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The 'no-touch' rule doesn't just apply to comfort Kiyoomi's mysophobia.
In fact, Atsumu has a sneaking suspicion the spiker doesn't really care at all as long as the physical contact isn't gratuitous.
In reality, the 'no-touch' rule between him and his roommate exists because Kiyoomi seems to have little to no trust for Atsumu - look, the setter doesn't exactly blame him.
When you're born with a curse like he has, not-touching is a normal part of life. People don't want you seeing what goes on in their inner-most psyches. People don't want you to walk through their library of memories with highlighters and bookmarks, absorbing information that should be theirs and theirs alone.
Atsumu gets it, he really does. Honestly, it's one of the few understated parts of his personality, one of the few things he keeps under wraps in the normal world. Because he may be an obnoxious brat, but he's certainly not trying to violate peoples' privacy. In all the times he's lost control of it before, it's never ended well. So he keeps his hands to himself and it works out fine.
Without a proper scientific name for his condition, doctors have opted to call it Neuroagnosi from the Greek for nerves and reading. Atsumu thinks they could've found a much more interesting name for it considering he's the only one who has it or at least let him choose what to call what geneticists and psych consultants have called a "hereditary illness". But no. They decided to give it a boring science-y name for it so it sounds better in research papers.
Only a few select people in his life have ever been comfortable with his touch - the list is small, pretty much only including Osamu, Suna, Bokuto, and Hinata (and that's just because his two hitters don't have a single malicious thought racketing around in those heads of theirs).
And even then, it hadn't always been that way. There was a full six months of his third year when Suna avoided him like the plague after Atsumu accidentally found out the middle blocker had it bad for his twin brother. (You can't imagine how awkward it is to see horny thoughts of your brother bouncing around your best friend's head. Yeah, they didn't talk for a while after that.)
It's not intentional nor unintentional - that's something people don't seem to understand. Atsumu doesn't turn it on or off, nor is it something that's constantly happening. He doesn't just touch someone and know everything they've ever thought about. Sometimes he touches someone and he doesn't get anything at all. Not because the person isn't thinking about literally anything, but because of several factors.
Atsumu's found it really depends on the potency of the emotion behind their thoughts, the vividness of what they're thinking about, the subject matter. Other humans tend to feature heavily in the visions Atsumu actually gets. Normally things like grocery shopping and to-do lists, absent thoughts, don't make it through the filter.
People don't understand this, though. They seem to be under some sort of illusion that Atsumu will somehow walk away with their social security number and deepest darkest secrets if he so much as taps them on the shoulder - literally just don't think about incriminating things, it's really that easy.
Whatever, he's never quite cared. Being a freak of nature tends to have people either hailing you as a god or avoiding you like you're devil on earth. He's used to it by now.
So honestly, rooming with a mysophobe seemed like a best-case-scenario. Not only does he not have to worry about Kiyoomi heckling him, he doesn't have to tow around this burdensome sense of guilt that he's making his roommate's life harder - he's living a win-win situation.
Well, almost.
The almost he's experiencing comes in the form of Kiyoomi Sakusa being a man of mind-bendingly attractive features and proportions so even and perfect that you'd think a Renaissance artist sculpted him from glowing marble.
The almost is the way Kiyoomi lets Atsumu rest his feet across the spiker's thighs - not all touch triggers (for lack of a better word) the visions. Atsumu's found that the only time it becomes an issue is with hands.
The almost resides in their conversations over dinner and movie nights that has a tender mushy feeling welling up just beneath his sternum. In the way Kiyoomi always sets a glass of water on his bedside table because Atsumu is chronically forgetful and consistently wakes up in the middle of the night with a horrible case of dry mouth.
The almost is that Kiyoomi is sweeter and more caring than he or anyone else will give him credit for, and he cares, and Atsumu's fallen for his sharp sarcasm just as much as he's fallen for all the small considerations he makes that Atsumu himself would never think of.
It's making Atsumu's life horribly inconvenient. In more ways than one.
Because if Atsumu hadn't felt the drag of warm affection melting like molten gold through his veins the first time he woke up from a dream of endless drowning to a glass of cold water on his nightstand, then maybe he wouldn't bat an eyelash when Kiyoomi began to revert slowly back to the hermit he was when Atsumu first met him.
It's not unusual for Kiyoomi to act cold, but in the past three months, he's been downright frigid.
Half the words Kiyoomi says to Atsumu are insults - it's the unshakeable foundation on which their relationship is built. But now he says nothing at all, avoiding the setter whenever the chance presents itself, making his presence a non-factor if he isn't required to be somewhere.
He doesn't attend team outings, not that he ever did before, but at least he'd make up a cursory excuse. Now there's nothing but a simple, dry-text apology so chilly that Atsumu can almost feel the insincerity behind it.
He barely talks to Atsumu during practice if he doesn't have to, he's always first to duck out of practice which, while not an uncommon occurrence, has itself taken on an element of coldness. He doesn't wait for Atsumu either. And by the time the setter gets back to their apartment, Kiyoomi has long since retreated to the confines of his room which Atsumu is by no means allowed to step foot in.
So yeah. It's weird. And Atsumu's feeling his absence in the form of a stone that weighs heavy on his sternum each time dark eyes flick up to lock with his.
He hates being the one in the dark because he never is. Like, okay, he can deal with people avoiding him, but they better stay fucking consistent about it. If they're going to shun him and shake him at every chance they get, at least keep that a constant.
Kiyoomi doesn't seem to understand the concept, doesn't seem to understand that allowing him connection and then ripping it away without warning or reason hurts far worse than just existing as an outcast. Loss doesn't hurt unless you actually had something to begin with.
However, Atsumu doesn't like falling into angst because it's pathetic and he's better than that. Which is why he's opted to - instead of wallowing until (hopefully) Kiyoomi comes around and miraculously cures his aching pining - be the brat he is and execute every possible strategy known to humankind to get Kiyoomi Sakusa's attention.
Eventually, the spiker has to pay attention, right?
Wrong.
It's been a week. Atsumu's tried every bratty-ass trick in the book - all of which have, at some point or another, succeeded in grabbing even the iciest person's attention.
He managed to get Suna Rintarou to give him the time of day, and that doesn't even happen in Atsumu's worst nightmares. So basically, he's concluded that Kiyoomi is either a robot specifically programmed to ignore him, or there's something really fucked up going on.
Either way, Atsumu's going to find out. Like a bloodhound, he doesn't stop until he's found exactly what he's looking for.
Unlike a bloodhound, he throws a tantrum if he's not satisfied with the outcome.
On this particular morning, he's throwing his nosiest tantrum yet, and still the only sign that Kiyoomi even registers his presence is the look of perpetual annoyance marring pretty features (though even that's not assured as he could easily have an entirely different reason for being a grump).
"Omi," Kiyoomi ignores him with a passion. "Omi Omi Omi Omi Omi Omi Omi talk to me-"
Kiyoomi stands up and walks to the kitchen - Atsumu got up at five in the morning for this shit. Practice doesn't start until nine, he only needs a maximum of two hours for his morning jog and breakfast, but he woke up early (read: earlier than his roommate) specifically for the purpose of catching the spiker before he has the chance to slip out the door.
And what does he get in return for his efforts? Nothing. Not even a word to let him know that Kiyoomi even sees him.
"Ya literally can't ignore me! Ya've been ignorin' me fer months! Waddid I do-" Kiyoomi presses - or more like aggressively slams - the start button on their coffee grinder. Atsumu doesn't even know why they have it. Most mornings it's a non-factor anyway seeing as there's a coffee shop just down the street from their apartment buildings.
Maybe this is its sole purpose, drowning out Atsumu.
"I can fuckin' yell louder than that thing! Is that whatcher goin' fer?"
Kiyoomi's expression twists into a look that says something along the lines of, "I'm not above homicide" but he still doesn't look at Atsumu - which might be the most annoying part. Like hey, at least look a guy in the eyes while you're brutally murdering him.
"Ya gotta give me attention eventually!" The slam of a door accompanies Atsumu's obnoxious screaming, Kiyoomi having stalked down the hall to his bedroom with indignation.
As much as Atsumu would like to believe his own words, he's starting to get the sense that Kiyoomi's skepticism is genuinely well-chosen.
It's just frustrating is what it is. Kiyoomi's already as emotionally fucking constipated as it is possible for a person to be, like he bottled up all his feelings and stuck them into a hydraulic press. But worse than that, Atsumu can't even touch him without a very good excuse. Which means he has no way of knowing how to un-repress his roommate/crush/teammate's (honestly the list goes on) sacred inner-thoughts.
Well, fine, he thinks, his competitive edge growing sharper. If Kiyoomi is going to be stubborn about it, Atsumu can be stubborn about it too. Never one to back down from a challenge, Atsumu posts himself outside of his roommate's bedroom door, arms folded.
Atsumu Miya is nothing if not dedicated - to many things in life: volleyball, being the best, being as annoying as humanly possible. The people who don't find it a charming point are not people he wants in his life (other than Kiyoomi. But, the spiker's the exception to a lot of things, so Atsumu's elected not to spend sleepless nights pondering the fact).
The worst part is that he doesn't understand what he did wrong. If he did, even being the massive screwup they both know he is, he could at least attempt to fix it. But he can't.
Everything was normal and then, out of the blue, Kiyoomi starts treating him exactly like the rest of the world does - like a leper, a being to be feared and not accepted, a curse.
When the door to Kiyoomi's bedroom is opened, the suddenness is jarring enough to have Atsumu jolting off the wall like he's been electrocuted.
He's damn lucky his reaction time is lightning-quick enough to have him taking a step back before any unfortunate physical contact occurs.
He's also damn unlucky enough to be harassing a man who also has lightning-quick reaction time.
You know, getting punched in the face by a normal person is bad enough, but getting punched in the face by your volleyball playing roommate/teammate who's also a spiker and currently harboring what seems to be a potent hatred for you is much worse. Actually, it's a lot like getting slapped in the eye with a hundred-pound weight.
So in other words, it hurts. Like a lot.
All thoughts of being an annoying attention-seeking brat suddenly flee at breakneck speeds as Atsumu falls backward. There's a muted "fuck" that he's pretty sure came from Kiyoomi and not him, though the chances are just about equal considering he has absolutely no control over his body as gravity takes over.
Oh, Atsumu is going to rain hell on him for this. Kiyoomi has to at least say something to him after pulling shit like this.
It's mere milliseconds before he hits the ground that Atsumu feels a strong arm coiling tight around his waist, then the immediate upward pull of his body against gravity. The sudden change in directions is, to say the least, jarring.
But even worse than that, Atsumu is suddenly pressed so close to Kiyoomi that he can feel the spiker's heartbeat against his own and innate warmth emanating. And he can't not touch, because Kiyoomi is everywhere. He can smell vanilla-lavender shampoo and feel the swollen muscles under his fingertips where his hands grip Kiyoomi's shoulders like they're the only things keeping him upright (in a sense they are).
And it all feels so nice and warm and comfy cozy-
Until his own voice begins to echo through his head like he's standing in a cave and his vision blacks out, head reeling with the sudden onslaught of unfamiliar thoughts.
"Yer cute when yer angry Omi."
"Aww, but I like it when ya smile!"
"Eventually ya gotta admit I'm pretty."
"Ya don't even like me a little bit?"
"Ya pretend yer mean but really yer a sweetheart."
"But Omi it's so cold! Gimme hugs!"
Atsumu's own smile, voice, body, hit him in the head like a train, filtered in a completely different light. Each smirk he wears specifically to annoy is edged and rimmed and dipped in gold, each flutter of his eyelashes long and languid rather than a short, unconscious movement. Snapshots in time from the years they've known each other fill every corner of his brain like a virus.
He is all that populates Kiyoomi's brain, at least at the current moment, and warm affection pools hot in his lungs, soaking up the breathable air, making what's left deliciously sweet.
Atsumu feels the heaviness in his chest when he looks back at Kiyoomi, the stone settling itself on his sternum, warming his face and increasing the difficulty of something as simple as breathing tenfold.
Kiyoomi's porcelain face reflects abject horror at the realization that Atsumu's just taken a metaphorical peek behind the velvet curtains that so carefully guard his most raw emotions. If Atsumu is at all in control of the way his lips fall open and his eyes widen, he certainly makes no attempt to show it, too frozen in the moment to process the implications of what he just saw.
All that courses through his head at an adrenaline high pace is: oh my god, OmiOmi likes me. Does this mean I can kiss him now?
The moment is broken when Kiyoomi lets out the most pathetic, strangled noise in the back of his throat that signals something very bad to come for Atsumu. Dark eyebrows scrunch together, twin moles pull together, sparkly eyes reflect a hailstorm of teenage-esque angst - Atsumu would find it deliciously entertaining if his health wasn't literally in Kiyoomi's hands.
Hazel eyes widen comically large.
"Omi, do not drop me- Do not drop me, my body is my career-"
Kiyoomi drops him as if on cue, taking off toward their shared bathroom at a sprint as Atsumu's spine hits the ground with a painful thunk - great, because getting punched before practice wasn't enough. He also gets to find out what it feels like to bruise your spine. Kiyoomi Sakusa: always teaching him new things.
Atsumu groans in discomfort, ruing the knowledge that his bones are most definitely in worse shape than he is. Yes, okay? He knows this is technically his fault, but he can still be a brat about it (as he is about most things that inconvenience him, no matter how slight).
"Fuckin' Tsundere," he grumbles half-heartedly to himself as he sits up. The action is in-time with the slamming of a door, Kiyoomi locking himself away once again behind the safety of doors and walls. Physical barriers Atsumu couldn't so easily get past.
With much pain and likely a considerable amount of damage to his ego, Atsumu pushes himself up from the floor and stumbles down the hall toward their bathroom.
He knows the door absolutely is locked when he walks up (not that it would matter if it wasn't because Kiyoomi is definitely sitting up against it and Atsumu's body currently has the structural integrity of a fetus). But like the dummy he is, Atsumu tries the handle anyway.
"Omi! I'm sorry! It was an accident! Open the door," he slumps against the door with a defeated sigh, wishing he had enhanced bat-ass hearing like Hinata so he could at least gauge whether or not Kiyoomi broke a hole in the wall and ran away yet.
"No."
Simple, nothing left up to interpretation, incredibly Kiyoomi.
Atsumu lets out a distressed whine as if his roommate's dryness is physically hurting him.
"I should be the one mad at you! Ya punched me in the face!"
"Yeah because you deserved it."
There's silence, pondering silence in which Atsumu takes the chance to think (not his favorite activity considering how quickly he spirals). There really isn't a way to fix, necessarily, having seen someone's inner-most private thoughts. Atsumu's crossed a line (even if unintentionally) that's impossible to uncross.
So he tries the only strategy he has left: brutal honesty.
"Omi, c'mon, I already know ya like me. Ya don't really got anythin' ta prove,"
"I'm not having this conversation with you," that at least earns him an immediate response, a grunt of, "Go away."
"Omi, please talk ta me!" Pleading, Atsumu is literally pleading with him - he's never felt so pathetic. He hates begging anyone for anything. But he hates being ignored even more. Specifically by his favorite person - don't tell Kiyoomi he said that.
"No. You should start packing your stuff because you're moving out."
"This is our apartment."
"I was here first," when all other arguments have been used and wasted, there are only a few options, and childish petulance seems to be the most appealing one.
"Both our names'r on the lease. This is our apartment," Atsumu wants to hear the words from his mouth, not the implication of his thoughts or the second-hand feeling weighing on his chest. He wants to hear Kiyoomi say the words and he wants to revel in them. "Ya like me. Say it."
So he begs. Because he's out of options - this will never happen again, mark his fucking words.
"Please?"
There's a beat of silence and then,
"Jesus, yes, fine, I like you. A lot. I have for three fucking years. Are you done being a prick now?" sarcasm that's far too soft for the sharp edge it should possess. And Atsumu can't stand it anymore because he wants to touch and hold and look at his Omi-Kun.
"Omi open the door-"
"What part of 'no' do you not understand?!"
"Ya can't stay in there ferever!" Atsumu whines, pitching his voice as high as it will go.
"I'd rather wither away and die here than see your face right now," he rolls his eyes. Okay, Atsumu will admit that stings a little (a lottle), but Kiyoomi can't really mean that, right? "Go. Away."
All he can do is huff and fold his arms knowing very well that Kiyoomi won't pick up on his indignation.
It's only after a moment of quiet brainstorming that Atsumu has a brilliant idea that will either get him killed or get him everything he's been hopelessly pining for over the past three years. Likely the first, but you know, he figures he's lived a good life. Plus, 'Samu will avenge him if need be.
"But I needa tell ya somethin'!"
"Well?! I can fucking hear you," Atsumu wishes his roommate could see the incredulity playing on his features right now - maybe if Kiyoomi could see how damn frustrated he is, he might actually give Atsumu the time of day he's been seeking for weeks now.
"No! This has ta be said face ta face!"
A low growl sounds from the other side of the door and, quite contrary to what one might think, Atsumu takes this as a good sign. An Omi who's angry enough to make feral bear noises is an Omi who's angry enough to take action. Look, Kiyoomi punching him in the face is the most attention Atsumu's received from him for months, so he'll take it.
Atsumu is forced to take a micro-step back as the door to their bathroom suddenly swings open to reveal a Kiyoomi so angry he could be fucking steaming.
"What the hell do you want from me-"
Hands clutched behind his back because he is an absolutely stellar roommate, Atsumu tips up on the balls of his feet and presses what's supposed to a chaste kiss to Kiyoomi's lips. Oh yes, he's absolutely about to get punched in the face a second time and walk into practice with matching black eyes. But he can't help the way he smug-smiles against the spiker's lips which are way too soft to match his prickly personality.
Atsumu waits for the backlash, the typical retaliation he's used to from the spiker, waits for them to be normal again. But it never comes.
Instead, there's a callused hand threading through his hair, another pressing into his waist to stabilize him on his feet. Shock is the first emotion he feels, and then elation. And then something that's quickly bordering dangerous levels of affection.
Atsumu relaxes against the hands holding him up, allowing himself to just exist in this moment with Kiyoomi's lips against his, bodies pressed together. It's warm, and sweet, but more importantly, there are no fireworks and electric shocks. It just feels right. Like this is how they're supposed to be.
Like after twenty-five years of existing in the same world together, they've finally managed to lock things into place.
Atsumu is still squeezing his fingertips in an effort not to reach out and touch when Kiyoomi's hand extends behind his back to untangle them. Atsumu jolts at first, not used to being willingly embraced and held, but sighs when Kiyoomi presses both their palms to his cheeks - they're warm, hot actually, like fire to Atsumu's fingers.
The gesture is so soft that Atsumu's heart nearly explodes in his chest. Such a blatant display of trust has him melting to molten gold.
When Kiyoomi pulls away, it's much softer, slower than the onset of the kiss. Not staggered or hurried. Dark inky eyes flick over Atsumu's every feature. Atsumu squirms under his gaze as every adoring thought that doesn't belong to him becomes his to share.
He pulls his hand away in an effort to uphold the privacy Kiyoomi seems to be a little too okay with giving up - it's strange how the positions have flipped, quite inverse to what they were before. Atsumu's found that sometimes he needs to be the responsible one (seldom, but it happens).
Kiyoomi just stares at him, and Atsumu flushes under the scrutiny, the reverence. So, because he is the way he is, he swallows down the affection burning his throat and manages to choke out,
"Now I'll always know who yer really thinkin' of when we-"
Kiyoomi is shaking his head before Atsumu even gets out the rest of his sentence, ducking around the setter into the hallway.
"No. No. You ruined it, I'm breaking up with you," Kiyoomi grits out, normalcy bathing them in its sating light.
Atsumu trails behind him like a lost puppy dog. Though he skips slightly, giddiness barely restrained.
"Omi! We haven't even started dating yet!"
"Consider it preemptive."
"Omi-" Atsumu isn't even halfway through his whiny tirade before Kiyoomi is whipping around and squishing his face between callused hands. The setter winces slightly with the bruising pain of surprisingly strong hands treating his face as a plaything - another dose of affection sends shivers up his spine as Kiyoomi's expression softens.
"I'm sorry I punched you in the face," he says. Not that he gives Atsumu any chance to goad him for his mushiness as he pushes their lips together a second time. This time it stays as intended, simple and sweet and short. Atsumu revels in it.
Despite having his cheeks squished between rough palms, Atsumu manages,
"I'm sorry I accidentally read yer mind."
Kiyoomi smiles then - it's small and uncomplicated, but so beautiful that Atsumu is already formulating his next devious scheme, this time with this moment as the goal.
"I guess we're even."