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The winter air is freezing. Atsumu clutched his jacket closer to himself, and hauled his bags of groceries up the stairs to his apartment. The minute he stepped over the threshold, a giant ball of grey fur pounced on him in joy, him laughing as he dropped the bags at his feet to pet his dog. He headed straight to the shower, a habit he’d picked up from his boyfriend. The outside is dirty, ‘Tsumu. You don’t want our home to be dirty. Atsumu smiled softly to himself. Our home. He liked that.
As the warm water washed over him, he thought over his day. He’d gone to the farmer’s market. There had been some new stalls today. The nice lady who sold rice had given him an extra onigiri for the road. Nearly as good as Osamu’s , he’d thought as he bit into it. He’d found some really good umeboshi. His boyfriend would be pleased about that. He’d bought some melon pan too, a guilty pleasure of his. He can almost hear the scolding he’s going to get for it. We’re professional athletes, Atsumu. We can’t eat unhealthy food all the time. He’d stopped at a flower stand on the way back, picking some up for his living room. Hyacinths.
He starts massaging shampoo into his hair, surprised when it smells like lavender instead of his usual lemony one. It’s his boyfriend’s. He doesn’t know when he’d started keeping his shampoo at Atsumu’s place, but he can’t remember a time without it there. Smells like home.
He slips on a random shirt; it’s neon yellow. He chuckles, remembers a time when the same neon yellow used to trigger competitiveness in him like he’d never experienced before. Not even with Osamu. Atsumu wonders what Osamu is doing right now. It’s been a while since he’s seen him. He’s probably trying out new recipes at his restaurant. Maybe we can go there for dinner tomorrow. His phone rings; it’s Osamu. Maybe twin telepathy does exist. He picks up, is greeted by a close up of Osamu’s face as he moves from the kitchen to his office. “Hey, ‘Tsumu. What are you up to?” Atsumu smiles to himself; he’d missed Osamu’s voice. “Just got home. Did you miss me much, ‘Samu?”
Osamu snorts. “Shut the hell up, scrub. I’d be happy if I never had to hear your stupid voice again.” Atsumu knows it means I do, I wish you were here right now. Atsumu props his phone up against the kitchen counter, putting the groceries away as he listens to Osamu talk. “Where’s that boyfriend of yours? Motoya’s been asking about him. Apparently he’s bein’ annoying again and ignoring his texts.”
“He’s gone to the physiotherapist today. Somethin’ about his wrists. And tell Komori-kun that if he really wanted to, he knows he could reach him anytime. Cousin privileges and all that.”
“’Toya’s right. You’re both so annoying, you belong together.” I’m happy you found someone who fits with you just right. Atsumu sticks his tongue out at him. “You talk to Ma lately, ‘Samu? She’s been sayin’ you don’t call as much now.” Osamu sighs, “Yeah, been so busy with the new restaurant these days that I barely have time to do much else. You wanna go home next weekend? Surprise her? We can all go together- me, Rin, ‘Toya, and you two.” He grins; it’s been too long since he’s seen his parents. Maybe I can finally introduce him to them. My beautiful boyfriend.
“Yeah, I’d like that.” Atsumu puts the last of the fruit away methodically- apples, mandarins, pomegranate. He’s going to make dinner next. “Hey, ‘Samu. Teach me how to make curry rice.” Osamu laughs. “Are you trying to play house husband, ‘Tsumu? It ain’t a good look on ya.” Atsumu gives him the finger. Osamu continues, “Seriously though, you don’t even know how to make curry rice? Is there anything besides volleyball in that big head of yer’s?”
“Shut up, asshole. Are you gonna teach me or not?” Osamu nods. He watches as Atsumu chops up vegetables, guides him through the recipe patiently, until there’s delicious aromas wafting through the kitchen. He’s proud; at least he didn’t nearly burn the kitchen down, unlike that one time he’d tried to make tempura by himself. How was he supposed to know that if it’s smoking, the oil’s definitely too hot?
Osamu gets a call from Rintarou, bids him goodbye with a, “See you, dickhead.” I love you.
It doesn’t have to be said. They both know it.
The front door clicks open. “I’m home”, his voice calls. Atsumu turns just in time to see his boyfriend remove his mask. Kiyoomi smiles. Atsumu falls in love all over again. You’re here. You’re home.
Kiyoomi walks up to him, drops a soft kiss to his cheek. “Hey, baby. Go wash up, dinner’s almost done.” Kiyoomi nods, walks away, stopping to pet the dog. He can hear the coos of, “Aw, good girl, you missed me? Oh, I love you too.” Atsumu has never been more in love.
Atsumu hears the shower turn on. He looks out the window as he waits; there’s a boy skateboarding down the road. He looks about fourteen. Atsumu remembers himself at that age- insecure, confused, lonely . It seemed so complicated being alive at that time. But today, with Kiyoomi, everything’s easy, possible, limitless.
He’s still thinking when arms wrap around him from behind, a kiss pressed to his neck. “I saw a cat today,” Kiyoomi mumbles into his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm, it was orange. It meowed at me until I petted it. Reminded me of Shouyou-kun.”
Atsumu laughs. “You’re cute, Omi-Omi. C’mon, let’s eat before it gets cold.” They sit, both muttering a quick “Thank you for the meal,” before digging in. Thank you for the company.
“This is delicious, ‘Tsumu. Sure you didn’t sneak Osamu-kun in to make it for you?” Kiyoomi teases. Atsumu pokes him with the back of his chopsticks. “You could’ve just stopped at ‘it’s delicious’. I’m never doing anything nice for you again.” Kiyoomi laughs. It sounds like angels singing.
“Did you see I got new flowers today?” Kiyoomi nods. “Mhm. Hyacinths. My favorite.” Atsumu knows. That’s why he got them.
“Do you know the myth behind them, ‘Tsumu?” He doesn’t. “What is it?”
“There was a Greek prince, Hyacinthus. He was beloved by the god Apollo. Hyacinthus loved athletics, and one day the two decided to practice throwing the discus. Apollo went first, sending the disc flying up. Hyacinthus ran after it laughing, thinking to catch the disc, but instead it hit him in the head, killing him. Apollo, the god of healing himself, couldn’t revive him. He was heartbroken, but in honour of his lover, he made a flower spring from his fallen blood. The hyacinth.”
Atsumu thinks the story is heartbreaking, but beautiful. He thinks about the god Apollo immortalizing his love. I would make you immortal, if I could.
“I bought mandarins at the farmer’s market,” he tells Kiyoomi.
“Should we eat some now?” Kiyoomi clears the dishes, as Atsumu brings the oranges. It’s a familiar rhythm. They settle on the couch, close together in front of the hyacinths. Kiyoomi hands Atsumu a slice of orange, laughs when a couple drops of juice land on his own cheek when he bit into it. Atsumu kisses it off him. It’s wonderful. Atsumu brushes his knuckles over his hand; Kiyoomi catches it before it slips away.
Atsumu thinks about the fourteen year old boy again, thinks about a time before Kiyoomi. He doesn’t like it. He prefers this: a quiet, burning, powerful love. Love that means exchanging grocery lists that just say you, you, you, you, all the way down.
I love you. I want us both to eat well.