Work Text:
Kiyoomi is roused from his slumber slowly.
Maru, his familiar, stirs him from unconsciousness with tiny yet audible trills, fluffy black tail tickling his nose as she trapezes across his once slumbering body. He strokes her head for a few lingering seconds, relishing in the rumble of her deep, contented purrs reverberating. For a moment, life feels perfect. The tree sparrows outside of his window coo their maple sweet song, warbling and melodic like the chiming of bells. The smooth breeze glides in past the cracked window to say hello, rustling his drapes and carrying with it the scent of springtime blooms and blades of mowed grass. It would be easy — wonderful , even — to remain in bed and let the day pass him by like the puffy cotton clouds floating lazily above. Effortlessly, breezily, worry free.
Of course, it can’t possibly be so simple. Kiyoomi has a magic shop to run, after all. There are orders to be filled, herbs to be gathered, and a number of spells to be cast. So, this tender moment with Maru cannot feasibly last the whole day long. Instead, he hops up from beneath his covers, showers thoroughly, and gets dressed at a molasses pace. The earlier he wakes, the more time he has to wind down over breakfast.
He later settles in at the kitchen table with a cup of chamomile tea and a plate of fresh fruit, jotting down the ingredients needed for today’s workload as he eats. Star anise, cinnamon, thyme. The hustle and bustle of expectations may be awaiting him, yes. But for now, Kiyoomi takes his time.
Then, of course, his solitude — the blissful, serene silence — is broken by a certain nagging someone by the name of Komori. Komori, who is presently banging on his apartment door, loud and incessant. Kiyoomi frowns into his cup of tea, fingers tightening around his mug as the volume only grows with time. Because why wouldn’t Komori feel the need to shatter what was once a rather comfortable moment in his cozy little home?
“Just come in , Komori. You know that the door is unlocked, why must you do this every time?” Kiyoomi complains. “Imbecile,” he adds petulantly beneath his breath.
Like clockwork, Komori barrels through the front door, slipping off his tattered work boots by the mat. At least he’s done one thing correctly.
“Good morning!” he chirps, all sunbeam bright and far too innocent, considering the ruckus he’s caused.
“You are a nuisance,” Kiyoomi murmurs plainly, flipping to the next page inside of his spell book, scribbling down further details for today’s spell-work. He wonders, distantly, if there is a spell out there for quieting meddling cousins. He’ll have to search for one on company time.
Komori merely chuckles at his admittedly half-hearted insult, flopping into the wooden chair across from the witch with a dramatic huff. “And you’re a ray of summer sunshine,” he replies sarcastically. “You really shouldn’t just let me walk in like that, you know. Lock your door! What if I was an axe murderer? Or an assassin?”
“Good. Put me out of my misery,” the witch mumbles, taking a small sip of tea. “Besides, you already know that the apartment is charmed with a warding spell—it was meant to keep away evil. It might not be working though, since you keep managing to break in.”
His cousin scoffs. “Dramatic. You know, if you weren’t a witch, I’d tell you to take up acting classes. Who knows? Maybe you’d be signed by an agent.”
Kiyoomi’s eyebrows furrow in annoyance. “Did you just come here to insult me? Or do you actually need something?”
Komori plucks a crimson strawberry from his cousin's plate, skillfully avoiding a smack to the back of his knuckles. He hops up from his chair, motioning towards the front door with the hand that is now holding what had once been an addition to Kiyoomi’s breakfast. Stupid jerk.
“What I need is for you to come downstairs. There’s some guy outside of the shop who’s been looking for you. He has the roses that you need for the spell the Suzuki’s ordered? I can’t sign for them, though. You have to do it.”
“Why? We’re family. You literally work here, just do it yourself.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a co-owner, remember? The shop is in your name. So are the roses. Much to my dismay.”
“That’s because you’re hopeless. Remember the fire you started after casting an abundance spell while I wasn’t home? The shop smelled of char for weeks. An abundance of health hazards is all we got out of it.”
“It was one time!” Komori defends.
“One time was enough,” Kiyoomi sniffs, sparing a glance at the ticking clock on the wall. Eight-thirty AM. The delivery man is a half hour early — which may as well be seventeen hours early, in Kiyoomi’s humble and absolutely correct opinion. No one believes in punctuality anymore.
“Alright. Well, then you can tell him that I’ll be down in a few minutes. He chose to come early, not me. I’m finishing my breakfast before I even think about conversing with people.”
“Kiyoomi,” Komori chides, crossing his arms.
“Komori,” he answers, unblinking.
His cousin sighs, shaking his head in exasperation. “You really are a piece of work. Alright, I’ll tell him. Hurry up though, we do have a shop to run. Those spells aren’t going to cast themselves.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
—
Going against his previous words, Kiyoomi heads down to the shop early. Not that he’s happy about it, of course, but that’s besides the point. He has a busy day ahead of him and had been hoping to soak up every last second of his free time. Knowing him, he won’t be back home until the sun has dipped down past the horizon once again. Unfortunately, things happen — things like early delivery men and annoying, loud cousins named Komori. Really, Kiyoomi has half a mind to tell the delivery driver off. He has half a mind to sign that stupid paperwork, snatch those roses up and into his clenched fists, all before marching away.
Until, of course, he doesn’t do any of that. He short circuits instead, charcoal eyes growing wide as he approaches the delivery truck parked in the lot outside of their storefront. Because the delivery man holding his order is, to put it bluntly, unreal. He must be unreal. There is no way a human being can breathe and walk the same Earth as Kiyoomi with such golden brown skin, wind tousled hair and thick, muscular arms.
The stranger looks like a sunny day. He has these whiskey brown eyes and full, mauve lips, lips that are separating to form words that Kiyoomi should most definitely be listening to, rather than ogling so shamelessly.
“A dozen red roses fer… uh — ” he glances back down at the paperwork before locking eyes with Kiyoomi once more. His golden gaze is piercing and warm like an August afternoon. It only means trouble. “Sakusa Kiyoomi! I’m guessin’ that’ll be you?,” the stranger questions, quirking those plush lips up and into a coy, lopsided grin. Trouble, trouble, trouble.
Kiyoomi nods his head wordlessly. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. If he speaks, he might say something stupid. Something egregiously, horribly, unfathomably stupid, like ‘you’re so handsome, how did you do that?’ or, ‘let’s get married and adopt thirty cats next Saturday. How about it?’
How mortifying.
His lack of a verbal response must come across as rude however, because that charming grin wilts like daisies do in October, a month that houses the first signs of frost. The man averts his gaze, scratching at the back of his neck. He holds the clipboard out to Kiyoomi with his free hand pen attached. “M’sorry fer showin’ up a lil’ earlier than anticipated. Tha folks my family buys their flowers from dropped off tha roses real early this mornin’. I wanted to make sure that ya got ‘em fresh ‘cause our storage fridge ain’t workin’ too good, these days. I shoulda called beforehand. Ya can sign here n’I’ll get outta yer hair. Sounds good?”
Kiyoomi hates that small, incessant voice inside of him that screams, ‘No. No, that is not good.’
“It’s.. fine. Don’t apologize for that. I’m sorry if I came across as hostile, I’m just a bit tired,” he lies, keeping his explanation curt but polite. However, maybe it isn’t a lie anymore. Maybe those enchanting eyes are enough to ease his previous irritation, melting it away like powdery snow beneath the light of the sun. If his shoulders sag in relief when the stranger's smile returns, brightening at his words, then that’s his own little secret to keep.
“Nah, ya weren’t bein’ rude or nothin’, don’t worry ‘bout that! Just felt bad fer showin’ up at tha wrong time, that’s all. M’not a mornin’ person myself but it comes with tha job, I guess. So, do ya run tha shop by yerself? It must be hard, handlin’ all tha business responsibilities on yer own.”
“No, not alone. It’s in my name but my cousin works alongside me. Besides, I inherited the shop. It was my grandmothers before it was ours.”
“Do ya get busy ‘round here?”
“Busier than you’d expect a witch to be, I guess. I have a pretty consistent stream of customers, so I know what to expect, depending on the time of year,” Kiyoomi murmurs with a shrug, glancing down at his feet. He feels uncharacteristically bashful, hoping and praying that the color dotting his cheeks isn’t noticeable. If it is, the blond doesn’t comment on it. “We’re comfortable enough. What about you? Are you a florist?”
“Nah. My Ma is tha florist of tha family. ‘Samu n’me just take care of tha deliveries for her.”
“‘Samu?”
“Osamu—my brother,” he explains.
“Right. So, then that makes you…?” Kiyoomi questions, cocking up a brow.
The stranger's eyes widen at that, his sun-browned cheeks growing pink.
“Sorry ‘bout that! My manners ran fer tha hills today, I guess. I’m Atsumu. S’real nice ta meet ya, Kiyoomi,” he scrambles to introduce himself, propping out a hand. His embarrassment is endearing, causing Kiyoomi’s heart to tremble in its home beyond his ribcage. He is painfully afraid of what that means. As the witch's name floats past his lips, the world ceases to turn. It’s a pretty sound, he decides, Atsumu saying his name with such care. It leaves him feeling light like leaves floating upon the wind. After a moment's hesitation, Kiyoomi takes his extended hand into his own, shaking it firmly. His palm is warm, his skin soft.
This time, when Atsumu smiles, Kiyoomi follows suit. His own smile is faint but no less genuine. It’s easy to forget himself, right here in this parking lot. For a moment there are no rose bouquets to sign for, and no magic spells to cast. There is only Kiyoomi and Atsumu, this handsome, only-sort-of-stranger that has made his way to the shop. If Kiyoomi weren’t a witch himself, he’d wonder if he’s been enchanted, struck straight through his heart with an arrow. Then, Atsumu clears his throat, dropping his hand as he does.
Just like that, the spell is broken. Kiyoomi tries not to feel disappointed as the distance between their bodies returns, as though the gap had never once been bridged at all. So much for adopting thirty cats together.
“Have I signed everything?” Kiyoomi asks politely, standing up straight.
“Oh. Uh, yeah, that’s everythin’.”
“Good. Well, I have to get going before my cousin throws a fit. But thank you, for dropping off the roses and for talking to me. Chatting with you has been… lovely,” he murmurs, not a trace of sarcasm to be detected. What would be the sense in lying? It truly was wonderful, despite not lasting for long.
Atsumu nods, humming in agreement. “No problem, anytime. Yer quite tha special witch, Kiyoomi,” he tacks on shyly, scratching the back of his neck. Kiyoomi can tell, just from the way the words fall, that they are as earnest as anything. Somehow, that makes saying goodbye so much worse.
Kiyoomi nods politely, offering a small wave of his hand before trudging towards the shop with a heavy heart. It’s ridiculous, really, getting upset over a total stranger. After all, Kiyoomi doesn’t even know the man. The charming, bright eyed, well-spoken, devilishly handsome man. He’s a stranger, at the end of the day. Unfortunate, yes, but true nevertheless. Kiyoomi just needs to get over himself, that’s all.
And then, “Wait a minute!” Atsumu calls, hot on his heels as he jogs to match Kiyoomi’s stride.
Kiyoomi’s eyes widen in surprise as he tilts his head back. “What is it? Did I forget to sign something?”
The blond shakes his head. “No, no, s’nothin’ like that. I just — listen, I know that you have a shop to run, I don’t wanna get ya in trouble with yer cousin. I’ve got more deliveries to take care of, anyways, so I won’t take up too much of yer time. But uh, I was wonderin’ — are ya free sometime this week? Yer real nice and I was just thinkin’ that maybe we could grab dinner somewhere? Just us? It’ll be my treat.”
Kiyoomi scoffs inwardly as Atsumu dubs him ‘nice.’ The witch can count on more than one hand the number of people who would vehemently disagree with that statement. After all, he has the loyal customers that he does because he’s a brilliant spellcaster — not because he’s friendly. Komori handles the social side of things at ‘Sakusa’s Spellbook’ for a reason. Still, the offer makes his chest swell like a balloon being pumped full of helium.
It is dangerous, this taunting desire. Kiyoomi has seen what love can do to people. Heartache and pining comes along with his line of work, pouring from desperate people that want a spell to give them all the love they crave—the love they must find inside of themselves first. Desire can make the smartest man act foolishly. This doesn’t stop his wanting, all the same.
Kiyoomi merely smiles, dark eyes crinkling at their corners as he murmurs, “Stop by the shop sometime soon. Maybe then, we’ll see.”
With that, he continues walking on, leaving Atsumu with weak knees straight behind him. It seemed to be the safest thing to do.
—
Komori grins at him from the shop’s doorway, wide and unabashed. He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Kiyoomi wonders, distantly, if he’s done something to displease the Gods. Maybe that would explain why he’d been given Komori for a business partner.
“Soooooo, what was all of that out there?” Komori questions, motioning towards the parking lot with a thumb.
Kiyoomi’s eyes narrow as he pushes past his cousin to make his way inside, plopping the bouquets of roses onto the counter. “What was all of what out where? Me having a casual conversation? I didn’t realize that would be considered remarkable.”
Komori snorts, hauling his body up to sit on the counter beside the flowers. He expertly avoids Kiyoomi's glowering stare. “Is that what we’re calling making dinner plans nowadays? Casual conversation? Times have certainly changed.”
Kiyoomi flinches. Damn Komori and his eavesdropping ways.
“Making friends is a thing, you know. Besides, we didn’t make official dinner plans. I said ‘we’ll see’. As in, maybe. Possibly. Perhaps. Do you need more synonyms?”
“Right. ‘ Friends.’ Friends don’t make googly eyes at each other in a parking lot for thirty minutes. You think he’s hot, don’t you?”
“Shut up. And I was not making googly eyes at him,” Kiyoomi defends.
He totally was.
“You shut up! You’re not fooling anybody but yourself. Stop being so bullheaded and call it what it is! It’s a date! Who is one little date going to hurt?” His cousin reasons.
Me, if it doesn’t work out,Kiyoomi thinks but doesn’t dare to say aloud. He huffs in lieu of repsonding, averting his gaze stubbornly.
Komori frowns. “Kiyo. Look at me. You aren’t going to wither up and die by going on a singular date, you dramatic baby. Just go out with him! Live a little! You’re literally always cooped up inside. It’s kind of sad, actually. You could use a boy toy, maybe it’ll make you less cranky.”
“I do not need a ‘boy toy’, Komori. Who even says that? Besides, I like being cooped up inside. Have you considered that? I have all of the company I could ever need right here,” Kiyoomi grumbles, flicking a fallen rose petal from the corner of the countertop.
Komori scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He cocks up an eyebrow in challenge. “And what company is that, hm? Your sprigs of rosemary?”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Kiyoomi does not need any romance in his life. Truly, he doesn’t. Even if the man in question who could potentially become a romantic partner of some kind, some day — not that he’s even considering it, don’t be ridiculous — has eyes that rival raw, sticky honey, the same kind that Kiyoomi uses in his spell jars. Skin so soft and smooth, a smile as blinding as a jar of fireflies.
He’s kind. Cheeky. Gorgeous. Definitely ‘boy toy’ material, in short. But Kiyoomi probably flubbed his chances by being too cool. So, that doesn’t really matter now, does it? Not even a little bit. Of course not.
If he screams into his pillow that night, disturbing Maru from her deep slumber, then he and his disgruntled familiar are the only two that need to know about it.
—
However, to his own surprise — and, secretly, his delight — Atsumu does in fact return. Kiyoomi does a double take when he spots a head of blond hair in the shops doorway the following afternoon, just as wind ruffled and wonderful as it had looked the day before.
“Atsumu?” He calls out in question from his work station, just as the man raises a hand up in greeting.
“Long time no see!” Atsumu says sunnily, his charming grin seeming to brighten the room with all of its shine. Kiyoomi desperately needs to get a grip. He disgusts even himself.
“How’s tha business been treatin’ ya today?”
“Fine,” Kiyoomi answers slowly, testing the waters that flow between them. The witch is unsure of why Atsumu is here, after all. Does he want something done? Is he here to say hello? “Slow enough to fit you in, if you need something cast?” He prys subtly.
“Nah, I don’t need nothin’. Thanks fer tha offer, though! Save a spot fer another lucky duck.”
Kiyoomi’s brows furrow in confusion. “If you don’t mind me asking, Atsumu — if you don’t need a spell to be cast, then what is it that made you stop by?”
“What, I can’t pay a casual visit to see my favorite witch ‘round town?” The blond teases.
Kiyoomi huffs, fighting off the smile that now threatens to waltz its way onto his mouth. So, he did stop by to say hello. Something about that makes Kiyoomi’s heart soar. “It’s not that, I just... hadn’t been expecting you to actually come back this way, I guess. Komori and I seldom have guests dropping in. Orders are almost exclusively placed by phone.”
“Huh. Why’s that?”
The witch shrugs, reaching for his mortar and pestle. “Embarrassment, I imagine. Spellwork is sought out more commonly, these days — and not for cheap, either — but some people still see it as taboo. We deliver plenty of our orders under the radar.”
“Well, that’s just fuckin’ stupid,” Atsumu murmurs bluntly, startling a chuckle from Kiyoomi.
“It is what it is. Anyways, how can I even be your favorite witch? You hardly know me,” he reasons, opening a jar of dried thyme.
Atsumu hums, leaning over the counter to watch as the witch works, skilled fingers fiddling with this and then with that. Kiyoomi pauses his ministrations to stare back at him quizzically. Nevertheless, the blond remains rooted to the spot he chose, peering over at the witch with his dreamy, inviting gaze. It threatens to send Kiyoomi spiraling, being observed so closely.
“Maybe I don’t know ya too well yet. But I’m tryin’ to change that, if yer willin’. Dinner? I know a real nice spot down by tha water. S’got tha perfect view of tha sunset this time of year,” Atsumu coaxes, voice sweet and drawling and oh so convincing.
And he wants so desperately to say yes. In fact, Kiyoomi is unsure of what is stopping him from doing so. It’s one little word. A single syllable, so simple and short and sweet. Yes, yes, yes. His heart threatens to scream the word from each and every rooftop in the city. Still, there is a lingering fear that rages in his stomach, kicking up an unrelenting storm. Because Kiyoomi can be petty and blunt and unkind. He loves his work. So much so, that luring him away from it is difficult. He is complicated through and through — this is an undeniable truth. And he’s gotten comfortable with himself and his own habits. But will somebody else?
Sure, maybe Atsumu likes what he sees now. Maybe he likes the mystery behind Kiyoomi’s polite hesitance. But will he like Kiyoomi’s rough edges? Will he stay when doing so gets to be hard? Only time will tell, and he’s afraid to find out.
So, Kiyoomi merely smiles. Yet again, he murmurs, “We’ll see.”
—
“You’re digging the blondie,” Komori accuses later that night, talking around a forkful of rice.
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am. Not,” Kiyoomi spits.
“... Are too.”
“Oh my God, Komori, just eat your dinner,” Kiyoomi moans.
“I will when you stop being stubborn. Just admit it!”
Kiyoomi takes a sip of wine. “You’re so nosy. This really isn’t any of your business, you know. And stop eavesdropping on people, it’s rude.”
“Is it really eavesdropping if you’re being that loud? You two practically forced me to listen, giggling like little school girls. Just fuck already, your flirting is gross.”
“Shut up, Komori!” He chides, burning holes through his dinner plate with the intensity of his gaze. His cheeks burn angrily, embarrassment crashing over him like tidal waves. “And stop talking with your mouth full. You’re disgusting.”
“Oh my God? You’re actually so rude, I want a new cousin,” the older witch complains, stabbing his fork into a piece of broccoli.
Kiyoomi merely sighs, staring out the window at the scarlet sun, dipping down past the towering trees. “Don’t we all?”
Dinner? I know a real nice spot down by tha water. S’got tha perfect view of tha sunset.
At that moment, though, Kiyoomi isn’t thinking of his cousin.
—
Atsumu’s visits don’t stop after that. In fact, his persistence only intensifies and thus, so does his presence in the shop. One visit turns into two, and then two turns into twenty. Before long, Kiyoomi’s lost count of them all. He has since forgotten what his life had been like before Atsumu had shown up to share it with him. The witch finds that perhaps, he doesn’t wish to remember such a detail at all. ‘Before Atsumu’ no longer seems to be a category of memories worth visiting.
Most of their time together is spent chatting about everything and nothing, hour after hour, as dawn turns to dusk and the world begins to whisper. Kiyoomi had never known that he could talk so much. It seems there’s always something to be said when Atsumu is near him, even if it’s random or fleeting.
They’ve fallen into a comfortable routine, and an equally comfortable friendship — though Kiyoomi’s pining heart shows no signs of quieting itself. In fact, his feelings have merely grown tenfold with the passing months. Today, the pair sits side by side at Kiyoomi’s work station, listening to raindrops pitter pattering against the wooden rooftop. The blond has become the shop’s assistant of sorts, paid exclusively in baked goods and mugs of tea or coffee. That is, he’s an assistant when he can actually be bothered to pay attention.
“Atsumu, pass me that bottle of honey,” Kiyoomi mumbles, onyx irises fixated on each and every flicker of the tantalizing flame burning before him. The pink candle wax has already begun to melt, dripping lazily. “Quickly, please. I don’t have all day, you know. These chime candles burn down to the wick super fast.”
Atsumu makes a small noise of agreement. Yet, he is unmoving beside Kiyoomi, drifting along inside his own little world somewhere. The witch huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a free hand. Atsumu really does make a lousy assistant, truth be told. The snapping of Kiyoomi’s impatient fingers seems to do the trick though, rousing Atsumu from whatever trance he’d been trapped inside of.
“What is it, Omi?” Atsumu questions, blinking owlishly over at him, as though Kiyoomi had never spoken at all. Kiyoomi stares back with furrowed brows. He heaves a sigh, lacking the energy to scold him.
Completely, utterly hopeless.
“The honey?” Kiyoomi repeats, a tad bit exasperated. “I need to add three spoonfuls to the glass before the candle melts entirely, or the spell is going to break. All I want is a sandwich and a long nap, I’ve been at it for hours. If the spell breaks, I’m going to break you,” he warns.
If Atsumu’s laughter is any indication, he doesn’t seem to take the threat to heart. “Right. Sorry.”
The blond flicks through bottles of lavender and rosemary, before finally spotting the jar of honey. “Here, I found it. Sheesh, ya got so much shit layin’ 'round, s’impossible to find anythin’ in this place.”
Kiyoomi plucks the jar from his grasp with haste, fumbling for a freshly washed teaspoon. “I’m a witch, Atsumu. I don’t have ‘shit’ laying around, as you so politely worded it. I need these ingredients. They’re vital for spell-casting,” he scolds, dropping generous portions of sticky gold into the glass before him.
“Likely story. I visit yer shop all tha time, and I haven’t seen ya pick up that packet of dried violets since I’ve known ya.”
“Shut up. I use those for healing spells. Not that anyone orders them anymore. Still, I’m sure that I’ll need them someday.”
“Right, right. Accept it. Yer a hoarder, Omi. Tha wicked witch of overstock himself.”
“Watch your mouth before I turn you into a pinto bean.”
Atsumu laughs. "That ain't gonna happen."
"Try me. You'd be much quieter, as a bean."
"Maybe quieter but not as good company."
Kiyoomi hums. "Debatable."
The insult falls flat, of course. Even through Kiyoomi’s steely concentration, he can feel the upwards curl of his own mouth.
It seems to be impossible lately, the act of not smiling. He wonders how he ever managed it before.
“So, what spell are ya castin’, anyways? I’ve never seen you melt a pink candle before. Yer usually usin’ all tha black ones you guys have layin’ around.”
“That’s because I cast a ton of banishing and protection spells—they’re my specialty, I guess you could say. This one, however, is a love spell. The Shibata’s called in with a request for their eldest son. He has his eyes set on some girl named Yuki from his Monday morning Biology lectures.”
Atsumu cocks his head. “So, then why is tha family gettin’ involved? Ain’t that somethin’ tha son should be settlin’ on his own?”
Kiyoomi huffs, as if to say ‘good question,’ reaching for a handful of rose quartz fragments. Four spoonfuls of ground cinnamon are up next.
“You’d think so. And yet, they clearly took matters into their own hands. I normally don’t like to cast love spells but Komori is out of town on business for the week. So, I have no choice but to handle this one myself.”
Atsumu hums, curious. “Well, does it work?”
“Does what work?”
“Ya know, all this aphrodisiac shit that yer doin’. Does it actually work?”
Kiyoomi shoots him a withering glare. “It is not an aphrodisiac, moron. It’s a love spell — an attraction spell more than anything else, in this case. You can’t force love to grow where it isn’t meant to. If nothing else, this spell will get Yuki’s attention. At least, it will for a little while,” he explains. “That’s all that I can promise. Keeping her attention is up to their son.”
It is silent for a moment after that, until Atsumu blurts:
“Did you happen ta cast a love spell on me, too?”
Then, the whole world seems to shift on its axis.
Kiyoomi stares back at him with pursed lips and reddening cheeks. He feels that, like this melting candle, he will soon burst into wild flames. Hope is such a dangerous thing to have. Yet, with Atsumu’s words now echoing inside of him, hope begins to bloom all the same. Kiyoomi dares to smile, shy and bashful. He dares to let his tenderness shine through.
“No. Why would you ask that?”
“Because I think yer real pretty n’I always have and when I’m near you, everythin’ gets real warm? S’like an oven in here right now,” Atsumu stammers, rambling on as though he cannot seem to stop his thoughts from tumbling out of his own mouth.
Kiyoomi, thoroughly amused, twists the lid shut on the spell jar, giving it a shake. “So, that suddenly means I’d cast a spell on you?” He questions.
Atsumu scratches at the back of his neck. He is visibly embarrassed, flushed crimson from his head to his toes. It is painfully endearing.
“No. It just means that I like you.’M’not good at this whole confessin’ thing, though.”
The witch laughs nervously in response, dripping petal pink wax onto the spell jar lid, finishing the spell once and for all. Finally, Kiyoomi can take a deep sigh of relief.
Seemingly, for more reasons than one. “Right. I can tell.”
Atsumu averts his gaze. “Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean ta make everythin’ awkward.”
Kiyoomi hums casually. “That’s okay. I like you too, so I guess it all works out.”
There is a pregnant pause. Those whiskey eyes begin to glow like a crackling campfire. “Wait, what? Ya do? ”
Kiyoomi offers a shy nod. “Unfortunately.”
Atsumu doesn’t even comment on his teasing insult. “But you dissed me twice! I kept askin’ ya to go with me fer dinner n’ya never said yes. I just — I thought you didn’t have tha heart ta say no.”
“It wasn’t that at all, I promise. Trust me, I am very good at saying no,” Kiyoomi notes flatly. “It’s — I was scared, I guess,” the witch admits with a shrug of his shoulders, guilt creeping into his chest.
“Scared? Scared of what?”
“I don’t know. That you wouldn’t be interested anymore, once you got to really know me.”
When Atsumu laughs at him, as though the very idea of what he’s said is ridiculous, Kiyoomi’s heart stutters in his chest. The sound is all the reassurance that he could ever need and more.
“Omi, yer literally magic . You make people happier with fuckin’ herbs n’shit. Yer beautiful and yer funny and — okay, so yeah, you can be a bit of a jerk.”
“Hey,” Kiyoomi protests, pouting.
“But hey, s’all a part of you! I want all that you come with. All yer stubbornness and intelligence, yer drive to keep gettin’ better at what ya do. Tha way that you talk, tha way you move, it’s just — mesmerizin’, Kiyoomi. Yer absolutely mesmerizin’. What isn’t there to like?”
Kiyoomi swallows thickly. “I could ask the same about you, you know.”
The blond grins but waves him off all the same. “Nah, I ain’t that special. I’m not even magical or nothin’.”
Really, knowing Atsumu, the blond is merely fishing for compliments. He’s as confident as anything. Still, Kiyoomi supposes he’ll allow it, just this once.
“You knocked my entire jar of dried chamomile into the trash bin the other day and somehow, I don’t hate you. Not even a little bit,” Kiyoomi deadpans. “I’d say that makes you at least a little magical, Atsumu.”
“You promised ya wouldn’t bring that up again, I apologized already!” the blond splutters, scandalized.
“An entire jar, Atsumu. Chamomile is a pain to grow.”
“Well, maybe I can help you grow some more. It’s still in season fer awhile, right?”
Kiyoomi snorts. “You don’t exactly have a green thumb. I’d rather handle the planting myself, thank you very much.”
“Then how do you suppose I can make it up to ya?” Atsumu flirts. His heady eyes flit down to Kiyoomi lips, unmistakable in their hunger. As they linger there, unmoving, Kiyoomi’s own body begins to ring like a church bell. Every nerve ending within him tingles with want.
“I’m sure that I’ll think of something,” he replies shyly. Atsumu chuckles, adoring eyes finally drooping shut as he cranes his neck and swoops in for the kill.
When their lips interlock, it is nothing short of magical.