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Guess this means he’s sorry, Atsumu thinks, when he hears the soft knocks on the door. He has no doubt that it’s Kiyoomi, since no one else would be coming to his apartment at 3 a.m. other than Samu, and he always calls first.
Sure enough, when Atsumu pulls it open, he’s met with the sight of a slouching Sakusa Kiyoomi standing at his door, head turned down and hands shoved into his pockets. His eyebrows are furrowed, and Atsumu’s sure he’d see him chewing his lip if it weren’t covered by a surgical mask.
“Ya don’ gotta knock, Omi,” he sighs, moving to the side to make room for Sakusa to enter. “Ya basically live here.”
Kiyoomi slides quietly past him, ditching his shoes in the entranceway and shuffling to the couch in the living room. Atsumu closes the door and follows.
They sit for a moment in silence, Atsumu sipping the last of the tea he’d been drinking before Kiyoomi showed up. Kiyoomi removes his mask and fiddles with it in his hands. His mouth opens and closes a few times, as if the right words just won’t fit inside. Atsumu stares at him over the edge of his mug, waiting.
Finally, Kiyoomi looks up to meet his gaze. “I take it back. Everything I said before,” he states with conviction. Atsumu continues to stare. Kiyoomi holds his conviction for a moment longer, before adding, in a low murmur, “I can just take it back, right? I didn’t… I didn’t mean that…what I said before I… ”
Before he left, he doesn’t finish. Left, after shouting that he’d never come back. After looking Atsumu dead in the eye and, with ice in his voice, telling him how much he wanted anyone else. Anyone but him.
But here he was, again. Again, and again, and again they do this. They bicker, they fight, they argue. Usually their arguments stay fairly tame, often lighthearted, only sometimes resulting in a few hours of silent treatment and cold shoulders before fizzling out into bouts of make-up sex and apologetic cuddles.
But on some rare occasions, when he and Kiyoomi are both blinded by anger and pride, when there’s no solution, they really fight. Each sees the other as a true opponent, and tries his hardest to come out on top- a notable con of two professional athletes being in a relationship.
Another con: because their normal dynamic involves playful teasing and poking fun at each other, it takes a lot of nastiness to really make something hurt. And Kiyoomi’s gotten really good at finding the exact words that will slice Atsumu to his core.
Anyone but you.
Sakusa’s hands are now clenched in tight fists, but it doesn’t escape Atsumu’s notice that they’re trembling. His heart wrenches at the sight; Traitor, he thinks to it, but reaches over to cover Omi’s hand with his own.
After all, he couldn’t pin the blame solely on Kiyoomi for this one. He’d been the one to start the whole thing, trying to pick a fight over something small and stupid, something born of petty jealousy. Atsumu isn’t blind, he can see how difficult he is at times, and often wonders if Kiyoomi would be happier with someone….easier. Someone else. Anyone else. Anyone but-
Atsumu shakes his head. No, he scolds himself. This line of thinking is what got them into this mess right here. For all his bravado, Atsumu knows his own insecurities. He knows he has a fear living in the back of his mind, haunting him during days like these, that Kiyoomi will realize one day how much better off he is without Atsumu, will leave him for good. And, counterintuitive though it seems, Atsumu’s defense mechanism this time was…well…
“Maybe we just don’ belong together, Omi.”
It was so stupid. He was so stupid, for trying to tell him goodbye. Sakusa may have cut him open with his words, laced with vitriol and hurt, but he’d been the one to draw first blood. And now, now the smoke had cleared, now he’d cried himself dry for hours after Kiyoomi stormed out, he can see the pain he’d inflicted clear on his lover’s face.
“Omi-kun…” breathes out Atsumu, ashamed and hurt and exhausted from this terrible day. He scoots closer on the couch until his thigh touches Kiyoomi’s. Kiyoomi looks at him like one wrong word from Atsumu could shatter him into bits. Like he holds the answer to the universe, in this moment. Atsumu inhales at the vulnerability on display in front of him, and realizes, not for the first time, but maybe the time that resonates the most for him: Kiyoomi is just a boy. A man. A human being. He’s got insecurities, he’s got flaws, he’s got so much love and passion for his sport, for his family, for Atsumu, that it clouds his judgment at times, too. And he’s got a piece of Atsumu. A piece of his heart that Atsumu couldn’t get back if he wanted.
And in this moment, Atsumu vows to stop causing this man, the man who holds a sliver of his own soul, any more pain. He must do better- he must control his pride, his insecurities, his senseless anger, if he wants to keep holding onto Sakusa Kiyoomi.
“Ya know, Omi, I don’t think ya can take it back,” he starts, and is quick to continue as Kiyoomi’s face starts to crumble. “Hey, hey, I just mean neither of us can take back what we said, what we’ve done to hurt each other before now. Can’t take it back, but…” Atsumu pries open Omi’s clenched fist and links their fingers, letting the now-crumpled mask fall the the floor. “…but we can move forward together.”
The strand holding Kiyoomi’s fragile composure together snaps, and tears spill over his cheeks. “I’m so s-sorry, Atsu,” he chokes out. “I s-said it because I knew it would h-hurt you, but I didn’t m-mean it at all.” Tears start leaking out of Atsumu’s eyes now, too. He didn’t think he had any left, but he’s always been a sympathetic crier, especially with Omi. “I was so up-upset that you w-wanted to b-break up, but I only want you,” Kiyoomi nearly sobs, “no one else, no one.” He buries his face into Atsumu’s chest, clutching his shirt in his fists. Atsumu wraps his arms around the shaking man and rubs patterns into his back.
“I know, Omi-Omi. And I didn’t really mean it when I said we don’ belong together. God, I didn’t mean it. I’m nothin’ without you.”
Kiyoomi inhales shakily, still pressed into Atsumu’s chest. “We belong together,” he says stubbornly, and Atsumu suppresses a laugh.
“Yeah, Omi, we do.” He gently pushes Kiyoomi back so he can put a hand over the man’s racing heart. Atsumu gestures between it and his own heart. “Somehow, we’re united here, forever. Yeah?” Kiyoomi nods.
“Right, baby. You an’ me got pieces of each other that we can’t give back. But we gotta do some work together, mmkay? We gotta stop hurtin’ each other and playin’ these games. I don’ think either of us can take much more a’ this.” Kiyoomi nods again, eyes downcast. Atsumu continues, “Hey, I know that I got issues, Omi, but I swear I’m gonna-“
“I’m pretty messed up, too, Atsumu,” Omi cuts him off, voice gruff from crying. “You always cast me in this perfect light, like you’re the one who has to ‘catch up,’ or I’ll, like, leave you behind, or some shit.”
Atsumu hangs on his every word. Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly how he feels.
“But you should know better than anyone how many of my own problems I have,” Omi goes on, his speech soft but unwavering. “I’m not exactly a walk in the park to be with. I know that, and I know that you stick with me anyway. You always do. So, if we’re moving forward together, you have to accept that we’re doing it as equals. You with your problems, me with mine, but always together, and always partners. No one is ahead of the other, no one is reaching too high or settling too low. No winners, no losers. Just us.”
It’s Atsumu’s turn to be speechless. He gapes at Kiyoomi, his Omi. His brilliant, brave, graceful, beautiful Omi. “Y-yeah… Equals… Just us… Okay, Omi.”
Finally, after what felt like years, Atsumu pulls Kiyoomi in and Kiyoomi pulls Atsumu in and they kiss each other, deeply, desperately, earnestly. They hold onto each other for dear life, trying to pour a bit more of their souls into the other through dancing tongues and clashing teeth and clawing fingers.
After a while, when the weariness of the day threatens to overtake them both, Atsumu drags his love to bed. They settle in together, Kiyoomi resting on Atsumu like a pillow.
“Well this day sucked. Let’s not do it again,” Atsumu jokes.
Kiyoomi’s eyes are already closed. “It still would’ve sucked more if you hadn’t been a part of it,” he mumbles, drifting into sleep.
Atsumu’s heart throbs, so full of love for the man tucked by his side and full of hope for the growth they’ll find together. He leans down and brushes a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“Kiyoomi…my life would suck without you.”