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having a home game is always slightly more motivating — kiyoomi remembers atsumu’s excitement when he heard it was a home game, eyes shining like a child’s. It was their turn to one-up the adlers during introductions, them having missed out last year in sendai.
bokuto got yelled at for doing a flip, but kiyoomi knows it’s probably going to happen again.
even though kiyoomi stopped the two other idiots from doing a backflip, (really, what were they thinking? ) he still expected atsumu to do a dramatic entrance. to his surprise, it was nothing like the team expected. atsumu walked on the court with that illegal, lazy smile of his - sharp yet soft - with the cool confidence of a winner. He walks intimidatingly but relaxed like he owns the world and he does - they won in straight sets, the gleam of atsumu’s eyes glowing brighter each moment. it fits him, really - the bright lights of the court decorated with black and gold - he belongs there. kiyoomi remembers watching him play live on tv at his college dorm. he’s never going to admit it, not in a million years. atsumu’s ego is going to implode if he finds out kiyoomi likes watching him in the very zone, focus unwavering, movements precise with merciless control.
he looks cool. fuck it, he’s amazing at what he does - but kiyoomi will never tell him. besides, atsumu is annoyingly perceptive. he can probably tell. kiyoomi doesn’t want to think about that. no, he doesn’t want to know what atsumu really thinks of him. he really doesn’t, he tells himself. he doesn’t.
he knows that he probably does, but that can come later. he’s been telling himself that since, like, forever.
they’ve just said goodbye to the team - in celebration of their recent win, they had gathered at some izakaya at shinsaibashi, the very icon of osaka, for a team dinner and drinks. he remembers the way atsumu’s eyes lit up and laughed at the huge dotonbori glico sign, excitedly asking bokuto to take his picture with it. atsumu had grinned widely, eyes gleaming with peace signs raised, laughing as other teammates piled in after his solo picture.
kiyoomi had taken the next one staring at him through the phone screen, the high quality of the screen showing his clear side profile, the cut of his jawline; the curve of his cheek and blond hair lit up by the warm light of the streetlamp.
they pass by the bridge again, waving goodbye to their coach, who herded the drunk group back to their bus. atsumu wanted to look around the streets with him, specifically. ‘i wanna go with omi omi,’ he said, tipsy, voice light but demanding. he had turned his eyes towards him, gold, pleading, and kiyoomi just couldn’t say no to him. ‘fine, miya.’ he grumbled. ‘but if i get too cold we’re leaving.’ atsumu lit up adorably with a cheer, grinning at him, then twisted around to steal edamame from hinata and meian’s table.
it’s a comfortable silence walking with atsumu. the streets are emptier as it approaches 1 am, the cold night air soothing. november is cold but not as cold as january, the weather cool enough for them to take good night walks, albeit slightly tipsy from the liquor. atsumu is still looking around curiously, flitting from stall to stall, peering into shops with a curiosity that just looks cute to kiyoomi.
and he sighs - he’s been putting off facing his feelings long enough. tired of pretending he doesn’t understand atsumu’s attempts to spend time with him, tired of playing the safe card of staying friends. he’s tired of looking at atsumu like he doesn’t admire him, doesn’t like him - like he doesn’t care about holding his hand; like he doesn’t know he’s so pretty that anyone can just come along and sweep him away, see that beautiful, happy grin of his directed at someone else like it doesn't hurt.
muffled squeals catch his attention and of course it’s their fans crowding around atsumu, who pulls down his mask and casually agrees to a picture like the carefree, supportive person he is when it comes to their fan’s (reasonable) whims. the mix of teenagers squish around him behind the selfie stick, all smiles and laughter, and kiyoomi realises - he wants to be part of that. he wants how they can be close to him, even for a small moment. he wants to smile with him, hold his hand, and maybe he’s been putting his feelings off for too long.
before he finishes processing his thoughts, atsumu is returning to his side, but the small group of teens are still here, waiting, anticipation floating in the air. kiyoomi tilts his head in confusion when he sees atsumu’s conflicted face.
he blinks at him. ’what? is something wrong? are you okay?’
‘omi-kun,’ atsumu starts, nervous. ’ it’s okay if yer not comfortable with… but they really want a picture with us. both. please?’ he looks up with those eyes again and god, was he expecting kiyoomi to say no? because this was not the first time atsumu had asked and every time, he made sure to be in between the fans and kiyoomi just for him to feel comfortable with the small crowd and made sure to sanitise his stuff and jacket once they got to a more secluded area. and despite being high maintenance himself, atsumu still makes sure kiyoomi is comfortable first - he’s so meticulous with kiyoomi. he doesn’t want to say no to him.
he remembers miya osamu looking at him, then his twin at the team dinner, smiling at them softly because atsumu insists on helping him wipe the counter. he remembers his sly jab about how rare this happens and the annoyed eye roll atsumu returned, cheeks flushed.
kiyoomi offers atsumu a small smile. 'okay,’ he whispers, mask still on. atsumu lights up again, a glowing pool of molten happiness. he takes him by the sleeve, going towards the fans. he makes sure to separate them. he makes sure he’s feeling okay, eyes always with concern to make sure kiyoomi's alright before crinkling with an unseen smile when he gives the most infinitesimal of a nod as the okay. he pulls down his mask and smiles again, encouraging, and kiyoomi leans into his side, mask down, looking up to the camera with a small smile.
atsumu lets him do it without question. and maybe, just maybe, he likes atsumu a little too much for his own good, kiyoomi thinks. atsumu might be too good for him.
the fans bow respectfully at them as they leave, thanking them in hushed, exhilarated tones and small waves. they wave back subtly, smiling, before turning away to continue on atsumu’s exploration walk. he drifts happily from a takoyaki store that gave him free samples to a wall of gacha machines, muttering to himself as he slipped the coins in, squeaking when kiyoomi noted how his muttering is cute. it’s fun to tease him, to see his cute but panicked hand waving, his slurred kansai-ben; watch his eyes widen comically, then the nose scrunch when kiyoomi lets out a small laugh. and it’s hard to pretend he’s doing this because atsumu is his friend and not because he also thinks that 1. his reactions are cute, and 2. he likes him.
he’s been thinking about atsumu all night and maybe even more than that ( he knows there’s more, way more, way too long ) - and atsumu had seemed over the moon today. he remembers osamu’s jab, the fans, the sheer amount of people who might be slightly in love with this annoying, high maintenance, cute but dramatic being. he remembers all the times atsumu had come to him, talked incessantly just to make him open up, demanding but never overstepping. he remembers all the times atsumu took his chance just to be left without an answer, but he never gives up on him, persistent yet patient. he remembers the smiles, the laughter, and he just wants to see atsumu happy.
with him. that too. he’s still not sure if atsumu wants it too, and if he doesn’t, he’s not sure how they’ll be acting around each other afterwards. but kiyoomi wants to know now, wants to know what atsumu thinks about him now because he’s mostly sure about his own - he likes atsumu a little too much than he can admit.
and so kiyoomi wraps a hand around atsumu’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks. the shoutengai still looks bright, quieter than the dotonbori, but atsumu is all he can see. kiyoomi can't help but look down - he took the risk without thinking or planning ( much closer to what atsumu would do ), and now that he has his attention, he doesn't know what to say.
'omi-kun?' atsumu's voice comes out unsure with a lilt to it, syllables slightly slurring. 'wha-'
'i think i like you,' kiyoomi blurts before he realises. his eyes widen and he sees atsumu's eyes grow round in disbelief too, but they're in public, it's almost two am, atsumu looking stunned in front of him and oh god he did not think this through-
'i mean- i've been trying to understand whatever this feeling was and i didn't think it through, uh,' kiyoomi forces out, panicked. 'but i uh-, well. yes. um, i think i've mentioned that i like you. i've just realised, after like, quite a while, i know, and i thought you should know, but i didn't mean to just drop it on you or something and it's fine if you don't want this too so um. oh,' kiyoomi realises, belatedly, that he's still holding atsumu's wrist and he pulls back, hand slightly trembling. atsumu doesn't say anything. kiyoomi's heart twists in confusion and dread. oh god, his ears are probably in flames.
he takes a deep breath and starts again. 'i don't want to make you uncomfortable, atsumu, but i. well, um. i don't- i'm not that good with emotions, so-'
atsumu is holding his hand.
kiyoomi looks up, trying to process the current situation.
'yer rambling,' atsumu says, his usual relaxed smile a bit shyer. simple and unwavering except- his ears are also in flames, pink tips burning. 'i just sanitised my hands waiting for ya to finish, but it took longer than i expected.'
oh. oh.
and they both know- what atsumu didn't say - and kiyoomi buried his face into the crook of atsumu's shoulder, thankful for their small height difference. 'i was possessed,' kiyoomi grumbled, feeling his whole face burn in embarrassment. 'i regret everything.'
atsumu laughs at him, ecstatic, and kiyoomi groans. 'stop, miya,' he peeks up at him. atsumu grins back, sly and playful. 'you're never going to let me live, aren't you.'
atsumu just smiles at him, his lips curving. his eyes crinkle slightly. 'never,' he grins, smug and oh god, that is illegal-
'besides, you called me atsumu.' he adds, squeezing kiyoomi's hand. 'no regretting it! ya hafta call me that. no backing out - i'll stick to ya like honey.'
kiyoomi just snuggles into him more, smiling. 'shut up, 'tsumu.' atsumu laughs again, the sound bright. 'wasn't planning on it.'