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It’s ridiculous, Kiyoomi thought. Whatever was going on in Atsumu’s head when he barged in Kiyoomi’s apartment, slammed the door harshly, speed walked to where he sat on his couch, and demanded he fake-date Atsumu, Kiyoomi would never know.
“No,” was his simple reply before he went back to the book he was reading.
There was a short moment of peace, and Kiyoomi almost heaved a sigh of relief. But Atsumu, being the stubborn bastard that he was, whined.
“Omi, come on! I need ya! Yer the only one who can do this fer me!”
To make matters worse for Kiyoomi, Atsumu jumped on the empty space beside him and latched onto his arm like a crying kid would do to their mother’s leg when she has to leave for work. Oddly specific, yes, but it was a perfect picture of the scene playing in his apartment’s once peaceful living room.
Kiyoomi turned his head and saw Atsumu gazing back at him with wide, pleading eyes. A speck of fondness settled in his chest, but he dismissed it quickly.
Not quick enough, apparently, as the small moment of weakness had him saying;
“Ask nicely and I’ll reconsider.”
He snapped his head back to its original position as soon as he saw the advent of Atsumu’s disarmingly beautiful smile. It was a description Kiyoomi could never admit aloud. Atsumu didn’t need another ego boost, his head was much too huge already.
“Fake-date m—”
“No,” Kiyoomi answered to repair the mistake he had so gravely committed earlier.
“So mean ta me, Omi-kun! Ya didn’t even let me finish askin’!” The hands that were tightly squeezing his arms now bombed it with the force of his rough palms.
“Miya, it hurts! Get off,” Kiyoomi muttered through gritted teeth, pushing Atsumu away from him with his palm planted on the setter’s cheek.
“Ask someone else. You have the entire volleyball team to ask,” Kiyoomi said when he saw Atsumu’s lips move to ask him again.
An exasperated groan escaped from Atsumu’s throat, his face scrunching up in a sneer directed towards the only other man in the room.
“Why can’t ya just do it? I just need ya fer two days an’ one night!”
Kiyoomi closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. He closed the book in his hold and laid it on his coffee table.
“Why should I do it?”
Atsumu sat straighter, a sliver of hope gleaming in his amber eyes.
“Because!”
“Very convincing argument, Miya. You can become a lawyer at this rate,” Kiyoomi deadpanned.
Atsumu’s eyebrows bunched up together once again as he glared at Kiyoomi and pouted.
Kiyoomi could feel his resolve teeter, and he did not like it.
It did not help that he was harboring feelings for the stubborn, loud-mouthed, and egotistical setter. These were feelings that had bloomed since their encounter in high school, and one that he had also relentlessly tried to bury since then.
For a while—four whole years in college, to be exact—Kiyoomi had made himself believe that he was over his little crush. He was able to enter relationships, albeit all ending before reaching its third month. And though he did genuinely like them, there was always this budding emotion in his chest that made him feel something was missing.
It was only when he had entered that hallway and came face-to-face with the source of his teenage self’s affections, did that teensy-weensy bud blossom into a whole garden of flowers.
Still, he refused to willingly tear down the safety of the walls he had built around his heart.
“Ask Hinata, he would be willing to help,” Kiyoomi suggested.
Atsumu’s face contorted into a look of utter disbelief. ‘Are ya serious?!’ He would probably ask with his stupidly attractive accent.
“What?” Kiyoomi asked with a scowl on his face when Atsumu only continued to stare at him.
“He cannot lie ta save his ass, Omi,” Atsumu reasoned. “And he has a thing with Kenma-kun; and I do not want ta upset ‘im. He’s a scary, scary man.”
“Bokuto, then.”
Atsumu’s hands flew to rub his face frustratingly.
“He’s practically married ta Keiji-kun! They’re disgustingly domestic. I always feel like I’m trespassing whenever he sleeps over Bokkun and I’s dorm; and I’m the one who actually lives there!” He huffed, his lower lip jutting out into a deeper pout.
Kiyoomi snorted and decided to indulge the flowers in his chest for once. He reached out his hand and gently patted the top of Atsumu’s head.
“There, there,” he said teasingly, but it came out gentler than he had intended.
Atsumu’s eyes gazed at him with pure wonder.
“See!”
For the nth time since Atsumu’s arrival, Kiyoomi asked, “What?” His hand laid limp on his lap, tingling.
“That—the thing ya just did! That makes ya perfect fer this fake dating thing. Come on, Omi, yer the only one in the team who could make this believable,” Atsumu explained as he inched closer towards Kiyoomi.
“I’m not. I told you, our other teammates would be willing.”
Kiyoomi refused to accept Atsumu’s offer because he knew, he knew completely that if he were to indulge Atsumu’s request, then the flowers in his chest would grow uncontrollable and eventually destroy the safety of the greenhouse around his heart.
“Cap is married. Barnes is straight. I’m pretty sure Inunaki will kick my balls and then decline. And Tomas, well. No, not him. Just—ya gotta do it, Omi-Omi!” He punctuated his mini speech with a tight squeeze to Kiyoomi’s hand, and big, pleading eyes.
Kiyoomi stood his ground. He will not be swayed by soft, smooth hands and bright, addicting eyes. No.
To avoid a catastrophic accident, Kiyoomi tried to steer his attention elsewhere.
“Why do you even need a fake partner?”
Keyword: tried.
It turned out that Atsumu, with his very pretty face, had more power over Kiyoomi’s sanity than he believed.
Atsumu let out a mangled cry, dropping his forehead on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. He cleared his throat to hide the sharp gasp that almost escaped.
God-fucking-damn it, Atsumu.
“I told Ma I had a partner,” he whispers. Kiyoomi wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for their close proximity.
“But, why?”
Atsumu whined like a kid as he inched his face higher into Kiyoomi’s shoulder. The crown of his head is just a millimeter shy of touching Kiyoomi’s neck.
With his cheek squished, Atsumu replied, “Because that bastard ‘Samu said he an’ Sunarin are dating already and that he’d bring him over fer the family reunion.”
Kiyoomi sighed. He could already feel the onslaught of an incoming headache. “Why is everything a competition to you?”
Really, Kiyoomi was just speaking to distract himself from enjoying the weight of Atsumu’s head on his shoulder. The tighter his hold on Kiyoomi’s hand became—the one he had been grasping for almost five minutes now—the looser Kiyoomi’s grip on his resolve was.
“My aunts an’ uncles are gonna pester me all night if I don’t bring someone home and ‘Samu does! They’re gonna try setting me up with their friend’s cousin’s dog-sitter’s daughter.” He lifted his head, and suddenly, Kiyoomi’s shoulder was cold. “I’m gay, Omi-Omi! Why would I date someone’s daughter?”
Kiyoomi let go, but not of Atsumu’s hand.
“I really can’t say no, can I?”
“Well,” Atsumu started with a smile, “ya can, but ya won’t because yer a good friend an’ yer not going ta let my nosy relatives set me up on a date with a woman.”
Right, ‘friend’.
Kiyoomi pushed Atsumu’s face just a fraction away as he rolled his eyes.
“Fine,” he conceded. “But I better be adequately compensated for this.”
“Ya get ta fake-date me for two days an’ one night, that’s more than enough compensation.” A smirk dangled on his lips.
“You heathen. I mean it, you have to accept a favor from me, too.”
“Anything ya want, Omi.” He lowered his head slightly and gently placed Kiyoomi’s hand on top of it. “Now, do it again.”
Kiyoomi would retract his hand if it weren’t for Atsumu’s fingers being wrapped around his wrist.
“What?”
“Pat my head again.”
Kiyoomi blinked, unmoving. But when Atsumu lifted his eyes towards him, brimming with anticipation, Kiyoomi couldn’t help but comply.
Atsumu giggled.
A flower stalk burst through the glass of his greenhouse.
Kiyoomi was definitely in trouble.
Telling Miya Atsumu the passcode to Kiyoomi’s apartment was a mistake. The man had no regard for Kiyoomi’s solitude and came anytime he pleased.
“Miya, it’s five in the morning. What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” Kiyoomi mumbled as coherently as a sleepy man could.
Atsumu crouched beside Kiyoomi’s bed and cradled his chin on his folded arms. Kiyoomi’s cotton sheets felt nice against his skin, Atsumu noticed. He might have to ask the grumpy man where he bought it later.
“Wrong, it’s 6:03 in the morning,” he replied, as if his fact-checking helped his case in any way.
Kiyoomi groaned loudly and squeezed his eyes tighter, burying the side of his face deeper into his plush pillow.
Atsumu bit his lower lip to suppress a smile.
“We’ve a long day ahead, Omi. And we need ta discuss what yer comfortable with me doing to ya.”
Kiyoomi swore he felt his heart melt at the tenderness of Atsumu’s voice.
“Omi,” he heard Atsumu say as a finger poked his cheek. “Wake up. I’ll buy ya yer disgusting cold brew if ya wake up now.”
With a disgruntled sigh, Kiyoomi fluttered his eyes open. And oh, what a bad decision that was; because staring back at his obsidian eyes were hazel irises, dripping sweetness akin to honey.
Kiyoomi shouldn’t, but Atsumu’s gaze made him feel like he was worth loving; like Atsumu’s eyes were made to look at him like this—like he was the most beautiful flower in front of him.
He sighed before turning on his back and facing his boring ceiling. Atsumu tilted his head in confusion, but said nothing of it. He watched as Kiyoomi’s blanket pooled around his hips when he sat up, a heavy hand attempting to tame his curls. Atsumu almost giggled at the adorable sight.
“I’ll raid yer fridge while ya shower,” he announced before he stood up and walked out of the room.
It only dawned on Kiyoomi—after one large cup of cold brew, three large bites of breakfast bagel, and having driven two cities closer to Hyogo—that he was going to Atsumu’s family reunion, which meant at least thirty people.
Oh, no. No, no, no. A family dinner was fine, he could handle Atsumu’s parents, Osamu, and Rintarou. That would be manageable, and probably easier to convince. But to put on an act for tens of people? Oh, Kiyoomi may have to be forced to unleash his talent for acting. The talent only his cousin, Motoya knew of.
“Omi, ya okay there? Yer kinda looking a li’l pale,” Atsumu asked from where he was seated in the passenger seat.
Kiyoomi could see from his periphery Atsumu facing him.
“Miya,” Kiyoomi grumbled, his voice low. “We’re going to your family reunion.” He turned his head briefly, just enough to see Atsumu tilt his head to the side with raised eyebrows.
Too cute. And distracting.
“Yeah, I did tell ya that last week.”
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Does that mean I would have to interact with your entire clan?”
Kiyoomi could already feel his social battery draining just at the thought of having to speak with so many people, majority of which were complete strangers to him.
“Well, not interact-interact. Just a few polite smiles and replies from ya will do.” Atsumu shrugged.
Kiyoomi slowly nodded his head. “‘Polite,’” he parroted.
“If yer worried about them buggin’ ya, don’t think about it. I told ya, ya get me as yer fake boyfriend, ‘m gonna make ya feel like it’s the real deal.” Atsumu beamed, then added, “I’ll be beside ya the whole day.”
Kiyoomi faced him, another addition to Kiyoomi’s long list of bad decisions because as soon as his eyes landed on Atsumu, the bastard winked.
Kiyoomi glared ahead, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “You’re infuriating,” he said, before muttering, “but thanks.”
The scent of Atsumu’s minty shampoo greeted Kiyoomi’s nose.
“What are you doing?” Panic etched in Kiyoomi’s nerves when he found Atsumu in the same position just a week ago, the top of his head offered near Kiyoomi’s face, the roots showing a terrible need for another bleaching session.
Atsumu bore that same look, excitement and anticipation.
“I’m waiting fer ya to pat my head,” he answered, as if it was the most obvious thing.
“Are you a dog?” Kiyoomi asked incredulously.
Atsumu did kind of resemble a dog. A golden retriever was the closest Kiyoomi could identify at the top of his head. Atsumu’s hair was softer, and his smile was prettier, though.
He only inched his head closer towards Kiyoomi, sending small smiles towards his way.
An icy palm covered Atsumu’s face and pushed it away. “Off, unless you want the both of us to get into an accident.”
He walked right into a trap as Atsumu took the chance to wrap his slender fingers around Kiyoomi’s wrist and place it on top of the soft mop of hair on his head.
“Miya, I swear, if we die, I’m going to make sure you’re going to hell with me.”
Atsumu cooed, surprising the man with him.
“Ya like my company that much, Omi-Omi?” A smug grin painted his lips.
“Miya.” A silent warning, one that could silence anyone who heard it. But not Atsumu, nothing about Kiyoomi intimidated him, which was frustrating on Kiyoomi’s end. There was just no stopping Miya Atsumu from doing and saying what he wanted.
He laughed. He placed Kiyoomi’s hand back on his lap, tapping it lightly before letting go.
“We’re gonna have to work on what ya call me, Omi.”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. So many demands.
“‘Miya’ is fine.”
“Yeah, unless ya want everyone in that place ta turn their heads towards ya.” He snorted. “An’ we’re s’posed ta be boyfriends! Who on earth calls their boyfriend by their surname?”
Kiyoomi sighed defeatedly, he couldn’t argue with that. If they wanted to make a believable couple, then Kiyoomi had to change how he addressed Atsumu.
“Fine. What do you want me to call you?” When he saw Atsumu break out into an evil grin, Kiyoomi added, “Nothing weird. Or I’ll expose you to your family.”
A characteristic whine bubbled its way out of Atsumu’s throat.
“So boring!” He huffed.
Kiyoomi couldn’t see it, but he was sure that Atsumu’s lower lip was molded into a pout.
“Darlin’.”
Kiyoomi whipped his head so fast his head almost flew away from his body.
What the fuck?
Panic shone from Atsumu’s eyes when he cried, “Omi, eyes on the road!”
“It’s your fault.”
A look of betrayal made itself known on Atsumu’s features, his gaze locked on the man beside him. “I—How is it my fault? Yer the one lookin’ here like I told ya I killed yer dog—”
“Just—” Kiyoomi exhaled through his nose. “Can we just stick to your name? Your first name.”
Atsumu lifted an eyebrow. “Do ya even know my first name, Omi?”
“What—”
“The road, Omi!”
Kiyoomi scowled, his eyebrows almost meeting in the middle of his forehead with how hard he was glaring.
“Of course I know your first name. What do you even think of me?”
“Say it, then. Say my name.” Atsumu folded his arms across his chest, eyes carefully watching Kiyoomi.
“Atsu—Atsumu.”
“Good, now say it without lookin’ like yer being threatened with the flu virus.”
With his eyes still fixed on the seemingly never-ending highway, Kiyoomi shoved Atsumu, a little harder than he had intended. The side of Atsumu’s head bumped into the passenger window, causing him to cry out of pain.
“Shit, sorry,” Kiyoomi quickly apologized.
He turned his head and instinctively reached out to soothe the point of contact with his fingers, gently massaging it. He was so caught up with what he did that he didn’t even notice that he practically pulled Atsumu to have his head lean onto his bicep.
He cleared his throat and retracted his hand, cold once again on his lap.
“Yer not allowed to call me ‘Miya’ fer the rest of the ride, by the way.”
“Miya—” Atsumu glared at him. “Atsumu.”
The name felt foreign on his tongue, but it was a good kind of foreign. Saying Atsumu’s name tasted sweet, saccharine dripping from his lips as he uttered each syllable. And really, it shouldn’t feel this intimate, but saying Atsumu’s name made Kiyoomi feel like it was a moment that should only be kept between them, with only Atsumu’s ears to listen.
Kiyoomi sighed. Hopeless pining was a disease.
Kiyoomi had met Mama Miya a dozen times before, kind of. It was only over a video call, when she’d call Atsumu while he was bombarding Kiyoomi once again. He would always bring the phone over to Kiyoomi because for some reason, Mama Miya always asked to see him despite never actually meeting him.
The first time he overheard her ask for him specifically, Atsumu had been in a state of panic and Kiyoomi had been confused. He had tried to remember then if they had ever met before, going as far back as high school training camp. But alas, Kiyoomi came up with absolutely nothing. Atsumu had shrugged it off when he asked him after the call, giving the excuse that he mentioned to his mother that he was in a friend’s house, but his laugh after replying was too airy that it was a little suspicious. And Atsumu didn’t tell her he was in a friend’s house, no, Kiyoomi knew because he was listening to Atsumu talk the entire time, soaking in the various colors with which he painted his stories. Despite this knowledge, Kiyoomi didn’t press further. Atsumu would tell him if he wanted to tell him, he supposed.
Mama Miya was livelier in person than she already was inside a phone screen that needed wiping. Her eyes were wide and had the same twinkle that Atsumu had, growing brighter and brighter with each passing second.
Kiyoomi was expecting to be drowned in a five-foot-three woman’s hug and be comforted by the warmth of a mother, but instead of tiny arms being opened towards him after pushing a whining Atsumu, Kiyoomi was greeted with an extended hand. To say he was confused was a definite understatement. And while he appreciated not having to force himself into physical contact with someone he kind of just met, he couldn’t help but raise question marks in his head. Atsumu warned him in the car that his mother might be a little too touchy and extra doting, but none of the thin, wrinkly hand in front of Kiyoomi screamed ‘too touchy and extra doting’. If anything, it was cold.
It was, in fact, not cold, because when Kiyoomi looked up, a tender smile was splayed across Mama Miya’s face.
“It’s okay, darlin’, I washed my hands,” she whispered to him.
Kiyoomi froze briefly, only for it to be replaced by warmth in an instant, permeating his entire body. He clasped his hand around hers and felt himself sinking into the comfort it emitted. A single handshake and Kiyoomi fully understood why Atsumu embodied the sun, radiant and warm in everything he did, but also passionate and beautiful.
They went inside after Kiyoomi exchanged his greetings with Papa Miya. He wasn’t intimidating at all, Kiyoomi guessed it was because of the evident smile lines on either side of his lips, and the wrinkles beside his eyes. The Miya household was probably one that was filled with laughter.
They passed through the house to get to the backyard. There were probably thirty people there, kids running about the place like it was a playground, and adults strewn about the tables, engaged in conversation. And oh boy, Kiyoomi was definitely anxious. He had to impress not only Atsumu’s immediate family, but his distant relatives as well.
‘Impress,’ he thought, when ‘convince’ was a more fitting word to use for their situation.
“Omi!” Atsumu stood before him, a bright grin on his face. He leaned closer and whispered, “Are ya ready to put on a good show?”
The tiny giggle Atsumu’s mouth produced rendered Kiyoomi speechless. Oh, what he would do to hear that giggle every waking hour.
Ah, Kiyoomi thought, there was no controlling the vicious growth of flowers inside his chest, huh?
“Omi?” Atsumu tilted his head to the side when Kiyoomi made no move to answer.
Kiyoomi cleared his throat and veered his gaze away, hoping that Atsumu wouldn’t notice his flushed cheeks.
“Is holding yer hand okay?” Atsumu asked, presenting his hand that trembled ever so slightly, almost unnoticeable.
“You push your nasty scalp towards my face every chance you get, why are you asking for permission to hold my hand now, Atsumu?”
It should have been more biting, with more spite to show Atsumu that no, Kiyoomi did not find it endearing when Atsumu would silently ask him to pat his head, looking at him with those pretty amber eyes. But Kiyoomi was a weak man, even more than he already was before this whole set-up.
“I can’t just hold yer hand out of nowhere. I’d rather not have them chopped off, thank ya very much!”
Kiyoomi only rolled his eyes before locking his fingers in between Atsumu’s. He was too focused on the way their hands fit together and how Atsumu’s warmth seemed to permeate through him, to even notice the widening of Atsumu’s eyes and the deepening of the color of his cheeks.
“Which of these relatives of yours do I need to avoid?”
He heard a tiny gasp beside him, causing him to look at Atsumu whose eyes were trained on whatever was in front of him. Kiyoomi followed his gaze and zeroed in on a woman who looked uncannily like Mama Miya heading towards them.
“Omi, I’d tell ya, but I think there’s no avoiding this one already,” Atsumu muttered under his breath as his grip tightened around Kiyoomi’s hand.
“Atsumu, dear! I’ve been looking for you!” The woman, who Kiyoomi supposed was Atsumu’s aunt, leaned forward to give Atsumu a kiss on the cheek.
“How’re ya, Auntie Aiko?” Atsumu greeted with a grin, a tad forced.
She waved a hand and laughed cheerily. “Oh, you know. The usual travel and all of that.” She turned to Kiyoomi with curious eyes. “Who might this young lad be? A close friend of yours?”
“Yeah,” Atsumu replied breathily. “My boyfriend, actually. Omi, Auntie Aiko; Auntie Aiko, Omi.”
Kiyoomi bowed his head as Atsumu’s Auntie Aiko stared at him in awe.
“Pleased to meet you, Ma’am. You can call me Kiyoomi,” he answered with a small smile.
Auntie Aiko gasped, perfectly manicured hands covering her open mouth.
“Atsumu, deary, you bagged such a perfect boy!”
Kiyoomi flinched when Auntie Aiko lifted her hand to where his arm was, about to squeeze it or pat it, or whatever it was that she was planning on doing. She didn’t get to do it, thankfully, because Atsumu was quick to notice and quicker to catch his aunt’s hand and lead her to a table, gesturing for Kiyoomi to follow.
It turned out that sitting on a table with Auntie Aiko was a bad idea. It wasn’t even five minutes after the three of them had sat down that she had called their other relatives to interrogate the ‘couple’.
Thankfully—or weirdly, depending on how one would perceive it—they were extremely talented at making Atsumu’s family believe they were dating.
“Omi,” Atsumu whispered, hints of a whine and an apology seeping in his tone. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able ta push them away like I promised. Auntie Aiko’s pretty persistent with things like this. I don’t even know why she isn’t interrogating ‘Samu and Sunarin when they’re the ones who are... ya know?”
Kiyoomi turned his head to the side to see Atsumu pouting. He was so close to leaning forward and just capturing Atsumu’s lips in a tender kiss, but his resolve was still strong. At least he thought that it was.
Before he could reply, one of Atsumu’s cousins—Kenta, was it?—asked him a question.
“Do ya really like Atsumu? Are ya sure he didn’t threaten ya with a spike serve to yer face?” He laughed.
“Kenta, ya scrub! I’m going ta tell yer mom ya have a girlfrien’!”
The argument between the two cousins died down when Kiyoomi spoke.
“Yes, I do like him—quite a lot actually.”
He pretended not to notice the way Atsumu’s head whipped towards him and instead answered the disbelieving chorus of why’s thrown his way.
“He—” he cleared his throat, not trusting his voice to not crack when he was practically admitting his feelings for the first time out loud. “There’s a lot but, um, he understands me and respects my boundaries. He makes me feel comfortable. He—Atsumu feels like home.” A timid smile spread on his lips, so much smaller compared to the raging storm inside his chest.
“Well,” Kenta said and blew a raspberry, “I can’t really question yer feelings anymore if yer gonna look like that.”
Kiyoomi blinked. Atsumu was about to scold his cousin for his words but Kenta silenced him when he said;
“What I mean is he looks disgustingly in love with ya.”
Atsumu whipped his head towards Kiyoomi who was already looking back at him with the softest gaze he had ever seen him wear.
Seeing Atsumu look back at him with wide, curious eyes, Kiyoomi wondered if he should take the opportunity that was basically handed to him—to show Atsumu how deeply he cared for him and how helplessly he’d fallen in love with him.
In the end, he decided to take the bait. It was a win-win situation for both of them, wasn’t it? Kiyoomi would be able to bare his heart out in the guise of their fake dating set-up, and Atsumu would be able to convince everyone that they truly were a couple and avoid being set up with a stranger’s daughter.
He decided to ignore the voice in his mind telling him that he would regret entering this agreement after it was over and the pain had settled in.
Kiyoomi lifted his hand from where it was laid on his lap and reached for Atsumu who instinctively leaned into Kiyoomi’s palm when it carded through blonde locks. He sighed, his eyes closing to savor the tenderness in Kiyoomi’s touch.
“Omi, ‘m gettin’ sleepy...” Atsumu muttered after a while.
Kenta had long excused himself from the table with a scrunch of his nose, disgusted at their display of affection.
“You know, my dear,” Auntie Aiko whispered, a fond look in her eyes as she stared at Atsumu, “I was actually planning on setting Atsumu up with my friend’s son, but seeing you here with him, I realized that I don’t need to.”
Not knowing how to respond, Kiyoomi smiled.
“It had always baffled me how he still had no partner, especially when he has so much love to give. I’m glad that he finally has you.” She pushed her seat back and stood up. Before leaving, she said, “Take care of him, okay?”
He nodded, learning then how cherished Atsumu was by his family.
He couldn’t blame them, or anyone, really. Could anyone ever resist being drawn to Atsumu and treasuring him when he was love personified? Kiyoomi knew he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be helplessly in love with Atsumu if he could.
It was only them on the table, with no one to prove their dating status to, but Kiyoomi, driven by the gravity of his feelings, still pulled Atsumu’s head to rest on the crook of his neck. He stilled when he felt him nose at the junction of Kiyoomi’s shoulder, a content sigh brushing his skin. Ignoring the dangerously loud thumping of his heart, Kiyoomi bent his head down to press a delicate kiss onto Atsumu’s temple.
“I’ll wake you up when it’s time to eat.”
Atsumu hummed, sinking further into Kiyoomi’s space. “Thanks, Omi. Yer the best.”
“Kiyoomi, Rin, my dears, come help me here,” Mama Miya said as she gestured for the two to accompany her in the kitchen.
“Ma, don’t make Omi wash the dishes!” Atsumu protested.
“Atsu, it’s fine.”
Atsu.
Kiyoomi didn’t even have the chance to scold himself for slipping up when he saw Atsumu redden at the nickname, his mouth opening and closing like a fish above water. Kiyoomi fought the upward tug of his lips, positively endeared.
Atsumu cleared his throat, his eyes traveling about the room and landing on everything but Kiyoomi’s eyes. He mumbles, “Um—okay. Y-ya go do yer thing with Ma,” before rushing out of the dining room.
If Kiyoomi paid attention enough, he would have heard Osamu calling his brother a ‘lovesick fool’ before he gave Rintarou a chaste kiss on his lips then followed his twin to the living room.
“Ma, I’ll take care of that. Kiyoomi can take care of the rinsing,” Rintarou suggested when he spotted Mama Miya making a move to soap the used dishes.
Kiyoomi was thankful, not only for the fact that all he had to do was rinse the dishes, but also that there wasn't much to wash. The guests had left only a little before late dinner, and Kiyoomi was glad to not be bombarded with questions anymore. Atsumu did stay by his side the entirety of their extended family’s visit and answered most of the queries thrown their way; but the Miya’s were a persistent and nosy bunch, and louder than Atsumu, Koutarou, and Shoyou combined when they had alcohol running in their systems—which, to be frank, said a lot.
Remembering how warm Atsumu’s hand felt around his, Kiyoomi smiled.
“‘M glad ‘Tsumu finally asked ya out,” Mama Miya said from beside him, lightly bumping her hip with him.
‘Finally’?
“You don’t know how much we’ve suffered with how much he talked about you. We’ll talk about volleyball, then five minutes later he’ll go off on a tangent,” Rintarou explained, a smile on his face that Kiyoomi couldn’t quite decipher the meaning of.
Kiyoomi’s heart thumped relentlessly against his chest.
“He did?”
Atsumu talked to his family about Kiyoomi? Was that the reason why Mama Miya had asked to see him before? He blinked dazedly as the realization slowly dawned on him and creeped into his entire body. Kiyoomi didn’t need to touch his face or stand in front of a mirror to learn that his features were tinted bright pink.
God, Atsumu made him an absolute mess.
Mama Miya’s gleeful chuckle made Kiyoomi’s head snap to his right side.
“‘Tsumu never shut up about ya. Much like ‘Samu and Rin couldn’t stop talkin’ about each other when they were still li’l high schoolers.”
“Ma!” Rintarou protested, but Mama Miya’s laughter only grew louder.
Fondness was evident in her visage, and it made Kiyoomi feel incredibly warm and welcomed. It hadn’t been a whole day since he had formally met Atsumu’s entire family, but he believed that maybe, this was a place he could call home. And with what Rintarou and Mama Miya had told him minutes ago, then maybe Atsumu would allow him to call it—call them home.
“How’s Atsumu treating you? Bet he’s a lot to handle.” Rintarou snorted.
Kiyoomi pondered briefly about how much he should enhance his answer, or if he should even do so in the first place. He had known from experience and from Motoya that in order to sell a good lie, it must be as close to reality as possible. He had stood by the principle since, and it hadn’t failed him.
Though truthfully, Kiyoomi barely uttered a lie all day. The only lies he had mentioned throughout his meeting with Atsumu’s family was that they were a couple that had been dating for a month and that Atsumu confessed first. Every answer to every question was factual, not a sliver of falsehood in Kiyoomi’s words.
It wouldn’t be good to ruin his streak, he supposed. He only hoped that Mama Miya and Rintarou would supply in their minds the necessary romance that should be found in Kiyoomi’s testimony.
“Yes,” he admitted as the three of them made their way towards the kitchen island, “Atsu’s a handful. He always stays over in my apartment and he’s always in my space. There are little reminders of him all over my place, but honestly, I don’t mind it.” He bit his lip, hesitating to continue, but Mama Miya’s gentle and golden eyes that reminded him badly of Atsumu’s own pair of enchanting eyes made Kiyoomi continue.
“I didn’t expect him to be the clingy type, but he is. It’s terrible,” he continued, but the fondness in his eyes were evident. “He would always cling to me, and he’d ask for cuddles. And he’d always, always ask me to pat his head or run my hands through his hair—”
“He lets you touch his hair?!” Rintarou cut in, sharing the same look of surprise as Mama Miya.
Kiyoomi blinked his eyes in confusion before slowly nodding. “He also asks me to help with bleaching his hair sometimes. Is there… something wrong with that…?”
“Almost got punched before when I touched his hair.” Rintarou scowled.
“That kid.” Mama Miya shook her head in disbelief. “Ever since he was able ta comb his hair by ‘imself, he never let anyone touch it. Only the barber could, an’ it was only ‘cause it was necessary.”
“God, this only solidifies how disgustingly whipped he is for you. Gross.” Rintarou scrunched his nose.
Laughter bounced off the walls of the kitchen as Mama Miya threw her head back to laugh at Rintarou’s statement.
“Rin, I’ve seen the things ya’ve done for ‘Samu, I don’t think ya’ve any room ta talk, dear.”
Rintarou’s groan of protest morphed into a whine; he looked closely similar to the twins when they were whining that Kiyoomi wondered exactly how much did Rintarou spend time with them to be able to pick up a few of their habits.
“Ma, please, we’re talking about your other son here and his boyfriend.”
“Speaking of my other son, I’m sure he’s looking fer ya already. He really has always been the clingier of the two.” She smiled. “Off ya two go. No performing miracles under my roof, okay? Do it when ya get home ta yer own apartments.”
Before Rintarou and Kiyoomi could mutter a single word in retaliation, Mama Miya had already shooed them out of the kitchen and joined Papa Miya to watch T.V. in the living room, the twins long gone in their own bedrooms.
“Omi!” Atsumu greeted cheerfully, his smile blinding despite the low light in the bedroom. “Did Ma an’ Sunarin say anything weird to ya?”
Kiyoomi shook his head. As if sensing that something was up, Atsumu frowned. But before he could probe into it, Kiyoomi had already spoken and steered the conversation elsewhere.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
The frown on Atsumu’s face fell deeper, but he answered nonetheless, giving Kiyoomi directions and even offering to take him there himself. He didn’t know whether he should be offended or moved.
Kiyoomi only had a chance to breathe when he was already standing beneath the shower head, warm running water cascading down his skin. He shut his eyes briefly and took deep breaths.
If Mama Miya and Rintarou’s revelations held any truth in them—Kiyoomi highly doubted that they didn’t—then maybe it wouldn’t be wrong to take a leap. And maybe, he wasn’t hopelessly pining and this set-up wasn’t heading for heartbreak.
When Kiyoomi went back to Atsumu’s room, he found Atsumu tucking himself under a blanket on the floor, with only one pillow to support his head.
“What are you doing there?” Kiyoomi asked, towering over him as he stood by Atsumu’s feet.
“Sleeping?” Atsumu answered like it was a well-known fact.
Kiyoomi furrowed his eyebrows. “Why?”
Was it wrong for Kiyoomi to assume that Atsumu was going to ask for them to cuddle that night? Just as he usually would when he would stay over at Kiyoomi’s apartment?
“Because yer sleeping on my bed? I changed the sheets an’ the pillow covers, by the way!” He beamed at Kiyoomi, proud of himself. “Oh, an’ I had Ma wash it with that detergent ya really like.”
“Why?”
“I—Omi-kun, stop askin’ questions! Just say ‘thank ya’, geez.”
Kiyoomi sat on the edge of the bed, his feet near Atsumu’s blanketed arm.
Take a leap.
“Is it—Do you like me, Atsu?”
A sharp intake of breath could be heard in the quietness of the room, and when Kiyoomi looked down at Atsumu’s face, he saw him biting on his lip. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if it was due to the unfamiliar nickname or the sudden question.
“What—?” Atsumu let out a nervous laugh as he sat up, barely able to lift himself up on trembling hands. “Did Ma an’ Sunarin tell ya that?”
Kiyoomi slowly nodded, unaware that a pout was slowly forming on his lips. “Sort of, yes.”
Atsumu waved his hand dismissively and blew a raspberry, seemingly unable to look Kiyoomi in the eyes. “T-They’re lyin’. Y’know how Sunarin is! Always lyin’!”
“Oh…” He wanted to punch himself for letting himself hope and for being evidently disappointed.
Atsumu cleared his throat and hastily said, “‘S that all? Okay, ‘m going ta sleep now, Omi-Omi! Good night!” He tucked himself back under his blanket and faced the other way.
Ah, shit, Kiyoomi thought as he lay on his side, curling his legs up and hugging himself. He clutched at his chest as he tried to stop the unbearable pain that he was feeling. He supposed it was the consequence of being utterly presumptuous and of succumbing to human emotion.
He didn’t even notice that tears were streaming down his face until he heard himself let out a wet sob. He clamped a hand on his mouth, fearing that Atsumu might hear and Kiyoomi would be forced to bare his feelings out in the open.
“O-Omi…?”
Fuck.
Kiyoomi squeezed his eyes shut and tried to even his breathing as quietly as he could, but Atsumu was already by Kiyoomi’s side and pushing his hair away from his tear-stained face.
Why was he even crying? He should have expected this; he was expecting this. All along, since his realization of his feelings for Atsumu, this was the reality he had come to accept. Why, after being given only little hope of reciprocation, did he suddenly abandon everything he had come to believe? Miya Atsumu, and with all the love he could offer, would never love Kiyoomi the way he wanted him to. That was the truth that Kiyoomi reminded himself of every single day, it was what he believed in.
So why, why was he surprised when Atsumu affirmed the harsh truth that Kiyoomi had known for years? Why did it hurt worse than he prepared himself to feel? And why was Atsumu still so gentle with him?
“Omi, what’s wrong?”
Kiyoomi shook his head and burrowed his head further into his shell. Just leave, he pleaded inside his head.
“Omi, please. I want ta help.”
A broken sob erupted from the depths of Kiyoomi’s throat. He had never felt as pathetic as he did now.
“I’m fine, Atsu—” Kiyoomi released a shaky breath. “I’m fine, Miya. Go away.”
Atsumu fell back on his heels, his hand lying limp beside Kiyoomi’s head. Wide-eyed, Atsumu stared at the other as he continued to try and stifle his sobs.
“Let me help you, please?”
The concern and tenderness in Atsumu’s voice made Kiyoomi want to scream and thrash around. He wanted to be angry; at the gods, at the universe and the stars, and at whatever it was that wouldn’t allow Kiyoomi to be loved by Atsumu with all the love that he embodied.
Why, Kiyoomi asked, why couldn’t it be him?
“You can’t,” he whispered.
Atsumu reached out, his hand hesitantly making its way towards Kiyoomi’s pale one. “I can try?”
“Why?” Kiyoomi’s voice boomed against the walls of Atsumu’s room. “Why do you—” He removed his hands from shielding his face and stared at Atsumu with a deep furrow of his brows. “Why do you keep doing these things if you don’t like me? W-Why do you keep on confusing me?”
Atsumu’s mouth parted, but no reply came. He simply stared at Kiyoomi, golden eyes locked with obsidian ones.
“If you don’t even like me back, then please,” Kiyoomi pleaded, desperation in his voice, “just stop.” He turned around, his back now facing Atsumu. He whispered, “Please stop hurting me, Atsumu.”
“Omi, what do ya mean? Y-Ya like me? This—‘M not dreamin’, am I?” He sank into the bed, the trembling of his hands becoming worse than it already was. He reached out for Kiyoomi’s upper arm and slowly coaxed him to face Atsumu.
“Hey…” He called out softly as he gently ran the pads of his thumbs across Kiyoomi’s closed eyelids. “Look at me, please? Let’s talk this out.”
When Kiyoomi opened his eyes, another wave of tears started falling down once more. There, before him, was Atsumu gazing at him with the warmest look in his eyes.
“‘M sorry fer lyin’…” He said as he cradled Kiyoomi’s face. “I was afraid I’d lose ya if I told ya how I really feel ‘bout ya.”
Kiyoomi hummed as he nuzzled his face further into the palm of Atsumu’s hand.
“I like ya, Omi,” he confessed before leaning down to press a kiss onto Kiyoomi’s forehead. “More than ya can imagine—oof .”
Kiyoomi wrapped his arms tightly around Atsumu, not minding how much Atsumu was crushing him with his athletic body.
In the distance, Kiyoomi could hear the sweet sound of glass shattering and flowers bursting through his ribs. He smiled.
Voice shaky, Kiyoomi mumbled, “I like you, too,” against the crook of Atsumu’s neck before burrowing his face into the warmth. “And I’m sorry for blaming you earlier when I thought you didn’t like me. It was… stupid.”
Atsumu pushed himself up with a gasp, his hands on either side of Kiyoomi’s head.
“You called yourself ‘stupid’,” Atsumu said, his eyes glimmering with bewilderment.
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes but a fond smile was blooming on his lips. “It’s a one-time thing. Don’t expect any in the future.”
Giggling, Atsumu bent his arms to bring himself down and kiss Kiyoomi on the lips. Kiyoomi caged him in his arms once again and turned both of them to the side.
“Omi?” Atsumu called with a tone that Kiyoomi was extremely familiar with.
Kiyoomi shook his head, knowing exactly what Atsumu was about to ask. “Yes,” he replied, “I’ll play with your hair, you big idiot.”
Atsumu’s laughter rumbled in his chest and vibrated through Kiyoomi’s own, and he found himself finally being able to breathe easily. It seemed that the greenhouse caging the flowers in his chest was finally gone.
“Ya like this big idiot,” Atsumu responded, the happiness in his voice terribly obvious.
Kiyoomi smiled. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
If Osamu and Rintarou had a bet about whether Atsumu and Kiyoomi truly were dating, the new couple didn’t need to know. It didn’t matter to them, anyway. They finally had each other in their arms and that was what was most important.
Rintarou won the bet.