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Atsumu is so dumb. Kiyoomi loves him so much.
Atsumu shows up on his doorstep snow-dusted, eyelashes and golden hair coated with a thin layer of what could be powdered sugar if they weren't currently in the middle of one of the worst snowstorms Japan has ever faced. The wind is practically a hundred miles an hour and the temperatures are sub-optimal. Atsumu shouldn't even be out of his apartment.
Which begs the question,
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Atsumu is shivering so violently that his teeth are clacking together, ungloved hands shaking against the muscle of his arms. His thin long-sleeved shirt is clearly doing little to keep him warm.
Kiyoomi gives in to the urge to reach out and warm him before Atsumu even has the chance to respond, folding his hands over the setter's. They're so ice-cold that Kiyoomi almost worries about his boyfriend's health. He can only feel grateful when Atsumu launches into his usual explanatory prattle any time he does something he worries Kiyoomi will deem unfit.
"I'm sorry Omi-Kim, I know it's late andja don't like me comin' over without tellin' ya first," he's still blinking the snow from unfairly long eyelashes as his voice shakes. "B-But I stayed late ta practice and my ride canceled on 'causea the snow andjer apartment was the closest one so-"
Okay, hit pause on that for a second.
"You fucking walked here?" Kiyoomi is pulling the setter into his apartment the next minute, dusting the snow from his head and cupping flushed cheeks in his palms in a futile attempt to warm them.
Atsumu is fucking freezing. Kiyoomi could hug one of those pretentious ice sculptures at one of their donor events and find more innate warmth. Atsumu curls against him like a cat, nearly purring as he presses the chilly tip of his nose to the crook of Kiyoomi's neck. The spiker responds in kind by embracing his boyfriend, stroking his hands up and down the length of Atsumu's back in a (failing) attempt to warm him up.
"Well...yeah. It was only like, a ten-minute walk at most," Kiyoomi almost passes out at the idea. He's dating a man who belongs in an insane asylum. Kiyoomi squishes his cheeks as a form of punishment, not blind to the way Atsumu still shivers despite being in the warmth of his apartment. "I just need a jacket'r somethin' an' I'll be outta yer hair. My buildin's only a few minutes from here so-"
"You're fucking with me," Kiyoomi frowns at the mere idea of Atsumu going back out in the middle of a snowstorm. Absolutely fucking insane. "Atsumu, we're in the middle of a snowstorm. It's below freezing and you're planning to walk to your apartment?"
Atsumu just shrugs and raises his eyebrows. Too cute for Kiyoomi to be genuinely angry at him.
"I walked ta yers."
"Yeah because you're a fucking idiot," Kiyoomi presses a kiss that's too tender to Atsumu's forehead, cupping warm palms over his freezing cold ears. "You'll get hypothermia at the very least. Maybe frostbite if you're out there long enough. You know, missing digits aren't good for a pro athlete's career."
Atsumu squirms to wriggle out of his grasp, setter fingers coiling tightly around his wrists. Hazel eyes stare earnestly, innocently at him, too sweet to be legal, and yet Kiyoomi wouldn't trade them for the world.
"Wait, so yer not kickin' me out?" He asks like it was ever a genuine possibility - obviously, Atsumu was destined to spend the night curled up next to his spiker the moment he showed up on Kiyoomi's doorstep.
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes too fondly but withholds his smile, being forced to remind himself that he had the moral high ground here because his boyfriend is an irresponsible man child who's going to get himself killed.
"You're stupid. I'm not kicking you out, you're my boyfriend. Go take a hot shower and don't forget to wipe down the tiles when you're done," Kiyoomi stopped genuinely being scared of Atsumu's germs the first time they had sex (a new level of intimacy having been achieved), but he's currently in the process of trying to train cleanliness into his boyfriend. He figures practice makes perfect.
Atsumu looks positively elated at the idea of getting to stay the night without having informed Kiyoomi beforehand, energy boosted as he bounces his way to Kiyoomi's en-suite bathroom. It's too pure, too much for Kiyoomi's heart to handle. He doesn't think anyone should be allowed to be so cute with a personality like Atsumu's.
Once he hears the door shut and the water start running, Kiyoomi puts some water on to boil, the precursor to tea, before traveling to his bedroom to pick out some (dry) clothes that will (hopefully) fit Atsumu. It's not all that hard - one fact that makes many things a whole lot easier is that they're relatively similar in size (Atsumu is broader in the shoulders, Kiyoomi has a few inches on the setter, but for all intents and purposes, they're the same size).
He settles on a simple t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he knows won't fit Atsumu's slender hips (his shoulder to waist ratio is unreal. Kiyoomi often finds himself wondering what lab the man was made in). In the end, he decides that the setter will just have to make do. That's what he gets for being stupid and walking fifteen minutes in a snowstorm.
Kiyoomi doesn't bother knocking after folding the clothes neatly - he figures that two years together warrants him some leeway.
"Clothes," he says plainly, causing Atsumu to jump and nearly crack his crack open as a small shriek accompanies Kiyoomi's arrival. "Don't be a drama queen, it's just me."
"How scandalous. Omi sneakin' up on me in the shower."
"Yeah, this is the least scandalous thing we've done regarding this shower," Kiyoomi bites his bottom lip to halt a smirk, knowing that it probably has Atsumu losing his marbles behind frosted glass. It's not often that he's so bold regarding the topic of sex, but sometimes the opportunity to tease is more alluring than the embarrassment he knows will snip at him.
He sets the folded clothes on the edge of the counter, eyes flicking up to the mirror on impulse. He's disappointed in himself when he sees the disgustingly dopey smile that stretches his lips - in a time before Atsumu, he wouldn't have recognized his own reflection. Now it looks all too normal. The smile, warm and fond, filled to the brim with adoration even if Atsumu will never see it.
"Omi," Kiyoomi lets the whine go unanswered, promptly exiting the bathroom as the memory of his boiling water resurfaces. There's no need to linger on things that cannot be changed - things like how happy Atsumu makes him, how soft and mushy he's become, the edge he's long lost. Those will just have to stay the immovable, unchangeable facts they are.
By the time he makes it to the stove, the water has warmed sufficiently and he stares woefully at his unpreparedness. Besides the cups he had the good sense to set out, he'd done none of his pre-tea routine of setting out the tea bags and such. Whatever. This'll just have to suffice.
Plus, Atsumu's never been picky about food preparation the way Kiyoomi is - it's one of the few things the spiker and his soon-to-be brother-in-law can manage to bond over (Osamu has never really liked Kiyoomi per se. More like he's learned how to tolerate him). Kiyoomi, in all honesty, will take whatever he can get as long as Atsumu stays his.
He ponders the complicated inner-workings of his and Osamu's not-exactly-relationship as he pours the water and extracts the tea bags. He wonders absently if Atsumu feels the same way about Suna, or if maybe it's different, if the EJP middle blocker is allowed more leeway because of their pre-existing friendship. Wonders if Osamu would even let him marry Atsumu.
It only really occurs to him as he's setting the four-minute steeping timer on his phone that- oh, he's actually thinking about marriage. About marrying Atsumu Miya.
The concept unravels him to the point where he barely remembers to even press start on the timer. He can't remember the last time something so concrete even factored into his life, can't remember when anything other than volleyball stole top spot for his love.
Nothing had ever been that for him - permanent. Parents divorced because his dad couldn't hack the mysophobic son thing, constantly moving because his mom's work took her everywhere, friends coming and going (well, mostly going) thanks to the peak combination of his prize-winning personality and inability to handle any and all things dirty.
Volleyball had been the first and, he thought, the only. And just in the sense that, once he started it, he needed to see it through. Not necessarily because he loves it - he does - but because it is something he must finish. An itch he has to satisfy.
Atsumu isn't like that. Atsumu isn't like anything he's had before.
Kiyoomi loves and he loves and no matter how much love he gives he never seems to reach the bottom of his seemingly endless supply. No matter how much he receives, he will never tire of it, never not be greedy for every ounce of Atsumu Miya's affection.
Utterly terrifying. Knowing that Atsumu could take off at any moment and leave his entire life in ruins the same as a house if someone took a sledgehammer to a load-bearing wall.
If volleyball somehow left him, if he fucked up bad enough to warrant termination from the Jackals or did something to ruin his career, he could find something else to do (he has a four-year degree in biochemistry. Not exactly his passion, but it'll do). It would be a devastating blow, he'd have to rebuild, but...he would rebuild.
If Atsumu left, he'd be the ruins of a man, the shell of a person, functioning in only the most basic sense. If Atsumu left, there would be nothing. Which is terrifying. Because his mother always told him not to put all his eggs in one basket - why do you think she forced him to go to college before even considering accepting a contract with the Jackals? Not to put all of himself into one thing, more importantly, one person.
"People break hearts Kiyoomi. People leave. You don't need to shut them out, but don't let them in too deep either. Once they get you, they've got you, and they can't un-have you."
He failed spectacularly at that. Atsumu has all of him and then some.
He supposes though, that loving someone is just the act of giving them your heart and trusting them not to crush it.
In sync with the timer going off, strong arms wind around his waist and a soft cheek presses to the juncture of his shoulder. Kiyoomi feels a soft sigh reverberate against his spine, sleepy, languid.
"Next time I'm not even going to open the door."
"Mmm, liar," Atsumu calls his bluff.
For one thing, Kiyoomi can't stand not answering the door when someone knocks - just the possibility of not getting a solid answer as to who's behind it makes him it, and they both know it. Two, Kiyoomi would free solo mount Everest if Atsumu asked him to. This, he keeps to himself, but he's sure Atsumu can feel the sentiment radiating as Kiyoomi finishes up with the tea and walks his way over to the coffee table.
The setter holds his waist the whole way there as if to keep a tether between them, occasionally dropping his head to the nape of Kiyoomi's neck. Atsumu's always been so affectionate. Kiyoomi stopped trying to keep track of how many times he let the setter get away with it under the justification of, this is the last fucking time.
It never is.
Kiyoomi barely gets the cups down on the coffee table before Atsumu is damn near tackling him to the sofa, demanding affection and attention in the most physical, bratty way - quite in keeping with everything else about the setter. Kiyoomi wants to resist, tell him that he needs to drink some tea and warm up, but alas, they can only be who they are. Atsumu is aggressively loving, Kiyoomi is a doormat for pleading hazel eyes.
They fall in sync, Atsumu muffling a happy chortle against the spiker's chest, Kiyoomi threading his fingers gently through the setter's hair. He's still fucking freezing. Kiyoomi can't fathom how.
"How are you still cold?"
"Yer one ta talk. Ya've been chilly since day one," Atsumu reaches up, face still buried between Kiyoomi's pecs, to poke blindly at the spiker's face. A callused index finger stabs him in the cheek, and he can only hope that Atsumu can't feel the way the muscles underneath contract with the smile he was unable to hold back. He's become so weak.
Worse: he can't even be mad about it.
"You're a laugh riot," he snarks. "Seriously. Do you feel cold?"
"Mmm, how could I be cold when my Omi-Kun is givin' me snuggles?" Atsumu says into his chest. Kiyoomi shakes his head - he's going to get absolutely nowhere no matter how hard he tries.
So he stretches an arm to grab one of the (many) blankets hiding on the bottom shelf of his coffee table. (He keeps telling his mother not to get him gifts for the holidays because he thinks gift-giving is a stupid tradition, and yet, every Christmas, she shows up with a present in hand, half of which are blankets.) He's never been more thankful for his mother as he drapes the soft material over their bodies - with much difficulty, but he manages.
He can feel the way Atsumu relaxes against him, muscles un-tensing, limbs going limp as he snuggles impossibly closer to his spiker. Under the secrecy of silence, Kiyoomi revels in it.
"Can you even breathe?"
"Suffocate me with yer titties an' I'll die a happy man," Kiyoomi has to physically tip his back and open his mouth in a silent scream to stop from laughing. Atsumu has broken him and his sense of humor beyond repair.
"Why do you have to ruin everything?"
He can feel Atsumu's smug grin against his sternum.
"On the contrary, Omi. I think the only thing that would make this moment more perfect is-"
"Say another word and I'll kick you out and force you to walk home," he threatens baselessly. Both of them know he couldn't if he wanted to.
"Nah, ya won't."
"You seem pretty sure of yourself," Kiyoomi says with conviction even though he's running his fingers through soft, aureate strands. He hopes that Atsumu can't feel the contentedness of his sigh, even though he has no reason to hide it.
"I am. 'Cause yer an amazing boyfriend," Kiyoomi curses the way warm fondness saturates him, worming its way bone-deep without his consent and infecting him, slowly drowning him.
"I am a boyfriend. Amazing is up to interpretation," he mumbles, half-embarrassed at the praise, as he drags Atsumu up so that golden hair tickles his jawline. To uselessly hide the burning of his cheeks, he buries his face against Atsumu's hair, inhales a scent like vanilla and raspberries.
Atsumu tilts his chin up then, smile fond and dopey, characteristically lazy as he beams up at Kiyoomi. With small, quick movements Atsumu pulls himself up by the spiker's broad shoulders and plants a chaste yet sickly sweet kiss to Kiyoomi's lips. It only lasts a second before Atsumu is pulling away again, but the spiker caves fully and completely, crumbling to pieces like he always does with Atsumu.
Kiyoomi holds him in place, smushing the sides of their faces together just to get lost in the contact, and he can feel Atsumu's smile against his jawline.
"Nope. Yer amazing."