Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Another unlabeled box?" Kiyoomi mutters.

If you had told Sakusa Kiyoomi four months ago, in that first week he had joined the MSBY Black Jackals, that he'd willingly moved in with Miya Atsumu, he would’ve scoffed. He would have called you crazy, even.

Although Kiyoomi and Atsumu had never interacted much in high school, Kiyoomi had always inexplicably fostered a sort of irritable resentment for the piss-haired setter. Maybe if he wasn't such a loud, cocky jerk who clearly hadn't cared about the health of his hair whatsoever, past-Kiyoomi wouldn't have held such hate towards him.

Not that past-Kiyoomi really had been in any place to judge anybody about the quality of their hair. He still shudders thinking about his dead-ends he refused to trim back then.

Atsumu pokes his head into the door frame. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Kiyoomi replies, smiling easily.

"Do ya have any bathroom stuff ya want me to help ya unpack? I was just goin’ to put mine away."

"Sure," Kiyoomi says with a shrug. He points down the hall. "If you carry the box over there labeled 'hair,' I'll help you organize."

"Sounds good," Atsumu says amicably.

Somehow, in the course of a few short months, Kiyoomi and Atsumu had become close. Kiyoomi might even go as far to say that Atsumu was his best friend. At first, Atsumu was just as reluctant as Kiyoomi to work with him on the team. He'd tease Kiyoomi constantly and nitpick every jump Kiyoomi made. Kiyoomi would insult him relentlessly. In short, they got on each other's nerves.

But miraculously, things got better.

Once in their large bathroom, Kiyoomi tugs at a cardboard box lid helplessly. "Ugh," he grunts. "I'm so tired of ripping boxes open."

"Omi," Atsumu giggles. "Why don't ya just use some scissors, or yer keys? Ya goof."

"'M lazy," Kiyoomi says. He flops his head against the box. "Keys, scissors...they're so...far…"

"Uh huh," Atsumu says, unimpressed. "So being a V-league startin’ player and former collegiate MVP isn't too much work for ya, but going to the other room is?"

"Yes, exactly," Kiyoomi replies dryly. "You understand, then."

Atsumu just huffs a laugh and sits down on the floor in front of Kiyoomi. Harsh teasing and insults the two originally shared gradually led into banter like this, and before Kiyoomi knew it, Atsumu was actually nice to be around.

With ease, Atsumu slices through the box's tape with a key he seemingly pulled out of thin air. "Holy crap," Atsumu says, peeking at the box's contents. "Are these all hair products?"

"Yeah? It's not that much."

"I'm pretty sure most people don't have–" Atsumu counts under his breath, "–Seventeen different tubes and shit for their hair, dude. Do ya even use them all?"

"I do," Kiyoomi huffs defensively, though he knows Atsumu is not questioning him in malice. He starts unpacking the box. "There's my shower products, and then my daily frizz-control and curl products. I have different ones for summer and winter," he lists, placing the various items in the mirror cabinet. Kiyoomi picks up a black, cylindrical container. "And this—this shit I'll swear my life on. It's my favorite styling product."

"You're pretty into this whole thing, huh?" Atsumu asks, a crooked smile hanging off his lips.

Kiyoomi nods. "I like my routines. Hair being one of them."

"That's pretty cool, Omi. I've never done anythin’ like that," Atsumu says. He leans forward onto his hands. "Could I try?"

"Try...using my products? I don't think most of them will work for you Atsumu. Our hair is pretty different."

"Nah," Atsumu replies, amber eyes glimmering. "I was hopin’ ya'd let me style yer hair."

As Atsumu stumbles through doing Kiyoomi's hair, frequently apologizing for "The mess I'm probably 'bout to make of yer hair, Omi-kun,'' Kiyoomi considers how much more humble Atsumu has become since high school. His volume control has significantly improved as well, which is evident by how he's whispering incoherently to himself as he picks up the different hair products and squints at their labels. Kiyoomi wonders if his past self would have liked this sweet, foolish version of Atsumu.

Probably not. Before college, Kiyoomi pretty much hated everyone besides maybe Komori, Wakatoshi, and his siblings.

Luckily, Kiyoomi has softened up since high school. Yeah, he thinks as he watches Atsumu rub the incorrect product on his hands, we've definitely both changed for the better.

By the time Atsumu finishes, Kiyoomi's hair might be a little flatter and frizzier than usual, but weirdly enough, he doesn’t mind. That night, Kiyoomi sleeps soundly, soft dreams of gentle hands in his hair a comforting memory.

One month earlier

"Atsumu, would you like to move in with me?"

"What?" Practice has ended, and most of their teammates have already left the locker room. The air is a bit humid from the showers, and Kiyoomi would like nothing but to leave the sticky heat of the room, but he told himself he’d approach Atsumu about this today.

"I was planning on moving into an apartment closer to the practice gym than the one I currently live in. I wouldn't mind a roommate."

Atsumu stands up from the locker room bench he was sitting on. "I mean...why?"

"Well, rent's a bit higher in this area than I'd like to pay, to be honest. And I don't like taking out the trash."

"I…" Atsumu pauses, pursing his lips. "Sorry, I'm so lost."

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow. He expected this to go easier.

"First, you askin’ me to be yer roommate is confusing as is, but secondly, ya want me to be yer roommate so ya don't have to take out the trash? I don't get it."

"Yes," Kiyoomi sighs. He's not sure what Atsumu's confused about. "You don't like your place anymore, and I wouldn't mind having you around."

"Oh," Atsumu says, suddenly looking at his feet. "Ya heard my phone call with ‘Samu, last night at the hotel?"

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. "You were talking on speakerphone."

"Ah...yeah." Atsumu clears his throat. "Still, I'm surprised you picked up on the fact that I wanna move. Even Osamu was surprised when I texted him this mornin’ sayin’ I was gonna look fer a place."

It's creepy, havin' yer room just, ya know, sittin' there, man, Kiyoomi recalls Atsumu saying yesterday night, a wobble in his voice.

It was painful, Kiyoomi remembers, hearing Atsumu lament to Osamu how the apartment felt so strange and so big without Osamu there. How he didn't like seeing Osamu's games sit on their once shared console unused. The emptiness in Atsumu's laugh when Osamu recounted how Suna beat his ass at Mario Kart the night before still made Kiyoomi’s heart clench just thinking about it.

Kiyoomi didn't necessarily know Atsumu wanted to move, but it didn't take much of a good intuition to know that Atsumu was unhappy.

"Yes, well." Kiyoomi starts, but closes his lips tightly. He doesn't want to risk hurting Atsumu's feelings by telling him he doesn't like seeing Atsumu so lonely, so he settles on telling him, "We're friends, Atsumu. It's my job to be able to tell those things."

Atsumu's mouth slides into an easy grin. "Wow. You have like, so many more good friend points than me now Omi-Omi. Give a guy a chance to catch up, huh?"

Kiyoomi scoffs good-naturedly.

"But I guess I'll have plenty of chances to if we're roommates, won't I, Omi-kun?"

"Yeah, maybe you will." Kiyoomi picks up his gym bag. "Come on, let's go look at the apartment I want before the open house closes for the night."

"Okay, Roomie-kun!"

Kiyoomi punches Atsumu in the shoulder. "Never call me that again," he says darkly.

When Kiyoomi wakes up on a Sunday morning to the sounds of Atsumu fiddling in the kitchen, he knows he made a good choice to approach Atsumu that day after practice in the locker room.

Although what Kiyoomi had told Atsumu about his desire to have a roommate hadn't necessarily been a lie, it hadn't really been the full truth either.

Kiyoomi hates cooking. Despises it, even. And no, it's not because he burns everything he tries to make (although, smoke may be a frequent product of when he decides to turn on the stove). Cooking is just tedious and annoying.

Atsumu, on the other hand, loves to cook. He has mentioned that he finds meal-prepping both calming and satisfying. And Kiyoomi has tried enough of Atsumu's food to know that thankfully, Atsumu isn't a bad cook either.

Kiyoomi might have asked Atsumu to move in with him with the partial motive of eating good, passion made food. So, what? Kiyoomi's a professional athlete, he can't live on takeout and microwave-dinners forever. Sue him.

When Kiyoomi opens his bedroom door, to his surprise, it's not a pleasant smell that greets his nose.

No, Kiyoomi's pretty sure that's the smell of burnt eggs.

(He maybe knows from experience.)

Slowly, Kiyoomi approaches the kitchen.

"Ah Omi!" Atsumu chirps, sliding on the floor in his socks until he's stood in front of Kiyoomi. "Good mornin', how'd ya sleep?"

Kiyoomi peers past him. "Atsumu. Why is there smoke coming from the stove?"

"Well– uh."

Kiyoomi sighs. "What did you burn?"

"Just one servin’ of scrambled eggs," Atsumu says, apologetic. "We're out of eggs now, but I'll go run to the store–" he cuts himself off there, running to go open a kitchen window.

We're. Kiyoomi knows that's not what he should be focusing on right now—he should be worrying about what in the world would cause Atsumu burn such a simple dish, or at least be finding a fan he can turn on to dispel the smoke—but his brain latches on to that little one-syllable word.

That's right, Kiyoomi thinks to himself. We share things like eggs now.

"Sorry for making the kitchen all smokey, Omi-kun," Atsumu says suddenly, sounding dejected.

Kiyoomi mind halts. The sudden insecure apology reminds him a bit too much of that phone call between Atsumu and Osamu he overheard.

"Atsumu." Kiyoomi puts a hand on Atsumu's shoulder. Atsumu raises his head. "Look at who you're speaking to. Remember when I burned the rice?"

"Oh my God," Atsumu whispers. "I didn't even know rice could smell that bad."

"I think it was in part due to the coconut flakes I threw in. I burnt those too."

"Coconut flakes? Why the hell would you even put those with rice before ya cooked it?"

Then Atsumu's laughing, and Kiyoomi is quick to join him.

"Let's just go to the café across the street for breakfast, yeah?"

"Yeah," Atsumu says, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Okay."

Kiyoomi breathes a sigh of relief at Atsumu's agreement. He hopes Atsumu doesn't feel too guilty—he knows that Atsumu can get up in his head sometimes about that sort of thing. Hopefully, some sugary coffee pumping into his bloodstream will cheer him right up. It often does.

"Atsumu," Kiyoomi says, tugging on his roommate's arm.

Atsumu's eyes stay glued on the menu above the barista's head in front of them. "Or I could have a caramel mocha…"

"Atsumu. Atsumu, Atsumu."

"Okay, okay," Atsumu says. He turns to face Kiyoomi. "I think I know what I'm gonna get now, what is it?"

"Look at that fucking adorable puppy." Kiyoomi points to a big, curly-haired dog that sits outside the cafe with its owner. Kiyoomi thinks it must be a poodle mix of some sort.

Atsumu gasps in excitement. "Oh my God. Yer right it's really–" he frowns, then, almost like he realizes the expression he’s making, shakes his head. He clears his throat. “It’s really cute.”

Something about how tense Atsumu’s shoulders are gives Kiyoomi the inclination to put his hands there, gently, and massage away the stress that has appeared seemingly out of nowhere. But Atsumu would probably find that weird. Instead, Kiyoomi opens his mouth to ask what's wrong, only for the person in front of them to finish their order.

Atsumu orders for the both of them, reciting Kiyoomi's usual drink (a 16 ounce Soy Vanilla Latte with dairy-free whipped cream) perfectly. Kiyoomi didn't need to remind him. He remembered to add on the house breakfast burrito—Kiyoomi's favorite—too.

For some reason, this makes Kiyoomi's heart skip a beat.

They wait for their food and drinks in near silence. It's unsettling, and Atsumu's shoulders are still too rigid for Kiyoomi's liking.

Their orders come. Atsumu swipes up their drinks, Kiyoomi their bag of food. The two of them stand side by side, assessing the café. There's soft music playing overhead, but Kiyoomi didn't even notice it until now, the sounds of customers' chatter too loud.

"I don't think there's any seats left inside," Kiyoomi comments.

"Should we take our stuff home, then?"

"You hate lukewarm coffee," Kiyoomi reminds him.

Atsumu hums in agreement.

"We can sit outside? I know it's cold, but…"

"Outside is great," Kiyoomi replies. He lightly nudges Atsumu's side. "Better for people watching, anyhow."

"Very true," Atsumu says with a light giggle. Kiyoomi starts for the door.

Once settled, Kiyoomi notices that under the table next to theirs sits the same fluffy dog they saw earlier.

"I'm going to ask if I can pet it," Kiyoomi says, tilting his chin towards the neighboring table. "Join me?" Without waiting for Atsumu to respond, Kiyoomi stands up.

"Wait, Omi–" Atsumu calls, but Kiyoomi is long lost in the fluff ball.

"What's their name?" Kiyoomi asks the person holding the dog's leash.

"We call her Maru," the stranger answers. "She's not officially ours though, just a foster."

"Maru, how nice," Kiyoomi coos, scratching behind her brown ears. "Atsumu! Come say hi to Maru."

Hesitantly, Atsumu makes his way over. He crouches down next to Kiyoomi.

"Ah, she's sweet," Atsumu whispers as she licks his hand.

"She is, isn't she?" Maru's foster-owner smiles. "If you two are at all interested in her, you're welcome to hang out with her a bit. The company I foster her through is eager to give young couples like you first priority in adopting."

"We're not a couple," Kiyoomi blurts at the same time as Atsumu.

Why would she even think that? Kiyoomi wonders incredulously. “Just roommates,” Kiyoomi clarifies.

"Oh, my bad. You two just look so cute together, I guess I just assumed…" The person says sheepishly. "But my offer still stands.”

Atsumu fiddles with Maru's collar. "Ah man, I wish we could. She reminds me of the dog my brother and I had when we were kids."

"I didn't know you had a dog," Kiyoomi says, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yeah." His smile grows sad; it’s almost artificial. "Except for maybe 'Samu, she was like, my best friend. She passed when I was eighteen though."

"I'm sorry." That must have been the cause of the Atsumu’s tense shoulders when they saw Maru through the window earlier.

"'S all good," Atsumu murmurs. He clears his throat, and looks up at Maru's foster-owner. "I don't think we'll take her. Thank ya though."

"Of course." They rummage in their bag, pulling out two small white business cards. They hand one to each of them. "In case you ever change your mind."

"Sweet, thanks." Atsumu ruffles Maru's fur before standing. "Well, we better get back to our coffee. Don't want it to get lukewarm."

The rest of their breakfast outside the café is normal. It's comforting, even, with the warm coffee in Kiyoomi's hands and Atsumu sitting across from him. It's when Atsumu is theorizing about the career of a tall man that sits inside the café that Kiyoomi notices the rosy flush of Atsumu's cheeks and ears. The sight of this frustrates Kiyoomi.

"Are you cold?"

"What?" Atsumu says, startled at the change of topic. "A little, I guess."

"You should have worn a hat," Kiyoomi tuts. "You've finished your food, right? We can walk home now to warm up, if you'd like."

"Oh, sure."

Entering their apartment, Kiyoomi makes the mistake of taking off his mask. Instantly, the burnt smell of eggs enters his nostrils, making him blanch. Kiyoomi’s sure that their whole apartment complex is covering their noses to avoid the stink.

“Yeesh, that’s a smell to come home to,” Atsumu says.

“How did you even burn them that bad anyway?” Kiyoomi asks, looping a fresh mask around his ears. “I thought you were a good cook.”

Atsumu sighs, flopping on the sofa. “Didn’t sleep too well last night. Guess I was maybe a little out of it.”

“A little?” Kiyoomi scoffs. He leans over the back of the sofa, looking at Atsumu from a bird’s eye view. “I am sorry you didn’t sleep well though.”

Atsumu gives him a terse smile. “Yeah, thanks. I think I better stay away from cookin’ breakfast for awhile if we don’t want the kitchen to permanently smell like shit. ‘M still gettin’ used to the place, I ‘spose.”

“You mean you think you think you’re going to have a hard time sleeping here for awhile?” Kiyoomi asks, concern evident in the furrow of his eyebrows. “That’s no good, especially for an athlete.”

“Eh, I’ll survive,” Atsumu says, putting his hands behind his head. “Ya lived on yer own before this, right?'' Kiyoomi nods, which Atsumu chuckles at. “I know ya asked me to move in here with ya so I could be yer personal chef ‘n maid, but yer gonna have to keep yerself alive a few mornin’s, ‘kay?”

“That’s not– I didn’t ask you to move in with me so that you’d work for me, idiot.”

“I know, I know, I’m just messin’ with ya,” Atsumu says with a smirk. “But that was part of the reason, right? I mean, literally one of the first things ya said when ya asked to be roommates was that ya don’t like to take out the trash.”

Kiyoomi pulls the pillow Atsumu’s resting on out from underneath his head. “That’s not why,” he grumbles.

Of course, Atsumu’s willingness to cook and help out with the chore were benefits to sharing a space with him, but they weren’t really what inclined Kiyoomi to ask Atsumu to move in with him that day, Kiyoomi’s come to realize. Kiyoomi could instead tell Atsumu that he wanted to become roommates because he was tired of hearing Atsumu whining about his old apartment, or he could even tell him the lie Kiyoomi had told himself when he walked up to Atsumu in the locker room: that he didn’t like how lonely Atsumu sounded. But none of that would be truthful, exactly.

His truest intentions—hidden deep enough down that Kiyoomi didn’t even recognize them at first—were much more selfish than any of those half-hearted explanations. Admittedly, Kiyoomi just wanted to spend more time with Atsumu.

When he found himself alone, even with practices and games six days a week and frequent get togethers, Kiyoomi often wished Atsumu was there with him. There’s not many people on this planet that Kiyoomi would rather sit with in silence than be on his own, but in all honesty, Atsumu has become one of those people. And even in just the few days they’ve spent in their shared space, Kiyoomi has never felt so at home. Not since his childhood, at least.

He thought that Atsumu was happy here too—and maybe he is—but maybe this place isn’t home enough for Atsumu yet. It must not be, otherwise he’d be sleeping better. The thought of Atsumu laying awake and alone in his bedroom pulls at something in Kiyoomi’s chest painfully.

The feeling persists throughout the day, gnawing at him as guilt plagues his thoughts. When did he become so selfish of his time with Atsumu that he forgot to make sure his best friend was doing okay?

“That was a late grocery run,” Atsumu comments as Kiyoomi gently closes the front door behind him. Atsumu is sprawled out on the living room floor in a ratty pair of volleyball shorts and a white undershirt. It’s a position Kiyoomi often finds his roommate in—Atsumu claims it’s good for his back. Or something. Kiyoomi thinks it’s just Atsumu being too lazy to make the extra step to the couch, but it’s kind of a cute sight to see regardless.

“Yes, well,” Kiyoomi says, checking his watch. It’s nine PM. “I had an important purchase to make.”

“Oh?” Atsumu lifts his head to try and get a look at Kiyoomi’s bag. “And what would that be? More hair stuff?”

“No, but you got the right idea. I bought face masks.”

“Ooh like the skincare kind?” Kiyoomi nods in response. “I’ve always wanted to try that!”

Kiyoomi smiles, reassured that he made a good choice for tonight. “Well you’re in luck, Atsumu,” he says. “I bought enough packets for us to share. Go ahead and pick one, we can do them together after I get cleaned up.”

“A rose oil-based mask? Hell yeah, I take dibs– ah man, but here’s a eucalyptus scented one, that sounds refreshin’. Wait, oh my god, grapefruit mint? Whoever thought of this combo is a genius…”

Truthfully, Kiyoomi had selected the face masks with Atsumu in mind. Some (see: annoying cousins) might tell Kiyoomi that he had to be either crazy or in love to go to one of his least favorite places on Earth (see: an in-person store) to buy someone else face masks, but Kiyoomi argues that any good friend would do the same.

Okay, maybe buying just about every scent and type of face mask Kiyoomi thought Atsumu could possibly like was a bit excessive, but Kiyoomi had nothing but good intentions. It was partially his fault, after all, that Atsumu was losing sleep. His money spent is an apology, even if Atsumu isn’t aware of it.

Kiyoomi gives Atsumu his scrunchy headband with dog ears to tuck back his hair and Kiyoomi uses a few colorful clips for himself. As he puts them in, he can’t help but giggle.

“What, what is it?” Atsumu exclaims, making eye contact with Kiyoomi in the mirror. “Do I have something on my face?”

“The headband looks funny on you,” Kiyoomi says with chuckle.

Atsumu pouts and pulls at the floppy soft ears of the item. “It’s ‘cause it’s a dog one,’ he protests. “Now if this had fox ears, we might be having a different sort of conversation.”

“A headband is a headband,” Kiyoomi argues as he carefully places the sheet on his face.

“How’d ya do that so quickly?” Atsumu asks. He looks at the white mask that sits in his hands, mouth a thin line of concern. “‘M scared I’m gonna wrinkle mine up.”

Kiyoomi holds back another laugh. “Want me to do it for you?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen in surprise. The question on his face is easily readable: Wouldn’t he be too close for Kiyoomi’s comfort?

“I don’t mind if it’s you, dummy,” Kiyoomi murmurs. He takes the mask from Atsumu’s hands and takes a step closer until they’re practically chest to chest.

Despite Kiyoomi’s reassurances, Atsumu holds his breath as Kiyoomi delicately lays the mask in its place, and as Kiyoomi smooths it out over the side of Atsumu’s face, Kiyoomi wishes he wouldn’t. Kiyoomi wishes Atsumu would exhale, so that he could feel Atsumu’s breath on his cheek. Atsumu tentatively catches Kiyoomi’s eye and Kiyoomi wills Atsumu to breathe out, for his lips to part as an invitation for Kiyoomi to kiss them.

He wants to kiss Atsumu’s lips.

Oh.

Kiyoomi takes a step back. He wants to kiss Atsumu.

Atsumu exhales, and Kiyoomi wishes he could infiltrate his personal space again.

He wants to kiss Atsumu.

It’s not a startling realization, so Kiyoomi’s cheeks barely flush. His heart doesn’t pound—not with exhilaration, not with excitement. Not like it should be.

But it feels heavier, somehow.

“How long?” Atsumu asks.

Kiyoomi freezes. “What?”

“How long do we have to keep these things on?” Atsumu points to the mask on his face.

Oh. “10 minutes,” he says, voice unreasonably calm. He wishes it would crack, stutter—something—but nothing has changed, he realizes. He doesn’t know how long he’s liked Atsumu, maybe since the first day he played with him on MSBY, he’s not sure. Wanting to kiss him feels natural, which should be ridiculous to even think about, but maybe it’s because since getting to know him, Kiyoomi has probably felt this way about Atsumu. Still, he resists the urge to look at Atsumu’s lips when he says, “I’ll make us some tea, if you’d like. Do you want chamomile? It might help you sleep.”

“I would love some,” Atsumu answers. A hint of a smile rests on his lips. “As a kid, my ma would always make it for me when I’d wake up from a nightmare.”

I know, Kiyoomi doesn’t say. He remembers everything Atsumu has told him about his childhood, cherishes each story like a crow would cherish shining jewelry. He smiles back and heads to the kitchen.

“Time is up for the masks,” Kiyoomi says when he hands Atsumu his mug. “Want me to take yours off?”

“Nah, I got it,” Atsumu says. Kiyoomi’s shoulders fall. “Not worried about wrinkling it this time. Thanks though.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Of course Atsumu thinks he still has to be careful with him.

Kiyoomi peels off his mask, and to his disappointment, the uncomfortable dread sitting in his chest doesn’t disappear with it. It’s faint, but still a looming presence. Tonight, Kiyoomi thinks to himself as he takes a sip of his tea, he might be the one not sleeping well.

Atsumu yawns, interrupting Kiyoomi’s train of thought. “Well, I’m off to bed. Thanks for the mask ‘n everythin’ Omi. My face feels so fresh!”

“It was fun,” Kiyoomi says. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Sure,” Atsumu agrees. He pats Kiyoomi’s shoulder once. “Goodnight, Omi-kun.” He heads out the bathroom, mug in hand.

Maybe Kiyoomi doesn’t feel much different, but his nickname has never felt softer than it did just then, gently falling from Atsumu’s lips. “Goodnight, Atsumu,” he responds.

The next morning, Kiyoomi finds Atsumu asleep on the couch, his phone resting on his chest. Idiot, Kiyoomi thinks, moving to take it off him. As he reaches for it though, Atsumu stirs.

“Omi?” Atsumu croaks, squinting.

Kiyoomi clears his throat. “Good morning, Atsumu.”

“Ah, fuck.” Atsumu sits up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I don’t remember you being on the couch last night,” he says.

“...Yeah I wasn’t. Not until like, two AM or somethin’,” Atsumu explains bashfully. Kiyoomi won’t lie, Atsumu’s groggy, husky morning voice is a nice sound. “I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I came here. Watched some highlights from the last game.”

That explains the phone on his chest. And the eyebags, Kiyoomi thinks, frown deepening. “Do you want me to make you some coffee?”

“Sure, thanks,” Atsumu says. “‘S long as ya don’t put in yer oatmilk crap.”

“It’s not crap,” Kiyoomi retorts, eyes narrowing. “It’s a perfectly good milk alternative for the lactose intolerant.”

“Lactose intolerant? Yeah, like you care.'' Atsumu snorts. “Was that cookie dough ice cream I saw you eating last week also oatmilk based?”

No, but Kiyoomi isn’t losing this argument, so he walks away to start the coffee, a small smile on his lips.

“Do you always have trouble sleeping?” Kiyoomi hands Atsumu his favorite mug. It’s terribly impractical—fox ears protrude from the top, making half the mug unable to be drunk from.

“Nah, not always. Just some nights are worse than others,” he says. “When I was younger though, god, it was so bad I was sleepin’ just an hour or two every night for a while.”

“Yikes. How did you...you got better at sleeping though, right?”

Atsumu nods. “Yeah, but not without help.” He takes a sip of the coffee. “Oh this is perfect, Omi, thank you.”

Kiyoomi settles on the couch as he ponders this, pulling his knees to his chest.“Did you get a sleep therapist?”

Atsumu guffaws. “Ya think we could afford that kind of thing? I doubt there was anybody doctor like that anywhere near me even.”

Kiyoomi cringes. He forgets too often what it’s like to live anywhere else but the city; the thought of quiet streets with spaced out houses and not having every kind of doctor on call is a foreign concept to him. “Well how did you get better then?” Or more accurately, somewhat better.

Atsumu scratches his neck. “...Kiseki came into our lives. I dunno if I’d have ever gotten better, if it weren’t for her.”

With the fondness that Atsumu says her name, Kiyoomi would think that he’d have heard of this person before. And yet. And it’s odd to think he doesn’t know everything about Atsumu. Excitement thuds in Kiyoomi’s heart thinking about all he will learn, but it's unaccompanied by an unfamiliar, dogged jealousy crawling up his throat.

“Kiseki was my family’s old girlie,” Atsumu explains, after a moment of Kiyoomi’s silence. “The dog I mentioned yesterday at the coffee shop.”

“Oh,” Kiyoomi says, feeling stupid.

“Ma wanted a dog forever, but my Pa’s allergic, and ya normally gotta get hypoallergenic ones from breeders. We got lucky, our neighbor’s dog had puppies, ‘n then Kiseki came into our home.” Atsumu rubs at his eyes, clearly still waking up. “Sorry, ya probably don’t care about that bit.”

“I don’t mind,” Kiyoomi says, genuine. “Not at all.”

Atsumu closes his eyes and takes a breath. “M’ grateful for ya always bein’ like that, Omi,” he says. “Yer more patient than most people, ya know?”

I like hearing you talk, Kiyoomi doesn’t say, because that would be fucking embarrasing, but he’s not really patient at all. He holds his words back with a small smile. “So what happened when you got Kiseki?”

“Right, so. We got her when she was already kind of old, right? Didn’t know how warmed up to us she was gonna get,” he says. He fiddles with the fringe of the blanket that’s thrown over the couch. “Didn’t know how long we were gonna have her either, but turned out we didn’t have to worry too much ‘bout either of those things.”

“She was the sweetest little fucker we coulda hoped for. Always up for playin’ or cuddlin’, whatever. And all of us formed a real nice bond with her but me...I was just a smidge closer to her than ‘Samu ‘n my parents, I think.'' Atsumu smiles smugly.

“At first Ma and Pa tried to make her sleep on the floor, but she was never all that into that. She’d like, pace around, try to get us to let her into our rooms. And man, I felt so bad for her, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t gonna fall asleep anyway, so I let her up on my bunk.”

“That was nice of you,” Kiyoomi murmurs. Atsumu grins up at him.

“She curled up next to me and I was just pettin’ her, not havin’ anything better ‘ta do since it was like, three AM, and I dunno, I just fell right asleep. I hadn’t slept that much and that well in a long time. And from then on she slept with me every night.”

“That’s an adorable story,” Kiyoomi says automatically. Fuck, is that a weird thing to say? Okay, probably not, but from the perspective of someone who has a crush on him...maybe it is.

“She really helped lure me right to sleep,” Atsumu continues. Clearly he didn’t think Kiyoomi’s comment was weird. “Do ya wanna see pictures?”

“Is that even a question?”

Atsumu laughs. “Of course ya would say that.” He finally sits up all the way to scroll through his phone. “Ah here we go, here’s one from not long after she started snoozin’ in my bed.”

“Oh my god,” Kiyoomi mutters. On Atsumu’s phone is a photo of a printed out picture. It’s grainy and there’s a glare from the camera hiding the upper corner of the picture, but the image of a small, probably preteen Atsumu curled up with a brown, curly-haired dog the same size as him is visible enough to make Kiyoomi’s heart skip a beat. You can tell that Atsumu was still recovering from his sleep-deprivation, heavy eye bags present even in this low-quality photo. And yet, Kiyoomi doesn’t think he’s ever seen Atsumu look so at peace. His expression is gentle.

“Right?” Atsumu says, still grinning. Kiyoomi realizes, belatedly, that he’s much calmer than he was when he first mentioned her.

“She does look a lot like Maru.”

“Yeah, god, took everythin’ in my willpower not to ask her foster owner if we could at least take her for a walk or somethin’.”

Kiyoomi sighs. “That would’ve been a nice walk.”

“True, but I know if I’d stayed with her for a second longer I’d have taken her home,” Atsumu says, chuckling. “I would never torture you with the cleanup of havin’ a dog around though, don’t worry.”

“I’ve never had a dog but…” Kiyoomi pretends to think it over. “I think I would have been able to handle it.” Without a question, he’d adopt a dog in a heartbeat if he had a chance, never mind the messes it might cause. Heart attacks from its cuteness would be worth it

“Uh huh,” Atsumu says, sounding unimpressed. He yawns again. “Do you wanna watch a movie? I’m gonna take it easy before practice, I’m tired as hell.”

“Sorry, not this time,” Kiyoomi says, regretfully. “I got some work to get done.”

“Okay,” Atsumu yawns. Kiyoomi’s half-sure he’s about to fall asleep right there on the couch again. He grabs another blanket from the hall closet, shifts it on top of a half-awake Atsumu, and slips away to his desk to start Operation: Help Atsumu Sleep.

"Atsumu would never voluntarily open a fucking journal," Kiyoomi says to himself, sighing. He's sure writing down 'positive affirmations’ before bed helps other people fall asleep, but it doesn't seem like a good fit for his roommate. Besides, he doesn't think Atsumu's self-esteem is the problem.

Turns out operations are difficult to plan. For the past three days, Kiyoomi has spent his every waking moment researching sleep methods in an effort to help Atsumu. Reluctantly standing up from his desk, Kiyoomi decides to head out on a walk. He needs to clear his head.

Despite Atsumu's current absence from their home (he's visiting Osamu), Kiyoomi can almost hear Atsumu's voice pestering him to bundle up so he doesn't catch a cold. He grabs a puffy jacket, gloves, a knit beanie, and– where's his scarf?

Kiyoomi spends a few minutes looking for it with no success. A black and white striped scarf of Atsumu's hangs innocently from their coat rack, staring at him. Would Atsumu really mind it if he borrows it?

Atsumu should really stop wearing so much cologne, Kiyoomi thinks distantly as he inhales the scent of the soft, worn scarf for the hundredth time.

Somehow, he's managed to end up at the café down the street from their apartment complex. He knows he should cut back on the caffeine and sugar. And yet.

"One 16 ounce Soy Vanilla Latte with dairy-free whipped cream, please."

"I could've sworn your regular was a Chai Tea!'' the barista chirps as she puts in Kiyoomi's order.

"Ah," Kiyoomi says, cheeks reddening. "That would be my roommate's order. We usually come in together."

"Oh, he's that cute blond, right? The one with the snarky smile?" the barista eagerly asks. "Hey, do you know if he's single?"

Something boils in Kiyoomi. "He's not interested, if that's what you mean," Kiyoomi snaps.

The barista shrinks, mumbles, "Sorry," and Kiyoomi feels like an asshole.

Kiyoomi nearly falls face-flat over a bouncing bundle of curls on his way home.

He was too distracted about his own frustrations. His frustration about being rude to that undeserving barista, his frustration about Atsumu being unable to fall asleep, his frustration about really really liking Atsumu but trying to accept that their friendship will have to satisfy him—all of it was starting to pile up. And Kiyoomi likes to keep his brain neat and tidy.

And now he’s half-assaulted a dog for it too, for god’s sake.

But the stranger beats him to an apology. “I’m so sorry!” they exclaim.

“It’s really okay,” Kiyoomi says, already crouching down to pet the dog he so rudely fell over. His eyes widen in shock.

“We’ve met before,” realizes the person walking the dog.

Kiyoomi smiles, scratching behind Maru’s ear. “Is your offer from earlier still open?”

Operation: Help Atsumu Sleep might just be coming to a close.

“Mornin' Omi!” Atsumu calls.

Oh. Atsumu woke up early than Kiyoomi had planned for. Kiyoomi ushers Maru into her large kennel. “Be quiet okay?” He pets her, sets a stuffed toy next to her to keep her company, and closes the kennel door. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Hey Omi, is it okay if I have some of these new snacks ya bought?”

Atsumu could take all of his food, for all that Kiyoomi cares. If it makes him happy, then so be it. “Sure,” he says as he shuts the door behind him.

He walks into the kitchen to an Atsumu with a mouth full of dog treats.

“Sorry,” Atsumu says, swallowing. Kiyoomi feels faint. “I took a lot. They’re really good, where’d ya get them from?”

“The– the pet store,” Kiyoomi whispers. He didn't mean to leave the treats out.

“Huh? They sell food for humans at the…?" Kiyoomi watches the color drain from Atsumu's face. "Oh my god, Omi, am I gonna die?"

"I'm sure you're fine, they're organic," Kiyoomi mutters, but he's equally worried. He grabs the bag that he had thrown in the trash earlier. "Oh thank god—it’s mostly peanut butter, flour, and oats. No raw meat or anything."

Atsumu heaves a sigh of relief and plops down on a chair at the table. “Why didja just have a jar of dog treats sitting out in the kitchen? They looked tasty!”

Kiyoomi runs a hand through his hair. “This isn’t the way I wanted to tell you.” He hands Atsumu a glass of water.

“Omi, don’t speak all ominously like that.” Atsumu takes a swig from his glass. “I’m gonna drop dead from shock at this point.”

“Yeah, you’re the one that’s gonna drop dead from shock. Sure.” They both laugh, despite it all.

“Ugh, you just had to eat the dog treats, huh. I had a whole plan, there was even going to be a scavenger hunt and you were going to love it and…Whatevs. I’ll have to make do.'' Kiyoomi shakes his head. “Okay, just...just wait here.”

“I really have no idea what yer on about, so, uh yeah, I’ll be here.”

“Right,” Kiyoomi says, nodding. He dashes back to their guestroom.

Kiyoomi exhales, adjusting Maru’s bandana one last time. He ensured that Maru looked perfect for her debut by taking her to a bath. Kiyoomi asked the employees at the dog groomer’s to choose a neck scarf that went with her eyes. They chose well; the sage green and pink flower accents complimented them beautifully. The groomer’s place he chose was pricey, but he was confident that it would be worth it.

Kiyoomi may be freaking out just a little bit. He’s not at all sure Atsumu would want a dog. After all, he had declined going on even a walk with Maru. What if his grief about Kiseki comes back full force?

Well. Whatever happens will happen. Maybe Atsumu will at least appreciate the gesture. Kiyoomi reaches for the door knob, but the door swings open before Kiyoomi can grab it.

Kiyoomi yelps. Atsumu opens his mouth, probably to ask what’s wrong, but then he finally looks down.

“Omi-kun, are the dog treats makin’ me hallucinate, or is Maru in our guestroom right now?”

“...You’re not hallucinating.”

“Holy fuck.” Atsumu kneels down so he’s at Maru’s eye level. “Not that I’m complainin’, but why is she here?”

Kiyoomi’s plan for explaining to Atsumu how important his well-being is to Kiyoomi flies out the window at the sight of Atsumu’s softened expression as he starts to pet Maru. “Oh, just. You know,” Kiyoomi says, elegantly.

“I don’t know, actually,” Atsumu says. “Are ya sure I’m not high? Her fur is so nice ‘n soft…”

“I paid to get her groomed. So that...she would feel good about herself on her first day home. Good hygiene can make all the difference,” Kiyoomi rambles.

“Her first day home…? Omi-Omi, ya don’t mean–”

“I do, yeah. She’s ours.”

“Omi?”

“Well, mine technically. I signed the forms under my name, but I thought you might like to help me raise her. She’ll need a lot of love I’m sure, and I know how much you miss Kiseki, and how much Kiseki helped you and...I thought you might like to have Maru help you, as well.”

“Wow I...Omi-kun–”

“And if you don’t want her around, that’s okay too. Whatever you want, I just want you to be happy. I want you to take care of yourself, and feel at home in this apartment, and this was my way of trying to say this, but if this was too big of a gesture–”

“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu interrupts. He stands up and wraps his sturdy arms around Kiyoomi. “I’m happy that ya adopted her.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, like really, really happy. Ya don’t even have a beginning of an idea.”

Atsumu must be crying, because Kiyoomi can feel his shoulder getting wet. He relaxes muscles he didn’t realize he was tensing and grabs onto Atsumu’s hoodie tighter. “I think I might get what you mean.” Atsumu is so warm, and Kiyoomi’s head fits into the crook of his neck perfectly.

They stay in an embrace for what feels like eternal, blissful hours, but what is probably just a couple of minutes. After awhile, Atsumu murmurs, “Wanna go on that walk now?”

Kiyoomi giggles. “Yeah.”

They walk until the sun is well above the horizon.

Not once did Maru’s tail stop wagging nor did the smile ever fall from Atsumu’s face. Kiyoomi is so distracted by how happy he is that he doesn’t even notice until they get home and he’s kicking his shoes off how heavy his limbs feel. He’s exhausted, and it’s only 11 o' clock, but he did get up early to pick up Maru.

“I’m going to make some coffee,” Kiyoomi tells Atsumu, making his way towards the kitchen.

“Hey, how many cups is that you’ve had today?” Atsumu calls from the floor. He’s sitting against the wall, petting Maru.

Kiyoomi turns on the hot water. “That’s none of your business,” he calls back.

And then Atsumu’s appeared behind his shoulder. “Come on,” Atsumu says. “I’ll make ya some tea instead. Go on the couch ‘n give Maru some love before she gets lonely, the three of us can just relax for the rest of the day.”

A protest dies on Kiyoomi’s throat. He doesn’t really ever have it in him to shoot down Atsumu’s ideas these days, and he doesn’t have anything he technically needs to get done today anyway. It’s a Sunday after all, some rest wouldn’t hurt him. “Okay,” Kiyoomi replies. “Thank you, Atsumu.”

“Yeah.” Atsumu yawns, then shoves Kiyoomi away from the kitchen. “Now go sit down, ya goof.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t have to wait long for Atsumu to join him on the couch, two cups of tea in his hands. Kiyoomi’s turned on some nature documentary, but instead he’s drowsily watching Maru, who’s on the floor in front of the TV, chewing on a rubber toy he and Atsumu picked up on their walk. When she notices Kiyoomi and Atsumu sitting together, she abandons her toy to jump right on their laps.

“Oof,” Kiyoomi says and she settles down on them. “She’s going to be too big for this soon.” But he pets her contentedly anyways.

He can feel Atsumu’s eyes on him then. "How is it that you are so good, Omi-kun?"

Kiyoomi scrunches his nose. "I'm not. Really."

"Yeah," Atsumu says, rolling his eyes. "Sure. Because mean people just get other people adorable pets out of the blue."

"It's just you I'm nice to."

"And why is that?" Atsumu’s smile is almost knowing and Kiyoomi thinks his heart might beat out of his chest.

"I– I care about you. A lot. You're my best friend...somehow." And one of my favorite people, he wants to say. But he doesn’t.

Atsumu hums thoughtfully, flopping his head on Kiyoomi's shoulder. "I was hoping it was because you might have a crush on me. But–" he yawns, "–best friend ain't too bad for now."

Something tells Kiyoomi he should try and stay awake a little longer to process those words, but he’s fighting a losing battle against his closing eyelids. He falls asleep, Atsumu warm against his side.

He wakes up to Maru licking his hand, but it’s not the gross dog slobber covering his fingers that makes him stand up in a panic.

"I was hoping you might have a crush on me."

What in the fucking world does that mean?

Does Atsumu know about how Kiyoomi...feels about him? Kiyoomi starts pacing the space in between the TV and coffee table. Was it just nonsense Atsumu blurted out in a sleep-deprived delirium?

Or could it be something else entirely?

Kiyoomi sighs, knowing there’s no definite conclusion he can reach, not without confronting Atsumu. Atsumu, who’s still curled up asleep against the arm of the couch, Maru’s head in his lap. Atsumu’s mouth is open and he’s breathing out it and Kiyoomi should find the small patch of drool puddled at the corner of his mouth disgusting, but he doesn’t. How could he, when it’s Atsumu?

Kiyoomi sits down on the floor, facing the couch. Maru lifts her head and makes eye contact with him. “Oh Maru,” Kiyoomi whispers. “How did I fall this hard for him?” He curls his knees to his chest.

“Ya fell Omi-Omi?” Kiyoomi stills. “Do ya need the first aid kit? It’s in my bedroom.”

That’s all it takes to make Kiyoomi burst out into laughter. “First aid kit!” He actually wipes a tear from his eyes. “Yeah, sure, that’ll help me.”

“Uh...so you didn’t fall too bad?” Atsumu asks awkwardly.

“No,” Kiyoomi says, flopping his head against the coffee table. It’s cool against his flushed face. “I fell really hard. For you.”

“Omi...? Ya don’t mean–”

“I like you Atsumu,” Kiyoomi blurts, lifting his head. “I maybe even love you, goddamnit!”

He said it. It’s out there, he can’t go back, and his life might be ruined. He wonders if EJP would let him onto their team.

“Well in that case,” Atsumu clambers down on the floor next to Kiyoomi, slinging an arm around Kiyoomi’s shoulders. “I’ll bet ya I fell even harder.”

It takes a moment for Atsumu’s words to settle in.

Kiyoomi whips his head to face Atsumu. “You...” Kiyoomi's brain might explode.

“Yeah. I think I love you more than maybe, so I win.”

“Holy– ” Kiyoomi means to end that sentence with shit, or maybe even fuck, but he’s stopped by Atsumu’s lips on his.

And yeah, it’s pretty holy.

They eventually have to pull apart to catch their breath. “You’re actually into me?” Kiyoomi says, and he thinks he knows the answer, but he wants to hear the words come out of Atsumu’s mouth again.

“Maybe,” Atsumu says, grinning. Kiyoomi shoves him, and they fall into peals of laughter. Maru, excited by all the noise, runs up in between them suddenly to lick Kiyoomi’s face.

“Hey, paws off Maru! That’s my man yer lickin’!”

Kiyoomi giggles, gently pushing her face away. “Who said I was your man yet?”

“Didn’t realize you were one for formalities, Omi,” Atsumu says, then clears his throat. “Whadda ya say, Sakusa Kiyoomi, will ya be my boyfriend?”

“Definitely,” Kiyoomi says, trying and failing to hold back a smile. “I’ve liked you for like, forever. I don’t see why not.”

“Really?” Atsumu says. “So we could have been together, for like, forever too?”

Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows. He didn’t realize that Atsumu had liked him too, and hearing that he did is a little overwhelming. But not in a bad way, exactly. “Maybe so,” he murmurs.

Maru whines then. Clearly, she feels like she is missing out on some attention. Kiyoomi and Atsumu, giggling, are both quick to coo and pet her. For the next half hour or so, they sit there idly petting her, not talking about much.

Kiyoomi thinks that they’ll sleep well tonight.