Archive of Our Own

The first time it happens they’re all at Bokuto’s house. House being an understatement. The correct term is his obnoxiously lavish estate.

A team sleepover, made mandatory by Meian. Even then it took a considerable amount of convincing and the threat of extra practice to get Sakusa to come. 

Atsumu doesn’t know what wakes him up. Usually, he’s a heavy sleeper. His Ma and Pa used to joke that he could sleep through a hurricane. Osamu proved them wrong by waking him up with purple nurples every day of highschool. His poor nipples throb in sympathy at the thought. 

He tries to go back to sleep but his mind is awake now. He gets up, stepping over where Hinata and Bokuto are tangled together on the floor, Bokuto drooling into Hinata’s hair. He passes Shion, Oliver, and Meian before he notices someone is missing.

Honestly, he probably just went home. Drove back once they were all asleep. But his futon is messed up like he was actually sleeping. 

He ends up wandering around the house to find him, even checking the top floor. Nothing. He’s about to give up and try to go back to sleep when he catches sight of pale blue outside the back door.

Atsumu slides it open, stepping out onto the patio. The concrete is a little cold on his bare feet but the air is warm enough. 

Sakura is sitting on top of the wall in the backyard. Bricks of gray concrete enclosing a garden that has nothing but weeds growing in the soil.

He almost calls out. Probably with some sarcastic comment he wouldn’t think through, but something stops him. Sakusa knows he’s there, but hasn’t said anything. Instead his eyes are turned to the ground, looking all too frail in his baby blue silk pajamas. The one’s Atsumu had called pretentious. 

He walks over to him, hopping up on the wall beside him. He just waits. Waits for Sakusa to make the first move.

Then, “Have you ever had a panic attack before?”

Atsumu blinks at him, surprised at the unexpected question, “No, I haven’t.”

Sakusa's mouth goes thin as he purses his lips before speaking, “It’s one of the worst feelings in the world. In simple terms, a panic attack is terror. Pure and unrestrained terror. But it’s caused by something small, or maybe nothing at all.

“It starts in your chest and jumps to your throat. It squeezes, feels like someone grabbed your heart and esophagus in their hands and made it a mission to strangle the life out of them.

“Then it spreads, moves across your body and makes everything numb. Everything but your heart and your throat. It’s one of the worst feelings in the world.”

Atsumu swallows the lump in his throat. It sounds horrible, and it sounds even worse when the words are coming out of Kiyoomi’s mouth..

They don’t talk about things like this. Hell, they barely talk at all outside of the occasional argument and volleyball conversations. Kiyoomi has always been distanced. Guarded. So for him to confide in Atsumu like this… it makes what he says a million times more startling.

“‘M sorry ya gotta go through that, Omi,” Atsumy tells him after a beat of silence. He knows Kiyoomi won't appreciate the sympathy, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

Black eyes turn toward him, made even darker in the night, “I would go through a million panic attacks if it meant I wouldn’t have to feel like this again. Panic attacks- they end. They end and they leave you exhausted so you sleep. They’re a lot simpler to deal with than this… this feeling.”

Atsumu tucks one of his legs under the other one, leaving one foot still dangling over the edge of the wall, “Wha’ does it feel like?”

Omi looks away from him and up to the sky. Atsumu hates the way his eyes trace the line of his jaw.

“It’s… hard to describe. Nothing is numb, it's the opposite. I can feel everything, no matter how much I wish I couldn’t. My shirt feels like it's scraping off my skin. The bottom of my feet feel so hot they could melt. I can feel each one of my eyelashes and none of them feel like they’re in the right spot.

“And the worst part is I don't know when it’s going to end. I’ve stayed up for over 32 hours once. Just because I couldn’t stop feeling. 

“This… this is the worst feeling in the world. There is no way it’s not.”

Omi has a lot of different emotions. Some flare red hot and others are subtle. There’s the explosive anger and harsh words when Atsumu goes too far when they’re bickering. There's the small restrained smile that creeps onto his face when they win a game. 

This is a new emotion. One Atsumu hasn’t seen before. It looks suspiciously like defeat.

Atsumu decides right there that he hates it. 

He looks up at the sky too and he’s speaking before his mind can catch up. It was always a bad habit of his. His mouth was always just a little bit faster than his head.

“When I was 12 I broke my arm. I couldn’ play volleyball fer months. Thought I was gonna die. I ended up gettin’ obsessed with astronomy while waitin’ for my arm to heal. “

“Is there a point to this or should I tell you to shut up now?” Kiyoomi snaps.

Atsumu chuckles, “Relax, Omi Omi. I was just gonna say, you see those stars right there. Well, one of em isn’t really clear right now but ya can see the others.”

Atsumu points up at the sky and waits until Kiyoomi follows his finger, “That’s Andromeda. The Chained Maiden. It’s named after this chick from greek mythology.”

“I still don’t see the point,” Kiyoomi replies, voice sounding increasingly more bored.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, “Just wait will ya? Yer so damn impatient. Andromeda’s Ma said that she was more beautiful than these sea nymphs and Poseidon got all pissy. Attacked her homeland. They chained her to a rock as a sacrifice to please him.”

“That’s… harsh.”

“Got that right. I always thought it was weird. Her Ma is the one that got them into that mess, so why not chain her to the rock?”

Kiyoomi leans back on his hands, turning to look at Atsumu. Atsumu tries and fails to not squirm under his gaze, “Fascinating story, Miya. I’m still failing to see the point.”

Atsumu shifts, untucking his leg and then tucking the other one, “Well, how do ya feel? Any better?”

He expects to be shot down. A firm and annoyed no, a rolling of the eyes, maybe he would even just get up and walk away. Instead he gets a few moments of silence. So long Atsumu almost breaks it himself before Sakusa replies, “A little bit. Thank you.”

Kiyoomi has never thanked him before, maybe because Atsumu never did anything worth thanking. A childish sense of pride rises in his chest. He helped him. He helped Omi.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve heard far too much of your voice for three in the morning. I’m going back to bed,” Sakusa says.

Well, at least they were civil for a little while. Atsumu thinks it was their personal record. Of course the previous record was completely nonexistent. 

“Yeah, yeah. Ya need yer beauty sleep, I got it,” he says dramatically, hopping off the wall with a sigh.

Sakusa walks ahead of him and Atsumu subtly (not so subtly) checks out his ass in his pajama pants.

“You could use some beauty sleep yourself, Miya. And stop looking at my ass.”

Atsumu clicks his tongue before following Sakusa inside. 

***

The second time they’re staying in a hotel in Tokyo. The night before their game.

The room assignments are always random, every time. Well, random for everyone but Bokuto and Hinata. Hinata seems to be the only one who can put up with sharing a room with Bokuto, even if it’s just for a night. 

The rest of them pick a name out of a hat. Quite literally.

Meian calls it the hat of destiny. Sakusa calls it a five dollar top hat from party city. Atsumu agrees with Meian to piss Sakusa off.

“Come on,” Atsumu whines, hanging off of Meian arm, “Can’t we redraw. It's the big game! You know Omi is just gonna be all pissy tomorrow if we room together.”

Meian shakes his head, arms crossed firmly, “You know how it works, Atsumu.”

Atsumu huffs, letting go of his arm and stopping one foot childishly. He sees Sakusa rolls his eyes at the action out of the corner of his eyes but ignores it. For now.

“I know that last time me ‘n Omi roomed together before a game ,he watched one of my tosses and let it fall to the ground without even tryin’ to get it.”

“It was too low,” Kiyoomi interjects.

Atsumu whirls around to glare at him, “Bullshit. It was like every other toss I give ya. Fucking perfect you ungrateful ass.”

He sees the anger spark in Kiyoomi’s eyes and prepares himself for the biting comment that will follow. It doesn’t come, instead Meian dons his captain's voice and sternly tells both of them, “Stop complaining and deal with it. If you don’t want Sakusa to be pissy then try not pissing him off, Atsumu.”

Sakusa’s annoyed face quickly turns into a smug one. Atsumu resists the urge to slap it off of him. Or maybe kiss it off. He hasn’t decided yet.

“Fine,” Atsumu relents, walking up to Kiyoomi and ripping the key card out of his hand, “I call first shower.”

He’s already standing under hot water when he hears the door open to the bathroom. He pokes his head out from behind the shower curtain, “Wha’ the fuck, Omi. I’m showerin’.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes, “Relax, there is a curtain. I’m gonna do the rest of my nighttime routine while waiting for the shower.”

“Nighttime routine,” Atsumu mumbles bitterly, “Course ya got a whole fuckin’ routine.”

There isn’t any answer from him so Atsumu retreats back into the shower, pouring an unnecessary amount of shampoo on his palm before massaging it into his hair. He hums something random as he does, if only to drown out the sounds of Kiyoomi shuffling around just behind the curtain. It’s too domestic. Make Atsumu’s heart clench up in an uncomfortable way.

He rinses the shampoo out and grabs the condition. This time only using a reasonable amount since he’s calmed down.

He scrubs it in, running his fingers through the few tangles stuck in his hair. 

“Miya?”

Atsumu’s heart stops at the sound of his voice, only for a moment before picking back up again twice as fast as before, “Hmm?”

“Can you turn the fucking shower colder it’s fogging up the mirror?”

He should have known better than to expect something neutral, or god forbid sweet, “I dunno, can you take that stick out of your ass?”

Another bad habit of his. He can’t simply let things go. Always gotta have the last word. The only response is the slamming of a door and a bitten out “bitch”. 

Atsumu sighs to himself, resting his head against the tile of the shower wall. It's cool. Cooler than the water and definitely cooler than Atsumu. He wonders why he can’t just shut up every once and a while.

He towels off, slipping on the boxers and an oversized sleep shirt he brought into the bathroom with him before walking out. He flops down on the bed, “All yours, Omi.”

When there isn’t a response, Atsumu looks over at the other bed. Omi is looking at him, eyes blank like he isn’t really registering what he’s seeing. Atsumu sits up, “Omi?”

Kiyoomi blinks before snapping out of it, jumping up and grabbing a pile of clothes already set aside on the bed before disappearing into the bathroom. Atsumu stares at the door long after he hears the shower turn on, wondering what was up with him.

“Whatever,” he mumbles to himself, collapsing into the feather pillows and falling asleep before Sakusa emerges again.

He doesn’t sleep for long, woken up a few hours later by the incessant shuffling of the man in the bed across the room. He listens for a moment, staring at the wall in front of him as he hears Omi roll over again with an annoyed groan and a frustrated mumble of “come on”.

He turns over to face him, “Can’t sleep?”

Black eyes meet him in the darkness, the full moon outside the only source of light. That and the red dot of the fire alarm. 

“Tell me another story. About the stars,” Kiyoomi whispers in the quiet of the hotel room. Atsumu’s breath gets stuck in his throat before rushing out all at once. Exhaling until he feels lightheaded. He sounds uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Okay,” Atsumu tells him, voice also softer than usual. He gets off his bed, walks over to Kiyoomi’s bed and takes a seat beside him, crossing his legs under himself carefully. He reaches out to open the blinds, pulling down on the rope until they’re opened completely.

He scours the portion of the sky that’s visible before pointing, “There. That’s Eridanus. The river.”

The room is so quiet he can hear when Omi swallows beside him, “What’s it’s story?”

Atsumu thinks that here, right now, they’re outside the timeline of reality. Reality can’t  accommodate a moment like this. It would break the universe. 

Maybe it's a dream.

“Phaeton. He was the son of the sun god or somethin’. The sun god would drive a chariot across the sky every day to make the sun rise ‘n fall. Phaeton wanted to drive it,” Atsumu begins, “Eventually his old man gave in and let ‘im drive. Bad idea. Dude was an awful driver, kept freezing and heating up the earth too much. Zeus killed him for it.”

“Sounds like an idiot,” Sakusa says.

“Yeah.”

“Kinda reminds me of you.”

“Hey!” Atsumu yells, offended. The feeling doesn’t last very long when he looks over to see Sakusa snickering. His eyelids are drooping and his hair is mussed up from how he was rolling around trying to sleep. But he’s laughing. And it’s a genuine laugh, not something forced for the cameras like when they do interviews.

Atsumu’s jaw hangs open for a little too long before he remembers to snap it shut. Staring in awe at his enemy would only serve to hurt his reputation after all. Even though they’re the only ones in the room.

Kiyoomi lays down, head on the pillow and feet by Atsumu. Their legs bump against each other and Atsumu shivers.

Omi seems to be entirely ignorant to his current panic, eyes already closing and sleepily mumbling out a thank you before he’s gone. 

Everything about their relationship had been simple. They argued. They halfheartedly dealt with each other for the sake of the team. And they… well that’s about it. It was easy. Predictable.

Then Kiyoomi decided for some unknown fucking reason to confide in him. In Atsumu of all people. It’s an event so unlikely that he would be more likely to believe Marilyn Monroe rose from the dead and ran to become the first female US president only to lose to Elvis Presely who has also risen from the dead. That is to say, it’s really fucking unlikely. 

Now Atsumu knows he can be a lot sometimes. He’s impulsive on the court and loud in quite literally every aspect of his life. But despite how he seems, he likes when some things stay the same. Hell, he decided he wanted to be a professional volleyball player at the tender age of ten and actually went through with it. 

Some things are just more comfortable when they stay the same. Easier when they do. 

He liked his relationship with Kiyoomi. It was constant. All the arguing let him stubbornly ignore how Kiyoomi’s cheekbones could cut glass. How his eyes were so dark they reflected everything.

How his lips looked so goddamn soft.

Let him ignore all the things that made his heart beat too fast and his palms get all sweaty. Because the little thoughts popped up in his head. Pictures of Kiyoomi nestled against his chest bathed in the sunrise. Of two hands held together, resting on one of their thighs and they don’t let go even when their hands get sweaty. Of kissing him in the entryway to Kiyoomi’s apartment that he’s only seen three times, too impatient to wait until they’re farther inside.

All those little thoughts were just far fetched daydreams Atsumu attributed to him being unbearable horny and touch starved and Kiyoomi being mildly attractive and convenient. Because he and Kiyoomi didn’t get along. They weren’t even friends so how could they be something more?

These little moments of heaven they’ve carved out for themselves in the night throw a huge wrench in his world view.

***

No one knocks on his door unannounced at three in the morning unless they are looking to get tackled by a pissed off Atsumu. There are only two people who would dare to do so.

Option number 1: Something happened to Osamu and Sunarin is banging on the door because his brother is either lying in a hospital bed or in a prison cell.

Option number 2: Osamu and Sunarin had a fight and Osamu has come to crash on the couch for the night.

Considering his phone is suspiciously devoid of notifications, he assumes its option number two.

Atsumu stumbles out of bed, blearily walking toward the front door with clumsy feet. He fumbles with the chain lock as Osamu knocks again, more insistent this time.

“Jesus Christ, Samu. I don’t know why yer so eager to be let in when I’m gonna kick yer ass for wakin’ me up.”

He manages to unlock and swing open the door only to be met with someone who is definitely not Osamu.

Kiyoomi stares at him, eyebags prominent and face swollen and blotchy. He looks like he had been crying, “Tell me about the stars again.”

A million questions race through his mind. Starting with “why the fuck are you here at one in the morning” and ending with “why the fuck are you coming to me of all people”.

“Okay,” is all he says. Opening the door wider so Kiyoomi can enter. 

He’s in pajamas, Atsumu notes. Even more surprising is the fact that he’s bare foot. Nothing but a pair of black socks on his feet.

He shuffles into the apartment and Atsumu watches the end of his oversized sleep pants brush against the floor, checkered pattern stained with dirt on the edges. 

He walks over to his own dresser, pulls out a pair of pants that are a little too long on his and hands them over silently. Kiyoomi peels off of his own pants, looking like he only just now noticed how dirty they were. He peels off his socks as well, putting on the clean pair of pants before standing there awkwardly, just staring at Atsumu.

It’s hard to process it. Kiyoomi standing in the middle of his apartment with his clothes on. Barefoot and lines of his face soft. Far different from the usual hard, cold lines that grace his face. It’s like something out of a romantic daydream. Not that Atsumu has those. Especially not in relation to Sakusa Kiyoomi. Definitely not.

Atsumu walks over to the far window where he has a wider view of the sky. One not blocked by the tall building in the south. 

“See there? That’s two constellations. Orion and Lepus. The hunter and his hare,” Atsumu says quietly, as if anything above a whisper will disturb the fabric of this reality and Omi will disappear in a wave or rippling light. 

Kiyoomi walks up to stand beside him. Their arms brush and Atsumu tenses every muscle in his body to force himself not to flinch at the touch.

“Yeah, I see,” Kiyoomi whispers, voice akin to honey, dripping slowly and sweetly out of pink lips. 

“Orion fell in love. He was blinded by the girl's dad. Apparently he didn’ approve of his daughter's suitor. Ended up gettin’ his sight back ‘cause of the ray of the rising sun. A very realistic method of treatin’ vision problems, I’d say,” Atsumu tells him.

“Of course. Maybe I should simply throw my contacts away and spend more time in the sun.”

“Omi, didja just make a joke? Never thought I’d see the day.”

Kiyoomi sighs from beside him, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Shut up.”

Atsumu shrugs and lets the subject drop, an unusual course of action on his part, “Well, anyways, he ended up going huntin’ with Artemis. The goddess of huntin’ and the moon and whatnot.”

Kiyoomi leans closer to the window, eyes fixated on the stars, “And the hare? What’s it’s story?”

Atsumu’s eyes are fixated on Kiyoomi instead of the sky, “Isn’t one. Just a hare. Sad, ain’t it? I know back then they did it to survive but I couldn’ imagine killin’ an animal like that.”

Omi snorts, “Don’t you eat meat?”

A shake of the head, “Nah. Back when me and Samu were little we figured out that meat was actually made from animals. Both cried like idiots. We wouldn’ touch a piece of meat after that. Both been vegetarian since we were kids.”

“That seems like something you would do, although I expected a bit more from your brother,” Kiyoomi teases.

Atsumu considers biting back from the comment but Omi’s got this small little smile on his face. Like imagining little Atsumu crying over a piece of meat is endearing instead of aggravating. He finds himself smiling too. It is a little funny. 

He lets out a yawn, stretching his arms above his head and leaning side to side to crack his back. Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose at the sound. Atsumu counts that as a win considering one time he cracked his back after a game and Kiyoomi punched him for it.

“‘M sorry I woke you up,” he apologizes, voice genuine for once. Atsumu is pretty sure this is actually the first time he’s heard a genuine apology from him. 

“Yer fine. Ya worry too much Omi Omi. We should probably go ta bed now though.”

He seems to snap back to reality, poster getting tense again as if he only now registered where he was, “Right, sorry. I’ll go.”

Atsumu gives him an incredulous look, “Are ya insane? It’s like four in the mornin’, just stay here for the night.”

“I don’t want to intrude anymore than I already have,” Kiyoomi replies. His voice is all worried and embarrassed. It makes Atsumu angry.

“Yer not intruding. Stay, Omi. I gotta futon and everythin’,” Atsumu insists. He’ll be damned if he lets Kiyoomi run away now. Not when he’s finally opening up. 

Kiyoomi considers it for a moment, eyebrows threading together and looking at Atsumu like he’s a 1000 piece puzzle he needs to solve. Finally, he relents, “Alright.”

So Atsumu pulls out the futon, grabbing fitted sheets from the closet to put on it and an extra quilt. He always uses quilts instead of comforters. Comforters are far too thick and hot.

His Ma says his body doesn’t know how to regulate temperatures. It’s why he gets overheated so easily and ran such high fevers as a kid. Osamu says he’s so hot because he’s so close to hell.

When he finishes getting everything ready, taking a pillow off of his bed to throw on the futon, he flops down on it.

It’s not as comfy as his mattress, but it’s good enough.

“Um,” Kiyoomi says in an unsure voice.

Atsumu cracks an eye open to look at him where he’s standing awkwardly by the end of the futon, “Yer sleeping in the bed. My mama raised me ta be a good host, Omi.”

He opens his mouth like he’s gonna argue but he must be pretty damn exhausted because he shuts it immediatly after. He crawls into Atsumu’s bed and tugs the blanket up around his shoulders. 

Atsumu watches him to make sure he’ll be obedient before closing his eyes again. He doesn’t think he’s ever fallen asleep so fast before. 

***

If Atsumu thought the night before felt like a fever dream it was nothing compared to the morning after. 

Waking up to Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi asleep in his bed was absolutely wild. Cause he’s drooling. He’s drooling on Atsumu’s fucking pillow. And he can’t even bring himself to be grossed out by it when Kiyoomi shifts in his sleep, a tiny crease forming in between his eyebrows and a small groan escaping slightly parted lips.

“Adorable,” Atsumu whispers to himself, almost in awe.

He really wants to take a picture. Sakusa would kill him if he found out. 

He’s totally gonna take a picture.

Once he’s gotten his fair share of sleeping Omi pictures (sending one over to Osamu with no explanation and ignoring the onslaught of texts that come after because he’s just that much of a bitch) he heads to the kitchen and stares at his meager supply of food. 

He should know better. He’s got a chef for a brother. If Osamu saw the state of his pantry right now he might die. Or more likely, he would kill Atsumu. 

But he’s got eggs and rice and isn’t that all you really need?

He hums the theme song from the show Greatest American Hero as he waits for the pan to heat up. He never watched it, but he did watch thirteen seasons of Supernatural with Japanese subtitles. The song was in one of the episodes and since he watched it he gets the song stuck in his head every three months. 

He sticks the rice in the rice cooker, adding the correct amount of water before moving back over to crack an egg in the pan.

It isn’t until he’s cracked two that he curses. He forgot to butter the pan. He grabs the spatula to scrape at the egg, hoping that some miracle will arise and the eggs won’t be stuck to the bottom of the pan. It never happens.

He sighs and moves over to scrape the mess into the trashcan and start over again. He’s always been a shitty cook. That was Osamu’s thing, not his. 

There’s a noise from behind him and Atsumu turns to see Kiyoomi exiting the bedroom, a sleepy pout on his face. His eyes are puffy with sleep and the tears he shed the night before.

“Mornin’ Omi!” Atsumu calls cheerful, enjoying the scowl that appears on his face a little too much.

Kiyoomi presses at his temples, “No. Too early. You’re too cheerful.”

Atsumu snickers, “Ya should be kind to the one who’s making breakfast.”

Omi rolls his eyes, stepping into the kitchen and looking at the pan. It looks disgusting, pieces of burnt egg still stuck to the bottom, “I’m not sure this is food.”

“Oh shuddup. I forgot ta butter it!” he defends.

Kiyoomi reaches out to grab the pan from him, “Don’t yell in my face till you’ve gotten rid of that morning breath. I’ll cook, you go brush your teeth.”

Atsumu flushes, hand going up to cover his mouth, “Yer mean Omi. Don’t ya have mornin’ breath too?”

If he doesn’t, Atsumu would add it onto the list of evidence supporting the fact that Omi is, in fact, a cyborg. 

Seriously. It’s in his notes app. 

“Used the spare toothbrush under your sink,” Omi replies easily. Atsumu hates him for thinking so far ahead. He storms off to go brush his teeth.

He leaves the door to the bathroom open while he is listening to the sound of Kiyoomi cooking in the kitchen. Man, if he thought it seemed domestic back at that hotel, it was nothing compared to this.

Nothing compared to walking out of his bathroom in his apartment to see Omi in his kitchen and in his clothes making breakfast. 

The eggs come out perfect. A fact that Atsumu would be more bitter about if they didn’t taste so goddamn good. Perfectly over-easy. Atsumu stabs into it with a chopstick and watches the yolk run down over his rice.

“Yer a good cook, Omi,” Atsumu compliments.

“No, I’m just not completely incompetent in the kitchen like you,” Omi insults.

This is what he gets for trying to be nice. 

***

No matter how much Atsumu hopes and prays, Omi doesn’t show up at his apartment again. 

And the season is over, so they aren’t forced into a hotel room together. Atsumu should be happy, he doesn’t have to deal with the sniping comments and well planned insults.

He’s the opposite.

“I miss ‘im! Why do I miss ‘im?”

“Because yer an idiot,” Osamu replies easily.

Atsumu glares at him from where he’s hanging over the couch, watching Osamu cook upside down, “Yer supposed to be supportive. Loving. Ever heard of it?”

Osamu grabs an apple and chucks it at his head. Atsumu clutches at his forehead with a whine as it throbs from the impact, “I’m making ya food. That’s loving right there.”

Atsumu whines some more until Osamu sighs, setting down the knife from where he’s chopping up a tomato.

“Ya miss him ‘cause ya like him, ‘tsumu,” he tells him. As if Atsumu wasn’t already well aware of his heart boner for Omi.

He waves his hand in front of his face, “I’ve liked him for like forever now. This is old news.”

Osamu pauses, staring at him for a moment before slapping his palm to his forehead, “I can’t believe I’m related to ya.”

Atsumu sits upright after he starts to get a headache from being upside down, “Right back at ya.”

Osamu walks over to him, sitting down beside him on the couch, “Yeah, ya liked him Atsumu. But ya didn’t know him. Ya didn’t talk to him or interact with him outside of practice, right?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says slowly.

“And now ya have! Ya little heart boner has turned into a massive hard on,” Osamu says slowly like he’s talking to a child.

Atsumu scrunches up his nose at him, “Couldn’t ya have used better wording?”

“This is how ya always describe this stuff.”

“Yeah, but it’s weird when ya do it,” he grumbles, only to be tackled onto the floor by Osamu the second the words leave his mouth.

***

He hadn’t noticed it before. 

Logically, Omi probably gets overwhelmed at other times besides when he’s trying to sleep, but Atsumu never bothered to pay that close attention before.

Now, his eyes are automatically drawn to him whether he wants them to or not. So, he notices pretty quickly.

He watches as Omi flinches when Bokuto says something, voice at the same loud volume it always is. Sees the change in his demeanor. How his shoulders hunch in slightly like he’s trying to make himself smaller. To shrink down into nothing.

Then comes the fidgeting. His thumb traces over the fingers on the same hand. Thumb moving up and over the tip of each finger before sliding back down in between them. Then moving on to the next finger. 

It’s repetitive. Probably comforting in the current situation. Something to stay the same when everything gets overwhelming and out of control.

Even with that, he looks close to crying. Atsumu sets up another ball without really paying attention and Hinata falters when it’s far too short.

“Ah, sorry Hinata,” he apologizes halfheartedly, eyes still fixed to where Kiyoomi is now pacing while waiting in line to spike.

“It’s okay! Are you okay?” Hinata asks. Atsumu has to give him credit. As much as people like to claim he’s a clueless airhead, Hinata is surprisingly cued into the people around him.

He nods, giving Hinata a small smile, “Yeah, fine. Just give me a sec.”

He walks over to the other line where the coach is setting for some of the team. The line Kiyoomi is in. 

“Pyxis,” he says.

Omi’s eyes narrow in confusion, “What?”

“Pyxis. The compass. Represents Jason and the Argonauts. They sailed on the ship called Argo. The crew had a buncha famous heros on it. They were known for stealin’ the golden fleece.”

Kiyoomi is staring at him with some emotion in his eyes that Atsumu can’t identify. Annoyance? Relief? Appreciation? He doesn’t know.

“I’ll show it to ya, sometime,” Atsumu tells him before turning around and taking his place back at the net.

Oliver looks at him like he’s gone insane. Maybe he has.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Nothin’,” Atsumu deflects, “Ya gonna throw me the ball or not?”

It’s the end of the conversation but everyone still gives him weird looks the rest of practice. 

***

One fact that should be known about Miya Atsumu is that he is dumb. He is like so incredibly stupid.

That's the only reasonable explanation as to why he’s currently pacing in front of Kiyoomi’s apartment at midnight, trying to work up the courage to knock. 

Because Kiyoomi likes to be in control. Showing up at someone’s apartment in the middle of the night? Sure, no problem. Someone else showing up at his apartment in the middle of the night? 

Let’s just say Atsumu will be lucky if he gets away with a few bruises. 

He knocks anyways.

There’s a split second before the door opens that he considers running away, and then another second after the door opens where he wishes he did.

“What are you doing here?” Kiyoomi asks him, voice gruff with sleep and eyes slightly puffy.

What is he doing here?

“Uh, uhm,” Atsumu fumbles, “Pyxis?”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes, “The constellation. But I’m fine right now.”

Obviously, but he really didn’t have to say it. It makes it too apparent that Atsumu is here because he wants to be and not because he needs to be. He waves his hand to dismiss the thought anyways.

“’s never a bad time to learn, Omi Omi,” he says, pushing past him to walk into the apartment. He’s surprised when he gets by unscathed, Omi just staring at him as he walks in. 

Atsumu marches over to the nearest window, looking up at the stars until he finds what he’s looking for. “Here, come look,” he calls.

Omi takes his place beside him, following his finger to the constellation.

“‘s pretty,” Omi mumbles.

Atsumu swallows, glancing between the stars and Kiyoomi before mumbling back, “Yeah, it is.”

Kiyoomi turns to look at him, surrounded by a halo of moonlight and bathed in the glow of the stars. Atsumu almost thinks he sees him glance down at his lips, but he couldn’t have. It would be absurd.

It wouldn’t matter either way, he’s already tumbling into his next sentence, “Well, that's all. I’ll leave now.”

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows furrow, “What? You came all the way over here to point at the sky and then leave?”

“When ya put it like that it sounds weird.”

“It is weird.”

“Still. Ya don’t gotta point it out,” Atsumu whines, blushing with embarrassment and then blushing even more due to the embarrassment of blushing. It’s quite a vicious cycle.

Kiyoomi watches him with amusement, crossing his arms as Atsumu pressed the back of his palm to his cheeks and wills the red to fade, “It’s late, Miya. Just stay here.”

Atsumu is almost entirely sure that he died before he entered the apartment. There is no way that Sakusa Kiyoomi would invite him to spend the night unless he was dead and gone to heaven. But that also wasn’t plausible because he’s totally ending up in hell.

“Really? Ya can let me leave, Omi. I know how much ya like yer personal space,” Atsumu says, offering him an out. He may have just been offering out of obligation since Atsumu had let him spend the night before.

Omi doesn’t take it, shaking his head to disregard the offer, “No, it's fine. I don’t mind if it's… if it’s only one person and someone I know.”

Atsumu curses inwardly because that would have been a great place to say “I don’t mind if it’s you”. Though, he’ll take what he can get.

“Alright then. Ah,” Atsumu stares down at the jeans he’s wearing, “Ya got anythin’ I can wear?”

Omi nods silently, walking behind a door. When he doesn’t come out after a moment, Atsumu hesitantly follows him inside. He’s digging through his dresser, pulling out a pair of sleep pants and an oversized shirt a second later.

Atsumu wrinkles his nose at the pants. Kiyoomi’s house was already hotter than he likes, he’s never going to be able to sleep in those, “Any chance I can pass on the pants? I get hot while sleepin’.”

Kiyoomi blinks at him for a moment and Atsumu panics and backtracks.

“Never mind. That’s a weird thing to do right? Wearing no pants. My bad, Omi. I’ll wear ‘em,” he fumbles, reaching out to grab the clothes from Kiyoomi.

Sakusa yanks the pants out of his reach and shoves the shirt at him, “It’s fine. You don’t need to wear them.”

“Ya sure?”

Another nod. He’s still not a talker, even after they’ve gotten to know each other more. Guess it’s just his personality. 

Atsumu strips off his pants and shirt, about to slip the new one over his head when he catches Kiyoomi looking away, eyes turned to the side and a flush on his cheeks. He grins, “Ya know ya can look, Omi. Hard to resist, huh?”

Sakusa scowls, “Shut up, Miya. Anyone would be weirded out if someone randomly started stripping in front of them.”

Atsumu shrugs, “What’s weird ‘bout it? We change in the locker rooms all the time.”

He doesn’t answer, which Atsumu takes as a win in his favor. Not that he’s keeping count of who wins their little spats (Atsumu-35, Omi-54).

Kiyoomi climbs into his bed, turning away from Atsumu and telling him, “There’s an extra toothbrush in the bathroom.”

Sure enough, he finds a whole bunch of them in one of the bathroom drawers. A pack of 20. There are still 19 left, and one of them is sitting in a holder on the counter, still wet from use. Atsumu shakes his head. Omi really needs to invite more people over.

When he finishes brushing his teeth, he walks out into the bedroom and stands awkwardly by the bed, “Um, Omi? Where am I sleepin’?”

Omi rolls around, giving him a confused look, “What do you mean? I have a king sized bed. Unless, I mean, you’re uncomfortable. I can sleep on the couch.”

Atsumu waves his hands in front of him frantically, “No, no. I’m not uncomfortable. Hell, me, Hinata, and Bokuto share a queen sized bed all the time. Lemme tell ya, it is not easy fitting three grown men in there. I always end up sleepin’ on the floor. Mostly ‘cause it gets too hot. Or ‘cause Bokuto sprawls out n’ takes up all the room. Hinata is a great cuddler though. Have ya ever cudd-”

“Atsumu.”

He stops short at the sound of his name. At the sound of his given name. It’s spoken with the same annoyance and contempt as when Kiyoomi calls him Miya. But at the same time it’s different. Nicer. Sweeter.

Fonder.

“Ya?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Ya.”

He crawls into the opposite side of the bed. It’s so big there is no chance of them even touching each other, much less end up waking up cuddled against each other like something out of a romance novel. He mourns the loss of the possibility.

Before Atsumu falls asleep he can’t help but think about how pretentious it is for Kiyoomi to have such an unnecessarily large bed.

***

“Stop it.”

“I wanna help,” Atsumu whines, feeling bad that Omi is making him breakfast yet again. While he sits there useless.

Sakusa levels a glare at him, “You’re bad at cooking. Stop fucking it up.”

Atsumu lets out another dramatic whine before hopping up on the counter beside the stove with a pout. He crosses his arms to maximize the effect, staring at Kiyoomi as he flips over a pancake. 

“Stop pouting,” Kiyoomi demands.

Atsumu responds by pouting more.

Omi sighs, taking one of the smaller pancakes from the finished pile and holding it up for him, “Here. Eat.”

He stares at the pancake for a moment. He could very well just grab it out of his hand. He smirks, leaning forward to take it in his mouth instead.

Atsumu expects him to get mad. Probably insult his intelligence or maturity. 

Kiyoomi just silently goes back to flipping pancakes, like he was expecting it. Was he expecting it?

He guesses it did the trick though. Atsumu happily chews on his pancake and doesn’t complain the rest of the time he’s cooking. 

When Kiyoomi finishes they move to the small table, sitting across from each other and grabbing pancakes. Atsumu piles his plate unnaturally high, pouring a disgusting amount of syrup on top. Kiyoomi makes a face.

“What? Got somethin’ to say, Omi?” Atsumu taunts.

His nose wrinkles even more, “You’re disgusting.”

“Says the man eatin’ plain pancakes! Come on, put a lil bit of butter on them or somethin’!”

Kiyoomi carefully cuts away another slice of pancake, popping it in his mouth and chewing slowly before replying, “No thank you. Unlike you, I don’t have the taste buds of a toddler.”

***

When they all pile on the bus after a practice game against the Adlers Kiyoomi plops down in the seat beside him. Atsumu stares at him in wonder for a moment until he sees his eyebrow twitch in annoyance. He turns back to face forward. 

They don’t ever sit beside each other. Usually he, Hinata, and Bokuto all pile near each other. Either using each other as headrests while they nap or talking until someone yells at them to stop. Sakusa usually sits as far away from everyone as possible, pops in his earbuds, and shuts out the rest of the world for the duration of the bus ride. 

Hinata and Bokuto give him a questioning look when they get on the bus but he just shrugs in response. He doesn’t know either. 

He stops worrying about it when they get on the road. The excitement from the win wearing off and exhaustion taking over. He lets his head fall onto the window and stares out.

It’s about twenty minutes into the drive when Kiyoomi’s head falls on his shoulder. He barely manages to stop himself from jumping. 

When he glances down at him, he expects him to be asleep. There is no way that Sakusa Kiyoomi would sacrifice his pride and cuddle up next to him. Especially in front of other people. Right?

Wrong. Omi is still awake, scrolling through his instagram and liking all the pictures boasting about their win from other members of the team. Atsumu wonders for a minute if Kiyoomi also has an identical twin. This can’t be him. 

“Stop looking at me.”

Atsumu does jump slightly this time, “Sorry, sorry.”

He turns back to look out the window. Definitely still Omi. 

When he glances back down a half an hour later Kiyoomi’s eyes are closed, phone face down on his lap, hand resting beside it. Atsumu stares at his hand for far too long before deciding that trying to hold it would be a very bad idea. 

He leans down slightly to whisper to him, “Omi, you awake?”

There’s no response for a moment and then dark lashes flutter as his eyes open, looking sleepily up at Atsumu. His heart clenches at the sight. How does Omi expect him to function when he keeps looking so fucking beautiful?

“Yeah?” Sakusa mumbles.

Atsumu swallows before pointing out the window, “There. Those stars, the tiny ones. Sagitta. The arrow.”

Sakusa lids his head off of his shoulder to look and Atsumu has to stop himself from shoving it back down onto his shoulder, “I see. What’s it mean?”

“Supposed to be the arrow Hercules used to shoot down an eagle that Zeus had sent to eat some guy's liver.”

“That’s,” Sakusa says, disgust evident in his voice, “gross.”

Atsumu nods his head slightly, “It is kinda gross, ain’t it?”

A head falls back onto his shoulder again, “Yeah.”

It’s with great consideration that Atsumu wraps an arm around his shoulder, shifting so Kiyoomi can lean up against him more comfortably. He expects him to jump away from the touch, maybe that signature look of disgust on his face.

He fucking snuggles into Atsumu, leaning into his touch like this was something that they always do, hair brushing against his cheek.

Atsumu brings a hand to it, smoothing it down and out of his face. Kiyoomi hums in contentment, mumbling, “Feels good.”

And shit, Atsumu doesn’t think his heart has ever felt so full before. Because Omi doesn’t do this. He doesn’t do the whole physical affection thing. Atsumu hasn’t even seen him give anyone but his cousin a high five. But he’s doing it now, and he’s doing it with Atsumu.  

There’s a special kind of pride that comes with something like that. With being the only one. 

He runs his fingers through Omi’s hair again. And then again. Doing it until his arm gets sore and Kiyoomi’s breathing evens out. It’s only then that he stops. And it’s only then that he looks up from the man currently using his shoulder as a pillow and sees Bokuto and Hinata staring at him with wide eyes from the seats across the aisle.

Ah. He forgot they were there. 

Bokuto opens his mouth, barely managing to get the words “What the fu-” out of his mouth before Atsumu is hurriedly shushing him. 

“Don’t wake ‘im up,” he whispers.

They both nod frantically, before Hinata blurts out, “Are you guys dating?”

Atsumu flushes, glancing down to make sure Omi is still asleep. He is. Thank god.

“No, we’re not datin’.”

They look confused and also a little skeptical. 

“What? We’re not,” Atsumu insists.

“But he’s asleep. On you,” Bokuto points out the obvious.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, “Why does that mean we’re datin’? Me, you, and Hinata do it all the time.”

“Yeah but this is Sakusa,” Hinata interjects, “He doesn’t do this stuff. Not with any of us. Not even with his friends from Itachiyama.”

Another swell of self-satisfaction rises in his chest that Atsumu quickly shoves back down, “Yeah, but we’re not datin’.”

Eventually, they quiet down. Both of them falling asleep. 

Atsumu is exhausted too but doesn’t want to sleep. It would be a waste. An opportunity like this doesn’t come very often, he doesn’t want to miss a single second of it because he’s asleep. 

***

Sakusa shows up on his doorstep with tears in his eyes a week later. 

Atsumu barely has the door open enough for a person to fit through when he barrels into his arms. It takes him a second to register what's happening before he wraps his arms gently around Kiyoomi, one hand on the small of his back and the other cradling the back of his head as he cries into Atsumu’s sleep shirt.

It’s not a soft kind of cry. It’s sobbing, tears leaking out quickly and the sounds out of his mouth making Atsumu’s own eyes water. He cries until he’s hiccuping, until his breaths are coming in short and fast and Atsumu finally starts to try and talk him down.

“Shh, shh. Come on, Omi, ya gotta breathe. Can ya breathe for me?” he whispers.

“I don-” hic “I don’t know.”

He threads fingers through his hair, “That’s alright. Come on, let’s breathe together, Alright? Ready, in. Out.”

His breathing remains stuttered for a long time, hiccups staying even after his tears have dried. Atsumu keeps talking to him. Keeps repeating “In. Out.” until the hiccups finally fade too. 

When they disappear he tugs him gently into the kitchen, talking to him the whole way there, “Come on, Omi. Let’s get ya some water. Can’t have our best spiker be dehydrated. Ya better not tell Bokuto or Hinata I said that.”

He fills up a cup of water from the fridge, keeping one hand on Kiyoomi the whole time, even as he drinks it.

His eyes are all puffy and he looks miserable, a crease between his eyebrows so deep that Atsumu is worried it’ll become permanent. 

“‘M sorry,” Kiyoomi whispers, setting down the now empty cup.

Atsumu shakes his head, “Don’t apologize. Don’t ya ever apologize for coming to me when ya need it.”

He still looks ashamed, avoiding Atsumu’s eyes. But he nods, and that’s all Atsumu really needs right now. 

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Atsumu asks carefully.

Kiyoomi squeezes his eyes shut for a second before speaking, “I’m just, just so tired, Atsumu.”

He thinks something in him breaks at the words. He’s not stupid, he knows that Kiyoomi’s got his own issues. Always has. But before that one night at Bokuto’s he just seemed above it all, somehow.

Seemed on a whole other level compared to Hinata who still stresses about whether Kageyama is interested in him. Or Bokuto who still gets in a mood if things don’t go his way. Or even himself, who still lays up at night wondering if he was too annoying or mean. If one day he would wake up and find that all his friends have blocked him, collectively decided that he was too much of a nuisance to deal with. 

Omi seemed perfect in the way a statue is. Cold, beautiful, and unmoving. 

“It never seems to stop. I can’t sleep most nights, and when I do I wake up a million times. And sometimes I mess up during games because something doesn’t feel right. Like my knee pads against my skin or my hair. And I can’t stop it. I’ve tried everything. I’m in therapy, I’ve been on a million different medications. Nothing works. I’m just so, so fucking tired. ”

His voice cracks again on the last word and Atsumu doesn’t think twice before gathering him up in his arms again. 

Sakusa has always been taller than him, even more muscular too. But like this he just seems so goddamn small. 

“It’ll be alright,” Atsumu tells him. He doesn’t know what else to say. How else to help.

Sakusa nods.

“Wanna stay here tonight?”

Another nod.

“Wanna borrow some clothes?”

Nod.

“Gonna talk anytime soon?”

A shake of the head this time. Atsumu doesn't press it.

“Alright, that’s alright. Let’s go.”

Atsumu gives him his comfiest pair of pajamas, letting him use the bathroom to change. Kiyoomi seems hesitant to let go of Atsumu, which would be even more adorable in different circumstances.

When he emerges Atsumu has already changed and crawled into bed. He opens up a corner of the covers in invitation and Sakusa doesn’t hesitate before climbing in beside him. His bed isn’t as big as Sakusa’s, but it’s still big enough to avoid touching each other.

Kiyoomi doesn’t bother, settling in against Atsumu’s side. Atsumu wraps an arm around him like he did on the bus, letting Kiyoomi rest his head on his chest.

He looks out the window by the bed, raising his free hand to point, “Serpens. The serpent.”

Omi just hums but Atsumu gets the message. What does it mean?

“The god of healing and medicine, he had this staff with a snake wrapped around it. That’s the snake,” Atsumu explains.

“Like the ones in hospitals?” Sakusa asks, voice vibrating against his chest. Atsumu shivers slightly at the sensation.

“Nah. That’s actually a different one. They got ‘em mixed up, the one in hospitals is actually the staff of Hermes. Who has literally nothin’ to do with medicine.”

There is a small snort from Kiyoomi and Atsumu grins, happy he got him to laugh. 

***

Atsumu wakes up first. Expected considering Kiyoomi was probably exhausted after crying so much. He carefully detangles himself from him, making his way to the kitchen.

He stares at the stove in consideration for a few seconds before shaking his head. Omi would kill him. 

He grabs some milk and cereal instead. Getting two bowls out and glancing between the lucky charms and cheerios before deciding there was no chance in hell Kiyoomi ate lucky charms. 

He pours cheerios into one bowl and luck charms into the other. Right when he’s uncapping the milk he feels arms snake around his waist. He glances down to see pale hands and long slender fingers.

“You okay?” he asks, concerned Kiyoomi’s upset again. He’s gotta be.

“Mhm, I’m fine,” comes the reply. His voice is rough with sleep and last night’s tears but he doesn’t seem upset.

Which leaves the question of what the fuck is happening right now?

Kiyoomi rests his head on Atsumu’s shoulder, watching him pour the milk, “Not cooking? Probably for the best.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Atsumu snaps back on instinct.

Normally a comment like that would start a whole argument. Kiyoomi just laughs, pressing his fingers into Atsumu’s stomach to make him squirm.

He finds himself smiling as well, plopping a spoon in each bowl and turning around in Omi’s arms to hand his bowl to him.

And it’s so fucking soft and domestic. It doesn’t really register just how soft and domestic it is until Kiyoomi flashes this tiny shy smile, grabbing the bowl from his hand and whispering a small thanks as he takes it.

Shit. Fuck, shit, fuck. FUCK. 

***

“You’re so dramatic,” Suna snipes. 

“I’m not dramatic!” Atsumu yells, waving his hands dramatically. He crashed his brother’s restaurant, hoping to rant his troubles in peace only to find Suna and Aran already sitting there. 

“Right. You’re the least dramatic person we know,” Aran deadpans. 

“Oh, shut it. An’ Sunarin, ya can’t complain that I’m dramatic! Not when yer dating my brother.”

“Samu only gets this dramatic when he’s hungry. Feed him and he calms down,” Sunarin says matter-a-factly.

“Lies. Also stop stealing my nickname for ‘im! Fuck, ya call him that in bed too?”

He realizes his mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth and a sly grin spreads across Suna’s lips, “Nah. In bed I call him dadd-”

“Okay, stop!” Atsumu yells, “Shit, I shouldn’t’ve asked. I should never ask you fuckers for advice, someone how it always ends with me findin’ out about my brother’s bed habits.”

“I give it two weeks before you ask for advice again,” Aran says. And he’s probably right.

Atsumu finally collapses in a chair beside them, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Kiss him, obviously,” Suna responds.

He stares at him like he’s grown another head.

“What?” he asks, “That’s a perfectly reasonable suggestion.”

Atsumu sighs, “Maybe if it was someone else, but come on. This is Omi we’re talkin’ about. If I try kissin’ him and he doesn’t want me to, I’ll be six feet under before the end of the day.”

“That’s why you ask first,” Aran says, emphasizing his point by popping a rice ball in his mouth.

“I mean, yeah. But I’ll still be six feet under even if I ask. I can imagine it now, his ‘really Miya Atsumu, you think I’m lowly enough to entertain someone of your caliber’ face.”

Suna nods sarcastically, “That’s a very specific face.”

Atsumu mumbles his agreement, resting his cheek on the wood of the bar only to get slapped with a wet towel a moment later. He lifts his head up in indignation, “Hey!”

“Just fuckin’ do somethin’, ‘tsumu. Ya sit here whinin’ about it any longer and I’ll kick ya out,” Osamu scolds. 

“But Samu,” he whines.

“Don’t Samu me. Stop being a pussy and just kiss ‘im already.”

Atsumu huffs, resting his head on the table again, “You guys suck.”

“We’re just encouraging you,” Aran says.

“Tough love,” Suna replies at the same time.

He’s silent for a second before speaking, “Ice cream and movies at Aran’s ridiculously large house if it sucks and I get my heart broken.”

“Of course,” Aran reassures him. Suna and Osamu mumbles their agreement and Atsumu smiles.

“And knowing you it will go bad,” Suna chimes, dodging out of the way when Atsumu throws a hand out to slap him.

***

Maybe he should have gotten the hint the last three times Kiyoomi snuggles into him without reservations, but he’s surprisingly touchy when he wants to be.

Made evident by the fact that he busts into the locker room before practice one day and makes a beeline for Atsumu. He wraps himself around him like he’s completely ignorant of the fact that Atsumu is currently half-nude.

Atsumu lets out a startled yelp before letting his hand fall onto Kiyoomi’s back, patting him gently. He sends a withering glare to the other people in the locker room until they all stop staring. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks once the last person has turned away.

“Nothing just- I don’t know, just wanted,” Kiyoomi mumbles.

Atsumu wraps his arms more securely around him. “Didn’t take ya for the clingy type, Omi,” he teases.

Kiyoomi is out of his arms in an instant. “I am not,” he insists, marching over to his own locker with a blush painting the back of his ears red.

Atsumu snickers, pulling his practice shorts on and watching Kiyoomi dial the combination to his locker, blushing only fading once he has the door open.

“Are you sure you’re not dating?” Hinata asks him.

 He frowns, “How the hell would we be datin’ and I don’t know?”

Hinata shrugs and that’s the end of the conversation. 

***

A few days after Atsumu reaches out for a high five after a good play and Kiyoomi flinches away from it. He lowers his hand, hurt flashing through him for a moment before Kiyoomi is hurrying to explain.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s not you. I’m just, right now, the idea of touching anything…” he trails off like he doesn’t know how to explain but Atsumu gets the gist of it.

“‘s alright, Omi. I expect one later though,” he says with a wink.

Kiyoomi is looking at him in something like amazement, like he can’t believe Atsumu let the subject go just like that. That Atsumu understood just like that. He doesn’t know whether he was surprised because of Atsumu’s personality or because no one has ever given him that kind of consideration before. His heart clenches at the idea of it being the latter.

They finish practice an hour later, everyone having shuffled out of the locker room but them. It’s only then that Kiyoomi walks up to him and holds his hand up awkwardly. 

Atsumu grins and slaps it as hard as he can before slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. 

***

“You really need to go grocery shopping.”

“Ya know, Omi, crashing my apartment and then complaining about the food… well some consider that bad manners,” Atsumu replies, watching Kiyoomi shuffle through his fridge over the back of the couch.

“We get paid enough to support a five person family, how the hell do you only have eggs, cheese, and… honestly I don’t know what this even is,” he sneers.

Atsumu rolls of the couch with a huff, walking over to look at the jar in Kiyoomi’s hands, “Oh that, it’s pickled okra.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Omi look so disgusted before, “You’re awful. We’re going shopping.”

“Wah-” he’s dragged out of the door in a hurry, barely managing to slip on shoes before Kiyoomi tugs him out the door.

“How the hell have you managed all this time? You’re a professional volleyball player, you need to be eating right. And don’t say you are because you’re obviously not. Seriously, I’m surprised you haven’t passed out during practice,” Kiyoomi scolds.

“Stop motherin’ me, Omi,” Atsumu whines, finally catching up with him so they’re walking side by side, hands still clutched together.

Kiyoomi snorts, “Someone has to.”

“I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

“Keeping yourself alive does not constitute as taking care of yourself.”

Atsumu snaps his mouth shut and lets himself be walked to the car. They have to let go of each other's hands to get in the car. Atsumu pouts when they do.

The nearest grocery store is only a few minutes away from his apartment. Kiyoomi wipes the cart down with a disinfectant wipe from his pocket before touching it. Atsumu makes fun of him for it.

They walk down each aisle, Atsumu putting junk food in the cart and Kiyoomi pointedly taking it out again. 

“Ya wanted me to set food and now ya won’t let me buy anything!”

Omi glares at him, “Real food. Not packaged shit with more sugar than fiber in it.”

Atsumu lets out a dramatic groan, “Fuck fiber. What even is fiber?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Shut the fuck up before I make you.”

Woah. Wow, Atsumu didn’t know he was into that. He gives Kiyoomi a sly grin, “That a threat or a promise?”

“A threat,” Kiyoomi answers without missing a beat. 

“Yer no fun,” Atsumu says as he deposits a box of frosted flakes in the cart. Omi gives him a look and he takes it back out right after.

In the end, Kiyoomi does all his shopping for him. Picking out a disgustingly balanced assortment of healthy foods that made Atsumu want to cry.

“Ya gotta let me have something, Omi.”

“No.”

Atsumu grabs his arm and pouts up at him, “Come on, just one thing?”

Omi looks conflicted for a moment before relenting, “One thing.”

He jumps up in excitement, pout turning into a smile in an instant. He presses a sloppy, wet kiss on Kiyoomi’s cheek before bouncing off into the baked goods to pick out the biggest slice of cake Omi will let him get. 

It isn’t until he’s picking between a strawberry cake and a vanilla one, Kiyoomi hovering over his shoulder, that he realizes what he’s done.

“Oh my god. I kissed you,” he states dumbly. 

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow, “On the cheek, yes.”

He squints at him, “And you haven’t killed me?”

“I don’t believe so, no.”

Atsumu nods, head bobbing repeatedly, “Okay. Cool.”

He gets the strawberry one and avoids touching Kiyoomi the rest of the night.

***

“Aran, what does it mean?”

There’s a heavy sigh and then a dial tone after he hangs up on him. 

***

“This is why I don’t like horror movies, they’re always so unrealistic,” Omi mumbles, eyes fixed on the screen in front of them.

“Yeah that’s why they’re fun. Ya don’t actually watch ‘em ‘cause they’re good. Ya watch them ‘cause they suck and you can make fun of ‘em,” Atsumu explains. 

His arm went numb over ten minutes ago but he doesn’t dare move it from where Omi is using it as a pillow. 

Blood splatters on the ground, far too thick to be real.

Omi snorts, “Oh my god, did they use ketchup?”

“That is a very real possibility,” Atsumu giggles, nudging Kiyoomi with his other hand, “Admit it, yer havin’ fun.”

Kiyoomi looks at him, the lights from the TV screen reflected in his eyes, “Yeah, okay. It’s a little fun.”

Atsumu gapes at him like he’s offending, “It’s more than a lil fun. Come on, Omi Omi.”

Omi laughs but doesn’t give in until Atsumu starts jabbing at his side, “Alright, fine. It’s fun.”

He presses his lips into Kiyoomi’s hair, not quite kissing him but just resting there, “Want somethin’ to eat?”

“That cake you bought?”

“Oh, Omi’s havin’ a cheat day,” he teases.

Kiyoomi punches him in the stomach lightly, “Shut up, I eat junk food sometimes. Just not all the time like you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu murmurs as he detangles himself from him, shaking his arm out in relief as blood flows back into it.

“Don’t forget forks,” Sakusa calls to him as he walks to the kitchen. 

Atsumu hums in acknowledgement, grabbing the cake out of the fridge and two forks before walking back into the living room. He pauses when he gets there, just staring for a while.

Because Kiyoomi is curled up into a little ball, feet tucking in and phone nestled in his hands. He’s curled up in a little ball with his own sweatpants and Atsumu’s sweater. On Atsumu’s couch. In Atsumu’s apartment. 

It’s a surreal kind of realization. Atsumu puts the cake and forks on the coffee table and forces his way into Kiyoomi’s arms. Pushing until he falls back on the couch and Atsumu can lay on him, shoving his face in the crook of his neck. 

“Atsumu?” Omi asks.

And the way he says his name still sends shivers down his spine. 

“Aquarius. The water bearer.” he mumbles, voice muffled even further by how he has shoved his face in the fabric of Kiyoomi’s sweater. 

“What’s it mean?”

He takes a deep breath, getting a lungful of Kiyoomi’s shampoo. It’s addicting in a way he didn’t know it could be.

“Represents Ganymede. He was a cup-bearer for the gods. Regarded as the most beautiful boy in the world. Funny, huh?”

“Is it?” Kiyoomi asks.

“Yeah. I bet yer much prettier,” Atsumu murmurs, voice thick with sincerity.

There are hands on his cheeks, pulling him away until they can lock eyes. Then lips are pressing to his forehead. Then his nose. 

He closes his eyes and lips press against each eyelid.

“Omi,” he whines.

Lips press to each of his cheeks, “Hm?”

“What are ya doin’?”

Omi pulls him forward until his head is resting on his shoulder again. One more kiss to his temple.

“Nothing.”

***

It’s during a Friday night practice that Atsumu jumps up to serve, smacking the ball with a satisfying sound that means it’s going to land. He lands too. Directly on another volleyball that happened to roll under his feet. 

He can’t even try to stop the pained cry that falls from his lips as his ankle rolls in a way that it’s definitely not supposed to. He falls to the ground, clutching at his ankle as a string of curses fall from his lips.

“Atsumu!” he hears Hinata call, rushing over to him, “Oh my god are you okay?”

“‘Course. Just screamed in pain for no reason,” Atsumu mumbles back sarcastically.

The other members file over to him, forming a circle around him. Kiyoomi crouches down beside him.

“Move your hand,” he demands.

He shakes his head. Honestly he thinks the pressure he’s putting on his ankle is the only thing keeping him from bursting into messy, pathetic tears. 

“Atsumu, hey,” Kiyoomi says softly, one hand gently turning his head so he’s forced to look him in the eyes, “I need you to move your hand for me, okay? Please.”

Atsumu glares at him for a moment, swallowing down the thick lump that had lodged itself in his throat, and moves his hand. It’s swelling. That’s bad right? That’s probably really bad.

“Don’t look,” Kiyoomi tells him sternly.

His eyes snap back up, fixating on Omi’s two little moles on his forehead instead. He really likes those moles. Wants to kiss them every time he sees them. 

There’s a moment of silence where Omi observes his ankle, eyebrows furrowing together in concern, before he says, “Come on, we should go to the hospital. Make sure it isn’t broken.”

The tears he was holding back start to slip down his cheeks, “It’s broken? Am I gonna be able to play in next month's match? What’s gonna happen if I-”

“Atsumu. Stop panicking.”

Annoyance flares in his chest, “Easy for you to say, yer not the one with the broken ankle! I’m not gonna be able to play for the rest of the season! I’m gonna- mhf”

Atsumu has been shut up in a lot of ways before. The classic hand over the mouth, a stomp to the foot. Once even a very painful knee to the balls courtesy of Suna.

A kiss? That’s a new one.

It’s not quite on the lips. Just pressed to the corner, barely brushing against the corner of his mouth. It’s pretty effective regardless.

“Good, now that you’re calm, let’s go,” Kiyoomi says.

He helps Atsumu to his feet, all of his weight supported on his right foot. 

“Mean, Omi Omi. That’s cheating,” Atsumu complains.

He huffs a small laugh, hooking his arm under Atsumu’s armpits to hold him up right, “It was necessary. For the good of my sanity and yours.”

They make their way out of the gym slowly, inching towards Omi’s car with careful steps. Lowering him into it takes some work, any movement too sudden making pain flare up throughout his entire leg. He grits his teeth as Kiyoomi wraps a hand around his thigh to help him pick up his left leg and lift it into the car, “Motherfucker, fuck! Fuck, that hurts.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he finishes lifting the leg, gently setting it down until it’s resting on the seat, “There, done.”

Atsumu puts his other leg in the car and collapses into the seat, sweat beading his hairline from the pain and effort of getting here. Sakusa gets in the driver's seat, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

It isn’t until they’re five minutes down the interstate that Atsumu says, “What if my ankle really is broken, Omi?”

He sees Omi glance at him from out of the corner of his eye but keeps his gaze fixed firmly out the window.

“It’s probably just a sprain. You’ll be okay,” Kiyoomi assures him. Maybe it’s his own doubts talking but he sounds unsure.

He feels a little like throwing up when they pull into the hospital parking lot. The trek to the hospital door is just as painful as the one to the car was, if not more so, but eventually they’re taken to a room and Atsumu is able to lie down. The hospital beds are uncomfortable at best, but it’s the most relief he’s gotten since he landed of that stupid volleyball.

The clock above the door ticks loudly as they wait to be seen, doing absolutely nothing to make the time go faster. He clenches his hands and then unclenches them again. Repeating it again and again until Kiyoomi places a hand over his.

His thumb rubs over Atsumu’s knuckles and he releases a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. 

The door opens a moment later, the doctor entering. Atsumu tunes out her introduction. The only thing he cares about is the results of the x-ray they’ll be taking. They give him a wheelchair to take him into the room to get x-rayed. Honestly, it’s a fairly quick process, but it feels like it takes hours. Once they’re back in the other room Omi takes his hand again. Atsumu squeezes onto it far too hard but he doesn’t complain. 

The doctor comes back twenty minutes later, after Atsumu has definitely cut off the circulation to Omi’s fingers.

“Good news, nothing is broken,” she says.

Atsumu practically melts with relief. 

“Just a bad sprain,” she continues, “No exercising for two weeks, try and keep off your leg as much as possible. After that I would encourage light exercise for another week. As a professional athlete, your training regimen is probably too much until after that third week. 

“We’ll give you a brace for your foot, but you’ll be alright.”

Omi squeezes his hand to get his attention, a small smile on his face, “Hear that? You’ll be fine before the Adler’s game.”

Atsumu grins at him, “Yeah, I hear.”

***

“Get your ass back in bed, Miya.”

“Omi, I’m fucking bored, ” he whines.

Kiyoomi shuffles him back into his bedroom, “One more week and then you can start light exercise. You’ll be able to go out again. You just have to wait.”
“I’m not good at waiting,” he babbles, “I’m the most impatient motherfucker around. Just ask Samu. Once I got kicked out of an amusement park ‘cause I kept skippin’ the lines. Samu got kicked out with me. Held it over my head for ages.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything, just shoves him down onto the bed and walks out the door.

Atsumu stares up at the ceiling for approximately ten seconds before yelling, “Omi!”

The door opens again, Kiyoomi leaning up against the doorframe, an eyebrow raises in question, “Yes, Atsumu?”

“Stay here?” he asks, lathering on a pout and puppy eyes that he perfected through being the immature sibling. 

Kiyoomi looks at him from the doorway, standing there in black sweatpants with MSBY printed on the side and a white tank top. He’s a picture of domesticality. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment before nodding, walking forward and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. 

Atsumu shuffles just a little bit closer, until his forehead rests against Kiyoomi’s thigh. A hand runs through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp and he hums in contentment. 

“Ya really know how to spoil a man, Omi Omi,” he slurs, leaning into the touch. 

“Occasionally, when you’re not being a complete and total brat, you deserve it,” Sakusa murmurs.

Atsumu looks up at him, “Deserve it? Being spoiled?”

Kiyoomi shuffles to lay down next to him, hand still gently working its way through his hair, “Yeah.”

“Should spoil me more often, Omi,” he teases.

Kiyoomi leans forward to whisper in his ear, “Maybe. If you’re good.”

Another thing to put on the list of things he didn’t know he was into. He’s so distracted by the comment he doesn’t even register the kiss to the temple until long after Omi leaves the room talking about making lunch.

***

Atsumu skips happily along the sidewalk, licking up another mouthful of cookie dough ice cream from his waffle cone. 

“I haven’t seen you this cheery since you hurt your ankle,” Kiyoomi notes.

He scoffs, “Well, ‘course ya haven’t. I’ve been locked inside the whole time.”

“You’re that excited about a three minute walk to the ice cream shop?” Kiyoomi asks him, a small smile on his face as he watches Atsumu spin around, arms outstretched.

“Best three minute walk of my life, Omi Omi,” he exclaims, prancing toward him and throwing his arms around his neck, “Thanks for takin’ care of me.”

Hands curl in the bottom of his sweater, “I could say the same about you, Atsumu.

***

The night before his last day of prescribed ‘rest’ he wakes up in the middle of the night to noise in the living room. He blearily pats the bed beside him but Omi is gone and the sheets have already gone cold.

He pushes himself out of bed with resignation, stumbling out of the room with eyes only half open.

“Omi?” he asks when he finally makes it to the doorway.

Sakusa whirls around from where he’s standing by the window, “Atsumu. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“‘s okay,” Atsumu tells him, moving to wrap himself around Kiyoomi, burying his head between his shoulders, “Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, voice more tired than it was just moments before.

Atsumu lifts his head up to look out the window, reaching around his shoulder to point, “Capricornus. The sea goat.”

“And what’s the story?”

Atsumu chuckles, burying his face again, “Isn’t mucha one. Just represents the forest god Pan. He was a cool dude.”

Omi lets out a small laugh too and Atsumu tugs a little on his shirt, “Let’s go back to bed, Omi.”

Kiyoomi nods, “Okay, I’ll try.”

It becomes apparent after an hour of him shuffling around in bed that he isn’t going to sleep. Atsumu hears him let out an annoyed sigh and rolls around to face him, “No luck?”

“Yeah. No luck,” Omi murmurs, sitting up and swinging his legs over to stand, “I’m gonna go on a walk.”

“At three in the morning?”

Kiyoomi grabs his jacket from where it’s hanging over the desk chair, “It helps, sometimes.”

Atsumu stands as well, “I’ll come too.”

‘You should sleep, Atsumu. No reason for you to stay awake just because I am.”

He shakes his head, sliding on a jacket from the closet, “I wanna. I wanna come with Omi.”

When he turns to face him Kiyoomi looks a little bit choked up. In his mind, it's a simple thing. Omi can’t sleep and is going for a walk, so Atsumu is going too. For Kiyoomi it’s something more than that. 

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi says, voice thick with emotion.

They slide on their shoes together by the door, making their way down the stairs of the apartment complex.

Atsumu shoves his hands into the pocket of his jacket, rolls back on his heels, and looks side to side, “Right or left, Omi?”

“Hmm, right?”

“Right it is then!” Atsumu says cheerfully, sliding one of his hands out to grab onto his arm and drag him to the right. 

Omi slides his arm up until he can thread his fingers through Atsumu’s, “You’re far too cheerful for three am.”

He squeezes his hand, grinning, “What’s there to be sad about?”

Omi reaches out and brushes his hair off his forehead, pressing lips to his cheek, “Yeah, you’re right.”

It’s peaceful. The whole night feels peaceful. The air is a little bit chilly but the warmth of Kiyoomi’s hand in his does wonders for the cold. They walk in tandem, feet stepping at the same time. Atsumu watches the sidewalk and makes an effort to avoid the cracks lining the pavement.

They find themselves in the park, standing by the small pond in the center. Kiyoomi picks up a stone and skips it across the water. The wind blows and his hair ruffles with the air. Atsumu watches with something akin to awe. 

Atsumu has always been bad at keeping his mouth shut. He says things before thinking. It’s a bad habit that’s gotten him in trouble numerous times before. 

Honestly, it’s impressive he managed to last this long before blurting out, “Are ya ever gonna kiss me?” His mouth snaps shut right after, face flushing hot.

Kiyoomi looks simply amused, “I have.”

His embarrassment quickly fades to give way to childish annoyance, “Oh, come on. Ya know that’s not what I mean, Omi. I mean a real kiss on the lips ‘n everythin’. Like normal people do, ya know?”

Kiyoomi laughs, eyes sparkling, “Yeah, I know. I also know your accent gets stronger when you’re upset. It’s pretty cute, honestly.”

Atsumu huffs air, blowing out his cheeks and turning his head away, “Shut up. Ya can’t call me cute just so I won’t be mad at ya.”

“I can if it works,” Kiyoomi says with a smirk. 

He pouts some more, grabbing onto the collar of Omi’s shirt with both hands, rocking up onto the balls of his feet so they’re eye level, “Come on, Omi Omi. Kiss me. I know ya wanna.”

“Oh,” Kiyoomi whispers, eyes trained down on Atsumu’s lips, “Do I?”

He huffs, “Judgin’ by the fact yer starin’ at my mouth, I’d say ya do Omi.”

Their noses brush against each other, each breath fanning across the other one’s mouth. Atsumu leans forward a bit more, only for Kiyoomi to lean away. He whines in the back of his throat.

“Please,” he begs.

Kiyoomi swallows and Atsumu’s eyes mindlessly follow his Adam’s apple down his throat. “Yeah,” Omi tells him, “Okay.”

Finally. God, finally. There’s nothing more satisfying than the moment Kiyoomi’s lips finally touch his. 

And they’re so soft . Not once in his life has Atsumu seen him use chapstick, but he has to. Why else would they be so soft? So smooth as they slide over his own, slightly parted as he presses more firmly. 

Atsumu’s hands unclench from his shirt, smoothing out over his chest, firm muscles under his palms. Everything feels so good, warmth flooding through every inch of his body as Kiyoomi’s hands slide under his sweater, hands pressing against his stomach. Just staying there, unmoving.

He whines again, trying to press even closer. Kiyoomi’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip and he opens his mouth wider eagerly. Everything that was warm turns burning hot when Atsumu’s tongue meets his, slick and wet but somehow sweet. It’s slow, still careful and calculated as Kiyoomi’s fingers press firmly into the muscles of his abdomen. 

It fades out slowly as well, tongues retreating to their rightful places until all that’s left is small pecks. Tiny presses of lips together do just as much to make Atsumu feel lightheaded.

Eventually, they stop completely. Just breathing with their heads pressed together and hands still clutching each other. 

Atsumu clears his throat, “Phoenix. The firebird.”

Kiyoomi smiles, “I might actually know where this one is about.”

“A bird who is reborn from its own ashes, yeah.”

“Is this some dumb metaphor about how I’ll come back stronger? It doesn’t really work like that,” Sakusa says sarcastically.

Atsumu giggles, shaking his head, “Nah. Nothin’ like that. I just like birds.”

He kisses Atsumu again, “You’re an idiot.”

***

“Got it!” Inunaki calls, passing the spike carefully into Atsumu’s waiting hands. Atsumu sends a silent thank you to his parents for giving birth to him. It’s a perfect pass, no rotation and Atsumu doesn’t even have to take a full step to set it.

There’s a moment of debate that goes through his mind. Omi and Hinata are in the front row and Bokuto is in the back, in position for a right hit. It’s their strongest offensive rotation. Any one of them would be good choices, but then he hears Kiyoomi call his name and he’s setting it to him without even thinking about it. 

Ushijima and Hoshiumi make a valiant effort to block, but it’s almost impossible to stop Omi when he has a set as good as that. High and placed a perfect distance from the net. The ball slams down onto the other court and there is a moment of complete silence before the gym erupts into cheers. 

Atsumu is tackled by Hinata, Bokuto and Barnes dogpiling on top of them like the idiots they are. He laughs, letting himself hug onto them for a moment before detangling himself and turning towards Kiyoomi.

They watch each other for a moment and then Sakusa is extending his arms out in invitation. Atsumu grins, running forward and practically jumping into his arms. Kiyoomi spins them around once before setting him back down on the floor and kissing him. Hands clutching his face so hard it actually hurts a little bit. 

It isn’t until they break apart that Atsumu realizes the gym is significantly louder compared to when they won.

“Sports Illustrated is going to love this,” Kiyoomi says into his ear.

Atsumu laughs again, throwing his head back. He can’t bother to be worried about the questions and scandals that are going to follow the fact they’re in a relationship when he’s so goddamn happy right now. 

Hinata tugs at his arm, separating them, “Um, Atsumu-san. Are you sure you’re not dating?”

Atsumu snorts, “Don’t worry, Shouyou. We are datin’ this time.”

He blinks up at Atsumu before smiling, “Oh! Okay, I’m happy for you guys.”

“Thanks. ’m happy too.”

***

end.