiyoomi feel at least thirty percent less awkward than he would have with most other strangers. He isn’t easily intimidated, and he doesn’t try to touch Kiyoomi once. He’s so nice, Kiyoomi vows to never see him again.
Komori doesn’t even give him grief, only one of his quiet, soul-reaching looks and shrugs him off. His attention span for pet-projects never lasts very long, which is half the reason Kiyoomi indulges him.
Kiyoomi’s teammates, on the other hand. “So, how was yer date?” Atsumu asks.
It’s about as subtle as a bat to the head, but Kiyoomi isn’t so bitter he’s about to act like it’s some great secret first dates don’t always end in true love.
“Good, he was nice.” There’s a tick to Atsumu’s plastic smile. It looks ironed on, practiced. “I don’t think I’ll ever see him again,” Kiyoomi adds, for some reason.
So Atsumu wants to pry into his non-existing personal life, of course. It’s itching curiosity to understand the unknown. He doesn’t, however, expect the brief disappointment he sees on Atsumu’s face.
The disappointment is gone quickly enough, a harder look in his eyes when he asks, “Why? You said he was nice but did he say something stupid? I can totally help you kick his ass, if he did.”
Kiyoomi levels him with a flat stare. “I don’t need your help kicking anyone’s ass. He was fine. I just don’t think I want to date anyone, right now.”
Atsumu nods, appearing to let it go for approximately fifteen seconds. “Are you sure? Because—“
“Yes. I am sure.”
“Okay.” Atsumu shifts on his feet. “He was a dumbass for not keepin’ yer attention. See you… in practice.”
Of course I will, he wants to snap, but Atsumu is already walking away. Kiyoomi doesn’t need pity, but he knows better than to jump to the conclusion that is Atsumu’s motivation for suddenly acting so weird.
He’s done a very good job of ignoring all the piling little reason that some part of him wants to claim gives him hope.
—
Stupidly, Kiyoomi thinks that’s the end of it.
“Omi-omi!” Bokuto calls, and Kiyoomi dodges the pat to the back. They hurt more than they don’t. “I have a question. Where did you meet the guy who took you on a date?”
Oh man. “How do you even know about that? Actually never mind, that’s a stupid question. I was humoring Komori. Now please tell Atsumu that if he wants to ask me questions, he can do it himself.”
Beaming, Bokuto gives him an “Okay!” and a thumbs up. Kiyoomi should have just gone into corporate.
—
Kiyoomi has been looking at things all wrong. But he’s sure he’s figured out how to fix it, this time.
“Atsumu.”
He watches him slow down, stop, turn and search for whoever is calling his name, although that list is pretty short right now.
“Omi-kun, you called,” Atsumu replies, honey-sweet.
For most of his life, Kiyoomi has gone about getting his way indirectly, played the king game to getting what he wanted. This method cannot work on Atsumu, who jumps head first into everything, with everything, no time for regret. Subtle is not his specialty.
“Stop making Bokuto and Hinata ask me stupid questions.” Kiyoomi catches up to him with hands in his pockets, trying to appear as usual. The smile that lightens Atsumu’s face is mostly fake.
“Well. I wasn’ sure ya were gonna answer me.”
Taking a deep breath, Kiyoomi stops, waits for Atsumu to do the same. “I haven’t not answered any of your questions. Not my fault you’re being all weird about it.
“Weird? I’m not being weird. You are definitely the weird one.” Atsumu is restless, fidgeting on his feet.
Well. “Ask me then, whatever you were planning on beating around the bush with indirect questions. And I’ll answer honestly.” Partially, at least.
There’s a pause, where Atsumu’s mood shifts from nervous to curious, to something else. It’s all inquisitive eyes and a serious face. It looks foreign on him, when he’s not flush with heat under court lights, eyes and heart focused on only one thing.
“Okay. I’ll ask ya later. See ya.”
Kiyoomi frowns, watches as Atsumu hitches his bag up on his shoulder and keeps on walking, not waiting for a response.
—
It was uncharacteristic for Atsumu to wait, for him to show a modicum of patience or decorum. Him waiting to ask Kiyoomi anything means one of two things: he doesn’t care at all, and his interest in Kiyoomi’s dating proclivities never actually existed, or he cares enough to show a characteristic against who he is as a person. Both of these are somewhat upsetting to think about, but Kiyoomi isn’t going to dwell on that.
Staring at the ceiling of his apartment building, Kiyoomi receives his answer.
His phone lights up with a call, and the profile picture makes him take a second to answer. Atsumu almost never calls him, and he’d forgotten about the embarrassing picture Atsumu had set for himself. You should know better than to not have a password on your phone, he had said, wagging finger and annoying little grin and all.
“Hello?” He answers into his headphones, digital Atsumu staring back at him.
“Hi Omi-kun! I’m surprised you answered me.”
The picture stares back at him, past Atsumu’s hair tangled with sweat, his big grin splitting his face. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Oh… Well uh, I wanted to see what you were up to. Ya aren’t busy are ya?”
“Just got back from gym training. You know this. Are you really gonna ask me questions over the phone like some grade-schooler?”
“Actually no. Just wanted to make sure you couldn’t pretend not to be home. Let me in.”
The line clicks and goes dead. Kiyoomi blinks, bolting upright from where he’d been laying flat. He dithers getting his house shoes on, clutches at the sleeves of his hoodie and walks over to the door.
The peephole reveals that Atsumu is, actually standing in front of it. He’s waiting with his hands in his sweatpants pockets, casual as ever. Kiyoomi backs up, running a hand through his hair. His strategic plan of heading Atsumu on more directly isn’t off to a great start. He never sticks to Kiyoomi’s mental plans.
He unlocks the door, opens it slightly.
“Omi, are ya gonna make me wait here forever?”
“I’m taking a moment to absorb the reality you just showed up here.”
Atsumu shrugs, giving him a little smile. “Send me home, then.”
Ugh. “Come in. Take off your shoes, you know what to do.”
Atsumu does, with surprising efficiency for someone who has only ever been over here two times since the start of their time working together.
“I know her dyin’ to know so, I came over because I wanted to talk to you without someone draggin’ one of us away.”
“You’re the only one of us who has dragged himself away, after acting all weird.”
Atsumu waves a hand dismissively, springing water everywhere from where he’s washing his hands in the kitchen sink.
“Anyway, Omi!” He turns around with a flourish, leaning against the counter. Kiyoomi processes the sight, Atsumu comfortable in his apartment. “Why’d you go out on a date with someone? Were they freakishly good lookin’? You can tell me, I can keep a secret.”
“Is this about your ego?” Kiyoomi crosses his arms. “You want to know if someone beats you in the looks department?”
“You think I’m good-looking?”
“Is that supposed to mean something? Lots of people are good looking.” There isn’t much more Atsumu’s ego needs than to be inflated any further, but it would be embarrassing to try and deny it.
“Okay, so it wasn’t that. Did ya lose a bet?”
“No. Honestly, I wanted to, Atsumu. Is that impossible to believe?”
Atsumu’s perfect smile dithers. “Nah. Maybe it means I don’ know ya as well as I want to.”
“You know me,” Kiyoomi says, awkward because even if it’s true, that doesn’t make it easy.
“Mm, maybe. I pinky promise not to tell anyone if there is some other reason.” Atsumu holds his pinky out, his serious negotiating tactics making Kiyoomi smile.
Kiyoomi holds his own pinky out, intertwining them. Atsumu makes to shake them, finalizing the ritual.
“I think… I’m trying to get over someone.”