Archive of Our Own ^beta

Miya Atsumu was going to kill Kiyoomi some day. It was inevitable. 

Not intentionally of course, although some days Kiyoomi did wonder. No, Kiyoomi’s current predicament was the pair of shorts Miya was wearing at practice today.

“Whoa, Tsum-Tsum, uh…” Bokuto blinked slowly, eyes comically wide. “Do you know how to do laundry?”

Miya turned a scathing look to Bokuto. “Do you ?” He asked snidely, knowing full well that Bokuto had only recently been taught by Akaashi. Having a doting mother would do that to you. “‘Samu switched out my stuff, this is all I have.”

“Miya,” Kiyoomi said coldly. “Why do you even still have those?”

Because the shorts Miya was wearing were a deep maroon and emblazoned with the Inarizaki logo on the front where they rode far too high on Miya’s muscular thighs for Kiyoomi’s sanity. Miya shot him a look.

“‘Course ya don’t understand, Omi, ya don’t have a heart.” He sneered, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s called nostalgia, look it up.”

“Sentimentality is for those who refuse to move on.” Kiyoomi said. For someone whose school motto was literally ‘who needs memories,’ Atsumu had a strange desire to hold onto the past. Kiyoomi himself preferred living in the present. Especially this present. Complete with Miya’s attempt and failure to pull his shorts farther down his thighs to hide the awful tan line.

“I understand Atsumu-san!” Hinata bounced over. 

“Thank you, Shouyou. See, someone gets it.”

“Yeah, I still have the cookies that Hitoka-chan made me in my fridge!”

Kiyoomi grimaced, and even Miya looked a little worried.

“Er, how old are those, Shouyou?”

Hinata paused, thinking. That was answer enough for Kiyoomi. “Don’t eat those anymore,” he said bluntly. “And throw them out. That’s not nostalgia, that’s irrationality and a health hazard.”

Miya sighed. “Either way, this is all I got for practice today. And y’all know I look damn good in anything I wear.”

Oh, didn’t Kiyoomi know. Not that he was going to say that to Miya. He was still haunted by the over-enthusiastic response he had received when he had complimented Miya’s new serve. For some reason Miya had taken that as an invitation to believe they were friends rather than him just being an unrequited crush. It resulted in a hellish week and double the amount of cleaning supplies.

Though Kiyoomi couldn't deny that hanging out with Atsumu wasn’t as bad as he had originally thought. The setter, once he had manhandled his way into Kiyoomi’s flat for a movie, was shockingly polite and complacent, never once complaining when Kiyoomi forced him to wash his hands at least 3 times before he was allowed any farther in. Nor when Kiyoomi relegated Atsumu to one corner of the couch, nor again when Kiyoomi insisted that since it was his flat, he would be the one choosing what they watched. 

Watching Miya hide slightly behind his pillow when the deep sea creatures came up in the oceans documentary Kiyoomi pulled up was rather entertaining. Who would’ve thought that Miya was afraid of goblin sharks?

The movies continued to be a thing for them, with Miya coming over at least once a week to invade Kiyoomi’s flat, rant about whatever dumb shit his brother had said to him, and eat his food. Although he did occasionally bring food from Onigiri Miya, so Kiyoomi wasn’t too bothered by the last point. Osamu’s cooking was some of the best food that he had ever had, especially after Miya had brought Kiyoomi over earlier than the rest of the team the first time they went so he could watch Osamu prepare the food. After seeing the care and cleanliness that Osamu put into his recipes Kiyoomi couldn’t doubt him anymore.

Osamu did make the best umeboshi onigiri. Not that Kiyoomi would ever say that to Miya, who seemed to consider getting people to enjoy his brother’s food his own personal win. He had told Osamu himself though, and received a curious look but a warm thanks in return.

Miya was coming over for another movie later on in the week, but first Kiyoomi had to survive the supper Meian was making a reservation for (because Kiyoomi couldn’t say no to team bonding ordered by their captain), the night at Onigiri Miya after their game against EJP Raijin (which he couldn’t turn down because Motoya was going to be there), as well as the night at the club he had promised Hinata (who was very hard to actually dissuade from anything) that he said he would be there for after skipping the last three invitations.

Of course, that was all assuming Kiyoomi survived this practice.

He swallowed hard as he watched Miya twist and bend backwards for a particularly low ball to toss to Hinata. 

It was going to be a long, long practice, and Kiyoomi resigned himself to his suffering as Miya shot a blinding grin to Hinata after a perfect line shot.

Practice ended after what felt like an eternity of less than ideal, but not enough to be suspicious  spikes due to the distraction of seeing at least four more inches of Miya’s thighs. What was covered wasn’t even left to the imagination as the shorts were so ridiculously tight that Kiyoomi was honestly surprised Miya had managed to keep them in one piece every time he lunged low for a receive. 

Kiyoomi rushed for the showers to beat everyone there, and there he stayed until the chatter in the change room subsided and he felt it was safe to exit. He stepped out of the shower, towel slung low around his hips as he sighed.

“Omi-Omi,” Miya said from right next to him and Kiyoomi forced himself to remain still as he reflexively flinched.

He pulled the towel slightly farther up as Miya’s eyes slipped lazily down. They snapped back up a second later and Kiyoomi squinted at him, rolling his hand in a ‘continue’ motion as he made to grab his clothes. He felt too bare, and not just because of his partial nudity. Miya was looking at him in the way he did when he was trying to figure out a particularly tough angle for a set. 

He leaned against the wall next to Kiyoomi, bag slung over his shoulder. “We still on fer movie night this week?” 

Kiyoomi pulled his clothes on quickly and turned back around to face Miya. “Why wouldn’t we? It’s my turn to pick a movie, and you promised you would bring those candies I like.”

Was Kiyoomi in it for the food? That was no one’s business but his own.

Miya grinned. “I did, didn’t I? Alright, just wanted to check. It's a busy week, ya know.”

“I couldn’t forget if I wanted to.” Kiyoomi muttered, picking up his own bag. He secured a mask behind his ears as they left the changeroom. 

They walked back to the MSBY housing united together, Miya chattering away the whole walk. Kiyoomi offered the bare minimum of hums and grunts in responses. Miya grabbed the doorknob at their building, pulling it open for the both of them. They lived a couple floors apart, and Miya knocked his knuckles against the buttons for both their floors before pulling a small container of hand sanitizer out of his pocket, cleaning his hands as he read the flashing signs on the elevator screen.

He glanced over as he felt Kiyoomi’s stare on him.

“What?” 

Kiyoomi glanced down at Miya’s pockets.

“Oh, ya know. Just tryin’ ta keep clean for ya, Omi-Omi.” He waggled his eyebrows, lips spreading in an easy grin.

Kiyoomi snorted and, as the elevator doors opened with a ding, shook his head as he stepped out. “See you tomorrow, Miya.”

“Ya know ya can call me Atsumu!” Miya shouted through the doors as they closed on him.

Kiyoomi cleaned his hands, pulling his keys out of his pocket. He entered his flat, slipping the mask off as he stepped out of his runners and into his slippers. He wandered into the kitchen, washing his hands before placing his bag in its designated spot and digging in his fridge for whatever leftovers he had. Groceries would need to be bought soon, but Kiyoomi had more on his mind at the moment.

How was he going to survive the next few days? And how was he going to continue to pretend like he was unaffected by the way Miya dressed? The way Miya moved? The way Miya… 

Kiyoomi sighed. There was a good reason he avoided the team gatherings. One of those reasons was his great dislike of germs and general uncleanliness. The other…

He was well and truly screwed, which was only cemented in his mind as he ended up seated across from Miya at the supper Meian organized. 

They were at a fancier restaurant, instructed by Meian to “look nice and behave nicer,” so they were doing their best to pretend they were functioning adults. Some of them were successful. Others…

Kiyoomi winced as Bokuto dropped his spoon onto the floor after yet another failed attempt to get it to hang off his nose. He picked it up and stuck it back on his nose once more, much to Kiyoomi’s disgust, Hinata’s delight, and Meian’s disappointment.

A foot kicked Kiyoomi in the shin and he was forced to acknowledge the one face he had been avoiding for the entire supper.

“Yes, Miya?” 

The maroon silk button up was doing nothing to help Kiyoomi’s rampant crush as Miya leaned slightly closer across the table. 

“Are ya doin’ okay?” He whisper-yelled across the table. “Yer lookin’ a little tense.”

The spoon fell to the floor again.

Miya’s eyes widened in realization. “Ah.”

“If he tries to eat with that, I’m leaving and not looking back.” Kiyoomi hissed back at him.

Miya winked. “I gotcha, Omi. I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”

“You’d better.”

Under the fancy lighting of the restaurant, Miya’s blonde hair shone as he leaned over, catching in the light like it was spun gold. 

Good thing Kiyoomi preferred silver when choosing his jewelry. 

The food was set in front of them and Miya, seeing his opportunity, flicked the spoon balancing precariously on Bokuto’s nose, shaking his hand out at the sting. It spun across the floor and the waitress glanced down. 

“Oh,” she said, retrieving it off the floor once all the food was placed. “I’ll grab you a new spoon.”

Bokuto frowned and Meian shot a look at Miya as the waitress left.

“Atsumu, please don’t start. This place is too expensive to get kicked out of.”

“And don’t ruin the only fun we’re allowed to have,” Inunaki muttered, kicking at Miya under the table.

Miya shrugged, picking up his fork. “Food is here anyway, it's not like we could keep goin’. Plus,” he leveled his cutlery at Inunaki’s face, “yer just as much a problem.”

“I’m not a problem,” Inunaki sniffed. Adriah snorted, but didn’t make eye contact.

“Just an enabler,” Barnes said, the comment ending with Inunaki’s elbow driven into his side and punctuated by Meian’s sigh. 

“Can we be responsible for once?”

“Maybe just this once, cap’n.” Miya winked as he turned back to his food. He grinned at Kiyoomi, who in turn nodded his thanks and desperately hoped his ears weren’t as red as they felt. 

The rest of the meal passed in quiet contentment– as much as the Black Jackals could manage, which unfortunately was still much louder than Kiyoomi would like. But still, it was quieter than usual. Bokuto had received his new spoon, which eased some of the stress squeezing Kiyoomi’s stomach. Miya had joined the conversation to his side even as he ate, so Kiyoomi was graced with the opportunity to watch.

Miya was loud. Kiyoomi knew that, had been on the receiving end of many, many yells, but he found that he didn’t mind it as much anymore. And who talks with their hands that much? There was no way Miya was going to finish his food in time.

It used to bother him, the talking. Kiyoomi could pinpoint the exact moment that that changed. One week of practices had been drastically affected by a fight between the twins. Miya, predictably, was notably upset. What Kiyoomi hadn’t been expecting, after hearing all about the fight through Motoya, from Suna, from Osamu, was the silence. 

Of course he talked. You couldn’t stop Miya from talking, ever, but the chatter was different. It was less lively, less genuine, and Kiyoomi could tell it was all just a farce to dodge questions. He was abnormally quick to leave practice, and strangely absent on his phone despite Kiyoomi knowing that Miya lived and breathed social media.

Kiyoomi hadn’t even heard about the fight from Miya, and he heard about all of Miya’s fights. He was just mopey and silent, and it drove Kiyoomi up the wall. He was so bothered by Miya’s uncharacteristic silence that he submitted himself to the torture of asking Motoya if something had happened, and then again to the mortification of knowing that Suna knew he had asked. 

After a long game of telephone, Kiyoomi had finally gotten his answer and was able to begin working. It started with a couple carefully placed jabs, trying to see if Miya would respond. Kiyoomi had received nothing, so it was on to step two. He invited– yes, invited– Miya over to his flat for a movie, which started working. He never invited Miya, it was always Miya who initiated them hanging out, so of course he was going to come. Miya had brought his own blanket from his flat and had arrived bundled up in it when Kiyoomi opened the front door after Miya had kicked the door rather than knocking.

He entered Kiyoomi’s flat, face barely visible beneath the blanket and went straight to Kiyoomi’s sink to wash his hands before bee-lining towards his spot on the couch. Kiyoomi silently offered Miya the remote and was graced with a faint smile from beneath the mounds of fluffy pink blanket. Kiyoomi retrieved his own, much more subdued in colour, blanket and settled down to watch Tangled. 

Kiyoomi was pulled from his musing on the colour of Rapunzel and Miya’s hair by a small kick to his thigh. He glanced over to see Atsumu studying him curiously.

“Thanks Omi.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know how you found out, but thank you.” 

Miya’s voice was strangely quiet and choked. Kiyoomi hated it. So he resorted to what they do best.

“You can pay me back by making us supper.”

Atsumu had grinned, the first real expression of happiness Kiyoomi had seen in five days. Thus had commenced the destruction of Kiyoomi’s immaculate kitchen, courtesy of the infamous  Hurricane Miya. But Kiyoomi couldn’t even find it in himself to be upset, even as he helped Miya clean the mess he had no part in making, because he was smiling again. Warm, mindless chatter filled the space between them and Kiyoomi had finally been able to relax.

“Uh… Omi?”

Kiyoomi was jerked out of the memory by a quiet mumble and a foot tapping against his own. He jerked upright, clutching his fork tightly in his fist.

“I was thinking,” he said, flushing. 

Miya grinned at him. “Must’ve been some nice thoughts. Ya should try having them more often, ya look far less constipated.”

Why was this the man Kiyoomi had to have a crush on? It couldn’t have still been Wakatoshi, or at least someone cleaner, and less annoying. It just had to be Miya?

“You should try having any thoughts at all,” Kiyoomi mused as he turned back to his soba. “It would be an improvement from where you’re starting.”

Miya stuck his tongue out before taking a large bite of his yakitori. “Ya know, yer kinda mean Omi-Omi.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Apparently satisfied with that, Miya continued to eat. The rest of the meal passed in relative silence on Kiyoomi’s behalf, punctuated by the odd comment when someone directed a question towards him. He was content to just eat his soba in peace, and so he did just that. Meian paid for their meals with the funds from the team and they all went their separate ways for the night, some of them heading out to do other things. Kiyoomi and Miya chose to call it a night and head back to their respective flats.

“Don’t forget, supper at Onigiri Miya on Thursday! ‘Samu says he’s payin’!” Miya called, waving to everyone as they cheered. Miya grinned, turning back and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Osamu wouldn’t say that.”

“Hmm?”

Kiyoomi frowned. “Osamu wouldn’t pay for all of us. Especially not for you”

Miya shrugged. “I’ll convince ‘im somehow.”

Kiyoomi just snorted, leaving Miya to his scheming. A few minutes later, fingers tugged on the sleeve of his jacket and Kiyoomi glanced down to see Miya pinching the fabric of his sleeve between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Omi-kun, let’s stop there on our way!”

Kiyoomi pulled his gaze away from the hand on his jacket and followed the direction Miya was pointing. He squinted to make sure he was reading it right. “Miya. We just ate.”

Miya grinned at him, bright and happy. “But Omi, it's dessert, not supper. And ice cream is an anytime food, jeez, yer killin’ me here.”

Kiyoomi didn’t move, so Miya pouted. Really, a grown man pouting in the street because he wanted ice cream. Absolutely ridiculous.

And yet, Kiyoomi found himself unable to say no to the radiance that was Miya Atsumu under the soft, warm streetlights. He sighed, nodding his head in the direction with as much reluctance as he could muster. Which honestly wasn’t much as Miya’s pout evaporated and was replaced with a blinding grin. He couldn’t even be mad at the hand that wrapped around his covered wrist, pulling him towards the ice cream booth.

“Flavour?” Miya asked him as they neared. 

“Mint.” Kiyoomi responded simply, and Miya grimaced.

“Yer insane. Why am I not surprised ya like mint ice cream?”

“It’s a clean flavour,” Kiyoomi said defensively. “What flavour do you get?”

Miya shot him an offended look. “Mango.”

He ignored Kiyoomi’s protests that mango wasn’t a better flavour than mint and that, either way, preferred flavours are subjective and cannot be directly compared, and honestly, who was Miya to comment on Kiyoomi’s flavour preferences.

Kiyoomi’s rant was cut off by the clean scent of hand sanitizer and a mint chip cone being pushed into his hand. 

“Eat yer wacky ice cream,” Miya laughed, pulling Kiyoomi away from the stand with his free hand. Once Kiyoomi was happily eating his ice cream and they were far enough away from the stand, Miya licked his ice cream.

Kiyoomi regretted every decision in his life that led him to this day.

Because the way Miya looked with his eyes closed in bliss, the content smile curving his face, the warm blush settled on the apples of his cheeks, and even the dab of orange coloured ice cream on the tip of his nose because Miya eats like a toddler, was absolutely adorable. Kiyoomi thought his heart was going to thud out of his chest and he hoped it wasn’t as audible to Miya as it was to him, pounding painfully in his ears.

“I picked good, didn’t I?” Miya asked, eating more without opening his eyes.

“I wouldn’t call the impulse control of a child a ‘good pick,’ but if it keeps you quiet I suppose it is a win.” Kiyoomi forced out, his voice luckily more even than his heartbeat was.

Miya laughed, elbowing Kiyoomi with little care for either of their ice cream cones. “Yer an asshole.”

“We’ve established that.”

“I like that aboutcha.”

Oh. It got worse.

Kiyoomi desperately tried to keep his blush down while Miya walked on in complete ignorance at the havoc he was wreaking in Kiyoomi’s brain. Kiyoomi just hummed in response, continuing to eat his ice cream. He didn’t trust his voice to not betray him, not when he had managed to make it okay this far. 

So he walked in vaguely panicked silence as Miya, ignorant as always, began to cheerily recount even more stories and random anecdotes about different buildings they passed and ‘hey Omi, do ya think the pigeons tell each other stories about people, I bet I’d be a good one’ and ‘wouldja catch me if I fell into the river right now?’

The answer to the last one was no, as if it wasn’t already obvious.

“Miya, if you fell into the river you would already be there. I wouldn’t be catching you, and I’m certainly not going in the river.”

“Even if I fell in? What if I can’t swim?”

“Can you swim?”

“Well duh.”

“You look like someone who can’t swim.”

“Omi! What the hell does that mean, ya scrub?”

“I’m not going in a river.”

“Answer the damn question!”

Kiyoomi was glad his ice cream was finished and his mask was pulled neatly up over his face once more because he was unable to fight back the fond smile that broke over his face. It was so easy to rile him up, and if Kiyoomi was being honest, Miya looked rather cute with his cheeks flushed with indignation and his lips twisted in a pout.

They reached their building with Kiyoomi successful in his endeavour to dodge explaining his insult (there wasn’t a real explanation, Kiyoomi just thought it was funny) and they walked into the elevator, Miya once again pressing the buttons for both of them and procuring yet another bottle of hand sanitizer from the pockets of his jacket.

When he noticed Kiyoomi scrutinizing him he grinned. “Got one in each jacket Omi. I’ve gotta be prepared for my spikers.”

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow and, as the doors slid shut in front of them, Miya dug around the rest of his pockets. “I’ve got these candies for Shou, he loves ‘em and they calm ‘im down, but Bokkun can’t have ‘em because he’ll trip and choke on ‘em, so I’ve got these little onigiri squishies ‘cause they remind ‘im of his boyfriend, and even though he’s not my spiker I’ve got dad jokes on my phone for Meian cause Inunaki loves the dumb jokes but Meian’s the only one who also finds them funny and can tell them with a straight face.” He paused, cocking his head to the side like a dog. “Although I betcha Meian knows them all anyway, cause he is a real dad, ya know?”

Kiyoomi was stunned into silence. Well, he would’ve been if he was talking, but still. 

Miya, the biggest jerk he knew aside from himself, as Motoya liked to remind him, was endlessly thoughtful. He was still rambling about all the different things he carried on his person every day to make sure the team was always at their best when the elevator dinged announcing Kiyoomi’s floor.

“Miya,” Kiyoomi said, finally getting his attention. Miya looked up, hands busy stuffing everything back in his pockets. “Thank you. Really.”

He stepped out as the doors slipped closed on Miya’s shocked squawk. He grinned to himself as he made his way to his flat, already excited for onigiri night. Because the only thing better than riling Miya up on his own was riling Miya up with others, a game Osamu was always prepared for. And if Kiyoomi was going to take a guess, Suna was likely going to be there earlier than the rest of EJP, and he never had any qualms about also joining in. 

And when the time came and all of MSBY was lined up at the counter, Kiyoomi was happy to see that his prediction was entirely correct. 

“Come on,” Miya groaned. “Leave it be?”

“Never,” Suna and Osamu said at the same time. 

The rest of the team laughed. 

“Ya know, he once got stuck in a tree right in Kita’s yard ‘cause the scrub thought he could catch the opossum we spotted.”

“Kita had to tell his parents so they could hunt down the ladder to get him down.” Suna added, deadpan but eyes sparkling with mirth. 

“And then…” Osamu started for the punchline. “The dumbass missed the ladder and fell out the tree anyway.”

Laughter exploded in the restaurant and Miya pushed himself up, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. Not like you two didn’t do enough stupid shit too.”

Osamu shrugged. “Yer’s are funnier.”

Miya just responded by rolling the sleeves of his shirt up and tying an apron around his waist. “Whatever. Yer gonna get overwhelmed by everyone’s orders soon so move yer fat ass.”

Osamu smacked Miya over the head as the latter moved towards the sink to wash his hands before he began preparing onigiri for the team. 

Osamu leaned over the counter conspiratorially to where Kiyoomi was taking a sip of his water.

“Didja know he still sleeps with a nightlight?” He whispered with a casual smile.

Kiyoomi almost spat out his water and Osamu leaned lazily back, looking quite pleased with himself and Kiyoomi’s reaction. Miya snapped upright, zeroing in on Kiyoomi’s red face that he tried to cover with the hand over his mouth.

“‘Samu, what the hell didja just tell him.” Miya’s voice was dead serious, and tinged with an undercurrent of fear, which Kiyoomi didn’t understand. What would Miya be afraid of here?

Osamu just dropped a slow wink at Kiyoomi. “Nothin’ much. Just more a’ yer secrets.”

Suna slid to sit beside Kiyoomi. “Dinner’s going to be late,” he called down the counter to the rest of MSBY. There was a collective groan, but neither twin looked up or over. Miya grabbed the front of Osamu’s shirt, tugging him forwards, but Osamu’s smug grin remained in place. Miya squinted, his head tilting slightly, analyzing. Osamu’s smile dropped and his face went carefully blank.

“Oh,” Suna said mildly. “This doesn’t happen often.”

Kiyoomi turned to him, utterly lost. “I’m sorry, what are we looking at?”

As Kiyoomi watched, he thought that Suna, though his expression never shifted, looked more interested than before. “Well,” he drawled slowly. “‘Tsumu is not patient. I’m sure you’ve noticed. But in cases like this he prefers ta beat the answers out of ‘Samu, regardless of the bad success rate of that tactic.”

“He’s not though.”

“No.” Suna leaned his chin on his hand, content to watch. So Kiyoomi turned back to the twins, intent on figuring out why this time was different.

Miya still hadn’t released Osamu’s shirt. Both their faces were carefully constructed masks, which was quite disconcerting to see on the ever-expressive Atsumu. There would be the occasional small movement. A tightening of a fist, a single raise of an eyebrow, a slow lean forwards or backwards.

“Okay,” Kiyoomi said. “I’m hungry and done with this weird dominance ritual.” 

Suna glanced up as Kiyoomi stood, moving around the counter. He carefully avoided the food, not wanting to contaminate anything, and instead grabbed Miya by the back of his collar, dragging him backwards. This was accompanied by Osamu’s eyes darting up to look at Kiyoomi, Miya’s startled yelp, and cheering on behalf of MSBY.

Kiyoomi pulled Miya out from around the counter and then towards the back corner of the restaurant. Osamu promptly got back to work, accompanied by Suna as the two of them began entertaining the hungry team as they carefully (at least on Osamu’s part) filled and shaped the onigiri.

“Hey, hey, I can walk myself,” Miya said, twisting himself around in Kiyoomi’s grip. “What the hell is that for?”

Kiyoomi released him, immediately stepping back to reestablish his personal space. What possessed him to break it first was beyond him, but he blamed it on Miya. It was easier that way. And most things could be easily blamed on Miya without much resistance from anyone else.

He frowned. “I’m hungry,” he said simply.

“And?”

“And your little… fight…” he settled on finally, “was making everyone wait.”

Miya pouted, folding his arms over his chest. Kiyoomi definitely didn’t notice the bulge of his muscles as he did so.

“I almost had ‘im cracked.”

“Sure.”

“What did he tell ya?”

“Nothing important.”

Miya’s face did a funny little dance while he decided what emotion he was going to settle with in reaction to Kiyoomi’s statement. He ended up rolling his eyes and dropping his arms in some form of defeat. 

“Fine.” He said eventually. “But ya owe me, Omi.”

“I already let you call me that ridiculous nickname,” Kiyoomi said, spinning around and starting back towards his seat. “That’s payment enough.”

“Omi-Omi,” Miya gasped, full of mock offense. “How dare ya. I know ya love my nicknames, don’t even lie to me.”

Kiyoomi wished he could, but Miya was sadly correct, which made it so much worse. He did not originally like the nickname, that much he could keep for himself. Since the moment Miya started it back at their first training camp, Kiyoomi had hated it. And eventually, like Miya himself, or a rash, the nickname grew on him, slowly but surely. 

“I would never lie to you,” Kiyoomi deadpanned and Miya slapped his arm. Kiyoomi wished he could pretend that he still hated the physical contact as well.

“Glad the party’s already been started,” a voice drawled, accompanied by the tinkling of the bells positioned over the doorway for new customers. 

“And there’s headache number two,” Kiyoomi muttered under his breath. 

Miya turned sharply, a look of awe on his face. “Am I- am I headache number one?”

Kiyoomi glared at him and Miya’s grin sharpened. It was insufferable. Why someone like him could have a smile that made Kiyoomi feel like that (that would not be named for Kiyoomi’s sanity) was beyond him. Why it made Kiyoomi’s stomach flip in disgusting ways. Why it made him want to be on the receiving end of that particular smile more often. 

He settled for kicking Miya in the back of the knee and turning to his cousin. Miya, thankfully, took the hint and moved back behind the counter with a quiet laugh. He washed his hands once more before deftly shaping the onigiri once again, ignoring the look his brother shot him and the elbow Suna gave him. 

Motoya slid up beside Kiyoomi and he readied himself for whatever dumb words were about to leave his cousin’s mouth. 

“So… any progress on the Miya front?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Kiyoomi barely managed to suppress his disgust. 

There it was. 

“Motoya, please refrain from all your tendencies for the remainder of the night.”

“Rude, Kiyo.” 

“If anything, it’s your own fault for getting yourself involved in my emotional interests.”

“Bullshit,” Motoya laughed. “If I had to sit through one more hour long phone call, ‘oh Toya, he’s so hot’ or ‘if you had to sit next to him for so long you would be in love too’ or ‘why won’t he pay attention’ or-”

Kiyoomi kicked him to get him to shut up, dragging him closer to the counter to sit beside him. Motoya was an incorrigible gossip, but he did know when to keep his mouth shut. “Please behave,” he settled for pleading to make sure.

They sat down, sadly (for Motoya, not Kiyoomi), in front of where Miya was still happily shaping the onigiri. He was humming a little tune under his breath, horribly off key the whole time.

Motoya looked over to Kiyoomi. ‘Forearms?’ He mouthed, trying to school his facial features into something vaguely sympathetic. He failed miserably.

‘And hands,’ Kiyoomi mouthed back mournfully.

Motoya barely held back a laugh, instead determined to prolong Kiyoomi’s suffering.

“I’ve gotcha,” he said out loud. “Hey Atsumu?”

“Mmm?” Miya glanced up, his tongue disappearing into his mouth from where it had been  poking out adorably in concentration.

“Could you grab Kiyo and me a glass of water while you’re back there?”

“Sure Komori.” And he turned around, the fabric of his pants pulled taught and himself blissfully unaware of Motoya’s exaggerated wink. “There ya go.” He placed the glasses in front of them before his eyebrows shot up. “Almost fergot,” he tossed two coasters at them before going back to wash his hands once more. “‘Samu’ll kill me if the counter gets wrecked.”

Kiyoomi slid the coaster under his glass, grateful for the cool water as he took a sip. Motoya was intent on killing him tonight it seemed. Kiyoomi wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t be successful. Especially as Miya went back to his god awful humming.

But he made it through the night, with the assistance of the rest of EJP that would steal Motoya’s attention away from him. As the evening wrapped up and the athletes started leaving, thanking Osamu and waving goodbye on their way out the doors, Kiyoomi was pulled aside by Suna.

“Heard yer going to a club tomorrow.”

Kiyoomi grimaced. “Please don’t remind me. I don’t know why I said yes to Hinata.”

“I’m sure you know exactly why you did.”

He wasn’t wrong. Kiyoomi had two very good reasons. Number one was Hinata’s pouting face, which no one could resist. Not even the most stone-cold, heartless people he knew were impervious to the effervescence that was Hinata Shouyou. Reason number two was inevitable. It was simply the fact that Miya was going to be there, and Kiyoomi never had any sense of reason when it came to that sharp grin.

“I just wanted ta ask ya to look out for ‘Tsumu, ‘kay? We’ve been a bit worried about him, and we want ta make sure he doesn’t do something stupid. He gets dumb when he drinks.”

“As opposed to…?” Kiyoomi trailed off, looking over the where Osamu and Miya were currently snapping damp towels at each other. Miya missed and Osamu landed a perfect hit, cracking through the air and leaving Miya yelping and dancing away, clutching his ass.

Suna laughed, lips twitching up in a subdued smile. “Dumber, then.”

Kiyoomi sighed. “If he leaves before or at the same time as I do I will. Anything else is on him.”

“Thanks.” Suna nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets to pull out his phone. The camera light flashed on and Kiyoomi saw Osamu glance over before a wicked grin spread across his face. Miya didn’t notice. 

If he didn’t deserve it, Kiyoomi would feel sorry for Miya. But instead he just nodded to Suna. “Send me the video if it’s good, I’m sure you have my number from Toya.”

Suna nodded as Osamu spun the towel in quick, controlled circles.

“Have a good night,” Kiyoomi called, pulling the door open with his sleeve over his hand. The bells jingled, almost drowned out by Miya’s yell and Kiyoomi grinned to himself as he started his walk back.

His phone chimed in his pocket not five minutes later and his grin widened. It was a good night indeed.

But of course, karma does have it out for Kiyoomi. Because 24 hours later he was perched on a bar stool in a loud, bright, and glittery club, forced to watch the bizarre courtship rituals of his teammates and friends.

Hinata wanted to hit the club because his friend was visiting. The friend? None other than the infamous Oikawa Tooru. Kiyoomi had heard much about the setter through the multilayered complaints and compliments bestowed upon the man by Ushijima but the knowledge that Hinata was friends with him was a little strange. Yet here Kiyoomi was, sitting next to Iwaizumi Hajime, up and coming athletic trainer, watching them dance. 

Oikawa himself was on the dance floor with Hinata, imbued with multiple shots and whatever powers the gods gifted them while they were in Brazil, because the two of them dancing were magnetic. At least Iwaizumi and Kageyama thought so, both of whom had yet to release the white knuckled grip on their glasses or pull their eyes from the duo. Kiyoomi could appreciate the beauty of the dance, but the bonus about an age-old crush was that it took a lot for him to actually get distracted.

And Miya was distracting. While Kiyoomi had chosen trousers, a deep green button up half tucked in (and with the top three buttons undone because Motoya had yelled at him), and a decent pair of comfortable shoes, Miya was wearing a sheer black top that stretched tight across his muscles, tucked into black skinny jeans. And he was wearing body glitter. Body. Glitter. And eyeliner.

Kiypomi was glad he had showed up late (also due to Motoya) because he was choosing jewelry because he would’ve felt underdressed. Now, thanks to (Motoya’s impeccable taste in club-wear) his silver earrings and cuffs and the slim necklace he felt alright. Not comfortable, because it was a club, but alright. It was a clean club at least.

Bokuto was also late because he had brought Akaashi who, after getting off work and getting a few shots in, was surprisingly prone to dancing. The pair of them flowed around each other, Bokuto grinning wide as he lifted his arm to spin Akaashi, Akaashi sporting a content smile as he pulled Bokuto back in towards him.

Kiyoomi flagged down the bartender for another shot.

Iwaizumi and Kageyama looked over at each other, apparently sharing the same brain cell, the one telling them to maybe finally confess to their crushes. As if summoned by some supernatural cue they both stood and made their way to the dance floor smoothly cutting in. Oikawa winked at Hinata over Iwaizumi’s shoulder, a smug smile on his face as Kiyoomi realized their intoxicating dance had been a ploy all along.

Schemers.

Yet he couldn’t blame them. Hinata’s grin was blinding as he hooked his arms around Kageyama’s neck, whispering something to him that made him flush bright red before burying his head in the crook of Hinata’s neck.

Kiyoomi knocked his shot back the second it arrived.

“Whoa,” a voice arrived next to him. “Omi-Omi, ya drink like ya practice it.”

Kiyoomi turned slightly to shoot Miya a very practiced look of contempt. “Maybe because I do drink occasionally, Miya.”

The look faltered slightly as he took in Miya because, god, he was even prettier up close and with alcohol running through Kiyoomi’s system. The rosy flush sitting high on his cheekbones, the half-lidded eyes, the eyeliner , the inviting smile tugging his lips slightly higher on one side than the other.

Was that lip gloss?

Kiyoomi fought the urge to shake his head to clear his thoughts like an Etch-a-Sketch. 

“Can I help you with something?” He asked instead, lowering the shot glass to the counter as he leveled a flat stare at Miya.

“Yes.” The grin was back. The one that made Kiyoomi wish he could find out what those lips would taste like, feel those teeth on his neck, feel that tongue elsewhere.

He wanted to know what it was like to be devoured.

“Dance with me, Omi.”

Kiyoomi blinked once. Twice.

“What.”

Miya pouted. “Dance with me. Please tell me you’re not drunk already.”

“I wish I was more drunk,” Kiyoomi said flatly. “First off, I can’t dance. Second, look at the dance floor.”

Miya twisted around, head moving before his shoulders and torso followed. He whipped back around. “We’ll go to the back corner. And I’ll buy you a drink.”

Kiyoomi scowled. “I can’t be bought, Miya. Why don’t you just go dance with one of the women who are very clearly ogling you from the corner of the bar.”

Miya glanced back. When he turned to face Kiyoomi again a thoughtful look took over his face. Kiyoomi groaned.

“Whatever you’re planning, leave me out of it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. Because I don’t want to dance with one of those women.” He leaned forwards, hooking two fingers in Kiyoomi’s necklace to tug him closer as he leaned past him. His breath brushed the shell of Kiyoomi’s ears and he felt a shiver run down his spine. He could almost feel Miya’s grin. “I want to dance with you , Omi. The drink is an offer because I’m a nice guy.”

He pulled away, leaning his elbows against the bar counter as he tipped his head back lazily to watch Kiyoomi’s reaction.

Kiyoomi wrestled his desire back under control. 

“One shot. One dance.” Kiyoomi said evenly, and the way Miya’s eyes lit up just confirmed how big of a mistake he was making. 

“Yer on.” Miya waved for another shot for both of them. He held up his glass and Kiyoomi reluctantly clinked his against it before they both drank. Miya straightened, offering Kiyoomi an outstretched hand. “Well?”

Kiyoomi hesitated just for a second before sliding his hand into Miya’s. Miya pulled him up, spinning them into the back corner. Then, for the first time during the whole night, and no, Kiyoomi hadn’t been watching Miya the whole time, doubt stole over his features.

“Lemme know if you need a break or ya get uncomfortable Omi.”

“I’m already out here, Miya. Show me how to dance.”

It was the right thing to say because the worry disappeared. Miya’s hands were gentle where they guided Kiyoomi’s own to his shoulders as his hands settled around Kiyoomi’s waist.

“This okay?” Miya asked.

“Is this how you dance with everyone?” Kiyoomi said, thumb digging slightly into the divot above Miya’s collar bone.

Miya laughed and Kiyoomi felt a leg slide in between his, settling them comfortably together. He held in the gasp that threatened to leave him as Atsumu leaned in closer, his grip tightening on Kiyoomi’s hip. “Only the ones I like.”

Atsumu must have had more to drink than Kiyoomi thought because his cheeks were flushed even more. But he didn’t have the chance to say anything as Atsumu began to move, gently pushing Kiyoomi’s hips until he was swaying with the beat of the music.

“There ya go,” he said lowly, thumb tracing small circles above his hip bone. “Just feel the music.”

“It’s… not as bad as I thought it would be,” Kiyoomi admitted. Atsumu grinned. 

“Wanna learn more?” He asked and Kiyoomi, ever the architect of his own downfall, nodded nervously. “Just follow my lead,” he whispered before taking Kiyoomi’s hand and spinning him out, then back in, catching both of Kiyoomi’s hands in his own.. 

This time Kiyoomi ended up with his back flush against Atsumu’s chest. Atsumu guided his hands down, fingers still loosely entwined as they settled by his waist. Kiyoomi’s arms were crossed in front of him and he tightened his grip on Atsumu’s hands.

“Relax,” Atsumu said, his voice directly in Kiyoomi’s ear and vibrating through his back. Kiyoomi tried but it was nearly impossible with Atsumu right behind him, pressed against him like they were glued at the hips.

And as Atsumu released Kiyoomi’s hands to instead settle on his waist once more, Kiyoomi felt his brain explode. 

“Just like before,” Atsumu said, nudging Kiyoomi’s feet slightly farther apart with his own. “Move to the music.”

Kiyoomi inhaled sharply as he was essentially seated onto Atsumu’s lap. His common sense was stolen from him as Atsumu slowly began to move his hips, swaying to the music. Kiyoomi moved with him, sliding his hands up to settle behind Atsumu’s neck. His fingers slid into Atsumu’s soft undercut, his nails scratching gently as he adjusted. He felt more than heard Atsumu’s deep breath in and he leaned forwards, tucking his nose into the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck. His fingers twitched on Kiyoomi’s hips and Kiyoomi wondered what it would be like to have Atsumu hold him like this everywhere. To have his solid warmth behind him early in the mornings, to have his hands on his hips when they stood. What it would be like to be allowed to play with Atsumu’s hair whenever he wanted.

The thoughts jarred him out of wherever he was while dancing and he pulled away gently. He watched Miya’s hand hang in the air for a second longer before dropping. 

“Not too bad, eh Omi?” He joked, but his voice lacked the usual robustness that accompanied Miya’s teasing.

“You’re not as bad a dancer as I thought you would be,” Kiyoomi conceded, ignoring Miya’s half-hearted offended squawk. “I’m going to grab another drink. I think I’m owed another shot though.”

Miya smiled. “Ya got it, boss.” He gave Kiyoomi a mock salute, leading him back towards the bar where he ordered another few shots and drinks. He slid a shot and a glass over to Kiyoomi before taking two of his own shots and, after shaking his head briskly, dropped a wink at Kiyoomi and scooped up his drink, moving to the back corner of the bar where the flirty woman from before was smiling at him.

Kiyoomi found, as he drank his shot, that he missed the feeling of Miya’s broad hands on his hips. And as he picked up the drink Miya had ordered for him, his favourite kind despite him thinking that he had never actually told Miya that information, he thought that that was a dangerous train of thought. Especially as Miya continued to flirt with the woman. 

Kiyoomi studied her carefully. Her brown hair was carefully curled, her makeup meticulously done. Her shirt dipped down far enough to not leave much to the imagination, and her skirt sat high on her thighs. She was beautiful, Kiyoomi was sober enough to acknowledge as she rested her hand on Miya’s forearm.

Kiyoomi turned back to the bar as Miya walked her out to the dance floor. 

Miya could seduce anyone he wanted. That wasn’t any of Kiyoomi’s business. He sat there for a while longer, every once in a while checking in on the rest of his friends and carefully avoiding Miya as he drank a few waters.

He was facing the bar when a hand tapped on his shoulder.

“Uhm, Omi-san?”

Kiyoomi turned to see Hinata glancing about nervously. 

“Yes?”

“I’m worried about Atsumu-kun. I think he drank too much.”

Kiyoomi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did.” He spun on his seat to see Miya looking less than stable on his feet. He was about to tell Hinata to leave him be anyway when he remembered Suna. He said he would look after him. “I’m going to take him home,” he said slowly. “I was just about to order myself a cab anyway.”

Hinata brightened visibly. “Thanks Omi-san! I didn’t want to leave Oikawa-san here by himself.”

Kiyoomi thought about arguing that, considering Oikawa was currently pressed up against Iwaizumi in the corner, he was not exactly alone, but it was best not to subject himself to too many fruitless endeavours. “Of course,” He said dryly. “Wouldn’t want that.”

“You’re the best Omi-san!” Hinata cheered as he scampered back off to Kageyama.

“I’d goddamn better be,” Kiyoomi muttered to himself as he ordered a cab before preparing himself to the torture that would be one highly intoxicated Miya Atsumu. He pushed himself to his feet with a long suffering sigh and made his way towards Miya.

“Come on,” he grabbed him by the arm. “We’re going home.”

Miya hiccoughed. “We are?” 

“Yes.”

“Okay Omi.”

Kiyoomi blinked. He looked back at Miya, who was smiling with a stupidly content look on his face. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and, rather than trying to puzzle out this new side of Miya, settled for pulling him carefully out of the club and towards the taxi he had called.

He was able to wrestle Miya into the back and give the taxi driver instructions while buckling him in. He clipped in his own seatbelt as the vehicle began to move. Miya flopped over, resting his head Kiyoomi’s shoulder and staring up at him.

“What?” Kiyoomi snapped.

Miya made a face at his tone but didn’t pull away. “Yer-hic- very pretty, didja know that?”

Kiyoomi squinted down at him. “You’re very drunk.”

Miya performed a strange abortion of a shrug from where his cheek was pressed against Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “Doesn’ change much.”

Kiyoomi felt his cheeks flush and he settled for ignoring Miya’s stupid grin.

But by the time they got back to their building and Kiyoomi had paid for the taxi ride using the credit card Miya handed over at his request, Miya was already half asleep and pretty much completely unresponsive. The most he managed was a couple tired groans as he fought to get Miya out of the cab.

When he finally managed, Miya was slumped at his feet outside of their building while the driver sped away. Kiyoomi sighed. 

He got Miya upright with some difficulty, settling for Miya’s arm slung over his shoulder and his arm wrapped around his waist so he could carry him decently when Miya’s legs inevitably gave out under him. They walked in and headed for the elevator. 

“Sorry Sir,” the security guard said, wincing. “The elevator is out of service for repairs.”

“At this hour?” 

“It is 2 am, Sir.”

Kiyoomi took a deep breath. “It’s been a long night,” he said in lieu of an apology but feeling like he maybe owed the security guard something. 

“I hope it gets better,” the woman called as he moved for the stairs, Miya still all but limp in his grasp. 

Miya lived on the eighth floor. Kiyoomi lived on the fifth. 

Kiyoomi resigned himself to a guest for the night. Luckily he had a comfortable couch for Miya, not that he really would have cared with all the trouble Miya was putting him through tonight.

He began his long trek up the stairs, which with a drunk Miya took three times the length it should have. It consisted of four close calls of almost dropping Miya when the drunkard decided to flop his head backwards and his body tried to follow, two run-ins with the wall because Miya wasn’t light by any means, and three pauses for breath because Kiyoomi was in shape, but hauling 80 kg of drunk athlete up the stairs while intoxicated yourself is not easy.

But he finally made it up to his flat. He fished his keys out with some difficulty and dropped Miya into a chair at his kitchen table. He deposited his stuff into his room, cleaned up, changed, washed again, and collected the things he would need for Miya on the couch. He set a change of clothes in the bathroom alongside of a packaged toothbrush he doubted Miya would be coherent enough to use and walked back into the kitchen to check on him.

Miya was still exactly where Kiyoomi had left him. 

Kiyoomi sat down at the table across from him, quietly observing him for a little. 

His cheeks were ruddy with the flush of alcohol that hadn’t disappeared since early on in the club, his clothing in varying states of disarray, and his hair the most tousled Kiyoomi had ever seen it. It was kind of cute, the way his cheek squished up under the heel of his palm as he snored softly, lips parted slightly. 

Disgusting. 

Kiyoomi dropped his hand flat on the table, loud. Miya’s hand slipped instantly, his forehead hitting the table with a loud bang. 

He jerked up, rubbing the red mark on his forehead. Kiyoomi couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. Miya’s eyes slowly focused on Kiyoomi. He blinked a couple times before he managed a small, “Omi?”

“Lovely to see you awake,” Kiyoomi said slowly. 

“Shaddup.”

“Hands,” Kiyoomi said rather than dignifying him with a response and Miya stuck his hands out obediently as Kiyoomi squeezed some hand sanitizer into his hands. He then pulled Miya out of the chair and into the bathroom. “Clean up and change, you’re not sleeping on my couch in your dirty clothes. There’s a washcloth there for the… glitter.”

Miya blinked blearily at him and Kiyoomi realized he was likely going to be cleaning body glitter off his couch for at least a month. “Thanks Omi.”

“Just get changed.”

He waited at the table for Miya to stumble out, which thankfully was longer than it took to change but not long enough for him to have fallen asleep inside the bathroom. He stumbled over to the living room in the dark, falling face first onto the cushions and was immediately snoring. 

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes but stood and pulled the blanket he had prepared over Miya, tucking it in around his shoulders the way he had noticed Miya doing it in hotel rooms. Miya rolled slightly to curl into the blanket as Kiyoomi adjusted it. 

Kiyoomi still didn’t know why he did it. Miya ran hot, as evidenced by the speed at which he shucked off layers of clothes when the team went out. Kiyoomi had felt that heat as they had danced. Yet Miya always pulled the blankets close to him before falling asleep, even though by the middle of the night the blankets would inevitably be half on the floor and Miya himself would be starfished on the bed. 

He allowed himself one second to reach out and brush Miya’s soft hair out of his face before he straightened and walked back to his own room. He went to shut off the light on his way out but he hesitated. 

Didja know he still sleeps with a nightlight?

He wandered back in and flicked the light above the stove on, where it would be bright enough to be seen from the living room should Miya wake up, but still unobtrusive. Then he finished turning the kitchen lights off and wandered to his room lit by the soft yellow glow of the one remaining light. 

He shut his door and collapsed into bed, pulling his blankets up as he curled up on his side, tucking one hand beneath his pillow. He closed his eyes and, tired from carrying a whole ass man up the stairs (he can and will be bitter about it) fell asleep quickly. 

He woke up late, which wasn’t unusual. What was strange were the quiet noises coming from his kitchen. 

Rubbing his eyes, Kiyoomi stepped out of his room and blinked tiredly at Miya, bustling around his kitchen. The warm aroma of bacon and eggs filled the air and Miya swayed from side to side to an inaudible song as he cooked. 

“What are you doing?”

Miya jumped a foot in the air, almost throwing the spatula. “Jeezus Omi, just kill me why dontcha?”

“Might’ve been easier to carry you up the stairs that way.” Kiyoomi mumbled, although the insult lacked much heat. He was too tired, and too distracted by the sight of Miya in his sweatpants that crumpled by the ankles and the soft t-shirt that hung slightly off his shoulders. 

Miya flushed slightly. “Well that’s why I’m makin’ ya breakfast despite my raging hangover,” he said, brandishing the spatula at Kiyoomi like a weapon. “Coffee just finished. I know ya like it black like yer heart would be if you had one.”

Kiyoomi ignored this and wandered over to the freshly poured cup of coffee that sat on the counter waiting for him. “Would you like some aspirin?” He offered after a long sip of the coffee. Miya had made it strong, which was exactly what Kiyoomi needed this early. 

“Please,” Miya said with a hint of desperation. “I didn’t wanna go diggin’ too much while ya were asleep.”

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow, sliding his gaze across the many dishes pulled out and the arrangement of fruit that had been neatly sliced. Miya followed his gaze and shrugged. 

“I’m always in yer kitchen, but I know yer bathroom is organized like crazy. Figured it was one of yer safe spaces and didn’t want to disturb it.”

“Weirdly thoughtful,” Kiyoomi said as he pushed himself off the counter and fetched some aspirin for Miya, who swallowed it dry like a psychopath. 

Kiyoomi set the table and then sat with his coffee feeling oddly domestic. He forced himself not to think of it, instead listening to Miya talk about whatever came to his mind while he cooked.

“Hey, why was the stove light on this mornin’?”

Kiyoomi paused mid-sip. 

“Did it bother you?”

“No.” Miya frowned slightly. “No, I was glad fer it, but yer not an energy waster.”

Kiyoomi shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “A little birdie told me someone is afraid of the dark.”

Miya stared at him blankly and Kiyoomi had the pleasure of watching when the gears in his head stopped malfunctioning and the realization clicked in. 

“ That’s what ‘Samu told ya?” He asked, sounding shocked. 

“I don’t know what else you think he could have told me,” Kiyoomi said mildly. “You’re not exactly known for keeping secrets.”

Miya’s mouth opened and closed like a fish and he looked away. 

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Nothin’.”

“Come on Miya, spit it out.”

“No.” He turned around and continued to cook. 

Kiyoomi, having not drank enough of his coffee yet to possess rational thought, stood up and marched over to Miya. He pulled the spatula out of Miya’s grasp and when Miya stepped away to retrieve it, Kiyoomi pushed him back against the counter and caged him in. 

He didn’t have much of a height advantage and that’s why he had to use it correctly. He knew it pissed Miya off, so it was bound to work. 

With his hands on the counter on either side of Miya’s hips he leaned slightly over, forcing Miya to tilt his head back slightly to look him in the eyes. 

“What other secrets could you possibly be hiding?” He asked quietly, but his voice traveled just fine in the short distance between them. 

Miya was frozen, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. And it wasn’t just Kiyoomi who was caught off guard by the next words. 

“I like ya, Omi-kun. A lot.”

Kiyoomi blinked. Atsumu stared. Kiyoomi blinked again. 

His brain had shut off, flashing the Error 404: Body Not Found sign in his mind. His body and brain were like his Bluetooth headphones when they paired but wouldn’t play, try disconnecting and reconnecting. He was frozen in place, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to comprehend what was happening in front of him. 

Clearly Atsumu didn’t have the same problem, as his cheeks were flushed, his ears red and the colour spreading down his neck under his t-shirt. If Kiyoomi followed it, would it cover his chest? His back?

Cute, he mused, but he wasn’t hearing a single word Atsumu was saying, and man was saying a lot. 

By the time Kiyoomi’s brain caught up, Atsumu was in the middle of a sentence. 

“-and I get it if ya don’t like me back, I’ve just been crushin’ on ya fer a while and I just lately started to realize it, but it’s fine if ya don’t like me, I get it, it’s okay, I just wanted ya to know just in case, and so we can stay friends without it bein’ weird, oh my god, did I make it weird, I’m so sor-“

Kiyoomi grabbed Atsumu by the back of the neck, relishing in the sudden realization in his honey brown eyes, and pulled him in. Their lips met and god, it was like every dream Kiyoomi had had was coming true. Atsumu went pliant in his grip, jaw relaxing as he finally stopped talking and leaned into Kiyoomi as he pulled him closer. 

Kiyoomi pulled back for a second, Atsumu’s soft lips following him. “You talk too much,” Kiyoomi whispered into the even smaller space between them. 

Atsumu smiled, small and sly despite the redness still covering his face. “I bet you could fix that, easy.”

“I could,” Kiyoomi leaned back in, watching Atsumu’s eyes flutter closed. “But I am curious…”

Atsumu groaned at the denial, fisting his hand in Kiyoomi’s shirt but not pulling him any closer. 

“How long have you liked me?”

“Does it matter?” Atsumu huffed, lips twisted in a pout. 

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Answer the question, Atsumu.”

Atsumu’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply. Kiyoomi would keep that in mind. Names were a powerful thing, after all. 

“Known? A couple months. Felt it? Since at least a month after ya joined the team.”

Kiyoomi smiled, victorious. “I win.”

“What?”

“I win. I’ve liked you since high school.”

Atsumu’s jaw dropped before his eyes lit up in realization and his mouth twitched into a cheeky grin. “So yer sayin’ ya were seduced by 17 year old me?”

Kiyoomi grimaced. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Ya were!”

“Shut up, Miya.”

“Make me, Kiyoomi.” The vowels of his name curled deliciously around Atsumu’s tongue, sliding off in that ridiculous Kansai-ben accent of his. 

Kiyoomi reasoned that although he could listen to that accent all day, now was not the time. 

“Alright,” He agreed easily, one hand sliding into Atsumu’s hair to guide him closer and the other resting on his hip to make sure he stayed there. 

Judging by the way he melted into Kiyoomi’s mouth though, that wasn’t going to be a problem.

What was a problem though, was the smell of burning eggs. 

Kiyoomi pulled back. “Miya?”

Atsumu thunked his head against Kiyoomi’s chest. “Please don’t go back to calling me by my last name.”

“Your eggs are burning.”

“Shit!”

After wrangling the eggs back under control, Atsumu finished cooking breakfast with Kiyoomi standing behind him with his hands loosely wrapped around Atsumu’s waist and his chin resting on his shoulder. They ate at the table, legs entwined underneath, and then they did the dishes, and, much to Atsumu’s reluctance, Kiyoomi left to brush his teeth with a thinly veiled threat that Atsumu should do the same if he was hoping for anything. 

Atsumu came out of the bathroom, teeth brushed and hair finger-combed out of his face. It fell in soft, messy waves as a result of last night’s styling and Kiyoomi wished he could run his fingers through it. 

And then he remembered he could. 

He made little grabby hands at Atsumu, who laughed but climbed onto the couch overtop of Kiyoomi with no small amount of joy. Right before he pressed his entire body weight above Kiyoomi he paused. 

“This okay?”

Kiyoomi nodded and Atsumu grinned, plopping down onto him. The breath was knocked out of him and he groaned, but settled comfortably under the warm weight of Atsumu and began playing with his hair where Atsumu’s head lay on his chest. 

After a couple minutes of just lying there content, Atsumu turned his head to watch Kiyoomi. He pulled himself closer until they were face to face, and with a soft smile, he pressed their lips together. Kiyoomi closed his eyes and allowed his fingers to wander across Atsumu’s back, shoulders, chest, wherever he wanted. His fingers paused, and Atsumu pulled back. 

“Omi?”

“Are we…” Kiyoomi pursed his lips, glancing away. “Do we… date now?”

Atsumu kept himself held above Kiyoomi, arms locked. “Do ya want to date now?”

“Do you?” Kiyoomi shot back, face turning red. 

Atsumu grinned at Kiyoomi’s defensive response. “If ya would.”

Kiyoomi frowned. “I’ve never really dated anyone before. Not seriously.”

Atsumu settled back down, propping his chin on his arms folded across Kiyoomi’s chest. “That’s fine.”

“What if I lose?”

“It ain’t a competition, sweetheart,” Atsumu hummed, then laughed as Kiyoomi’s face scrunched up. “Not that then? What about honey? Cutie? Babe?”

Kiyoomi planted his palm against Atsumu’s face and pushed lightly. “Shut up or you’re going on the floor.”

“Okay,” Atsumu agreed amiably. At least, Kiyoomi thought so before he grinned mischievously. “Love.”

Kiyoomi pushed him off the couch. 

What he didn’t anticipate (although he should’ve from someone with a close sibling) was being pulled onto the floor as well. Atsumu rolled them over so he was once again on top. 

He leaned down and pressed two kisses to the moles on Kiyoomi’s forehead. “Shark week marathon?” He offered with a sly grin. 

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the fond smile as Atsumu kissed his cheek before standing and pulling Kiyoomi to his feet as well. 

“Wait.” Kiyoomi said, pulling his hand away. Atsumu frowned.

“What’s up?”

“I was promised candy.”

Atsumu froze. “I don’t have it yet, we were drinking last night.”

“You did promise though.”

Atsumu shot him a look and Kiyoomi realized he might be in for it.

Atsumu stepped forwards, catching Kiyoomi by the hips and tugging him in close. “Omi, I am the snack for today."

Kiyoomi sputtered a laugh, his face going beet red despite the fact that it should be Atsumu who was embarrassed. The criminal himself just laughed, leaning in so their noses brushed.

“Are ya saying I’m not sweet?” Atsumu continued and Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “I’m sure if ya wanted ya could ea-”

Kiyoomi shut him up the easiest way he knew how. He pulled him in, sealing their lips together as he felt Atsumu grin. As Atsumu pressed in, Kiyoomi nipped at his lower lip, causing him to sag slightly with a soft sigh. He grinned. He was going to have to use that against Atsumu later. 

“Hmm,” he hummed, tapping his fingers contemplatively on Atsumu’s cheeks. “Doesn’t quite live up to the candy I want.”

He pulled away as Atsumu’s jaw dropped in shock and offense, but Kiyoomi soon returned with fresh popcorn. He pressed a kiss to Atsumu’s cheek as he passed by and pulled the man from his stupor. Atsumu followed him to the couch, his fingers twisted in the back of Kiyoomi’s shirt.

They settled down for their typical movie hangout, blankets pulled up on the couch. And when Atsumu wedged himself somehow behind and on top of Kiyoomi, arms thrown around him, Kiyoomi couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to get lucky. 

Atsumu’s phone lit up with a text. 

bout fuckin time scrub, it read, and Kiyoomi let out a laugh. Atsumu glanced down at his phone and groaned before tucking it away, guiding Kiyoomi’s head back for another kiss. 

If this was what dating Atsumu was, then Kiyoomi could get used to it. And if Atsumu hid his head behind Kiyoomi’s shoulder when the goblin sharks arrived, arms tightening around his middle then, really, who was Kiyoomi to complain?