Chapter Text
2012, Tokyo.
“I still think you’re going to break up in two weeks.”
Kiyoomi’s perfected the art of tuning Motoya out at this point, sixteen years into knowing him, yet he still manages to wiggle his way back in.
“You’re an asshole, ‘Toya, and you should just be happy for me,” Kiyoomi grumbles as he sets another piece of his puzzle into place, the three-thousand-piece puzzle spanning his entire desk. All of his schoolwork has now graduated to his second desk, pushed into the corner of his room away from everything. He’s only just started, his eldest sister Eiko having bought it last week for him, as a present for starting high school.
“I thought you were hung up on Ushijima Wakatoshi,” Motoya’s cooing, as he’s wont to do, and Kiyoomi isn’t afraid to turn around and throw an empty water bottle at him. “Come on, Ki! You only just started high school, this is your first relationship – I just don’t want to see you get so hung up on this one boy, just to get hurt!”
“It’s not like you’re some wise relationship wizard, Motoya,” Kiyoomi’s still grumbling as he sets another piece down, before turning around to meet his cousin’s gaze. Motoya means a lot to Kiyoomi – he’s his best friend. The only family member that’s closest to his age, Kiyoomi really does treasure Motoya’s opinion.
Still … “why does it matter to you so much? It’s my relationship, you don’t have to worry about it at all.”
There’s an incredulous stare from Motoya before he throws himself down onto the bed groaning, as dramatic as ever. Kiyoomi watches silently as he has his moment of theatrics, before looking back over at him.
“Because! It’s Miya Atsumu!”
Sakusa Kiyoomi is not the type to fall in love easily. He loves his family, he loves his cat, he loves his plants, and he loves volleyball.
Kiyoomi’s always been unique, his second eldest sister used to say. Hina’s the one who fought with him the most, however. Kiyoomi never understood why his mother would lecture her when she told him that, or why she’d always glare at him for the six years of his life.
Now, he realises she was just being an asshole.
She’s not wrong, though, is what always accompanied Kiyoomi, because it’s true. He is unique, he’s different. Sakusa Kiyoomi is a particular kid who’s never really liked being around other kids, whose only friend is the kitten he got when he was five years old that’s been by his side forever. He gets nervous when he has to talk to others, and he would rather hide behind his father’s legs and let everyone else handle socialising for him.
So, someone please tell Kiyoomi why he’s currently standing in front of Miya Atsumu, asking him if he’d like to go out to a café sometime, whilst he’s still in Tokyo?
“I … ah … Sak’sa-kun, right?” Oh God, why does Kiyoomi like this guy again, who can’t even take the time to fully pronounce his name?
Miya (Atsumu, Kiyoomi reminds himself. He’s got a twin brother, Kiyoomi can’t start confusing himself now) looks up at Kiyoomi then, and he feels obliged to say something.
“I just … thought you’d like to …” Kiyoomi feels his resolve wavering, his heart rate picking up even faster than it was before, and something must show on his face because Miya’s freaking out with waving hands and a frantic expression.
“No, wait, I wanna!” Kiyoomi freezes at Miya’s outburst, ignoring the few glances their way at such a loud noise. “I – I was jus’ taken off-guard, ya see? Yer so pretty, thought I was talkin’ to an angel.”
Cheeks warming inexplicably fast, Kiyoomi is positive he must look like a tomato. Still, he manages a stilted nod, but he’s unable to keep the hint of a small smile off his face. Miya – Atsumu smiles back.
“It’s a date?”
“S’a date, Sak’sa-kun.”
“I don’t see the issue, Kiyoomi-kun, you look fine.”
Kiyoomi’s ready to tear his hair out if Wakatoshi says that again. He’s been on call with him for almost an hour and a half, and still hasn’t picked an outfit out. Wakatoshi is sat at his desk on Kiyoomi’s laptop screen, Tendou Satori hanging off his shoulders, and the image only twists in Kiyoomi’s gut for a second before untwisting.
It’s progress.
“It just doesn’t feel right, Wakatoshi-kun,” Kiyoomi complains as he looks back into the mirror – the shirt looks too loose, and then it looks too tight, and his jeans aren’t skinny enough, and then they’re waytooskinnyohmygodohmygod, and then he’s in boxers and Wakatoshi is covering his eyes.
“Ooh, is that Pikachu-printed, Sakusa?” Tendou’s pushing Wakatoshi to the side, and Kiyoomi just frowns at him as he tugs his last pair of jeans on. They fit alright, but he doesn’t have anything else to wear. They’re the latest pair of skinny jeans he bought, because he likes them and they make his legs look long.
And it annoys Motoya, who thinks Kiyoomi is too hipster like in America.
“Can I look now?” Wakatoshi uncovers an eye tentatively, and then nods in approval at Kiyoomi. “They’re nice. You look like an American.”
“I resent that.” Kiyoomi wound stay to bandy words with the couple(?), but time is running out, and he’s got to head off in the next ten minutes if he wants to make it to the café on time.
“Good luck! Maybe you can finally get a boyfriend and stop liking mine!” Ah, so they are together again. Kiyoomi had listened to Wakatoshi’s venting a few weeks earlier about their breakup, but he hadn’t been paying that much attention. He’d been busy working up the courage to ask Atsumu out, anyways.
“Thank you, Tendou-san, Wakatoshi-kun.” Sakusa waves at the two as he ends the call, before finally grabbing his bag and phone.
Time to go.
The café is loud, and it’s crowded, and Kiyoomi regrets everything. Contrary to popular belief – he can thank his third oldest sister, Aoi, for the rumours – Kiyoomi is not a raging germaphobe. He doesn’t like germs, but it doesn’t send him into a spiral if he touches something dirty.
No, he doesn’t like crowds. Kiyoomi is tall, he can see above the crowds, but the sensation of being stuck from every side, in too many personal spaces, is enough to get him going.
So, he’s not having fun at the café at all, but then there’s a tap to his shoulder and Atsumu’s sliding into the seat opposite him. Kiyoomi pretends that he doesn’t relax at the sight of the other, but his grip on the menu loosens.
“Sorry I’m late, Sak’sa-kun!” Kiyoomi will get him to say his name properly one day. “Took a while to find this place! S’not an easy café to spot, but it’s nice ‘nd cozy!”
“It’s one of my favourites. It’s – it’s not usually this crowded.” Kiyoomi’s voice doesn’t shake, and he’s proud of himself, but his knee jiggles underneath the table and he wishes it would stop. Atsumu doesn’t seem to notice his nerves, too busy looking around, and Kiyoomi takes the time to just observe him.
Brunet hair brushed haphazardly to the side, mussed up from either the wind or Atsumu’s hands, and Kiyoomi can’t deny that it’s attractive. He’s tanned and has the lightest smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and his outfit …
Kiyoomi doesn’t know who decided to teach Atsumu how to dress, but he wants to kiss them.
“… -k’sa-kun? You alright?” Kiyoomi comes back to with Atsumu’s worried expression, managing a small smile and a nod.
“Yeah.” Kiyoomi can already see where he went wrong, he just doesn’t know how. Atsumu’s worry turns into a smirk, and he’s clearly about to start teasing Kiyoomi, when the spiker decides it’s time to order.
“Yer jus’ admiring the view, aren’t’cha?” Atsumu’s still teasing him as they make their way up to the counter, and Kiyoomi doesn’t know why he decided to instigate this date, again.
Oh, yeah, Kiyoomi’s brain reminds him when he sees Atsumu ordering in front of him, pushing his sleeves up and running a hand through his hair as he decides what to get. That’s why.
It’s been two years since Kiyoomi’s first serious crush, instigated by a simple handkerchief and a middle school volleyball tournament, so he’s not familiar with this maelstrom of emotions, but maybe it’s not so scary when Miya Atsumu’s turning around to flash that wicked smile at him, or tease him for ordering such a sickly-sweet coffee and cake, or when he’s noticing how Kiyoomi sits tenser and offers to swap seats so he’s against the wall and not the crowded café.
“Ya gotta be able t’see the others so y’can be assured ‘m the best-lookin’ one, Sak’sa-kun!”
Ten minutes into their meals is when Atsumu finally breaks.
“Why’d’ja really ask me out, Sak’sa-kun?” Atsumu’s tone is calm, unbothered, but Kiyoomi’s insides are squeezing and swirling at the question. Why would Atsumu ask him to be vulnerable?
Kiyoomi takes a small bite of his cake as he mulls over the question, trying to find literally any way to word it other than you’re really, super, fucking hot and i’m gay as hell.
“I … I want to get to know you better, Miya,” Kiyoomi begins slowly, tracing through the cream on his plate with his fork, “because we – we both play volleyball, and we’re in the same year, and …”
I really think I could like you.
That’s all that needs to be said, apparently, because then Atsumu’s grinning and his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he’s got cream on his lips that Kiyoomi wants to kiss off so badly. Not yet, though. Not yet.
The rest of the date flies by, so fast that Kiyoomi blinks and then he’s suddenly outside the café with Atsumu by his side, bundling up and complaining about the biting winds. Maybe it’s the sickly-sweet latte still coursing through his system, or maybe it’s the newfound bravery that comes after a successful date, but Kiyoomi reaches out and grabs one of Atsumu’s shaking hands, squeezing it tightly between his own cold ones, before slipping it into the pocket of his jacket.
(Ha, take that, Motoya – he’s fucking smooth as hell.)
Atsumu practically gapes at Kiyoomi, before he looks away with red tinting the apex of his cheekbones. Oh, God, he’s blushing.
“I, ah, shit, Sak’sa-kun, yer – thanks f’r today,” Atsumu’s mumbling, his accent seeming to grow even thicker with each moment, but that’s still not the case for why Kiyoomi’s hanging onto each word. “I wanna … wanna do that again, wi’ya. ‘M headin’ back t’Hyogo soon, but … but when I come back up?”
There’s a beat of silence, before,
“I’d really like that, Miya.”
It takes Motoya, of all people, to point out when Kiyoomi is finally over Ushijima Wakatoshi. He’s a burgeoning friend, someone Kiyoomi doesn’t text often, yet still is the one he talks to the most that’s not his family.
Until Atsumu, of course.
Kiyoomi doesn’t notice it until he gets a text from Wakatoshi at eleven-thirty at night, simply reading the message from the lockscreen of his phone and setting it down, when Motoya abruptly pauses whatever movie he’s got playing on his laptop and shuts the screen.
“You.”
“Yes.”
Motoya fumbles for words, stumbling a bit as Kiyoomi would naturally expect him to do, before he finally finishes on,
“You just ignored Ushijima!” Is this really such a big deal, Kiyoomi wonders to himself. Motoya’s making a fool of himself on Kiyoomi’s bed, rolling around and choking out phrases such as “you never do that!” and “that’s so unlike you, ki!”, and it’s when Kiyoomi hears “maybe atsumu’s doing something right!” that he finally tunes in.
“What do you mean about that, Motoya?” Motoya freezes, looking over at his cousin, all six foot two and curled impossibly into a desk chair. Kiyoomi’s tone was clipped, stoic, but it usually is, and Motoya can navigate around his sharp edges to see what’s really going on.
“I … Ki, you were a bit too obsessed with Ushijima,” Motoya begins slowly, watching as Kiyoomi’s mask cracks a little, but he pushes o., “however, Atsumu’s just … you’re not as focused on one thing anymore.”
“… Was I really that bad with Wakatoshi?” Kiyoomi murmurs into his knees, and Motoya is reminded that Kiyoomi is almost a year younger than him, and he’s never been as outgoing as Motoya. Motoya remembers always running around when he was in elementary school, sleeping over at his friends’ houses, doing whatever. He also remembers his mother sighing to herself and talking to his father quietly, when they thought Motoya was asleep and not hiding on their staircase.
“Kaida’s asked me to talk to Motoya about Kiyoomi, to see if he’ll befriend him. I … sometimes I worry about that nephew of mine. He’s so … shy.”
(It wasn’t long before Kiyoomi found himself invited over to his aunt’s whenever his parents and sisters were too busy, and the house was empty – as much as his family were loving and close, they were also busy, and Kiyoomi often found himself just … alone.)
Motoya reaches out a foot to nudge Kiyoomi’s ankle, grinning as he looks up to glare at his cousin. There, that’s the Kiyoomi Motoya loves to harass.
“You’re fine, Ki, don’t even stress. You just had a bad case of first crush blues, and you happened to pick Ushijima Wakatoshi of all people to have it with.”
Kiyoomi nods slowly, uncurling from his spot, and unceremoniously shoves Motoya over so he can lie on his bed and open the laptop again. Motoya’s an asshole, and a bitch, and a dumbass, but he’s a good friend and an even better cousin.
Kiyoomi can trust him.
“Come on, ‘Toya, let’s get back to the movie, then, if you think I’m so fine.”
Hours later, they’re both lying down on Kiyoomi’s bed, Motoya almost falling off the side with how much Kiyoomi pushed him over. Kiyoomi’s half-asleep, curled around his pillow, curls in disarray from how much he’s been rolling around against his sheets, when Motoya’s quiet voice stirs him.
“Y’know, you and Miya suit each other, kinda.”
“Wh’addaya mean?” Kiyoomi blinks blearily at his older cousin, who just grins the most annoying grin back.
“You’re both assholes.”
Motoya soon finds himself shoved onto the ground.
Miya Atsumu:
omi kunnnnnnn
Me:
Please stop calling me that.
Miya Atsumu:
neverrrrr HAHAHAHAH
unless u rly don’t like it
Me:
I don’t like it.
…
But you can keep calling me it.
Miya Atsumu:
OMGGGGG
OMI KUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Me:
I can block you again this week.
Miya Atsumu:
stop prertending u don’t like me heheehhe
whos the onw who asked MEE on the date
NOT ME
Me:
Why did I do that again
Moment of weakness
Miya Atsumu:
shut ur trap bby
also are u free rn
Me:
Why
Yes you can FaceTime.
Miya Atsumu:
HEHHEHEEH OKAY HOLD ON
Atsumu doesn’t come back to Tokyo until Nationals in January the next year, and Kiyoomi’s graduated from smiles from a distance to grabbing his hand in the locker room after everyone’s gone, to squeezing rough hands that set so hard to only lose, to trying to quell that shaking taking over Atsumu’s body. They’ve been texting nonstop, videocalling whenever they can, and it physically hurts to see Atsumu so upset, even if Kiyoomi had been the one to slam past Inarizaki’s blocks.
Atsumu trembles before trying to pull from Kiyoomi’s grip, still upset but also obviously trying not to get into his personal space; Atsumu knows Kiyoomi’s particularities, he knows how he feels about certain things, and he never wants to hurt him. Never.
It doesn’t stop Kiyoomi from stepping closer to Atsumu however, clearly closer than he usually would, and murmur under his breath,
“Be my boyfriend, Miya? Atsumu?”
Atsumu chokes on his sobs then, wide eyes brimming with tears focusing up on Kiyoomi, impossibly hurt from the loss, but still he doesn’t pull away or immediately reject him. Kiyoomi shrinks just a little bit, prepares to leave, before Atsumu quickly darts forward and kisses his cheek.
The following apologies from the setter fall on deaf ears, as Sakusa Kiyoomi’s lips curl into a genuine smile.