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After a long day, Kiyoomi is finally relaxed. Today had been one of his early days; he’d gone on his run at six thirty, then gone to his eight o’clock history class. He’d had a test in chemistry, a quiz in microbiology, and chem lab was today; Kiyoomi hadn’t even had time to start his paper that’s due next week. Needless to say, the second his head hit the pillow, his exhaustion overwhelmed him. Now, Kiyoomi’s cuddled up under his covers, blissfully warm and two seconds from falling asleep. He can feel his muscles relaxing, and the thought of sleeping in tomorrow has him smiling as he drifts off.
Alas, nothing in Kiyoomi’s life can ever go right— he doesn’t wake up at noon on Saturday, like he had been looking forward to. No, Kiyoomi wakes up at two fifty seven in the morning, as the display on his alarm clock says, to the piercing shriek of the fire alarm. Unfortunately, since Kiyoomi no longer lives on campus, there’s no reason to assume that someone just pulled the alarm as a prank, as happened so frequently during his first year of college. Here, in this normal, non-college apartment complex, Kiyoomi’s afraid that the fire alarm only goes off for actual fires. He considers staying in bed regardless.
When his desire to not die wins out over his desire to sleep, Kiyoomi throws off his covers and stumbles out the door. He barely has the presence of mind to take his phone with him and put on shoes before going. The alarm is even louder in the hallway, and Kiyoomi plugs his ears as he makes his way to the stairwell.
There are so many places Kiyoomi would like to be right now (nevermind that most of those places have a bed). A place that he doesn’t want to be right now is the bed-free apartment parking lot, surrounded by all the other unfortunate tenants. He hears anxious whispering, and he cranes his neck to look for smoke, or any other indication of a fire. The longer he looks and can’t see anything, the more pissed he gets.
“Do y’all see anythin’?” Kiyoomi overhears a whisper from his left, and looks to see a blond man lean towards a relatively large group of young men.
“No,” Comes a whispered reply. “It must’ve been a prank.”
“I’m gonna commit a crime,” Another of the men whispers. “I have a paper due Monday and now my whole sleep schedule is fucked up.”
As a matter of fact, Kiyoomi has a paper due Monday, too— a paper that he didn’t get a chance to start writing today like he’d planned. He didn’t even think about that until now. Yeah, he’s screwed.
“Fuck,” Kiyoomi whispers, thinking about the fifteen pages that he has to write on binary bacterial toxins between now and Monday. Apparently, he doesn’t whisper quiet enough, because every head in the entire group Kiyoomi’s been eavesdropping on whips to look at him.
“You good, pal?” One of the men asks. Kiyoomi can barely make the man’s features out in the darkness, but he can sure as hell see the guy’s ridiculous hair. Frosted tips, really? And spiked up like that? The man must be insane.
“No,” Kiyoomi replies. “I have a paper due Monday, too.”
The guy who’d mentioned having the paper perked up. “Yeah? What class?”
“Microbiology,” Kiyoomi replies. “It’s fifteen pages and I haven’t started it.”
“No way,” The guy says. “Me too— and me neither. We’re fucked,” He laughs. Kiyoomi hums in commiseration.
“Please, Suna, yer some kinda science genius. You’ll be fine— and I’m sure you will too, random stranger.” The blond guy pipes up. Kiyoomi takes a couple steps towards the group, sensing kindred spirits that he can bitch about school with.
“I’m in that class, too,” Another one of the men intones. This close, Kiyoomi can see the man’s steely blue eyes and dark hair. He’s fucking gorgeous, but frosted tips man is looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky. Pretty guy seems to be taken.
“You’re so smart, Akaashi,” Frosted tips man says.
“Yeah? Tell that to my calc professor that said she was disappointed in me.” Akaashi replies.
Kiyoomi snorts. He’s been there.
“Was that Shirofuku-sensei? I had her last semester, and I think she wanted me dead,” Kiyoomi says.
“Oh, thank God! I thought I was the only one she hated that much.” Akaashi replies.
“I had her at eight in the morning,” One of the guys sighs— Suna, if Kiyoomi remembers correctly. “Worst semester of my life. I’ve never hated math more than when I took that class.”
“Then you clearly haven’t taken advanced differential equations with Takeda-sensei,” Kiyoomi responds.
Akaashi groans. He doesn’t even have to say the words; Kiyoomi knows he, too, has suffered the pain of advanced differential equations.
“Fuckin’ STEM majors,” The blond huffs. “Just hate math all the time like a normal person.”
“I…” Whatever Kiyoomi’s about to say dies in his throat as he squints against the darkness at the logo that’s caught his eye. “Are those Captain America pants?”
It’s dark, but Kiyoomi thinks blond guy might be blushing.
“Shut up! It’s not like I had time to change into pants that wouldn’t offend the prickly neighbor while I was fleeing an alleged fire,” The guy glares at Kiyoomi.
“Ignore Atsumu,” One of the guys says, and Kiyoomi realizes with a start that this guy and blond guy are twins. “He gets grumpy when he’s tired, and it’s way past his bedtime. Also, he’s obsessed with Captain America. Thinks Chris Evans is the sexiest man to ever live.”
Atsumu grumbles something under his breath, and Suna cackles, having been close enough to hear.
“Anyways,” Atsumu’s twin continues. “Let us introduce ourselves. This is Akaashi Keiji, Bokuto Koutarou, Suna Rintarou, and Miya Atsumu, and I’m Miya Osamu,” Osamu gestures at each person in turn.
“I’m not remembering all that at three in the morning,” Kiyoomi mutters. “I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi. I’d say I’m pleased to meet you, but it’s the middle of the night, and I suspect I won’t be pleased at anything for a good while.”
“Ditto,” Suna says, and the rest of the group nods.
The group settles back into quiet, sleepy chatter, and Kiyoomi finds himself absorbed into the circle. He’s managed to end up standing next to Atsumu, and at close range, Kiyoomi notices that Atsumu’s shirt actually matches his Captain America pants. With the bleached hair, he almost looks like a really bad Captain America cosplayer. Kiyoomi says as much, because his filter doesn’t exist past midnight.
“What the fuck? Yer so mean,” Atsumu glares at Kiyoomi, but he’s so tired that he just looks like he’s about to fall asleep. What was clearly meant to be a hostile expression comes off more as a pout.
“I’m just stating facts,” Kiyoomi replies.
“Oh my God. Yer one to talk, Mr. Frog Pajamas,” Atsumu gestures at Kiyoomi’s outfit. Kiyoomi belatedly realizes that he is, in fact, wearing his Keroppi print pajama pants, complete with a shirt that has a little Keroppi peeking out of the breast pocket.
“Fuck,” Kiyoomi hisses. “I swear, these are just comfy. My stupid cousin gave them to me— I’m going to kill Motoya—”
“Chill, Omi, they’re cute. No killing required,” Atsumu says, holding his hands up placatingly.
“They are not — Omi? What the fuck is an Omi?” Kiyoomi furrows his brow.
“That’s yer name, is it not?” Atsumu asks.
“It’s Kiyo omi,” Kiyoomi replies. “But we aren’t on a first name basis. It’s Sakusa, to you,”
“Okay, Omi,” Atsumu replies.
Kiyoomi seethes quietly. God, this guy is a pain in the ass. He can’t even imagine how irritating Atsumu is when he isn’t exhausted.
The group hangs around in the parking lot a little longer, until an apartment employee clears his throat and grabs the attention of the tenants standing in the parking lot.
“Excuse me, if I could have your attention,” The man says, and he certainly does have everyone’s attention. “You are all free to return to your apartments. There was no fire, and security has gone through the CCTV footage and discovered that a couple of teens pulled the fire alarm. We are very sorry for the disturbance.”
The mob of grumpy tenants moves towards the apartments; Kiyoomi makes his way to his unit and discovers that his newfound friends live on the same floor as him.
“I cannot believe that a couple of kids just fucked up my entire weekend,” Suna grumbles. “I’m literally going to commit a felony. I’m not even joking. I’m going to kill someone or start a fire or something.”
“I think I’ll stick to tax fraud for the time being,” Kiyoomi says. “Murder and arson eat into my precious studying time.”
Everyone laughs, and Kiyoomi feels a traitorous pang of pride at apparently being that funny. These guys aren’t that bad. He gives them his phone number before they part ways, and the next day, Kiyoomi finds that he’s been added to a group chat called god i wish i was dead .
The next time Kiyoomi sees his new friends in person is at a tea shop that he suspects is supposed to be quiet. By virtue of the group including Bokuto, the tea shop is not quiet. Kiyoomi throws his backpack on the floor, sliding off his shoes and sitting down on a pillow. It’s Sunday morning, and the vibe in this tea shop is immaculate.
By the time Kiyoomi’s jasmine tea is on the low table, he has his books out and he’s studying. Upon discovering that he, Suna, and Akaashi are all in similar majors with overlapping classes, he decided he couldn’t give up the valuable opportunity to study with them— they may not act like it all the time, or at least Suna doesn’t, but both men are extremely smart. Bokuto seems to just be along for the ride, but Osamu and Atsumu are both studying as well. Kiyoomi can’t imagine what Osamu is actually studying, as a culinary major (Recipes? Baking directions? Ingredients?), and Atsumu seems to be writing a paper. Bokuto is just looking over Akaashi’s shoulder and asking random questions that don’t pertain to the course material.
Eventually, Kiyoomi shifts to writing his paper. He actually did start it yesterday, and he only has a few pages left— well, really, he only needs one more page to meet the limit, but he has quite a bit to say about binary bacterial toxins. He’ll edit it down later.
He’s just finishing up his last section when Atsumu, sitting across from him, lets out a big sigh and catches his gaze.
“Hey, Omi-kun,” Atsumu starts. Kiyoomi hasn’t been able to stop the entire group from calling him Omi. He’s resigned himself to being called a dumb nickname. “Couldja read through this paper and maybe edit it if anythin’s glaringly bad?”
“Sure, why not,” Kiyoomi replies. He’s done with his own paper, after all. “I’ll read yours if you read mine,”
“Okay!” Atsumu reaches across the table, switching their laptops and nearly spilling Kiyoomi’s tea.
The paper is… surprisingly good. Kiyoomi didn’t really expect Atsumu to be a stellar writer, especially given his thick Kansai dialect and the way he texts with no regard for grammar, but it seems that in an academic setting, he shapes up. He’s written ten pages about some event in Chinese history, and Kiyoomi actually can’t find anything wrong with the writing or with the citations. It’s an interesting topic, and the writing is really good. Kiyoomi finds himself thinking that he’d like to read some more of Atsumu’s writing.
“So, Omi, what’d ya think?” Atsumu asks when he notices Kiyoomi looking at him.
“It’s good,” Kiyoomi says. Atsumu opens his mouth, but Kiyoomi cuts him off. “And I don’t mean that in a lazy way or in an incompetent way. The citations are correct and the writing flows well. It’s a good paper.” He manages to stop himself from saying something idiotic.
“Thanks! It was rough for a while in there; I’ve been revisin’ and editin’ it for a week and a half. Speaking of which, didja really just start this paper yesterday?” Atsumu asks.
“Yeah,” Kiyoomi replies. “It sucks, I know. It really just needs to be mildly comprehensible at best.”
“What? No, that’s not what I meant,” Atsumu says, face scrunching. He looks like some sort of cute kitten or something. “I meant didja really start this yesterday as in how the fuck does it only take you two days to write a paper this length and have it be, like, really good?”
“Huh?” Kiyoomi is bewildered.
“I mean, I can’t understand the actual science, so if that’s wrong then I wouldn’t know, but this is so well written. It almost makes me wanna take chemistry or whatever the fuck class this is for,” Atsumu says.
“Oh,” Kiyoomi replies intelligently. He wills his cheeks not to flush. He’s vaguely aware of Suna and Akaashi watching him with amused smiles. Atsumu switches their computers back, and Kiyoomi doesn’t even wipe down his keyboard before returning to his work. He’s a bit hazy for the rest of the study session, though he’s still retaining information. It’s just that every so often, his mind drifts away from bacterial mechanisms and towards the way Atsumu’s smile had reached his eyes and the way he praised Kiyoomi like it was nothing and the way he could so easily make Kiyoomi’s heart pound like he was sprinting.
Monday night, there’s apparently a get-together at Bokuto’s apartment. Kiyoomi is invited, and since it’s literally in the same building that he already lives in, he goes. Motoya would be so proud. As he slides off his shoes in the genkan, Kiyoomi observes the room; Osamu’s cooking something on the stove, the TV is running quietly in the background, and the rest of the guys are playing Monopoly in the middle of the floor. Kiyoomi watches as Atsumu lands on a square, howls in agony, and pays Suna a large amount of colored bills.
“Am I late?” Kiyoomi asks.
“Nah, everyone else was early,” Atsumu responds. “C’mere, we’re almost done and you can play next round,” Atsumu pats the floor beside him. Kiyoomi sits, and he doesn’t miss the smirk Suna flashes his direction, though he doesn’t know what it means.
Within five minutes, Suna has taken everyone’s money. The game ends with Atsumu flipping the board angrily. When the board is set back up, Kiyoomi snags the cat piece, which miraculously is unclaimed, and gets ready to destroy his friends.
Kiyoomi does not destroy his friends. He only gets shitty properties, and he keeps having to pay Suna money for various reasons, some of which he’s fairly certain are not included in the official rules. He’s quickly discovering that these men have designed their own manner of playing Monopoly that includes far more cheating. He reaches a low point when he takes a loan from Atsumu, who clarifies that normally he would charge fifteen percent interest, but that Kiyoomi would get a special five percent interest rate. The loan does not turn things around, and Kiyoomi finds himself declaring bankruptcy and turning his properties over to Atsumu as payment for the loan. He’s pretty sure that’s not how Monopoly works, but he doesn’t particularly care.
“Tell ya what, Omi Omi. Why don’tcha jus’ team up with me? We can move our pieces together and make joint financial decisions,” Atsumu says, grinning. Kiyoomi can’t say no to that face. He moves his cat piece to Park Place, where Atsumu’s mouse piece is hanging out. It’s Atsumu’s property, and he has a hotel on it. Kiyoomi supposes it’s in his best interest to team up with the player that’s clearly winning.
“Just like a married couple,” Suna points out, and Kiyoomi is eternally grateful that Osamu picks that moment to announce that the fried rice is done, because he really doesn’t want to pursue that avenue of discussion.
The game pauses for everyone to eat, and when it resumes, Kiyoomi and Atsumu dominate the board. One by one, their friends are forced to give up all their money, and when the unstoppable Atsumu/Kiyoomi team inevitably wins, Suna and Bokuto refuse to play again. Akaashi just smiles like he’s privy to some inside joke.
It’s late, and Kiyoomi needs to get to bed soon, as enthralling as the television may be. He gets up to leave, and Atsumu immediately springs up as well.
“I’ll walk ya home, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, moving to put on his shoes.
“I just live down the hall—”
“I’ll walk ya home!” Atsumu repeats, cutting Kiyoomi off.
“Okay…” Kiyoomi slides on his shoes and walks out the door, Atsumu hot on his heels.
When they reach Kiyoomi’s door, Atsumu leans a shoulder against the wall. He’s smiling, but his smile seems tighter than usual, more… nervous.
“Uh… do ya mind if I come in?” Atsumu asks. Once again, Kiyoomi finds himself unable to say no. He holds the door open for Atsumu.
Atsumu slips his shoes off and sits on the couch— but he’s perched on the edge of a cushion with his hands in his lap, a far cry from his usual manner of splaying across the couch and taking up as much room as possible.
“Are you alright?” Kiyoomi asks, sitting down next to Atsumu.
“Yeah!” Atsumu startles a bit when Kiyoomi sits.
“Liar. What’s going on with you?” Kiyoomi asks.
“Well, uh…” Atsumu turns away, wringing his hands. “Y’know, Omi-kun, I really like ya.”
That’s not what Kiyoomi was expecting, but he’ll fucking take it. All of a sudden, he’s afraid his heart is going to beat all the way out of his chest.
“I think it started with yer frog pajamas. I couldn’t stop thinking aboutcha after seein’ ya lookin’ all grumpy in yer froggy pants. And yer really smart, and, I mean, have ya seen you? Anyways, sorry fer the intrusion. I just felt like I needed ta tell ya, and I didn’t wanna do it in Bokuto’s apartment. I’ll be on my way now—” Atsumu rambles on and on, and Kiyoomi feels the need to cut him off.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi interrupts. “I like you too.”
Atsumu, for once, shuts up. He stares at Kiyoomi, lips parted in awe. Kiyoomi knows this because he is staring at Atsumu’s lips.
Kiyoomi’s expecting Atsumu to lean in. When he doesn’t, Kiyoomi does it himself.
Atsumu’s unresponsiveness doesn’t hold when Kiyoomi kisses him. He immediately kisses back, and Kiyoomi knows that he can never go back to the way things were, because Atsumu is such a good kisser and he never wants to stop this. His hand cradles Atsumu’s cheek, other hand resting on Atsumu’s thigh. Atsumu’s hands have made their way to Kiyoomi’s hair, where they gently tug at his curls, and Kiyoomi discovers how much he likes it when Atsumu pulls his hair.
When they finally break apart, Atsumu’s pupils are blown wide, and his lips are swollen and red.
“I really do need to go to sleep so I’m rested for my test tomorrow,” Kiyoomi says apologetically, gently squeezing Atsumu’s thigh.
“Can I stay?” Atsumu asks, voice barely more than a whisper.
“If you promise to only sleep,” Kiyoomi replies. “No shenanigans.”
Atsumu does stay, and Kiyoomi even wears his Keroppi pajamas, much to Atsumu’s delight. The next morning, Kiyoomi discovers that waking up with Atsumu softly snoring in his arms is the best feeling in the world, and he decides never to do it any other way.