Work Text:
Atsumu rarely cries.
It’s an odd thing, really. Kiyoomi would have bet good money on the opposite, but, alas, Atsumu does not cry. As expressive as he is, heart on his sleeve, Atsumu doesn’t cry. But when he does cry the reason often ranges from weirdly normal to colosally stupid.
However, he should not be confused with emotionally constipated people, like Kiyoomi, that hold back their tears until they break. No. Atsumu doesn’t hold back when he cries, it just so happens that he hardly ever feels the need to let out his frustrations in that way.
Kiyoomi can count on one hand the number of times that he has seen him cry in the entire time they’ve known each other and they’ve known each other for a long, long time. If one were to count the amount of years they’ve known of each other's existence the number would reach a solid eleven years. Give or take.
Now, the problem isn’t that Atsumu doesn’t cry, that’s actually beneficial to Kiyoomi’s sanity. The problem is that even though he hardly ever sheds any tears, when he does, Kiyoomi's brain blue screens. Kiyoomi fucking hates it, he loathes it, can’t stand it. It’s equal parts panic that there’s a possibility something so serious happened, enough for Atsumu to cry. It’s also frustration over his impotence at not being able to stop it. It’s a painful squeeze gripping his heart that refuses to let up until everything is as it should be again. WIth Atsumu happy and smiling, as always.
It was like the cosmic balance of Kiyoomi’s universe went on its head the moment he saw Atsumu shed a single tear. Kiyoomi thought it was because he couldn’t help but empathize, Komori said it’s because he’s whipped. Who’s to say who’s in the right. (Komori.)
1.
The first time it happened was on a winter day in Kiyoomi’s second year.
No amount of anticipation could have prepared him for the sight that day, right after the Karasuno V. Inarizaki match. Kiyoomi had been minding his own business, looking for the exit to get some much needed fresh air, when he stumbled upon Atsumu, sixteen years old, a bit lanky but still as pretty as Kiyoomi remembered from their time at camp. Sitting on the second to last step of a lonely stairwell. The overcast weather outside made everything look darker in that secluded spot, away from the crowds. Mops and cleaning supplies laid nearby, the lone source of light coming from a window high up revealed dust falling like rain. Kiyoomi wanted to run away but sharp intakes of breath echoed, and he stood stock still, looking down from his place at the top of the stairs.
Kiyoomi could see the back of a maroon jacket, ‘Inarizaki’ proudly emblazoned in bold white. Shoulders quaking, hands roughly gripping the back of his head, covering his ears on both sides. Head resting in between his knees, Atsumu was definitely crying and the sound made something inside Kiyoomi break a little. Fracture maybe? Whatever the correct word was, it made Kiyoomi feel out of sorts. Here was Atsumu, strong and unbreakable Atsumu, crying by himself. The tight grip the sound had on Kiyoomi’s heart crushed him.
Realizing that staring that long without even saying anything was getting into creepy territory, Kiyoomi turned to leave, feet shuffling a bit, which in any other circumstance would have gone unnoticed, but here, in the empty stairwell, it was louder than a gunshot. Or at least, that’s how Atsumu reacted to the sound. Snapping his head up from in between his knees and looking over his shoulders, Kiyoomi felt the grip tighten at the sight of teary, red rimmed hazel eyes, wide in shock.
Miya Atsumu, product of a genetic lottery win, with his fast metabolism, perfect skin and the inability to look ugly when he cries. Kiyoomi couldn’t help but stare.
“Who the fu- Omi? What are you doing here?” the hoarseness in his voice, the slight waver, butchering the nickname into something fragile.
Kiyoomi didn’t know what to say.
“Well," Atsumu turned back around. "Since you’re here. Wanna keep me company?”
Embarrassed at acting like a loser Kiyoomi grumbled under his breath and with great difficulty ambled down the stairs. Choosing the second to last step as well, he sat down next to Atsumu, cringing at the slightly sticky feeling of the cool tiles. Kiyoomi spread out his legs awkwardly in front of him, taking out the pack of tissues from his coat pocket he wordlessly handed it over to Atsumu. The shock in his brown eyes was still there, but there was an undercurrent of amusement that made Kiyoomi want to set himself on fire, if only to avoid having to live this embarrassing moment through to the end.
Atsumu sighed to himself. “I’m so embarrassed.” Boy, could Kiyoomi relate. “I don’t normally cry, ya know?” he said, tucking his chin on top of raised knees, a lopsided smile tugging on his lips.
Kiyoomi’s fingers itched with the need to do something. Did he know what that ‘something’ was? No. Would he ever grow a sack long enough to find out what he’d do if given the chance? Also no.
Kiyoomi just nodded, struck stupid by the familiraity of the smile but too unsettled by the tears that were still falling lazily down his cheeks.
Wiping his eyes with a tissue, roughly enough to make Kiyoomi cringe, Atsumu continued. “I’m not usually this pathetic when we lose. I just really wanted Kita-san to have one last good game. Before quitting.”
Iizuna Tsukasa, Kiyoomi’s captain, had something to say about pity with a brief mention of the topic of last games. After some time to let his words sink in, Kiyoomi was proud to admit there was some real progress in his black and white mindset. After some time to think about it he could now see the world for what it was, grey in varying degrees.
Kiyoomi cleared his throat. “Something related to that happened to me just now. About ‘last games.’ Iizuna-san, wait do you know-?”
“Your captain? Yeah I heard. Real pity about his ankle,” Atsumu sniffed.
Crossing his arms and resting them on top of raised knees Kiyoomi continued, looking straight ahead. “He said he wanted to end his last game with a smile. Ending on a victory or ending with a smile, I think both would be nice, but I don't find either particularly necessary.” Atsumu stayed silent so Kiyoomi rambled on. “I think the most important part is to practice and train and take care of yourself as best you can. Pay proper care and attention to everything that can be controlled, all the way up to the day before one’s last game and to go out thinking, ‘I could be done at any time but I’ll still be satisfied.’” Kiyoomi paused a little to think, choosing his words carefully, “I don’t think a ‘last game’ that ends in a loss should be a bad one. I think it matters more that you gave it your all; the results don’t matter. Maybe your captain thinks that way too?”
Kiyoomi looked at Atsumu for the first time since he started talking. Atsumu was no longer crying, he just looked deep in thought. “Huh.”
“Sorry,” Kiyoomi said, like an idiot.
Atsumu blinked once, twice and then laughed. “What’re you apologizing for Omi-kun?” His voice sounded uneven and hoarse. Dried tears tracks were still there, plain as day, the pinkness on his nose and eyelids didn’t fade, and yet Kiyoomi felt ten times lighter.
“You’re so weird,” Atsumu said. It didn’t sound like an insult so Kyioomi didn’t say anything. The warm, cloudy feeling on his chest, the one that made it hard to breathe when he was with anyone remotely attractive, made Kiyoomi want to run away.
He didn’t.
Atsumu hummed in thought. “You know, coming from you that doesn't sound like total horseshit 'cause I know you're not someone who would waste their breath on horseshit."
Kiyoomi wrinkled his nose in disgust at his choice of words. Atsumu huffed a laugh, then, hesitating for a bit, he tacked on in a quiet voice. "Thank you."
“You’re welcome,” muttered Kiyoomi, wanting to die.
They stayed in silence for a little bit, Atsumu wiping the tears away as Kiyoomi silently counted down the seconds to when he’d probably go jump off a roof from the embarrassment.
Atsumu stood up, stretching his arms well above his head. Kiyoomi was left looking up at him.
“Thank you,” he repeated and then he left.
He didn’t return my pack of tissues, Kiyoomi thought distantly.
2.
The second time was on a pleasant spring evening.
Kiyoomi was hanging out in his room, draped over his bed, eyes closed. In a few months he’d move out of his parent’s house and into a small apartment, close to his university. Until then, however, Kiyoomi could just kill time.
With the window open he enjoyed the pleasant wind that blew past from time to time, carrying with it the sweet scent of freshly bloomed cherry blossoms. The sun setting brought comforting warmth into his room, coloring the walls orange. Kiyoomi’s phone buzzed with an incoming voice call, a red flag in it of itself. The caller ID read, ‘Miya Atsumu.’
While Kiyoomi preferred voice calls, Atsumu was partial to only ever doing video calls. His reasoning? It gave him the chance to see his ‘pretty boyfriend.' Atsumu’s words not Kiyoomi’s. They had made it official in January, on their last year of high school, only two months before this current crying incident. As much as Kiyoomi liked to complain about those video calls he answered them every time, and on those special occasions when they didn’t happen, when Atsumu chose a voice call, Kiyoomi missed the familiarity that came with seeing Atsumu’s face.
“Miya?” Kiyoomi was not yet accustomed to using first names, the relationship was too new.
“Hi,” Came the wobbly response.
Kiyoomi sat up quickly, resting his back against the wall next to the open windows. “What’s wrong?”
“Samu and I had a fight,” Atsumu mumbled. “I said a lot of fucked up shit and now I’m in some shitty little park far from my house and I needed to talk to you.” It was said hesitatingly, as if, any moment now, Kiyoomi would snap at him for calling. Not out of character for Kiyoomi but, with Atsumu, any type of normal reaction he was accustomed to went out the window.
Atsumu carried on, not caring if his trembling voice made it hard to understand. Intakes of breath interrupted his ramblings from time to time, “You don’t have to say anything, I know the way I reacted was not right. Trust me I know." His voice cracked. "But it’s just so frsustrating, no one seems to understand why I’m so angry, or sad. They just want me to go apologize but I feel so fucking… fuck.” That last part came out as a sob that rustled loudly in Kiyoomi’s ear. He was suddenly reminded that just because Kiyoomi couldn’t see anything, it didn’t make hearing it hurt any less.
“I’m not about to kick you when you’re down,” Kiyoomi said with finality. He usually reserved that treatment for when Atsumu wasn't fighting for breath as he cried.
“That’s what my parents love to do,” Atsumu laughed wetly.
“Lucky for you I’m not your parents,” he said simply.
Kiyoomi heard rusling from the other side of the line and a sniffle at the end. “Thank God. You’re too pretty to be related to me.”
“A flirt until the very end, aren’t you Miya?” Their usual banter helped soothe the dull throb in Kiyoomi’s chest.
Atsumu laughed again, “What can I say, you bring out that side of me Omi-Omi.”
Rolling his eyes, Kiyoomi laid down on his bed. “You’re trying to distract me, stop it. You haven’t told me what happened.”
“Samu is going to quit volleyball.”
And suddenly everything made sense. The twins, as much as they liked to fight, were as codependent as they come. Doing everything together with someone, never separated for more than a week, to say they were close would be an understatement. Still a bit surprised at the tears, at Atsumu crying, Kiyoomi took a moment to analyze the situation.
It was probably the sum of all the stressors at that time of the year. Leaving one’s hometown to be on their own for the first time; a sudden change like that would be hard on anyone. But to Atsumu, who had been counting on Osamu for support in the face of a world of change, to have that secure foundation ripped out from under his feet, would be jarring to say the least.
Atsumu cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to explain it. It still feels like a betrayal, as dramatic as that sounds.” Kiyoomi could hear him rolling his eyes. The quiver in his voice appeared and disappeared every other sentence. “Samu doesn’t owe me anything, he’s his own person I know that but… fuck me.” He sighed again. “I really don't want to do all this alone.”
Kiyoomi didn’t know how to respond.
“You think it’s stupid don’t you,” Atsumu mumbled, not a question.
“Not stupid,” Kiyoomi said firmly.
“But?” he asked in a quiet voice.
It was clear as day to anyone that knew him that Atsumu didn’t care about people’s opinions of him and didn’t get his feelings hurt easily, he just acted like it for the dramatics. He only cared about the opinions of those he respected on the things that counted. So while Kiyoomi could be his asshole self with no repercussions around Atsumu, and expect the same energy back, times like these required a certain level of finesse. While Atsumu could ignore words dripping in scorn, said behind his back by a bunch of nobodies, insults from those he deemed as ‘friends’ cut like a knife.
Kiyoomi knew this was one of those times that he shouldn't mess around. He elaborated, “No buts. I understand where you’re coming from. You’re not crazy for thinking that way, Atsumu.” His first name just fell out. Kiyoomi rambled on, if only to distract Atsumu from the slip up. “I honestly think Osamu should have told you sooner. It’s a real dick move to spring this on you a few weeks before you’re supposed to leave for Osaka.”
Kiyoomi could practically see the smile on his face as Atsumu replied, “Suddenly I feel so much better, your voice is magic Omi-Omi.”
“You just like hearing that you’re right,” Kiyoomi huffed.
A pause.
"Hm." Atsumu didn't elaborate.
“Out with it," Kiyoomi urged impatiently.
Atsumu hesitated. Kiyoomi waited. “I feel guilty. I hurt Samu. Like… Hurt him bad. I said a lot of things I definitely shouldn’t have. It really is all my fault.”
Kiyoomi took a deep breath to buy himself a few precious seconds to think of the right words and psyche himself up enough to say them. “I don’t think it’s as black and white as that.”
Atsumu readjusted his phone, the sound distracting Kiyoomi momentarily.
He went on. “It's like a cause and effect thing. Maybe, had Osamu been honest from the start this wouldn't have happened, just like how you could have reacted in a more supportive way despite how you felt about him quitting. You have a right to feel what you feel, in my opinion no one should fault you for that. I think you were justified just as Osamu is justified in being upset. Maybe you reacted in a bad way, but to me, as long as you get something from this experience, then it was worth going through it. Next time something like this happens it'll be easier to handle, I think.”
“Like a silver lining?” The smile was obvious in his voice. “Are you just trying to make me feel better by siding with me even though I’m the biggest asshole alive?”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Does that sound like me?” Softly he added, “I’m just calling it as I see it.”
A short pause. “That’s very reassuring actually.”
Kiyoomi huffed a small laugh.
“Hey,” Atsumu hesitated. “Can we just...”
“Just?” Kiyoomi prompted.
“Stay here?”
Kiyoomi melted. “Of course.”
Atsumu stayed silent on the other line. “Can we talk about something else?”
Kiyoomi closed his eyes. “About what.”
“Hmmm...your day?”
Kiyoomi described his boring ass day in boring ass detail, Atsumu hung onto every single word. As Kiyoomi talked he could hear the passing cars, the children laughing nearby, the shortness of breath as Atsumu walked home and interrupted Kiyoomi on his retelling every time something came to mind. Every few seconds Kiyoomi would hear that telltale sniffle, a few yawns here and there. Lucky for Kiyoomi’s poor heart the pressure in his chest was mostly gone, only a few remnants lingering. By the time he finished the retelling of his day it was already night time and Atsumu was sitting down on the porch of his home. On Kiyoomi’s side, the chill wavered on too cold. He closed his window.
Kiyoomi asked, settling back down on his bed, “How do you feel?”
“Better actually. I love your voice, s’ relaxing,” Atsumu said sleepily.
Heat creeped up his neck and burned his ears. “Shut up.”
Suddenly sounding more awake, Atsumu could barely contain his laughter. “It is Omi-Omi, no need to be shy.”
Kiyoomi groaned, burying his undoubtedly red face under his pillow. “I hate you.”
Atsumu laughed harder. “Are you blushing?” he asked incredulously.
“Asshole,” Kiyoomi glared into space. “After I help you with your crisis.”
“That’s adorable Omi! Wait, let's do a video call, come on.”
“No.”
“Don’t be a chicken Omi-kun. I wanna see your pretty face, pleaseeee,” Atsumu took a deep breathe. Kiyoomi knew what was coming, he pulled his phone away from his ear but Atsumu’s loud, desperate voice was still audible. “PUH-LEEZE!” he pleaded.
Kiyoomi massaged his temple. He knew there was no way to fight it, that need to give Atsumu anything he wants. Opening his eyes, Kiyoomi hung up only to immediately send out a video call.
Kiyoomi’s face came into view first, still spread out on his bed, dark hair splayed around his head, glare still in place. “Hi,” Kiyoomi deadpanned.
“Hi,” Atsumu replied, biting his lip to stop the already huge smile taking over his face. Same as before, the redness in his eyes, tears still clinging to long eyelashes. But now pink colored his ears and nose, from the cold or from the crying, Kiyoomi didn’t know. Glassy, tired eyes stared back at Kiyoomi with unadulterated joy.
“Thank you,” Atsumu smiled sweetly and Kiyoomi’s glare softened.
“You’re welcome,” he mumbled back.
“You called me Atsumu.” Wind rustled Atsumu’s hair and Kiyoomi’s fingers twitched with the need to tuck them behind his ear.
“I do not recall,” Kiyoomi lied. Atsumu’s grin got wider.
“Liar.”
“Me?” Kiyoomi feigned half-hearted surprise. “Never.”
Atsumu laughed again. He was always laughing and Kiyoomi lived for the sound.
Kiyoomi sat up a bit, he was stalling but he needed to say something before they ended the call. “Atsumu, you won’t be alone,” Kiyoomi said evenly. “I’ll be with you, whatever you need. So don’t cry, okay? I’ll be here any time you want.”
Atsumu eyes filled with tears, he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, just as roughly as he had done with the tissues Kiyoomi had given him a year before. Kiyoomi’s hands burned with the need to wipe them away, gently, as it should be. “Sorry. I'm doing exactly what you said not to do. S' just a very nice thing to hear."
"I'll say it as many times as you need." It sounded like a vow. Disgusted at acting so soft Kiyoomi added, "I know your pea sized brain can't retain much information."
"Shut your mouth!" was the unsurprising response. Kiyoomi laughed.
A few seconds of comfortable silence passed, Atsumu swayed a bit, looking up at the sky. Gaze flickering back towards his phone Atsumu tried to stifle a yawn. “It’s late, I should probably leave you be. You’ll probably go to sleep early 'cause you're a grandpa.”
Kiyoomi didn’t point out how it was really Atsumu who had the sleep schedule of a four year old. “Yeah, sure.” Kiyoomi wouldn’t sleep until four in the morning, a complete night owl with no impulse control he had made the mistake of starting an RPG game a few hours before he got Atsumu’s call and he would not stop until he had collected 100% of all the monsters available in the game’s traveler’s log.
Atsumu didn’t need to know his bad habits quite yet. They had just started dating after all.
“I’ll go inside. Talk to Samu about everything.” With one last smile Atsumu said a quick, “Bye-bye.”
“Bye,” Kiyoomi mumbled. The call ended.
Kiyoomi’s fingers itched for the rest of the night, yearning to do more, to help, to hold.
3.
The third time it happened would be years later, on a hot summer night.
After signing on with the Jackals Kiyoomi was on cloud fucking nine. For the first time since they had started dating, Kiyoomi and Atsumu would finally be in the same city, they would finally be in each other’s presence for more than a weekend’s worth of time. And although they did what they could to survive those first few years of their relationship, with sporadic visits here and there, video calls every single night, multiple texts throughout the day, it was a whole other thing being with him in the same room.
One would think the rest would be smooth sailing but that was not the case. Kiyoomi tended to get in ridiculous situations despite his best efforts. Apparently, completely by accident, Kiyoomi and Atsumu had neglected to mention to their team that they were, in fact, dating. Kiyoomi didn’t mind, he didn’t exactly like people on his business anyway, and Atsumu, who lived for discourse, just found it funny. In the end, they never chose to clear up the misunderstanding.
With the months that passed their teammates would occasionally ask Kiyoomi very not subtle questions about, ‘Who’s your type?’ And, ‘Would you date someone if they asked you out?’ And ‘When are you gonna ask Atsumu out, Sakusa, your pining is getting ridiculous.’
( “Yeah Omi-kun, when’re ya gonna ask me out?
“We’ve literally been dating for four years now.”
“I think next time you should sit on my lap in front of them, I wanna see how they react. You can say it’s 'cause you don’t wanna sit on the dirty bench.”
“Isn’t that too much?”
“Don’t act all high and mighty now Mr. Good Samaritan. I know ya like messing with them just as much as I do.”
“That’s neither here nor there.” )
Ridiculous boundary issues aside, being around his new teammates was fun. Most team-bonding nights were spent at restaurants, getting drinks and passing out as soon as they got in the vicinity of the Black Jackals apartment complex. (Bokuto once slept on the shrub right next to the main entrance.) But, when drinking started getting too disruptive, quiet movie nights were integrated into the short list of bonding activities they were expected to attend.
Kiyoomi didn’t mind at first, he could handle campy adventures between hungover friends or a superhero movie where damaging public property came second to looking cool. No, those were alright. What he could not deal with were sad movies.
Kiyoomi only ever let this happen once.
They had been watching a movie about a dog that would wait at Shibuya Station every day for his owner to return from work, even after his death. Needless to say, there wasn’t one dry eye in the room. Having friends as unhinged as the monster generation, Kiyoomi was well acquainted with their brand of balls-to-the-wall crazy. Kiyoomi could deal with Bokuto’s loud sniffles, he could ignore Hinata’s occasional hiccups, what he could not deal with was Atsumu’s tear streaked face holding in any sound behind a hand over his mouth.
Sitting on the couch of the common room, leaning on the armrest to his right, Kiyoomi watched playful blues and greens dance on Atsumu’s face as the bright light from the TV illuminated the tears making their way down his cheeks and clinging to his chin. Sniffles from all around the room did nothing to him, but a single wobbly breath from Atsumu and Kiyoomi was just about two seconds away from an aneurysm.
Kiyoomi took out a new pack of tissues from his pocket, just as he had done that winter day, painfully aware of the various sets of eyes looking in his direction. Without further ado, Kiyoomi did what he had been wanting to do since he first saw hazel eyes fill with tears.
Gently, very gently, Kiyoomi dabbed the sensitive skin under Atsumu’s eyes, wiping away all the tears. Atsumu just closed his eyes, a dumb smile on his face.
“Ah,” his voice sounded congested. “What a gentleman, Omi-Omi.”
“Shut up,” Kiyoomi responded, lacking the usual bite.
“For fuck's sake,” Barnes said, bursting Kiyoomi out of his love-sick bubble. Draped over a small couch by Kiyoomi’s right, his expression was of complete exasperation.
“There are children present!” Bokuto exclaimed, covering Hinata’s eyes.
“It’s true! I’m children!” was Hinata’s response.
You’re twenty-two , thought Kiyoomi.
Inunaki, not one for tact, just groaned. “This is getting ridiculous, can you two just fuck already?”
“This is too romantic for my poor single heart,” came Tomas’ dramatic response on the other side of the couch. “Someone take them away!”
“Can we just watch the movie,” Kiyoomi implored, feeling a headache coming along.
“Why do you care? You've been too busy staring at Atsumu to pay attention,” Inunaki laughed.
Kiyoomi wrinkled his nose. “Gross, why were you looking at me? Are you a weirdo?”
Before Inunaki could think of some witty response, Atsumu cut in while looking at Kiyoomi, “Do you think now's the time to tell them?”
Kiyoomi scoffed, “I'm surprised they haven't figured it out yet.”
“We haven't been subtle,” Atsumu said, eyeing everyone in the room.
Speaking for the first time since the movie started, Meian piped up, “You guys do know we can hear you, right?”
Kiyoomi, sporting one of his rare shit eating grins, suddenly declared, ”Atsumu and I have been dating for four years now.”
Atsumu’s loud laughter almost drowned out everyone else's reactions.
"I FUCKING KNEW IT!" Inunaki exclaimed.
"You're both bastards," Barnes muttered.
"They're meant for eachother then," Tomas replied.
"Why didn't you two say anything sooner?!" Meian demanded.
Letting them freak out Kiyoomi just leaned back and closed his eyes. The headache getting worse.
After a few seconds of loud chaos Bokuto’s boisetours voice cut through the mayhem, getting Kiyoomi’s attention. “And you never told us? All this time we could have been going on double dates!”
Kiyoomi cringed. “Ah, on second thought, we’re not dating. It was just a prank.”
Atsumu tried to hide his laugh behind a cough.
“You're not getting off that easy," Bokuto replied petulantly. "We're having a double date if it kills me!”
“Don't tempt me,” Kiyoomi said under his breath.
“Tsum-Tsum do something your boyfriend is gonna kill me!”
Atsumu just laughed harder and the headache subsided.
Before long everyone calmed down enough to go back to the movie, the rest of the night went as it usually did. Kiyoomi couldn’t help but notice money being exchanged quietly between his teammates as the movie played. It wasn’t hard to guess at the implications of that.
Damn gambling addicts, thought Kiyoomi. He was more miffed at the fact that Inunaki seemed to have won the most money.
After the movie ended they said their goodbyes and left, making the short trek back to Kiyoomi’s apartment. A five minute walk from the MSBY apartment complex.
“Hey Omi-Omi,” Atsumu interrupted Kiyoomi’s train of thought.
“Hm?”
“Sad dog movies make me cry.” A satisfying wind swept past them, ruffling Atsumu’s hair. Some of his fringe covering his eyes.
The itch in his fingers, fingers that yearned to tuck them behind his ear, was as strong as ever. Kiyoomi was long acquainted with the feeling. Now though, he could lean into the urge. “You don’t say.” Placing stray hairs behind his ear.
“I’m okay now,” Atsumu said with a sly smile. It was moments like these that Kiyoomi suspected he knew how weak Kiyoomi truly was for him. It was too obvious.
Atsumu spent the rest of the walk talking excitedly about who knows what. Kiyoomi was just focused on calming his hammering heart. At least that oppressive hold his stupid feelings had over his heart whenever Miya Atsumu dared to cry infront of him was gone.
4.
It was autumn the fourth time it happened, all because Atsumu had expressed his interest in watching Kiyoomi play video games, and Kiyoomi, ever the accommodating boyfriend, had accepted.
(“Not the shooting ones, those are boring to watch Omi-Omi.”
“Says the guy that only knows how to play FIFA.”
“I know how to play other stuff too!”
“Mario Kart doesn’t count.”)
The problem wasn’t having Atsumu watch him play, Kiyoomi was fine with that. The problem was something else entirely.
It started well enough. Final Fantasy games tended to have a lot of plot, enough to keep Atsumu interested for long stretches of time. Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, a game as perfect as they come, was only available on the PC or the PSP, which is an old handheld console. With an audience of one, Kiyoomi arranged everything as best as he could in order to display what he played on the TV in his living room.
It was surprisingly not that hard to get his hands on a PSP composite AV cable, no, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was finding a TV with the appropriate AV-in ports that matched his PSP cables. His spotless smart TV was too new and too big, not at all compatible with the old console. Crafty as always, Kiyoomi found an easy enough solution in the form of his old TV, the one he owned during his time in university. Smaller in size and twice as dusty.
If this isn’t love, thought Kiyoomi as he wiped off all the grime and dirt that had accumulated since he last used it, I don’t know what is.
Kiyoomi thought it was worth it at first. Most nights Atsumu would follow him to his apartment after practice and, a quick shower later, Kiyoomi would let him sit on the couch and watch. His genuine reactions made Kiyoomi’s third time playing the game much more enjoyable. His favorite was the complete shock at the first cutscene, Kiyoomi understood the surprise, it was much better quality than one would expect from something that was, at the time, twelve years old.
Atsumu tried to play a few times, curious enough to give it a try, but since the game was on hard mode, he’d usually get stuck fighting the same boss battle again and again. Even as he laughed when Atsumu got one-shotted, Kiyoomi helped him out every time. Stocking up on high level materia and enough accessories to make him practically invincible to whichever character he had to face.
Slower nights, where Kiyoomi had lots of grinding to do, grinding in the sense of leveling up and not the sexual definition it’s often confused by, Kiyoomi wouldn’t bother with the setup and just lay on the couch and play. On those nights, especially when Atsumu didn’t want to do the grinding for him, Atsumu would just try his best to distract Kiyoomi, using every strategy under the sun, each with varying degrees of success. (That damn succubus.)
Even if he acted like watching him grind for hours was worse than torture Atsumu was there for every second of gameplay, even that damn waterfall minigame in Gongaga. That one almost drove Kiyoomi to homicide. Atsumu, the prick, merely laughed at his sad attempts to acquire the best item in the game: the Goblin Punch. He stopped laughing when Kiyoomi forced him to give it a try.
Needless to say Atsumu was thoroughly invested. Zack Fair had that effect on people, equal parts charming and dorky, like someone else Kiyoomi knew. (Telling him would only inflate his ego so Kiyoomi kept it to himself.) It was roughly forty hours of getting to know the characters and their relationships, their aspirations, their goals, their likes, dislikes and everything in between. It was very fun experiencing all that with Atsumu, his comments and gasps made everything feel brand new. It was even better since Atsumu knew nothing of the franchise.
Kiyoomi knew the game front and back, knew the story from beginning to end, knew the final cutscene by heart. He had played this game too many times, he was already desynthesized to the emotional impact that final line had. And oh what a good fucking line it was. Confident words spoken clearly, “You'll be my living legacy. My hopes, my dreams… they’re yours now.” The heartbroken screams that followed, filtered through the TV’s stereo. It didn’t hit Kiyoomi how devastating it was until he heard Atsumu's strangled gasp.
Atsumu turned around, back to the TV and facing Kiyoomi, one leg tucked underneath him. “OMI!” Atsumu wailed, repeatedly hitting Kiyoomi in the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me it had a sad ending!?” Tears were already spilling and that painful pull on his chest gave a sharp tug.
This was vastly different to that one movie about the dog, at least then Atsumu had the good sense to hold back his tears, since they were around their teammates. Now, though, Atsumu didn’t hold back.
“I forgot,” Kiyoomi replied calmly, swaying to the repeated punches on his arm.
Suddenly a mournful melody started playing. "Why" by Ayaka, the ending song.
What a great soundtrack, thought Kiyoomi.
“Oh my God they put on sad music!” Atsumu looked over his shoulder at the TV, eyes wide with harrowed disbelief. Turning back around he buried his face in Kiyoomi’s shoulder and dramatic as always, continued his ramblings. “What kind of sick motherfucker made this game I want to die! How many hours did I spend on this fucking game and now-” He grumbled nonsensically into Kiyoomi’s neck, burying in closer.
Petting his hair softly, Kiyoomi was, once again at a loss of what to do, but desperately wanting to do something. Hiccups that made Atsumu’s shoulders tremble, the tears wetting the skin on his collarbone, Atsumu’s tight grip on his shirt, as if in need of more tangible comfort.
“And Aerith! Oh my God!” He snapped his head up, looking Kiyoomi in the eyes. The gentle lighting coming from the TV in an otherwise dark room made hazel sparkle in the worst way. Kiyoomi’s heart lurched again. “She doesn't know what happened! And the letters! Fuck meeee!” He started shaking Kiyoomi by the shoulders.
Atsumu was much better equipped when dealing with emotions. Whenever Kiyoomi cried, which was more often than he was willing to admit, Atsumu did everything right. Whispering sweet nothings in Kiyoomi’s ear while rubbing gentle circles on his side.
Kiyoomi did the only thing that came to mind. Gingerly he brought an arm around Atsumu’s neck and gave a swift tug, making him lose his balance. With Atsumu half on top of him, Kiyoomi placed his hands around his back and held tight. A few seconds later Atsumu returned the half-assed hug, resting his head on to Kiyoomi’s shoulder.
His whole weight was making Kiyoomi lose feeling in his legs but that thought came second to a sharp intake of breath. Kiyoomi had a vague suspicion it was more from surprise than anything else. Having 80kg on top of him was nice, like a weighted blanket. Felt grounding.
“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi said, the ache in his chest pounded in his ears.
There was a moment of silence and, once again, Atsumu laughed. “You’re so dumb.” Atsumu lifted his head from Kiyoomi’s shoulder, his hand pushing on the cushion right next to Kiyoomi’s head for leverage.
Pursed lips turned downwards into a disgruntled frown. “You really don’t know how to react when people cry, do ya, Omi-Omi?”
“Just you,” Kiyoomi responded honestly.
Sniffling a bit, Atsumu wiped the tears off his face using the sleeve of a stolen borrowed sweatshirt from Kiyoomi’s closet. His arm lingered, trying to cover his mouth. The shitty attempt at trying to hide a dopey smile brought Kiyoomi great amusement.
“Is that a smile?”
“No,” Atsumu lied, hiding behind his arms, trying desperately to avoid Kiyoomi’s eyes.
Gently taking Atsumu’s hands in his, slim fingers, calloused from years of dedication, Kiyoomi pulled them away from his face. “You sure?”
“Yes,” Atsumu looked away again, smile lingering still.
Flustered Atsumu was ten times more bearable than teary Atsumu. But there was still a redness under his eyes, an unevenness to his voice, the wetness on Kiyoomi’s neck was still fresh.
“You wanna get ice cream?” Kiyoomi blurted out.
Atsumu leveled Kiyoomi with an incredulous look. “Am I two?”
“Is that a no?”
“It’s a fuck yeah!” Atsumu grinned, jumping up. He walked into Kiyoomi’s bedroom, probably for a coat that Kiyoomi would never see again. (Clothes stealer).
“You’re paying you know,” came a disembodied voice from the bedroom as Kiyoomi rose up from the couch as well. “For causing me emotional distress. Crying into your shoulder was not how I was expecting this night to go FYI.”
Kiyoomi walked to the door to pull on his shoes, “Oh? And how was this night supposed to go?”
Emerging from the bedroom, coat already on, eyes still red, Atsumu smiled, “I give you a blowjob while you play that rhythm game.”
Unsurprisingly, the eager reply went straight to Kiyoomi’s dick. Placing a facemask neatly over his face Kiyoomi replied, “We can still do that.”
Atsumu's laugh echoed in Kiyoomi’s ears and the ache subsided long enough to make him smile as well.
5.
Sometimes the reason wasn’t as stupid as sad video games, sometimes it was serious like the fifth time Kiyoomi saw Atsumu cry one rainy winter night.
It was a long time coming, they just hadn't noticed. They had a rule for these situations, with the highly stressful environment and lifestyle that came with being a professional athlete the rule was that, whenever emotions piled up, they would let the other know and talk it out.
For Kiyoomi, his emotions piled up whenever there were too many social events in a row and he had no time to recuperate between them. This was solved through a few relaxing days staying in. Atsumu gave him his space, having grown out of his need to give advice when Kiyoomi was upset, opting instead to prepare calming tea in twin mugs, listening instead of interrupting. Letting Kiyoomi borrow his body warmth in their quiet time sitting on the couch.
For Atsumu it was a bit more complicated, he lived to be in the spotlight, got his energy off people, left him rejuvenated. With a lack of social anxiety, something Kiyoomi could only dream of having, Atsumu’s emotional woes came in the form of his low self esteem issues, borne of negative comments commonly found on the internet.
It was a slow build up to a cathartic release and Atsumu could never see it coming, which meant it came as much of a surprise to Kiyoomi, who didn’t realize there was anything wrong to begin with. Well, that’s not true, Kiyoomi was good at noticing Atsumu’s slow buildup of emotions before anything too bad could happen. When the weight of the world seemed to suffocate Atsumu’s whole being, Kiyoomi invited him over to his apartment.
Being in each other’s company did wonders for Atsumu, just the presence of someone nearby gave him energy. On lonely nights spent in their own apartments Kiyoomi would accept video calls at three in the morning without hesitation. They’d talk, Atsumu would ramble and curse, no tears though.
Nevertheless, as good as Kiyoomi was at noticing the red flags, sometimes little signs slipped under the radar like that one rainy winter evening. A precarious mountain of emotions came toppling down that day.
It's worth noting that Atsumu didn’t used to be this good at coping with outside stressors. Before Kiyoomi there to monitor him, Atsumu used to just let those emotions fester, teasing comments made only in jest, slowly taken more and more seriously, old anxieties resurfaced in the cover of night, feelings of impotence and inadequacy would be assuaged only through rigorous hours practicing something new, not stopping until reaching delirious perfection.
In the first few months since he signed on to the Jackals Kiyoomi used to drag a half dead Atsumu back to his apartment for a relaxing recharge, stay by his side until everything got better. A stark contrast to Kiyoomi’s recharging methods, wherein he holed up in his apartment in blissful silence, alone enough to hear his own thoughts again. There was a sweet spot though, after a while being alone got to be too much for Kiyoomi and it would be then that Atsumu always came in, takeout in hand, ready to talk Kiyoomi’s ear off about whatever happened in the amount of time they were separated. (Stage 4 clinger, Kiyoomi had diagnosed his boyfriend.)
So when Atsumu came into Kiyoomi’s apartment with his spare key and said nothing, uttered no cheery greeting, no loud slam to the door, no happy whistling dancing in the air, Kiyoomi worried.
How bad is it this time, he had thought, getting up from the couch in the living room.
Rounding the corner Kiyoomi came face to face with Atsumu, soaked to the bone, dripping rainwater on the hardwood floor, hiding the tears still clinging to his eyelashes.
Shivering, Atsumu shot Kiyoomi a fragile smile.
“Hiya Omi,” Atsumu’s voice cracked and, once again, so did Kiyoomi’s heart.
Quickly eliminating any amount of space between them, Kiyoomi stopped in front of Atsumu.
He began to ramble. “What happened? Are you okay? It’s pouring rain outside, you’re soaked.” Hands flitting about Atsumu’s trembling body coming to a stop by his face, cradling it gently and thumbing away any tears still lingering by his cheeks. “And freezing.”
Shifting from foot to foot, Atsumu looked down. “I just needed to see you. Sorry.”
A flicker of annoyance colored Kiyoomi’s words. “Don't be dumb.” At Atsumu’s wounded look, he corrected his tone into something more tender. “I’m just worried dumbass.”
“M’ sorry,” Atsumu's voice wavered.
Sliding his hands from his face to his shoulders and down his arms, Kiyoomi took hold of Atsumu’s hands, cold to the touch. He started pulling him inside.
“Let’s go to the bathroom first.”
Atsumu stayed silent as he was led to the bathroom, the one connected to Kiyoomi’s bedroom, going in without a word.
Kiyoomi quickly opened the drawer near his bed, the one he had set aside just for his boyfriend, and grabbed some sweatpants and underwear. Kiyoomi went into his own closet and got the softest shirt he owned, the one he knew Atsumu loved to steal.
With everything he needed Kiyoomi stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, turning to face Astumu. Redness on his nose and ears. The, no doubt, sensitive space underneath his eyes, rubbed raw by Atsumu’s rough hands, a habit he could never let go of, no matter how many times Kiyoomi told him to be more gentle when wiping away his tears.
Clearing his throat, Kiyoomi said. “Come on, take off your clothes.”
“Buy me dinner first,” Atsumu mumbled.
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, the tension in the air dissipating a little. “That’s literally all I do.” Nudging Atsumu’s hands up, Kiyoomi took hold of his shirt, wet and heavy and cold, and took it off. Throwing it on the floor with a wet slap.
Atsumu shivered more, voice quivering, “Pretty sure my nipples could cut fuckin' diamonds.”
Kiyoomi tried to fight off the relieved smile at the familiar banter. “I see the rain hasn’t washed off your dazzling charm.”
Atsumu huffed out a breathy laugh and, with honesty he reserved for serious moments, said, “Nothing short of death could stop me from trying to make you laugh.”
“You’re so fucking cheesy," Kiyoomi smiled back, leaving Atsumu to take care of the rest of his clothes.
“Says you, ya fucking sap," was the dry response.
Kiyoomi walked to the shower and turned it on. “I'm feeling so attacked," he put no inflection in his voice.
Kiyoomi adjusted the temperature of the water, hot enough to relieve the numbness in Atsumu’s cold body but not enough to burn, which is how Atsumu usually preferred his showers, the psycho.
Kiyoomi turned back around, facing Atsumu once more. Completely naked he walked past Kiyoomi and stepped into the shower, sliding the glass screen shut.
Humidity made his clothes stick to his body but Kiyoomi stayed in place, leaning against the wall as he waited.
Astumu sighed, it was a tired sound but not in a bad way. It sounded relived.
They stayed in silence.
When he was done Kiyoomi handed Atsumu a warm towel, the one Kiyoomi saved just for him. Atsumu halfheartedly ran the towel on his arms and legs, shrugging on his clothes, not caring about the wet patches from where he didn’t dry himself enough.
Without anything else to do Kiyoomi followed Atsumu back to the bed where Atsumu collapsed, face down. Kiyoomi laid down next to him, on his back, head turned to the side so he could watch for a reaction. Atsumu craned his neck to look in Kiyoomi’s direction, cheek smushed against the mattress. His eyes looked a thousand miles away.
“What happened,” Kiyoomi murmured into the silence.
Atsumu hummed noncommittally, closing his eyes.
Kiyoomi looked up at the ceiling, joined hands resting on his stomach. He said, “You don’t have to tell me but I think it’ll help to say it out loud.”
Minutes passed when no one said anything, only a few sniffles here and there.
Movement coming from his right had Kiyoomi look in Atsumu’s direction again, from the corner of his eye. Atsumu shuffled closer, draping an arm over Kiyoomi’s middle and burying his face in his shoulder.
“I, uh, might have gone on twitter a few days ago.”
Ah, Kiyoomi thought, running his fingers up and down the arm over his stomach.
“You’re not gonna say anything?” Atsumu asked.
Sighing internally Kiyoomi responded, “Not anything you don’t already know.”
That seemed to be the right response because instantly Atsumu began to ramble. “It said something like how you could do a lot better than me, and how it’s a real fucking wonder how you put up with me. I didn't really care at first but then I started to notice how people in my life say that too, and I know they don't really mean it, like Samu and mom and Suna sometimes but ‘There's truth in jest,' right? And I couldn't stop thinking about it and now I'm not even sure why you put up with me, I'm the worst possible thing that could have happened to you and I really don't want to let you go but I also know I'm-”
Kiyoomi had heard enough. “You're not the worst thing in life.”
A whisper. “I dunno Omi."
“I'm serious."
“I dunno Omi," he repeated.
“Have you ever noticed I’m genuinely incapable of telling you no?” Kiyoomi casually asked.
Startled by the apparent non sequitur, Atsumu raised his head from the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck. “What?” he asked in a small voice.
Bidding any semblance of pride goodbye, Kiyoomi said the words he had been thinking for years. “I'm so weak for you it's actually kind of embarrassing.”
At Atsumu’s hurt look, Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, “Don't look at me like that, you’re not embarrassing. I’m embarrassing.”
Atsumu’s confused eyes spurred him on.
“Look, you’re loud and energetic and those dumb fucking virgins on twitter that have never touched grass may say it's a bad thing but trust me when I say there's nothing I love more than you being you.” Kiyoomi sat up, Atsumu followed his lead, knees tucked underneath himself, the arm he had draped over Kiyoomi’s stomach was now clutching his shirt.
Taking Atsumu’s hand in his, rubbing the knuckles affectionately, Kiyoomi said, “I love that you always follow me around whenever we go out, I love that even if your day was long and tiring you always find something positive about it, I love that you never seem to care that you look like a crazy person when you wipe down the chairs for me at every restaurant we go to, because you know I hate it when people stare at me when I do it.”
At the sight of a beautiful, tearful smile the knot of anxiety in his stomach unraveled and Kiyoomi sagged in relief. “Those jokes, in poor taste might I add, people only say that because we’re so different and they lack any critical thinking skills that might dissuade them from the stupid ass conclusion that we're incompatible. They see that where I’m quiet, you’re loud, but that isn't a bad thing, Atsumu." He closed his eyes momentarily to collect his thoughts. "They probably only say it because I seem like the type of asshole that would dislike anything like that. But I’m not, thank God, because I can't fucking imagine a version of myself that isn't crazy about you.” Lifting their joined hands, Kiyoomi wiped away the tears. “If anything I’m the one that doesn't deserve you.”
“That’s not true,” Atsumu said, contrary to the very end.
“I’m very high maintenance Atsumu. If you weren’t so easy-going we wouldn’t have lasted this long.” Kiyoomi tucked stray hairs behind Atsumu’s ear, “You’re honestly my favorite person and I’d probably die if you left me.” With the years that passed it got easier to admit.
“Dramatic,” Atsumu bit down a smile.
“Says you,” Kiyoomi shot back. “Atsumu, you’re the best thing that has happened to me and I love you."
Blunt as always, speaking only truth.
Atsumu groaned, looking down. “Shut up."
Not getting this message through to Atsumu was unacceptable so Kiyoomi doubled down on his affections. “I mean it Atsumu. And I’ll repeat it as many times as you want-”
“Stop!” he exclaimed, looking up suddenly, clasping a dramatic hand over his heart. “Once is enough for my poor heart.”
Kiyoomi smiled in amusement. “Are you blushing?” he asked delightedly.
“NO,” Atsumu lied, face flushed with the prettiest shade of pink.
Atsumu tried to lean back, to run away, Kiyoomi grabbed a hold of both wrists and tugged towards himself. With a thump Atsumu fell on top of Kiyoomi.
"You do that a lot," Atsumu grumbled. His right hand found leverage next to Kiyoomi’s hip, the other held on to Kiyoomi’s shoulder for stability.
“Which part did it?” Kiyoomi taunted, barely holding back his laughter. “Was it my little speech? Was that it? Or maybe before that.”
Atsumu let his head fall on Kiyoomi’s chest, “Shut up, shut up, shut uuuup.”
“No, tell me,” Kiyoomi ran fingers through blonde hair. “Do you like compliments, is that it?”
“AHHHHH!” Atsumu burrowed closer still. "Stop it!”
Kiyoomi laughed harder.
“You’re so evil,” Atsumu head snapped up. “I can't wait to tell everyone what a cheesy guy you are.”
Kiyoomi scoffed. “They won't believe you.”
Atsumu blinked, once, twice, then let his head hit Kiyoomi’s chest again. “Ah, I didn’t think it that far.” Kiyoomi snorted in amusement and Atsumu laughed along too.
“So. You love me huh, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu asked after they calmed down, sprawled half on top of Kiyoomi.
Rubbing circles on Atsumu's back, Kiyoomi said, “Are you deaf? I’m pretty sure I’ve said those words more times in the past five minutes than I’ve said in my whole life. I can't tell you how gross it is to be vulnerable.”
"Disgusting," Atsumu agreed
"Vile," Kiyoomi tacked on.
Atsumu laughed again, “I love you too by the way.”
“I know.”
“Did you just Han Solo me you fucking loser,” Atsumu muttered into the material of Kiyoomi’s shirt.
“Says the fucking normie that never saw Star Wars before I came along,” Kiyoomi mumbled back.
“Nerd.”
“Jock.”
They laughed again.
+1
Kiyoomi is a huge fucking dumbass.
It was just some lazy Sunday morning, nothing special about it. It would have made sense if it had happened last week when they won a match against the Adlers, or six months ago when they decided to get an apartment together.
No.
That Sunday morning was as normal as it could have been when it was the off season, with impromptu morning sex and a sleepy breakfast at 12 in the afternoon. As great as sex with Atsumu tended to be, hunger won in the end, bordering on unbearable. They decided to make themselves something, anything, to eat.
Not one for mornings Kiyoomi just sat by the breakfast counter and stared at Atsumu amble around in their kitchen. Always energetic, which was great for Kiyoomi who just wanted to sit down and enjoy the view. In a faded and stretched shirt Kiyoomi got to see the product of his efforts: marks on his neck and collarbone. Further down, boxers displayed God’s greatest creation, long legs decorated with beautiful reds and blues (Kiyoomi had a matching set on his chest and neck). But as much as he liked to sway in his horny delirium that wasn’t the reason Kiyoomi had dared to utter those little words he should have no reason to say.
Without saying a word, Atsumu walked around the kitchen, it was so domestic the way he knew exactly what to do when making Kiyoomi his tea. It was the way he looked so at ease, the way he did all this without a word, like it was the most natural thing to do. The way he didn’t seem to mind Kiyoomi just sitting there not doing anything, like he was happy to make him happy. It was here that Kiyoomi said two, not even the full four, words that had admittedly been bouncing around in his head for weeks.
Kiyoomi, the biggest dumbass alive, asked, “Marry me?”
Atsumu, unsurprisingly, didn’t respond right away. He was just making Kiyoomi his tea, that was all, nothing more. And out of fucking nowhere, Kiyoomi had asked the biggest question he could possibly ask his boyfriend. What the fuck. What kind of fucking dumbass does this? Kiyoomi that’s who. Hating himself into oblivion Kiyoomi didn’t notice the tears slowly trickling down Atsumu’s face, a hand plastered over his mouth, wide eyes looking at Kiyoomi in disbelief.
Kiyoomi stood up abruptly, almost making the stool he was sitting on clatter on the ground. “Shit, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry,” Kiyoomi held Atsumu’s crying face in his hands.
“Yes,” he said.
Everything stopped. “What.”
Atsumu laughed. “Yes you fucking dumbass! I’m saying yes!”
Kiyoomi was still in denial, he needed confirmation. “So you mean-”
“I wanna marry you,” Atsumu said quietly, as if sharing a secret.
“What the fuck,” Kiyoomi said in disbelief. Atsumu threw his arms around Kiyoomi’s neck, hugging him tight, Kiyoomi wrapped his arms around Atsumu’s waist, lifting him up.
“No take backs,” Atsumu murmured into his neck. “You're stuck with me until the day you die.”
Kiyoomi frowned, setting him back down, “You make it sound so morbid.”
Leaning back from the embrace Atsumu's eyes were brighter than the fucking sun, he started to shake Kiyoomi by the shoulders. “Fuck I’m literally so happy I might die.”
Kiyoomi grabbed a hold of his wrist to make it stop. “You're ‘literally so’ dramatic.”
“Not even your prickly-ness will dampen my mood!’ he happily declared.
“You’re an idiot.” More and more that had started to sound like a term of endearment than anything else.
“Don't talk to your fiance like that,” Atsumu snapped indignantly. “So, who is taking whose last name?’
“I like Miya,” Kiyoomi said.
“I like Sakusa,” Atsumu said. Then smiled, “We'll just hyphen it. As much as I like your name, Omi, I still wanna keep my mom's name.”
Shifting from foot to foot Atsumu suddenly looked antsy.
Kiyoomi, unimpressed, said, “You're dying to tell Osamu aren't you?”
Atsumu’s eyes softened in apology. “You won't hate me if I go get my phone right now to show him my-” He stopped, “Wait, fuck. Do you have a ring?”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, “It goes against everything in me to ever hate you, for some fucking reason.” A pause, “But yes, there’s a ring.”
Atsumu laughed as he followed Kiyoomi back to their bedroom.
Rummaging around his closet Kiyoomi brought out a white shoebox. Inside, underneath all the sheet paper, was a little velvet box.
"Why in a shoebox?" Atsumu asked.
"You only steal my coats and shirts, never my shoes. It seemed like the best place," Kiyoomi shrugged.
Snapping it open Kiyoomi brought out a seamless gold ring. It fit perfectly.
Atsumu brought his hand up to his face, admiring the gold band around his finger, “You're so whipped Omi.”
“I am,” Kiyoomi finally admitted out loud. “Don't tell Motoya I said that.”
“Don't tell Samu I cried like a baby just now,” Atsumu replied.
“Deal," Kiyoomi said. "Now go get your phone and let's rub our new engagement in your brother's face.”
"Oh Kiyoomi, you always know exactly what to say," Atsumu said dreamily.
There was still a wetness around hazel eyes, slightly red nose, eyelashes clumped together. But there was also a blinding smile, laugh lines in plain view, a pleased flush to his cheeks. In the poor lighting of their shared closet Kiyoomi wiped away the last remnants of tears still hanging on and thought, maybe this isn’t so bad.