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Knock.
Kiyoomi doesn’t hear anything. He is sleeping soundly. He is not binge watching documentaries at two AM. Definitely not.
Knock.
Kiyoomi turns in his blanket. Said blanket is definitely in his bed and not on his couch. Because he is definitely sleeping at a normal time like a normal person.
Knock knock knock-
“Who the fuck is it?” Kiyoomi snaps as he throws his blanket to the side, stalking up to his door and throwing it open.
Miya Atsumu stands on the other side.
Kiyoomi blinks at him once. Twice. Atsumu opens his mouth to say something. Kiyoomi slams the door shut.
“Omi!” he hears, a muffled whine from behind the door. He inhales through his nose, exhales through his mouth. It takes everything for him to not turn back to his laptop and stalk off to his bed. He curls his hand into a fist, gripping the door so hard his knuckles turn white. It takes considerable effort for him to not yank the door off the handle, instead opening it slowly.
“What,” he growls, putting all the vitriol he can muster into his glare.
“Merry Christmas!” Atsumu exclaims excitedly.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
“Why the everloving fuck,” Kiyoomi hisses, “are you telling me Merry Christmas at two in the morning?”
The bastard actually has the audacity to look sheepish, scratching the back of his neck with a shy laugh. Kiyoomi’s grip on the door handle loosens only a little bit.
“Well, it’s Christmas, ain’t it?” Atsumu chuckles, a strange tenseness in his voice. “‘M here ta spread the holiday cheer.”
“It is two AM,” Kiyoomi replies flatly. “If you’re going to spread holiday cheer or whatever, do it at a time when normal people are normally awake.”
“Oh come on, ya weren’t actually sleeping,” Atsumu drawls, leaning on the doorframe.
“I was,” Kiyoomi snaps with a glare, and Atsumu cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. They have a brief staring competition before Kiyoomi concedes with a discontented grumble.
“Fine, I wasn’t. But that doesn’t-” Kiyoomi begins, but is cut off by Atsumu opening the door completely and stepping into Kiyoomi’s apartment. Kiyoomi can only gape as Atsumu pulls a bottle of hand sanitizer from his pants pocket and rubs it into his hands, then holds them out to Kiyoomi, grinning expectantly. Kiyoomi can almost see the dog ears popping out of his head.
“What the fuck are you doing,” Kiyoomi says flatly, and the piss-haired manchild pouts like the manchild he is. Still, his manchildness seems to make him oblivious to Kiyoomi’s animosity (or he’s just ignoring Kiyoomi, to which Kiyoomi feels he has every right to report him for break-and-entering), and he casually leans his back against the door.
“‘S Christmas day an’ it’s snowin’ an’ we’re not supposed ta eat fried chicken so yer gonna come see the snow with me,” Atsumu states assertively. It takes Kiyoomi three slow breaths to not punch him.
“It is two AM,” Kiyoomi says again, starting to feel a little hysterical. “And you want me to come look at snow with you.”
“‘M doin’ ya a favour! Ya can’t look me in the eye and tell me that ya weren’t gonna stay inside all day,” Atsumu retorts defensively. Kiyoomi is about to punch him again, but remembers that the best way to win with this bastard is to win at his games.
“I wasn’t going to stay inside all day,” Kiyoomi deadpans, staring Atsumu straight in the eye. It takes everything for Kiyoomi to control the side of his lips as Atsumu’s cheeks puff up in frustration.
“Well too bad! ‘M here an’ yer up so yer gonna come see snow with me. Don’t even try ta make the ‘normal people sleeping hours’ argument or whatever, ‘cuz yer clearly not even in yer pyjamas,” Atsumu pouts, and Kiyoomi allows himself a little smirk, knowing that he’s won.
“And why should I do that? This is my apartment. I can kick you out whenever I want,” Kiyoomi deadpans, voice serious and low in his throat.
“Yeah, but if ya do, yer not gonna go outside fer the rest of the holiday season, an’ ya are not allowed ta be a pissy sea urchin on Christmas day,” Atsumu replies snarkily. Kiyoomi frowns, about to retort when Atsumu adds, “An’ if ya insist on keepin’ ta yerself, then maybe the expensive sake I got from cap’n last month will stay with me.”
“He told us to share that with the team,” Kiyoomi growls, and Atsumu smirks at him knowingly. “Yeah, but if he really wanted us ta, then ya’d think he’d know better than ta give it all ta me. Besides, Bokkun and Wan-san got their own bottles.”
“They what now,” Kiyoomi begins slowly, and Atsumu raises two hands in surrender. “Hey, wasn’t my decision. An’ if anyone asks, ya didn’t hear it from me. Now do ya want sake or not?”
Kiyoomi stops and genuinely mulls over his options, glaring at Atsumu the entire time, but definitely not because he’s being petty. It is two AM, and he could be sleeping, or snuggled in his warm, cozy bed, or watching documentaries without the interference of a piss-haired bastard-
Oh, who is he kidding. What is there that he wouldn’t do for good alcohol.
“Fine,” Kiyoomi growls after glaring for much longer than needed. “But you don’t get to be pissy if the entire bottle goes. I cannot fathom being able to put up with your bullshit otherwise.”
🎄
They do not, much to Kiyoomi’s dismay, start with the alcohol. Instead, they go outside, and look at nothing.
“It is two AM,” Kiyoomi says for the nth time this morning. “What were you expecting.”
“I know what ‘m doin’,” Atsumu replies obstinately, dragging him down an alleyway. It is a dark alleyway, mind you, the kind in which people get robbed. Kiyoomi feels he is more than justified in his displeasure, but he acquiesces and stays quiet. It feels like they go down sketchy alleyways forever, but at some point, light appears at the end of the tunnel.
“Found it!” Atsumu exclaims, voice laced with childish wonder. Kiyoomi is about to call him crazy when he sees it, glowing blue snowflakes illuminating the trees, bright lights wrapped around bare branches. There’s a slight chill in the air, real snowflakes falling adjacent to the fake ones lining the trees, lightly landing onto the ground and disappearing the moment they touch the earth.
“Wow,” Kiyoomi breathes quietly, but Atsumu doesn’t let him pause. Instead, he’s dragged forward, met with a brilliant landscape of lights.
“‘S beautiful, isn’t it?” Atsumu says, and it almost sounds like he’s talking to himself. Kiyoomi glances at him briefly, and is surprised to be met with a wistful expression, yearning eyes reflecting the dazzling lights. Kiyoomi quickly turns away, feeling like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have.
Kiyoomi turns his eyes back to the mesmerizing lights, and the two of them continue walking. Silence fills the space between them, but it’s a surprisingly comfortable silence, embracing them as they take in the wondrous display of nature and lights around them.
🎄
At some point, they arrive at Atsumu’s apartment. It’s a quiet affair, and Kiyoomi is almost disappointed that he couldn’t enjoy the lights for longer. He doesn’t say anything as they wash their hands, and the sentiment quickly dissipates as Atsumu places an expensive-looking box on the table.
Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow, but Atsumu doesn’t respond, undoing the ribbon on the box and uncovering a frosted glass bottle. He honestly expected for Atsumu to wait for him to forget about the offer, or for Atsumu to pretend that it went missing, but there’s something about the atmosphere that prevents him from commenting. The two are silent as Atsumu pours the sake into two sakazuki cups, and places one in front of Kiyoomi.
“Merry Christmas, Omi-kun,” Atsumu smiles, raising his cup. There’s an edge to his voice, but Kiyoomi doesn’t comment as he clinks his cup against Atsumu’s.
“Merry Christmas,” Kiyoomi agrees quietly before downing the entire cup. The smooth, sweet liquid slides down his throat like honey, and he lets out a soft sigh. Ah, good sake.
“Didn’t take ya fer an alcoholic,” Atsumu chuckles, and Kiyoomi shakes his head. “Needed to make it through university one way or another.”
“Oho? Tell me more about College Omi,” Atsumu prompts, and Kiyoomi sighs, this time out of discontent. He vaguely gestures in the direction of the bottle, and Atsumu happily pours him another cup.
“Everyone thought I was smart because I did well on tests, so they tried to make me help them with homework,” Kiyoomi grumbles. “It wasn’t even hard! Getting into university was objectively the hardest part. But everyone was partying all the time, and god, college kids are so gross…”
Kiyoomi wraps the sakazuki cup in a white-knuckled grip and downs the clear liquid, not leaving a single drop. He sighs contentedly again at the way the liquor slides down his throat.
“My professors had some strange obsession with giving me job recommendations, and I suppose I appreciate that, but you’d think that my being MVP on the college volleyball team would make them realize that I had no intentions of dying of overwork in some black company at age thirty-five,” Kiyoomi groans. Atsumu seems to be grinning as he pours Kiyoomi another cup of sake, and Kiyoomi glares at him.
“You’re not drinking,” Kiyoomi states, and Atsumu shrugs. “Yer the alcoholic, not me. I can’t do much about yer habits, but that doesn’t mean I hafta join ya.”
“Suit yourself,” Kiyoomi says, taking a calmer sip this time. Atsumu looks at him expectantly, and he looks back blankly.
“No more stories ‘bout College Omi?” Atsumu asks after a while, sounding disappointed. Kiyoomi sighs.
“There really isn’t much to tell. I went in, I got my degree, I got out. Now I’m playing volleyball for a living,” Kiyoomi states flatly. “Now are we seriously drinking dry, or do you have snacks?”
“Do I get embarrassin’ college stories if I give ya snacks?” Atsumu asks, and Kiyoomi sighs, waving his hand in a shooing motion. Kiyoomi allows himself to sink into the chair for a second, and Atsumu soon returns with a pack of chips and pudding.
“Why do you even have those,” Kiyoomi asks, squinting at the blocky red letters on the chip packaging. A certain blushing potato looks to the side, and he’s weirdly tempted to glare at it.
“Stole them from Samu,” Atsumu replies, an obvious edge to his voice. Kiyoomi looks up to see him giving a strange look at the pudding, but decides not to comment, instead opting to tear the chip bag open. He takes a chip out of the bag, chewing quietly as he offers the bag to Atsumu. Atsumu, being Atsumu, chews loudly, but the alcohol in Kiyoomi’s system leaves him pliant and uncomplaining.
“I don’t have many embarrassing college stories. People learned to leave me alone at one point or another,” Kiyoomi says after a sip. “I certainly wasn’t ever drinking at four AM on Christmas day, though.”
“...sorry,” Atsumu says quietly, and Kiyoomi waves a dismissive hand at him.
“It’s fine, I drank a lot. I don’t remember what I did on Christmas, but there was probably alcohol involved. Motoya came over on my twentieth birthday with drinks, so I blame this,” Kiyoomi gestures to the table, “on him. I started asking for alcohol for holidays, and Motoya came and gave me the whole ‘I know it feels good but drinking too much is bad for you’ talk.”
Kiyoomi sighs and empties his cup again. Atsumu gives him a strange look, which he ignores.
“The rest of my family was more than happy to give me liquor. Who knows what they’re doing; they have money. Alcoholism is part of the corporate slave lifestyle, or something. Who knows what they want with me,” he shakes his head. “Motoya is too good to me, but if you ever tell him I said that, I will have your head.”
“Oh, ya rich boy, executin’ people as ya like,” Atsumu teases before looking concerned. “Are ya actually an alcoholic though? Should I take the sake back? Is-”
“Of course not, I only drink when it’s off-season,” Kiyoomi sighs. “I’d probably be drinking even more if I went home with Motoya.”
“Yer not spendin’ the holidays with him?” Atsumu asks, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. The thought pulls a soft giggle from Kiyoomi’s lips. When did he become such a lightweight?
“Rich people parties are awful. Motoya gets to do whatever since he’s my cousin, but if I were there I’d probably be shaking hands with a bunch of people who want to suck up to my dad,” Kiyoomi explains with a shiver. Atsumu nods understandingly, and pushes the chip bag towards him. Kiyoomi takes a potato chip, and eats it.
“You’re not spending the holidays with your family?” Kiyoomi asks. It seems like an innocent question, but Atsumu immediately freezes like a deer caught in headlights.
“Sorry, that was uncalled for,” Kiyoomi says, but Atsumu shakes his head. “‘S fine. I guess ya deserve ta know, since I dragged ya out of yer apartment this mornin’.”
This time, Atsumu’s the one drinking, a long and slow sip. His eyes are glassy, and Kiyoomi looks away, into his own cup. There’s a loud sound of plastic tearing, and he looks up to see Atsumu aggressively ripping the pudding from its packaging. Atsumu shoves the pudding cup, a plate, and a spoon towards Kiyoomi, who silently accepts.
“Do ya ever feel like everyone’s movin’ forward without ya?” Atsumu says, voice laced with bitterness. “Like everyone’s found their purpose in life, so ya don’t matter anymore?”
Kiyoomi says nothing as he flips the pudding onto the plate. He watches as the caramel sauce drips down the sides, then pushes his spoon into the pudding.
“I never cared much fer Christmas, really,” Atsumu states. “Thought it was just a fun time ta go on break an’ have fried chicken. But I guess these things change as ya get older, or whatever the fuck.”
Atsumu aggressively tears a pudding package open, and nearly slams it onto the plate. He stabs his spoon into the pudding, but doesn’t eat it. Kiyoomi says nothing.
“I was supposed ta share these with Samu, ya know? I was gonna go home ta Hyogo an’ we were gonna fight over puddin’ an’ it was gonna be like we were kids again,” Atsumu growls. “But apparently he’s the responsible adult with a stable relationship, and everyone loves the young couple goin’ on a nice, long Christmas vacation, so much that they also feel inspired ta go on holiday as well. Oh, an’ then that useless older brother who plays sports fer a livin’? I dunno, just gotta hope that someone will want him or somethin’.”
Atsumu stabs his spoon into the pudding again, again, again, until the entire thing is in pieces. Still, the spoon never touches his lips. Still, Kiyoomi doesn’t comment.
“I made a bet with Samu in high school, ya know, when he told me he wouldn’t be playin’ after graduation. I told him that I’d be the happier twin, the one who stuck with the things that made me happy through an’ through,” Atsumu says hoarsely. “What am I even doin’ with my life? Drinkin’ away my sorrows with a teammate at four AM on Christmas day? Playin’ volleyball like ‘m still in high school?”
This time, Kiyoomi’s the one refilling Atsumu’s cup. Atsumu downs the liquid with a sniffle, and Kiyoomi begins to speak.
“My parents wanted me to work in the company and compete for inheritance,” Kiyoomi states. “I was the accident, so it wasn’t like I would’ve gotten anything anyway, but they wanted me to uphold the image of the perfect, hardworking son.”
Kiyoomi refills both their cups, then raises his. Atsumu bumps his cup against Kiyoomi’s, and they drink.
“I went into volleyball because I genuinely enjoy playing. I love what I do, and I’m grateful that I can do it everyday for a living. Sometimes I feel burned out, or disappointed, or like I’ve reached some sort of glass ceiling,” Kiyoomi confesses, offering the chip bag to Atsumu. “But I refuse to let the expectations of others be the rules that determine what I’m allowed to like doing.”
“I’ve seen you when you play. I know how much you love being on the court. I guess the standard life is to work, get married, settle down, and have kids, but if that’s not what genuinely makes you happy, then why do it?” Kiyoomi asks, towards no one in particular. “And with all due respect, if your family is giving you shit for doing what you love for a living and not having a partner, then they’re just being assholes. It’s not like you’re having difficulty making ends meet.”
“They’re not bein’ assholes, ‘m just… I guess they were kickin’ me outta the nest this year,” Atsumu protests.
“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel lonely or disappointed,” Kiyoomi says with a soft yawn, the alcohol getting to him. “Maybe I’m just projecting onto you, but… I’ll listen, if you want me to.”
“I guess ‘m just mad,” Atsumu says, voice small. “My family usually doesn’t do much fer Christmas, especially not big trips, so them doin’ it this year an’ then just hopin’ I have someone to spend Christmas with is a little…”
Atsumu stares off into the distance, eyes glazed over, and Kiyoomi feels his eyelids start to droop.
“I’ve never had much of a problem with Sunarin in the past, but this year it feels like Samu’s abandonin’ me all over again, ya know?” Atsumu confesses, voice cracking. “I know he’s just a train ride away, but it feels like he’s gone off and made so many accomplishments, while I’m still here doin’ who knows what.”
“Ya know, Omi-kun, I really look up ta ya,” Atsumu says, but it sounds like he isn’t talking to Kiyoomi anymore. “Yer amazin’. Yer entire family was pitted against ya, but ya found the things ya really like doin’, an’ a way ta keep doin’ them.”
“Yer so strong. Ya know what ya want, an’ ya do what ya need ta get it,” Atsumu says quietly, and Kiyoomi’s barely listening anymore, eyes shut fully.
“Yer right. I love volleyball. I love it more than anythin’ in the world. But at some point, ya became a part of that,” Atsumu breathes. “I love playin’ with ya. I love bein’ on the same court as ya. I love bein’ able ta share this with ya.”
“‘M sorry fer dragging ya outta yer apartment this mornin’. ‘M sorry fer making ya go out in the cold. ‘M sorry fer makin’ ya drink with me,” Atsumu whispers, voice wet. “I just wanted ta spend some time with ya. Ya can hate me after this if ya want.”
“Are ya asleep, Omi-kun?” Atsumu asks, voice the quietest of whispers. Kiyoomi wants to respond, wants to be honest and exclaim that he’s awake, but everything feels so heavy. He’s only barely gathered enough strength to open his eyes when Atsumu speaks again.
“Thank ya fer indulgin’ me, Omi-kun,” Atsumu whispers with a soft sniffle. “I like ya. I like ya a lot. So thanks, fer spendin’ Christmas with me, even if ya hate me. Thank ya fer everythin’. I won’t bother ya after this, I promise. Ya can hate me if ya want. But I-”
“Miya,” Kiyoomi says slowly, trying to force himself to wake up. “I don’t hate you.”
“Omi-kun?” Atsumu gasps. Kiyoomi forces his eyes open, and finds unshed tears in Atsumu’s.
“No, please, go back ta sleep, just forget in the mornin’,” Atsumu whispers frantically. Kiyoomi rolls his shoulders back, pinching his arm to force himself awake.
“Miya,” Kiyoomi says, louder this time, but Atsumu continues with his frantic apologies. Desperate, Kiyoomi lifts his hands and places them on top of Atsumu’s, then squeezes with as much strength as he can muster.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says slowly, clearly. “I don’t hate you.”
Atsumu stops fidgeting, and Kiyoomi looks him in the eye, feeling more sober than ever.
“I know I don’t show it much, but I like you too,” Kiyoomi confesses, quietly but determinedly. “I like sharing the things I love with you. I like spending time with you. Some days, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The tears in Atsumu’s eyes have finally spilled over, silent streams of pure emotion rolling down his cheeks. Glassy crystals of salt water stick to his eyelashes, and Kiyoomi raises his hands to Atsumu’s face, wiping it all away.
“I like you too, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi whispers. “So don’t run away from me, okay?”
Atsumu blinks at him, stares at him before finally nodding, slowly as though he can’t believe this is real. Kiyoomi’s heart explodes with affection, and he stands from his chair, crossing the space between them and pulling Atsumu into his arms. Atsumu is shaking, breathing filled with unsteady sniffles, but he readily returns the embrace, squeezing Kiyoomi tight.
A warm, comforting silence fills the space between them, just like the silence accompanying the lights earlier this morning. But this time, as Kiyoomi presses his forehead to Atsumu’s, he knows that this silence comes with a promise, a promise of the times to come, for them to spend together.