Work Text:
Kiyoomi will be tired when he gets back, he always is. Atsumu knows this.
Thursdays are exhausting days, which is why Atsumu makes sure to have something Kiyoomi likes to eat put away in the fridge and ready to be heated up, should he decide he's up for eating. Most Thursdays, he isn't. Unlike his boyfriend, the spiker does not have a bottomless stomach and appetite to match.
That's okay though. Atsumu doesn't do things for his boyfriend because he expects a 'thank you' - no one should ever enter a relationship seeking gratitude, especially not with someone like Kiyoomi Sakusa. Atsumu places the umeboshi onigiri neatly in a tupperware container and sticks it in the fridge for safekeeping.
Next, he travels to their bedroom - the apartment is strangely silent without Kiyoomi there, despite the spiker never having been much of a talker. It's the emptiness that makes it quiet. No rustling of book pages to break the stagnant air, no one to banter with. If Atsumu was a different person who loved Kiyoomi just a little less, he might find it soothing. But their apartment is not meant to be lived in alone. Not after they've spent so much time making it theirs.
Kiyoomi, despite not liking many scented things as they offend his sensitive nose, enjoys scented candles. But only certain ones. He likes the purple lavender-vanilla one, the one pink one that smells like raspberries, and the peppermint candle that Atsumu stole from his mother's house. So those are the ones he lights, placing them in odd corners of their bedroom.
The next order of business would be to pick out his boyfriend's favorite sweater - Kiyoomi always takes a shower after physical therapy. Kiyoomi says it's because Dr. Kai says it's good for his muscles, but Atsumu secretly theorizes it's because it calms his nerves. Either way, Atsumu is happy to indulge him.
He goes to get the old, peach-colored hoodie Kiyoomi is obsessed with when the sound of keys jingling in the lock of their front door stops him halfway. Atsumu straightens up like an on-guard rabbit, bouncing to the entrance with just as much enthusiasm.
The key about Thursdays - the November twilight of the week - is that Kiyoomi has even less energy than usual. Which means Atsumu and his lively spirit must work overtime to keep his boyfriend from falling asleep where he stands. (The only thing that makes Kiyoomi crankier than physical therapy is breaking his routine because he was too tired to complete it.)
It's no matter, Atsumu has enough pep for the both of them.
The moment Kiyoomi steps through the door, Atsumu is there waiting, eyeing his boyfriend with his softest smile - Kiyoomi may be all hard and sharp around the edges, but secretly, he is fragile, made of crystal and glass and to be handled with the utmost care. It's for this reason that most people think he's dysfunctional, but what they think couldn't be farther from the truth.
As with any blessing, you just need to know how to handle him.
"How was it?" Atsumu holds out his arms and Kiyoomi melts into them, lazily toeing off his shoes while he indulges in the setter's embrace - he's going to want his shoes neatly stacked in a few minutes, and Atsumu will be right there to put them on the rack that Kiyoomi 'specifically bought for that purpose, Miya.'
Kiyoomi sighs, breath warm against the crook of Atsumu's neck, a monotone, "How it always is." leaving his lips. At this point, the question is cursory. Kiyoomi never enjoys physical therapy, Atsumu knows. It's challenging, his wrists always ache afterward, and every week it's rinse and repeat just so he can keep playing and excelling at the sport he loves. It's a labor of love really, what he does. Atsumu would be lying if he said he didn't admire his boyfriend for it.
He presses a kiss to the soft skin behind Kiyoomi's ear.
"Ya wanna eat somethin' baby?" Kiyoomi shakes his head, soft curls tickling Atsumu's jawline. So the onigiri in the fridge live to not be eaten another day. That's alright. Atsumu watched him inhale a whole bowl of udon noodles at lunch, he's satisfied with his boyfriend's calory intake for the day. "Alright. Why don'tcha go take a shower an' I'll get yer wrist stuff ready."
Kiyoomi mumbles his response against the skin of Atsumu's neck, but Atsumu knows what he's trying to say.
Kiyoomi is a realist and man of great willpower, Atsumu has found. Which often conflicts with his hopes, dreams, desires. He dual-majored just to have a solid fallback plan if the turbulent world of sports didn't welcome him wholeheartedly with open arms (not that Atsumu could possibly fathom how any team would turn down such brightly shining talent, but that's beside the point). Atsumu didn't even contemplate a path beyond volleyball after high school.
Kiyoomi is stubborn and willful. And he does what he thinks is best, even when it's the opposite of what he wants. Atsumu will never not revere him for that kind of strength.
All that said, the setter is of the personal opinion that Kiyoomi needs to just let himself have things sometimes. Sometimes Kiyoomi needs to be selfish, Atsumu thinks. And sometimes he needs to let himself have what he wants, even when it isn't what's best or right or logical. Kiyoomi deserves to have everything he wants.
Kiyoomi plants a kiss on Atsumu's lips before he peels away, lingering and soft, like he doesn't really want to go. Atsumu indulges him and enjoys every second of the gentle contact, tracing the smooth contours of Kiyoomi's face with the pad of his thumb before the spiker pulls away and turns down the hall. Atsumu smiles at his retreating figure - Thursdays are hard days, it's the least Atsumu can do to try and make them a little bit easier.
When he hears the water turn on, he neatly stacks Kiyoomi's tennis shoes on the shoe rack by the door before making his way back to their bedroom to finish his earlier task. He pulls the peach sweater from the half-opened drawer of their dresser and quietly grins to himself at the memories it brings back in vivid technicolor.
Kiyoomi didn't even want it. Actually, he said he hated it. And the truth of the matter is that Atsumu made him buy it just to spite him. It was Atsumu's birthday, after all, and Kiyoomi wasn't going to not get it for him - even if it was painfully oversized and a color that Kiyoomi called 'a disgusting shade of k-pop vomit'. Atsumu wore it out of the store (with a matching hat that they do, in fact, still own) just to watch the spiker squirm.
At first, it was almost exclusively Atsumu who wore it. Now, Atsumu can tell when Kiyoomi is feeling sad because he puts it on whenever he doesn't feel like talking but still needs affection and confirmation that he's doing the right thing. Almost like their own secret code.
Atsumu folds the sweater and adds it to the pile of clothes stacked on the bed - all Kiyoomi's favorites. His extra soft gray sweatpants, the ugly doll fuzzy socks Komori got him as a gag gift for Christmas, even his favorite underwear. It's not weird that Atsumu knows his boyfriend's preference for undergarments, right?
No, he decides as he scoops up the pile and heads to the bathroom, it's not.
When Kiyoomi is showering, he's like an easily frightened cat. Atsumu learned this the hard way when he burst into their bathroom with his usual morning gusto on the first day of them living together and was met with a piercing shriek and the clattering of shampoo bottles. So he makes sure to keep his volume down as he slips the clothes onto the counter. He makes his way back to the bed and flops down, retrieving Kiyoomi's wrist cream from their bedside table.
And everyone calls Atsumu the big baby in their relationship.
That's the thing that people don't understand. That Atsumu can be responsible and Kiyoomi can be needy. Sure, maybe it's not the most public facet of their relationship, and certainly not the face they show to the world. If you were to ask their fans, Atsumu is a typical attention-hog hanging off his tsundere boyfriend. And that's okay.
But the side of Kiyoomi that only Atsumu gets to see is the side that bought a reversible boba tea plush and flips it angry-side-out when Atsumu does something annoying. The side that doesn't like spicy foods and adores angel food cake and gets genuinely emotionally invested in k-dramas. The rest of the world doesn't see his real Omi. But that's okay with him. Because it makes it all the more special that Atsumu is the only one privy to that side of him.
Kiyoomi exits their bathroom with his hands eclipsed by the faded peach sleeves of the k-pop vomit sweater, a pout on his pretty lips. Oh, how Atsumu adores this man with all of his heart and soul.
He pats the bed beside him and Kiyomi obliges, sitting against the headboard and curling his knees up to his chest and offering Atsumu his hand. Atsumu takes it with as gentle a touch as he can manage.
Wordlessly, Atsumu scoops up a dollop of the strawberry-scented cream and rubs it between his fingers to warm it up. Kiyoomi has always been touch-sensitive. Especially around his wrists. Better safe than sorry, and even then, the spiker still makes a slight hissing sound between his teeth when the substance first touches his skin.
Atsumu brushes Kiyoomi's curls back with his clean hand and presses a kiss to his boyfriend's forehead, "'M sorry baby, shoulda warmed it up more first." Kiyoomi just shakes his head.
Atsumu does this every Thursday. Has been for three years. It's routine by now. He knows exactly where to press and which spots to avoid - the pulse point on his right hand is always sensitive, and when Atsumu thumbs along the tendon, Kiyoomi sighs. Atsumu's no doctor and he failed his semester of anatomy in high school, but he knows Kiyoomi's body like the back of his hand. Better.
One might attribute that to Atsumu, his inherent adaptability, his sense for other people. But if you ask Atsumu, he'd hand over the credit to Kiyoomi. Because everyone knows that, to succeed at anything and learn to adapt, you need someone, just one person, to stick with you. When Atsumu dug his nail into Kiyoomi's skin too hard the first time, Kiyoomi didn't pull away. Instead, he sat calmly and explained why Atsumu should stay away from the heel of his palm.
Of course, Atsumu has long forgotten the science behind what he explained, but he only holds Kiyoomi's hand right now because the spiker lets him.
Kiyoomi sighs as Atsumu gently massages the lotion against his skin, dropping his head to the setter's shoulder and breathing in deep. Atsumu hums, a thought occurring suddenly that he hadn't realized was weighing on his mind before.
"Omi," Kiyoomi grunts in acknowledgment, nuzzling closer against Atsumu's jawline. "What made ya decide ta lemme help ya?"
The spiker cracks one eye open in questioning.
"I mean," Atsumu inhales through his nose, sensing the time approaching for him to move onto the other hand when the texture of the lotion begins to fade. "Before we moved in together, ya never woulda let me touch yer wrists..." he quickly adds, "Which is okay. I'm just wonderin' why."
Kiyoomi is silent for a long moment after that, so quiet that Atsumu wonders if he might have fallen asleep - honestly, he wouldn't blame the man. A full day of practice coupled with physical therapy always wipes him out. Not to mention that Meian was drilling them hard for the upcoming Adler's game. He deserves a good rest.
"Because it feels nice," is the answer Atsumu receives eventually, whispered against his skin. "I could do it myself. But I like it when you do it. You do it better."
The words unlock the little box in Atsumu's chest where he keeps his tears of fondness and all the other sappy things he'd never dare let see the light of day - things like the video of Osamu learning how to ride a bike without Atsumu holding the handlebars (which he still has, by the way), and the memory of Kiyoomi feeding a stray cat some of his lunch (Kiyoomi can never know he saw that). He blinks them back, but knowing Kiyoomi, the spiker already knows.
"Oh," is what he manages, chest heavy with love. "Guess this means I can finally do somethin' better than ya, huh?"
That earns him a light nip to the column of his throat, pulling a laugh from his lungs starved of oxygen. He feels so happy, he doesn't know how he ever lived life without Kiyoomi beside him.
"I love ya, Kiyoomi. Ain't never gonna stop, y'know that, right?" Kiyoomi melts against his side, pushing their bodies together as if zero inches between them is just too damn far away. Atsumu revels in each and every point of contact as the spiker sighs,
"Atsu. Thank you," Atsumu shakes his head lightly - he'll never be able to properly communicate all that he feels for this man. "For taking care of me, and loving me." Atsumu scrunches his nose as he makes sure to properly warm up the lotion this time.
Atsumu is a man who's been raised on the belief that love is something that is given. That if someone makes you earn it, then you probably don't want it. Atsumu loves Kiyoomi Sakusa because he has no other choice, not because he's expecting a reward. His Omi is his reward.
"Bubbie, y'ain't never gotta thank me fer lovin' ya. An' if ya do, I ain't lovin' ya right."
It's then that Atsumu feels hot tears slipping down his collarbone, beneath the hem of his shirt. He looks to the man at his side and finds Kiyoomi's shoulders shaking lightly, glittering tear tracks running down flushed cheeks. Atsumu momentarily pauses his ministrations on Kiyoomi's wrist to press a gentle kiss to the crown of his head.
"C'mon, darlin', don't cry now."
"I love you Atsu," Kiyoomi croaks out, his words so soft that they'd be drowned out by any slight noise in the room. Atsumu holds him close and presses their foreheads together then, and everything is right with the world. "I am really really in love with you."
Atsumu smiles, and he hopes Kiyoomi can feel it - how happy the spiker makes him. All Kiyoomi has to do is exist and Atsumu's world becomes a little brighter.
"I know, Omi."
Thursdays are hard days. Long, exhausting, draining days. Kiyoomi is always tired on Thursdays. But it doesn't matter because Atsumu will be there for every single one of them.