Chapter Text
When Kiyoomi is six, his family packs up their apartment in Tokyo.
His mother dispassionately informs him that the company his father works for has transferred him to the Amagasaki branch in Hyogo prefecture. She doesn’t seem particularly happy about the move, but she doesn’t seem all that upset, either. She complains about having to find a new hairdresser, and packing up her extensive shoe collection. Kiyoomi helps her pack, admiring the way her high heels taper to the thinnest of points, gleaming red and black and blue in the lamplight.
Kiyoomi doesn’t think he will miss Tokyo. The only thing he’s leaving behind is Motoya, and although Kiyoomi’s sure he will miss his cousin, Motoya tearfully promises to visit Kiyoomi once he’s settled.
They make the move at the end of March, five days after Kiyoomi’s birthday. His mother had insisted on getting them settled in time to start school in April in order to make the transition easier on all of them. Kiyoomi’s older sister is starting high school, while his older brother’s only a year behind, so neither of them are too concerned with having to find their place.
Kiyoomi doesn’t think he’s all that concerned, either. Then school starts, and Kiyoomi finds himself almost instantaneously overwhelmed by the crush of students around him, the grating sounds of voices speaking over one another, and worst of all, the casual touches.
He doesn’t understand why it bothers him so much. He sees his classmates tapping each other’s shoulders to get their attention, holding hands, hugging, and he wonders why he doesn’t want that for himself.
The first time a classmate touches him, Kiyoomi flinches away so hard he nearly topples out of his seat. The boy looks at him, wide-eyed, and says, “What’s yer problem?”
His tone is curious, but still prods at a sore spot for Kiyoomi. He scowls up at the boy and says, “Don’t touch me.”
“Ya talk funny,” is all he gets in response, and then the boy wanders off.
It happens a few times throughout his first year. Eventually, though, the students in his class stop trying. Kiyoomi doesn’t think they understand his aversion to touch, but at least they respect it, for the most part.
He wonders sometimes if he doesn’t like to be touched simply because he’s not used to it. His mother rarely attempts to hug him, and his father hasn’t touched him in years. Come to think of it, hardly anyone in Kiyoomi’s family touches him. Motoya used to, he remembers, and it never really bothered him, but then again he knew Motoya. He doesn’t know these kids, and he doesn’t really care if that changes.
…
When Kiyoomi is seven, he meets Atsumu.
Actually, he meets Osamu first, but he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t even know they’re different people for at least a month, and he only figures it out when Atsumu drops by Osamu and Kiyoomi’s class to drag his twin (twin!) to lunch. Kiyoomi stares at them, fascinated by their similarities. Their hair is parted differently, he notes, and one of the twins is a shade or two warmer than the other, in both looks and in disposition. Their voices are loud and careless, with strong accents that make it difficult for Kiyoomi to understand them, even though he’s slowly growing accustomed to the lilted sounds of the Kansai-ben dialect.
“C’mon, ‘Samu,” the twin from the other class whines. “Aran already found us a spot outside!” He tugs at his brother’s shoulder demandingly.
“Fine,” his brother grumbles. “But yer gonna help me finish this assignment later, ‘kay?”
“Okay, okay, let’s jus’ go,” says the other one, voice colored with impatience.
Neither of the twins seem to notice Kiyoomi. The warmer of the two yanks his counterpart roughly to his feet and pulls him out the classroom door.
Most of the students eat outside when the weather is nice, and the only reason Kiyoomi refrains is so that he doesn’t get roped into playing with his classmates. Still, he’s curious. Curious enough that the next day he follows one of the twins--the one in his class--out of the classroom and down the stairwell that leads to the yard. The sun is partially blocked by wispy clouds, and the trees are just starting to bloom. It smells nice, but it makes Kiyoomi’s nose itch.
He watches from the doorway as the twins find a spot beneath a tree. There’s another boy with them, and he looks a bit older; he’s tall, with dark skin and close-cropped black hair. Kiyoomi wonders how he knows the twins when he’s clearly in another year.
He finds a spot a safe distance away, close enough to watch the twins talk animatedly to one another but far enough that he won’t get caught watching them. It becomes his regular spot, and he slowly grows to appreciate the soft grass and weight of the breeze as he eats his lunch. It’s peaceful, for the most part. No one approaches him, or if they do, he glares at them until they go away. It works, usually.
Until it doesn’t.
One of the twins approaches him on an overcast day. The clouds are heavy with the promise of rain, but Kiyoomi had stubbornly refused to sit inside. It wasn’t exactly that he was obsessing over the twins and their friend, or anything like that. He just really enjoyed sitting outside. And, okay, maybe he found the twins fascinating. Maybe he stared at them sometimes. It wasn’t as if they noticed, right?
“Hey,” a voice says from above Kiyoomi. He looks up, ready to summon his harshest glare, and finds himself face to face with one of the twins. He’s not sure which one it is until the boy sticks out his hand. “I’m Atsumu,” he explains, “but ya can call me ‘Tsumu if yer gonna be my friend.”
Kiyoomi stares up at him. “What gave you the impression that I want to be your friend?”
Atsumu draws his hand back as if he’s already accepted the fact that Kiyoomi will refuse to touch him. “Well,” he starts, “Yer always starin’ at us. So I jus’ figured ya wanted to be friends or somethin’.
“I’m not staring,” Kiyoomi protests. “I just--”
“Wanna come play volleyball with us?” Atsumu interrupts.
Volleyball. Motoya likes that, Kiyoomi thinks absently, and then, without giving it a thought he says, “Okay.”
Atsumu’s face lights up. “Really?” He says excitedly. “That’s great ‘cause we really need another person ta play two-on-twos.”
Kiyoomi’s nose wrinkles involuntarily. “What’s a two-on-two?”
“Have ya never played before?” Atsumu exclaims. He goes to grab Kiyoomi’s hand and Kiyoomi flinches away, noticeably enough that Atsumu freezes and draws his hand back to his body. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I know ya don’ like ta be touched.”
“Who told you?” Kiyoomi says cautiously.
Atsumu just shrugs. “Everyone knows that. That’s why no one else wants ta be yer friend, cause they don’ wanna have ta be careful around ya.”
“Is that...a bad thing?” Kiyoomi says slowly, uncertainly.
“Nah,” says Atsumu, as if it’s obvious. “T’s not that hard ta remember ya don’t wanna be touched. If someone’s too lazy ta remember that, they’re a scrub.”
Kiyoomi decides against asking what ‘scrub’ means as Atsumu continues. “Anyway,” he says. “Ya don’t have ta touch anyone in volleyball. Yer gonna be fine,” he adds confidently.
Kiyoomi considers for a moment before packing up his lunch and getting to his feet. When standing, he’s about an inch shorter than Atsumu, but they’re still pretty close. “Okay,” he replies. “Show me.”
He follows Atsumu over to where his twin--Osamu, Kiyoomi knows from class--and the other boy sit beneath a tree. “‘Samu!” He yells, racing up to his twin. “I found myself a teammate! Now we’ll finally know who’s the better volleyball player!”
“Yer on,” says Osamu. “Aran and I are gonna crush ya.”
Then Osamu turns to Kiyoomi. “Who’s this?” He addresses Atsumu. Atsumu puffs up his chest like he’s excited to introduce Kiyoomi, but then he rapidly deflates. “Shit,” he curses, alarming Kiyoomi, whose family never swears. “I fergot ta ask yer name!” He wails, sounding devastated.
“Shaddup. Drama queen,” grumbles Osamu. Then to Kiyoomi he says, “Sorry ‘bout my idiot brother--”
“Hey!”
“--I’m Osamu,” Osamu continues, unbothered, “and this is Aran.” He gestures at the taller boy, who gives an awkward wave. Kiyoomi nods at them both. “I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he responds. “Nice to meet you.”
Atsumu scrunches up his nose. It looks funny, Kiyoomi thinks. “Why’d ya talk like that, anyway?”
“‘Tsumu!” Osamu hisses at him. “Don’ be rude!”
“I’m from Tokyo,” Kiyoomi answers his question, unfazed. “My family moved here last year.”
“Woah,” the twins say in unison. “That’s so cool!” Atsumu exclaims. “Ain’t that cool?”
“Why’d ya move?” Aran says curiously.
“My dad’s job,” Kiyoomi explains. “He got transferred.”
Aran nods, understanding, while the twins both look confused. Atsumu just shakes his head like he’s dislodging a thought, or something. “Well,” he says, changing the subject, “we should prob’ly start playin’ soon, before lunch is over. Ain’t that right, Omi-kun?” He says, addressing Kiyoomi.
Kiyoomi blinks at him. “What did you just call me?”
Atsumu grins. “Omi-kun! It’s a nickname I made up for ya jus’ now!”
Kiyoomi stares at him. “I don’t like it.”
“Ya don’ have ta!” Atsumu replies. Then he turns and sets off towards the gym. “C’mon, Omi-Omi! We’re gonna crush these scrubs!”
Kiyoomi sighs. He’s not really sure what he’s gotten himself into, but he follows Atsumu anyway.
Once they reach the gym, Aran takes charge and leads them through some quick warm ups and stretches. All of it is new to Kiyoomi--he’s never been very athletic before, despite his natural flexibility due to his hypermobile joints.
“Woah! Are your wrists supposed ta bend like that?” Atsumu wonders as they stretch out their arms.
“It’s called hypermobility,” Kiyoomi explains. “It makes me flexible.”
“That’s so cool!”
They start the two-on-two soon after they finish stretching. Kiyoomi’s not even sure where he’s supposed to stand, but Atsumu directs him easily as if he’s a pawn on a chess board, and demonstrates how to hold his arms, too. Aran serves from across the net, and the game begins.
Kiyoomi feels distinctly inadequate as he flubs receive after receive. When he does manage to touch the ball, it smacks the side of his arm--or sometimes his shoulder--and flies out of bounds. Atsumu reassures him that he’ll get better; this is only his first time playing, after all. Still, Kiyoomi wonders if all the pain and sweat is worth it.
He has trouble syncing up with Atsumu’s sets as well. He misses the ball entirely more often than not, and the few times he manages to touch it, he barely gets enough momentum to push it over the net.
Aran and Osamu crush them.
They’ve got an eleven point lead, and most of Atsumu and Kiyoomi’s points are either from the other team’s mistakes, Atsumu’s serves or his nearly flawless setter dumps.
Somehow, over the course of the game, Kiyoomi becomes even more determined to improve. I can’t let him beat me, he thinks, and a fire ignites somewhere within him. He burns and burns and still plays terribly, but the more he does it, the more he begins to relish the feeling of the ball slapping against his forearms.
By the end of the game, he’s uncomfortably sweaty, hunched over and panting. At least Atsumu’s not in much better shape, he thinks, eyeing the boy as he throws himself onto the floor in despair. “We’ll getcha next time,” he promises Osamu and Aran. Aran nods as if this is perfectly reasonable, while Osamu lets out a snicker. “Ya wish ya could,” he says.
Atsumu’s face contorts in anger. “Ya take that back!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and chasing Osamu around the gym, pelting him with stray volleyballs.
“Are they always like this?” Kiyoomi wonders aloud.
“Pretty much, yes,” Aran responds tiredly. He turns to Kiyoomi and says, “Will you be joining us for practice after school?”
Kiyoomi hesitates. “I should probably talk to my parents first.”
Aran nods, understanding. “That’s probably a good idea. Maybe you can join tomorrow!”
“Maybe,” Kiyoomi says.
He helps Aran clean up the gym while the twins chase each other into the schoolyard. At some point during their game, it started to rain, and the twins are soaked within minutes. Kiyoomi walks with them back to their classrooms, Aran splitting off from them on the first floor with a friendly wave and a promise to see Kiyoomi tomorrow.
Kiyoomi follows a sopping wet Osamu back to their class, while Atsumu heads to his class across the hall. “Ya better ask yer parents ‘bout volleyball today,” he threatens, “or else I’ll make ya regret it.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Osamu says. “He’s full of it.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Kiyoomi replies, and Atsumu scowls and sticks his tongue out at them both before heading into his classroom.
After school, Kiyoomi walks home in the rain. He forgot his umbrella, so his curls are damp by the time he reaches his house. His mother is in the kitchen starting dinner, while neither of his siblings appear to be home.
Kiyoomi takes a seat in the living room and unpacks his bag methodically. He pulls out his math textbook and notebook before pausing. Maybe I should just talk to her now, he thinks, and then takes a deep breath before bringing his bento to the kitchen to wash.
“How was school?” His mother greets him as he scrubs out the box.
“It was fine,” he answers. There’s a pause, and then he says, “Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you about. I made some friends today, and they’re on the volleyball team. I...I want to join,” he says hesitantly.
His mother is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “Would it interfere with your studies?”
Kiyoomi shakes his head vehemently. “I would not allow that,” he responds.
His mother appears deep in thought for a moment, and then she nods, slowly. “Perhaps that could help you develop some social skills,” she muses, chin cupped in her hand. Kiyoomi tries not to be offended by the careless comment. Then her eyes clear. “All right,” she says, and Kiyoomi’s heart soars. “You can join. But,” she adds, “if your grades start to drop, even a little…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t have to.
Kiyoomi nods. “That won’t be an issue.”
The very next day, he joins the twins and Aran at volleyball practice after school. He fidgets, uncomfortable in his brand new workout clothing and sneakers. He’s not nervous, per se; it’s just that there’s a lot of new names to remember. He gives up after the fourth or fifth boy introduces himself.
He doesn’t need any more friends, anyway.
When the coach asks him which position he wants to try, he hesitates. Atsumu whispers to him, loudly enough for the whole team to hear, “Play spiker so that ya can hit my sets!” Kiyoomi turns back to their coach and says, “I’ll try spiking.” Why not, he thinks. After all, Atsumu’s the only one he’s comfortable playing with so far.
“Cheater,” he hears Osamu mutter to his brother. “Ya jus’ want him ta be on yer team.”
“So what if I do?” Atsumu’s voice rings out. “He’s gonna be the best, ya jus’ wait and see!”
Kiyoomi doubts Atsumu knows what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t mind the praise. He nervously approaches the line and prepares himself to jump as the coach throws the ball up into the air. Atsumu’s already in position, and he gets under the ball neatly and sets to Kiyoomi, who’s already in the air.
Somehow, despite their inability to sync up the day before, Kiyoomi’s hand connects perfectly with the ball, and he slams it to the floor. He stares at his reddened hand, amazed, as Atsumu cheers. “I knew ya could do it, Omi!” He says, and Kiyoomi almost smiles.
After practice, he walks with the twins to their bus stop before parting ways. “See ya tomorrow, Omi-kun!” Atsumu yells, and Osamu waves goodbye.
Kiyoomi heads home, and this time, he’s unable to keep the smile from sliding across his lips.
…
Motoya comes to stay with Kiyoomi in June. Although they’re not yet on break from school, Kiyoomi still finds the time to hang out with Motoya after practice. He’s improved quite a bit, or so he thinks; he and Atsumu sync up nearly every time, and his serves almost always make it over the net.
Motoya is over the moon when Kiyoomi tells him about volleyball. “I knew you’d like it!” He says excitedly. “You’ve gotta bring me to practice sometime, I wanna meet the twins!”
“I think you’ll like them,” Kiyoomi says truthfully. If he’s being honest, he’s not entirely sure how he feels about having them as friends. Aran is nice, he thinks. He has a calming presence, which is much needed within their small friend group.
Osamu is capable of being calm, but gets riled easily whenever Atsumu says something stupid, and is prone to starting fights.
And then there’s Atsumu.
Kiyoomi’s not sure when Atsumu became such an important person to him. It certainly didn’t happen overnight. It probably has something to do with his extreme bluntness--Kiyoomi thinks he relates to Atsumu more than he’s ever related to anyone before. He’s rude, and a little too dirty for Kiyoomi’s taste, but surprisingly respectful of Kiyoomi’s boundaries.
Kiyoomi doesn’t say any of this to Motoya, though.
“You can come with me today,” he finds himself saying instead.
“Okay!” Says Motoya brightly. “I’ll meet you after school, yeah?”
“Sounds good,” Kiyoomi replies.
After school, Motoya meets him at the entrance to the gym where he waits with Osamu. Atsumu and Aran have yet to show, but they’ll likely arrive within the next few minutes (Atsumu tends to run late in general, while Aran often stays after to get extra help from his teacher).
“Hey!” Greets Motoya enthusiastically. He holds out a hand. “I’m Komori Motoya! You can call me Toya, though. Are you one of the twins?”
Osamu reaches out to shake his hand. “Yeah,” he says. “You’ll meet my idiot brother shortly.”
Motoya chuckles. “Cool,” he says. His face brightens. “So, what’s it like being a twin?”
“Obnoxious,” Osamu replies neutrally. “But it’s okay, I guess.”
Atsumu takes that moment to barge into their conversation, the same way he barges into everything in life. “Oh!” He says, sounding surprised despite Kiyoomi having told him that Motoya would be meeting them today. “You must be Toya!”
Motoya grins. “Nice to meet you!” He says. Then his head swivels as he looks from Osamu to Atsumu, examining their faces closely. “Wow,” he says in wonder. “You really are twins!”
Kiyoomi barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Let’s get to practice,” he cuts in. “I don’t want to be late.”
Atsumu scans the yard, brightening when he spots Aran approaching their group. Motoya turns around to see what he’s looking at, and smiles when he sees Aran. “Hey,” he says, more subdued than when he met the twins. “I’m Motoya!”
“Aran,” says Aran, holding out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Kiyoomi’s told us a bit about you.”
Motoya turns to grin at Kiyoomi. “You’ve talked about me, Kiyo?” He coos. “I’m so flattered!”
Kiyoomi scowls. “You’ve come up once or twice, I suppose.”
“Omi-kun says you play volleyball, too! What position do you play?” Says Atsumu excitedly.
Motoya’s chest puffs up with pride. “I’m a libero,” he brags. “I’m gonna be the best in the country one day!”
Atsumu’s eyes shine. “That’s so cool!”
Kiyoomi briefly regrets introducing them.
The five of them head to the gym, Atsumu and Motoya chattering energetically, Aran and Osamu chiming in occasionally. Kiyoomi is quiet, still adjusting to the way it feels to have his worlds collide. It’s an odd feeling; a little exciting, a bit nerve-wracking, and somehow, very normal. Motoya merges into their group as if he’s always been there.
At practice, Kiyoomi introduces Motoya to the team, and their coach even allows him to jump in during one of their practice games. He plays on Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s team, and Kiyoomi realizes that he’s gotten good. It only makes him want to work harder, to get up to his level. He wants to be able to match him on the court, or even better, score a point against him, which seems as if it’s quite the feat, if the way the other team is performing is anything to go by.
Kiyoomi leaves practice that day exhausted but satisfied. He walks home with Motoya talking his ear off all the way, and although Kiyoomi should be annoyed, he can’t be because it just reminds him of Atsumu. He wonders when he grew so comfortable with idle chatter, and he supposes it must have come with being a part of their group.
Motoya leaves the following day with the promise to visit again as soon as possible. “You should visit me, too!” He tells Kiyoomi.
“Maybe,” Kiyoomi says uncertainly. Apart from Motoya, there’s not really anything that he misses about Tokyo. He’s hesitant to return to a life he’s left behind, even for a short amount of time.
He lets Motoya hug him gently, and then he’s gone with a smile and a wave over his shoulder.
…
When Kiyoomi is ten, Atsumu touches him.
It’s a total accident; they’re at volleyball practice, and the twins are carelessly roughhousing in that way that they always do. Then Osamu shoves Atsumu a bit too hard, and he goes careening--straight into Kiyoomi’s arms.
Kiyoomi catches him without a thought, grunting as he realizes that Atsumu weighs far more than a volleyball. Atsumu sags in his arms as if dazed, and then springs to his feet, looking panicked. “‘M so sorry, Omi-kun!” he blurts. “I didn’t mean ta--”
“It’s fine,” Kiyoomi interrupts. “I didn’t mind it.”
Atsumu gapes at him for a moment before nodding slowly. “Okay,” he says, and that’s the end of it.
At least, it is until Kiyoomi’s lying in bed that night, recalling the incident and wondering why he didn’t mind the touch. It was an accident, of course, but still Kiyoomi thinks he should have felt repulsed, the way he did when anyone else touched him. The thought of Osamu or Aran touching him isn’t so bad either, he supposes, but still. He’d held Atsumu, and he hadn’t even spared a thought for his usual aversion to touch.
It’s not until the following day that he wonders if he was okay with it only because he trusts Atsumu. On the court, Atsumu gets the ball to him without fail, no matter where he is, and off the court he acts as a human shield whenever necessary in order to prevent their classmates from bothering Kiyoomi. They still bicker much of the time, but Kiyoomi thinks he probably trusts Atsumu at least as much as he trusts Motoya, if not more.
The day after that, he realizes that he wants Atsumu to touch him.
He’s eating lunch with Aran and Osamu when Atsumu comes bounding up, shoving lightly into his brother’s side. Osamu shoves him back, hard, and Atsumu tumbles over into the grass with an indignant squeal. Kiyoomi feels a brief flash of jealousy, and then he feels confused. Why would I be jealous of that?
At practice later that day, he watches as Atsumu high fives Aran, and he feels that streak of jealousy return.
Oh.
He wants to be touched. Not often, or much; but maybe a little. A hug would be nice, he reflects. He would even settle for a high five or a tap on the shoulder at this point.
He’s not sure yet if he’d be okay with Osamu or Aran touching him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them to respect his boundaries, it’s just that he doesn’t know them quite as well, and he’s a little less comfortable with them than he is with Atsumu. Besides, neither of them are quite as touchy-feely as Atsumu is. Atsumu will hang off of their shoulders, wrap his arms around them and squeeze, flick their foreheads. Aran doesn’t really reciprocate, and Osamu does, but violently.
Once Kiyoomi realizes the issue, he’s not sure how to bring it up with Atsumu. For one, he doesn’t want to tell Osamu or Aran, just in case they get jealous and start treating him differently. This means that he has to ask Atsumu when they’re alone, which is more a difficult feat than it seems, as he and Osamu are nearly attached at the hip.
Kiyoomi puts the thought to the back of his head for a while and lets it stew as he waits for the right time to talk to Atsumu. He doesn’t get his opportunity until the following week, when Osamu and Aran both choose to remain at school after practice to study. Kiyoomi doesn’t need to, since his grades are fine, and Atsumu simply doesn’t care. He’s clever enough that he always gets by, anyway.
Kiyoomi walks Atsumu to his bus stop and then pauses, hesitating. Atsumu stops walking and turns to face him, uncertainty drawn into the lines of his face. “Are you okay?” He says, sounding mildly concerned.
“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi lies.
“Are you sure? You don’t sound sure,” Atsumu points out.
“I…” Kiyoomi doesn’t know where to start. “Remember last week when you fell and I caught you?” He says suddenly.
Atsumu looks embarrassed. “Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “M sorry ‘bout that, I didn’t mean ta make ya uncomfortable or anythin’--”
“I wasn’t,” Kiyoomi blurts. “Uncomfortable, I mean.”
Atsumu looks surprised. “Really?”
Kiyoomi nods. “I don’t know why I wasn’t,” he admits. “I think it’s because I trust you.”
Atsumu’s cheeks get a little red at that. “Oh,” he says. “So--”
“It’s okay if you touch me sometimes,” Kiyoomi clarifies. “Just--maybe warn me first, so I know that it’s you.”
“Are ya sure?” Atsumu says, sounding uncertain.
Kiyoomi nods again. “I think I’m okay with touching people, sometimes,” he explains. “It depends on who it is, and also how I’m feeling. If I didn’t want you to touch me, I’d just tell you. I know you wouldn’t cross any lines.”
Atsumu is silent for a moment. Then he says, “Can I hug ya, Omi-kun?”
Kiyoomi’s mouth goes a little dry, but he nods. “Yes,” he confirms. “You can. Just...be gentle, okay?”
“Of course,” Atsumu says as if it’s obvious. He steps closer to Kiyoomi, and Kiyoomi’s breath hitches nervously. Atsumu lifts his arms, and Kiyoomi feels them slowly enclose his body. Atsumu moves carefully, as if a single wrong movement could scare him off. Kiyoomi considers telling him that he doesn’t need to be so hesitant.
He doesn’t. Instead, Kiyoomi lifts his arms, and returns the hug.
He presses against Atsumu and fits his head onto Atsumu’s shoulder, feeling Atsumu’s hair brush his cheekbone. Atsumu squeezes him, a gentle pressure that makes Kiyoomi feel warm. It’s...nice, he thinks. He could get used to this.
They hold each other tentatively for a minute or so before Atsumu draws back, examining Kiyoomi’s face. “Are ya okay?” He says, and Kiyoomi nods in response. He’s silent for a moment, and then he says, “Thank you, ‘Tsumu.”
Atsumu goes a little bit red in the face again. “No problem,” he replies.
“I can’t promise that I’ll always want to be touched,” Kiyoomi warns.
“Ya don’ have ta promise nothin’,” Atsumu says instantly. “Jus’ tell me what ya need, and we’ll figure it out from there.”
Kiyoomi nods. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Atsumu says. There’s a sound of wheels on pavement as the bus pulls up. Atsumu glances at the bus and then back at Kiyoomi. “See ya tomorrow?” He says, and Kiyoomi nods again. Before he can say anything else, Atsumu says, “Don’ worry ‘bout me snitchin’ ta ‘Samu an’ Aran ‘bout this, either. Wouldn’t want ‘em gettin’ jealous, now would we?” He shoots Kiyoomi a wink, and Kiyoomi finds himself smiling in response. Atsumu waves over his shoulder as he boards the bus, and Kiyoomi waves back before heading home, feeling unexpectedly calm.
It’s not as if touching Atsumu transformed him into someone who wants to be touched. Kiyoomi never felt that he was broken, or that he needed to be fixed. But maybe, he thinks, maybe a part of him was hurting, and he never realized it until now.