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Kiyoomi always wakes up before Atsumu.
Once, Atsumu had joked, “It’s the universe giving you the gift of getting to see me asleep.” Atsumu isn’t famed for his humor, but to Kiyoomi it’s the sweetest thing in the world.
Kiyoomi wakes up before Atsumu again, like clockwork. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, and turns to where Atsumu lays beside him, illuminated by the early morning sunlight filtering through the curtains. His face doesn’t hold any of its usual intensity, instead it is relaxed; Kiyoomi loves seeing the passion Atsumu that holds inside displayed proudly on his face, but he thinks he likes him better this way. He looks soft, Kiyoomi thinks. Peaceful. Beautiful .
He watches as Atsumu smiles slightly in his sleep, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. Kiyoomi wonders what he’s dreaming about. I would make your dreams come true if I could, he thinks.
It’s their day off from practice. Kiyoomi wonders what they would do today. Maybe they’d make breakfast together, arguing lightly about how Atsumu slightly burned the omurice (Atsumu would claim he didn’t; he did, but Kiyoomi thinks it’s delicious anyway). Maybe they would paint the spare room, like they’d been saying for two months they would. Maybe he could finally take Atsumu to the farmer’s market, introduce him to the nice lady who sold his favorite umeboshi and always asked him how his day was. Maybe they’d just stay on the couch all day, playing Mario Kart because Atsumu wants to, him pouting because Kiyoomi is somehow better even though he’d never played it before, Kiyoomi kissing that stupid, adorable pout off his face until they fall into a comfortable silence; a little bubble, just for the two of them.
Kiyoomi likes to have concrete plans, but he wouldn’t mind not having one for today. I would do anything, if it meant being with you , he thinks.
He watches as the morning light grows brighter, painting Atsumu’s face with shades of amber. Golden, he thinks, just like you. Kiyoomi shifts closer to him, careful not to wake him. He wants to savor these moments of quiet leisure for a little longer. Atsumu’s warmth envelops him. Kiyoomi always ran cold, always had to wear his Itachiyama jacket when he was in high school. He has beefed up since, hours of training building up muscle mass to insulate him, but he relishes being closer to Atsumu, clings to him in the colder months. His own portable heater.
He wonders what Atsumu would say if he could read his mind right now. Aw, you love me that much, Omi-Omi? You’re really cheesy sometimes, y’know. Kiyoomi would shove him away, grumbling in faux annoyance, but secretly he’d agree. Yes, yes I do. No words could ever do justice to how much I love you.
He’s never known intimacy like this, until Atsumu. He used to think relationships were too much work; constantly giving and taking and giving until you both run out. But with Atsumu, there’s no giving, there’s no taking. Kiyoomi is Atsumu’s, and Atsumu is his. They simply exist together, side by side, intertwined with each other such that to an outsider, they would look like one. Them against the world.
Seventeen year old Sakusa Kiyoomi would’ve never imagined love like this, would’ve laughed in their face if someone had told him he’d be so far gone for the setter with the Kansai-ben from training camp. But twenty three year old Sakusa Kiyoomi can’t imagine a life other than this. Other than Miya Atsumu.
He watches as Atsumu slowly stirs awake, stretching before settling against Kiyoomi’s chest. “Morning, Omi”, he yawns, “how long’ve you been awake for?” Kiyoomi pulls him closer, dropping a soft kiss to his forehead. “Just a few minutes.” Atsumu’s hair smells like lemons, the shampoo that became his own three months after they moved in together.
Atsumu smiles against his chest. “You’ve been watchin’ me sleep, love?” Kiyoomi chuckles. Yes. Yes, and I want to every day for the rest of my life. “No, just thinking”, he says. Thinking about your face, your lips, you, you, you.
“’Bout what?”
“What we’re going to do today.”
“You come up with somethin’ good?”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
He thinks back to their third date. They’d gone to a hill just outside Osaka. The sunset’s beautiful up there, Omi , Atsumu had said. He thinks about how the dusky light had painted Atsumu’s hair shades of orange, pink, purple. He thinks about how he’d decided that day, I’m going to make you mine. One day.
The sun’s been there for them this whole time. On that evening, on every afternoon run they go on together, on this morning. Kiyoomi is grateful.
Atsumu shuffles against his side, until he’s just a breath away from his face. “Would you be mad if I kissed you right now?” Yes. Yes, because if I kiss you right now, I’m afraid I’ll never stop. Kiyoomi pulls him in anyway. Atsumu smiles against his mouth. Kiyoomi feels infinite and full and complete.
I could stay like this forever, Kiyoomi thinks . Just me and you and the sun.
He watches as Atsumu finally rises off him, moving to open the curtains. The buttery golden light bathes over him; he’s glowing . He looks angelic. Kiyoomi watches as Atsumu goes about his morning routine, drinks his tea, listens as he tells him about how Osamu’s new cat loves him more than it does his brother.
Of course it does. How could anything not love you?
Kiyoomi always wakes up before Atsumu. And in moments like these, he thanks the universe for it.