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“Have you done anything out of the ordinary this week?” Iwaizumi looks at him through his glasses, the tip of his fingers pressing lightly on Kiyoomi’s wrist. “Lifted more weight? Landed badly on the floor? Stayed extra hours?”
“No.” Kiyoomi lies, because explaining to his physical trainer that he did all of those in a single day but not the way he thinks it’s too embarrassing for him.
Iwaizumi seems to catch his lie.
“Are you sure?”
Kiyoomi grimaces, not because Iwaizumi accidently pressed on some sensitive spot, but because he did, he did something out of the ordinary this fucking week and it has resulted in him hurting his damn wrists, of all things.
One night out with the team turned his life to a tipping point and it’s all thanks to his bad decision-making and one drunk Miya Atsumu.
Okay, fine. maybe putting it like that it’s too much, it wasn’t that bad. He’s still thinking about it, his stomach still flipping in an annoying way when he recalls the events of Monday night, but it has… complicated his life, to say the least.
Kiyoomi wasn’t one to hang out with the team outside the gym too often. Choosing to stay in the comfort of his own home and arrive to practice actually rested than staying up and regretting his life decisions the next day. Kinda like he has been for a week now.
But they had just won an exhausting, 5 set game against the Adlers, in which everyone poured their heart, sweat, and souls into it, so it felt wrong not to share the buzzing energy in the room with his teammates for one more hour.
Until that one more hour turned into two, and then turned into three, and suddenly it was well into the night, and he had found himself helping an almost drunk but definitely too-tipsy to be on his best behavior Atsumu.
“Can ya handle him for a second while I finish closin’ up?” Osamu had asked him from the kitchen. They were the only ones left in the shop, with Bokuto and Hinata being the first ones to leave, and the rest of the team slowly parting their own ways until there were only the three of them.
“I’m not drunk!” Atsumu half shouted, half babbled from his seat, his thick eyebrows furrowing as if he was seriously offended. “I can get by on my own just fine!”
“Shut up and wait for me, I’ll take ya home!” Osamu shouted at him, and Kiyoomi had to stop a grin at the way Atsumu pouted. Osamu turned to him then, apologetically bowing. “Be right out in a sec, just gotta handle some stuff.”
Kiyoomi waved him off, a tipsy Atsumu wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Not that Atsumu got drunk too often. He usually only drank non-alcoholic beer, reserving the real alcohol only for super special occasions (his words, not Kiyoomi’s), like today.
So really, he had no way to prepare for the way Atsumu shamelessly, openly, turned around to look at him. His big, amber eyes reflected the low yellow light from the shop in a way that captured Kiyoomi’s gaze.
“Am I that drunk, omi?” He whispered. He smelled of peach beer and aftershave. A weird combination that somehow didn’t bother him.
“You seem happy to me,” Kiyoomi replied, to which Atsmu laughed. A raspy, low laugh as he shook his head.
“So that means ya won’t believe me if I toughen up and tell ya I like ya, would ya?” Atsumu suddenly murmured, looking back at Kiyoomi through half-lidded eyes that were doing something to him.
He had to be kidding him. He had to. It was one thing to jokingly flirt all the time but this… this…
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi managed to keep a straight voice despite the way his heart was thumping and his mind was going holy fuck, he likes me. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not,” Atsumu protested, leaning forward a little too close. So much so Kiyoomi could count the freckles on his cheeks. Not that he wanted to, but he could… He could. “I’m telling ya,” He lifted a hand from the counter to push Kiyoomi just a bit. “ I like ya .”
“Atsumu…” Kiyoomi gulped.
“Omi-kun,” Atsumu seemed weirdly sobber when he fixed his eyes on him, full palm splayed open over Kiyoomi's chest now as he kept pushing. “Listen to me carefully. I like you .”
Blood rushed to Kiyoomi’s cheeks, warming them up, but before he could do something, anything, Atsumu pushed him a little too hard, and the next thing he knew, they were tipping back from their seats and falling to the ground.
It had all happened in slow motion. The bar seat slipping from beneath his ass, Atsumu’s body getting closer until it fell right on his chest, only stopped by Kiyoomi’s open hands, the floor not-so-gently hitting his back.
“Shit– Atsu-”
“What the hell?!” Osamu came out of the kitchen shouting. “I heard a loud thum– oh .”
He knew what they must have looked like. With Atsumu on top of him and their faces so damn close. He knew what it looked like to Osamu because he could see his stupidly smug expression.
“It’s not like that!” Kiyoomi instantly groaned, trying to push Atsumu away from him. “Care to help?” He shouted back at Osamu.
Ironically, Atsumu had fallen on top of Kiyoomi that night and quite possibly made his joints sore for it, but it was Kiyoomi who had fallen even harder from him, and he didn’t know how to get the fuck out of the hole he was in.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Kiyoomi finally replies, not daring to look back at Iwaizumi in the eyes. “Is it that bad?”
Iwaizumi doesn’t press it, something Kiyoomi is grateful for, and instead just focuses on examining his wrists until he seems content, lets them go and shakes his head.
“Nope. It seems to me your joints are just resenting you, you should be fine with two weeks of rest.”
“Define resting.”
Iwaizumi chuckles, sitting down to write something. Probably a note for their coach and maybe another one for their in-team doctor.
“No volleyball. No gym. No… extra activities that could result in any pain,” He drags that last part out, watching through the big window to the small waiting room outside where Atsumu is scrolling through his phone, waiting for Kiyoomi to come back out.
Kiyoomi decides to ignore Iwaizumi’s comment.
“So just stretching?” He asks, subconsciously touching his wrists.
“Yes. If you could have someone to help you out with your daily activities, that would be great. The more you let your joints rest, the better.”
“I live alone.” Kiyoomi points out dryly, to which Iwaizumi chuckles again.
“Don’t you guys live near each other? Ask one of the guys. I’m sure Atsumu could help.”
Kiyoomi looks out the window then. His eyes fall to the easy smile on Atsumus face. He’s sure that if he were to ask Atsumu would say yes without a second thought. But two weeks? Giving Atsumu free and easy access to every little part of his life that still remains his? It’s too dangerous. Too bad for Kiyoomi's poor heart that’s still actively trying to push down the memories of Atsumu saying he likes him.
“Oh,” Iwaizumi seems to notice something. “You haven’t told him you like him yet?”
“What?” Kiyoomi almost snaps his neck back.
“Sorry. Since you’re here with him and he looked so worried when he brought you I thought…” Iwaizumi sighs, clearly uncomfortable. “I thought you guys were finally together.”
“Why… why would you-“ Kiyoomi frowns. “Atsumu and I are friends.”
“Right,” Somethings tells him Iwaizumi isn’t too convinced about it, but again, he doesn’t push it. He just hands Kiyoomi two pieces of paper and rises up from his desk. “I guess we’re done here, then. Make sure to give coach Foster one of those notes, the other is for you, I wrote down some stretches you can do at home. I don’t think you’ll have to visit the doctor yet, so that’s all for now.”
Iwaizumi opens the door to his office, gesturing for Kiyoomi to walk out. He hasn't even given a step forward when Atsumu is already in front of them, looking like an excited (or nervous) puppy.
“So? What is it? Are his joints too fucked up?” He jumps, looking only at Iwaizumi. “Do I gotta take him to the doctor?”
“No, Miya, he’ll be fine.” Iwaizumi instantly calms him down. “He’s gonna have to rest for two weeks and do lots of stretches, but that’s it.”
“Two weeks?” Atsumu sounds just like Kiyoomi when he asked that just minutes ago.
“Hmm.” Iwaizumi hums. “No practice. No gym. And no activities that could put pressure on his wrists.”
“Yes, I know. Just stretching. Now, if we could get going—“ Kiyoomi tries to move, but Atsumu seems hyper-focused on whatever Iwaizumi has to say.
“What activities?” Atsumu asks.
“Atsumu. C'mon go, Iwaizumi-san has others…”
“Things like opening doors, carrying bags, picking up heavy stuff, or even washing his hair.” Iwaizumi comments, and Kiyoomi can see the exact same moment a terrible, very bad idea crosses Atsumu's mind.
It’s like a lightbulb goes off inside of him. A light Kiyoomi wants to turn the fuck off because no, there is no way he’s letting Atsumu take care of him for two weeks. He won’t survive. He can't. Not after what happened. Not after he’s been thinking about it for a whole week.
“Gotcha. I’ll make sure Omi-kun follows through.” Atsumu smiles, winks. And Kiyoomi suddenly feels his hurting wrists are going to be the least of his problems.
“You really don’t have to do this.”
It’s late by the time they arrive home. Well, to Kiyoomi’s apartment. Atsumu opens the door for him with one hand as he carries the grocery bags with the other.
He is taking Iwaizumi’s recommendations very seriously.
“Shut up, I do it because I want to.” Atsumu waves the bags at him. “Where should I drop these?”
“In the kitchen, please.”
“Got it!”
Atsumu moves through Kiyoomi’s apartment like a fish in the water. It’s not like he hasn’t been here before– he has. Multiple times, actually (He’s probably the only teammate Kiyoomi has willingly invited over), but there’s a new sense of… familiarity Kiyoomi didn’t expect as he watches Atsumu neatly put away the groceries, before going around, leaving all the doors in this apartment wide open.
“Ya’ sure you'll be ok?” Atsumu looks at him with such an open expression it does something to Kiyoomi. Making his heart thump loudly in his chest, and then, in good old Atsumu fashion, who never hesitates to reach out and take whatever he wants from Kiyoomi, even if he doesn’t realize it yet what state he lets Kiyoomi in every time, gently extends his hand, and holds Kiyoomi’s wrist. Much like it always happens when Atsumu touches him, Kiyoomi finds himself craving more of it. “Want me to help ya out with the massages?”
Atsumu’s fingers are soothing where they’re pressing lightly against the bones in Kiyoomi’s wrist.
He doesn’t think he could handle more of Atsumu for the day. His heart would explode.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Kiyoomi murmurs. “Iwaizumi-san already did them for me today.”
His eyes fall to where Atsumu’s touch is still lingering on his skin. As if he doesn’t want to let go.
“Okay,” Atsumu finally smiles, gently dropping Kiyoomi’s hand. He misses his touch instantly. “See ya tomorrow, then! Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”
I think I already did, Kiyoomi thinks as he waves Atsumu goodbye, ignoring the way his chest seems to ache in a way that’s becoming all too familiar for him.
Much to Kiyoomi’s absolute misery, Atsumu is true to his words and is back the next day at 7:00 pm sharp to help him out with his massages.
He smells like mint soap, and his hair, still damp from a shower, is falling loosely over his forehead. Kiyoomi has seen it with this exact same look many times before, but seeing him like this, as he makes his way through Kiyoomi’s door, makes it seem as if Atsumu is returning to him after a long day.
As if we’re a couple, Kiyoomi’s treacherous mind offers, and he has to shut down that thought immediately.
“How was practice?” Kiyoomi asks, anything to distract his thoughts about how good Atsumu looks, and how well he smells, and– oh, fuck.
“It was alright,” Atsumu says as he takes off his jacket. “A bit borin’ without ya.”
Kiyoomi scoffs “You are just saying that.”
“I’m not! I mean it,” Atsumu is so… open with his emotions, it never fails to amaze him. “Can’t wait for ya to be back.”
“It’s only two weeks,” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes as he takes his seat at the small round table in his living room. He had prepared before Atsumu came, pulling out the soothing body lotions outside so they could do the massage here. There was no way in hell he was about to let Atsumu into his room to do something so… weirdly intimate.
“ Only one week and three days, ” Atsumu corrects him as he takes a seat right in front of Kiyoomi. He gestures for him to extend his hand, and Kiyoomi does. Atsumu’s touch is warm against his exposed skin. “How’s it goin’?”
“Like usual. Just a bit more sore.” Kiyoomi admits, his eyes dropping yet again where Atsumu is pouring a bit of lotion on the palm of his hand. “So? What did you guys do at practice today?”
Truth be told, Kiyoomi just needs Atsumu to talk about literally anything that isn’t him, or how much he missed him during practice, or how he’s keeping track of the days left for him to return. He needs Atsumu to talk so he can shut the thoughts running through his head about how close they are, and how nice Atsumu’s fingers feel as they press and gently roll the skin on his wrist, and how he could just… lean over just a bit more, and tilt Atsumu’s head up, and kiss him if he wanted to.
God, he wants to. There’s no way to deny it anymore. Kiyoomi wants to find out if Atsumu’s lips are as warm as his touch, wants to know if they would feel just as good on his skin.
But that’s the thing about being friends, you can’t go around kissing them. Especially not friends that happen to be your teammates, and that taking that risk (leaning forward, kissing them, being more than what they are right now) could potentially backfire and destroy everything they’ve got, which would be disastrous if Atsumu doesn’t like him back not even a quarter of what Kiyoomi likes him.
“And then Sho tried to jump as high as ya do, ya know, so I could practice our special set and stuff…” Atsumu continues, both of his thumbs pressing right where the tension is in Kiyoomi’s wrist.
Flashbacks of that night about two weeks ago come back to Kiyoomi’s mind. The dimmed lights at Onigiri Miya, Atsumu’s golden eyes on him, the way he fucking smiled when he went “So that means ya won’t believe me if I toughen up and tell ya I like ya, would ya?, completely destroying the balance with which Kiyoomi had carried their relationship so far.
A balanced that centered on Kiyoomi purposely ignoring his growing feelings for Atsumu in order to try to keep his life at peace.
Kiyoomi would have believed him back then. If it wasn’t for the fact Atsumu was tipsy, and he tends to flirt with him out of pure habit. Something Kiyoomi didn’t mind much before until it started to make his cheeks burn and his heart jump in excitement.
“Your other hand,” Atsumu gestures to him when he’s done with his left hand. It feels so much more limb now, so different from when Kiyoomi does his own massages.
He does as told, and Atsumu’s expert fingers are already pressing and pinching in all the right places.
“Why do you do all of this?” Kiyoomi murmurs, not really wanting to ask out loud, but apparently, his own mind betrayed him.
The question seems to catch Atsumu off guard too, who looks up from where his fingers are almost intertwined with Kiyoomi’s, but not really, he’s just losing them up a bit.
“Well why wouldn’t I?” Atsumu mumbles back, a bit too fast, too defensive. It reminds Kiyoomi of a kid that’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “You’re one of my spikers. I need ya to come back as soon as possible.”
Kiyoomi chuckles. Atsumu has never, ever, been exactly good at lying.
“So you would do this for Bokuto and Hinata too?” Kiyoomi questions, raising an eyebrow.
Atsumu chooses to avoid Kiyoomi’s gaze, his eyes focusing back on his hand, massaging up his wrist and down again to the palm of his hand.
“I don’t think they would need me.” He softly laughs.
“And I do?”
“Well, yeah,” Atsumu huffs. “Who else is gonna help ya out? Motoya?”
“I could call him. I’m sure he’d get on the first train here.”
That seems to do the trick, making Atsumu’s eyebrows furrow.
“Yeah, I’m sure he knows your annoyingly long massaging routine too,” Atsumu rolls his eyes, pressing his fingers with a bit more force than before.
“Oh, are you jealous?” Kiyoomi grins, not missing the way Atsumu blushes.
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” He’s sure Atsumu would flip him off if his hands weren’t busy. “Just let me help ya out, okay? There’s nothin’ to think about it. Jeez.”
Kiyoomi nods, shutting up, but even then he can’t help the grin that creeps through his lips. They always do this, tease each other, dance around that thin line that separates what they have and what they could have, never crossing it, but never stepping back either.
As Atsumu’s blush slowly dies down, and his fingers linger closely to Kiyoomi’s as if he would like to hold his hand, not only touch it, Kiyoomi wonders if either of them would be brave enough to say how they really feel one day.
He hopes so, anyway.
The day Kiyoomi had feared finally arrived. He had to wash his hair.
For about a week and some days, Kiyoomi had managed to ignore how awful his curls looked. Getting by using dry shampoo, and washing it only with water when his hair couldn’t possibly go by another day looking that bad.
But there’s only so much that can do for his curls, especially when he’s used to a long hair care routine, and it was starting to show.
And of course, Atsumu noticed.
“Why are your curls so messy?” Atsumu openly asked as they made their way back from a local game, which they won.
It was a great game Kiyoomi wished he could have played. But even if he didn’t, he still enjoyed watching them play, and Atsumu had treated them to onigiri afterward, so his day truly wasn’t that bad.
“Well shit, thanks for that,” Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, waiting for Atsumu to open up the door to his apartment before stepping inside, getting rid of his jacket and shoes.
“Ya’ know what I mean.”
He does. He’s just has been trying to ignore it because…
“Iwaizumi-san told me not to put much pressure into my wrists, remember? I can’t exactly wash my hair like I used to.”
“Let me help ya’ then.” Atsumu offered.
Because of this, Kiyoomi mentally sighs as he gets into the warm tub Atsumu ran for him.
It is already a weird experience having to share a huge chunk of his daily life with Atsumu while simultaneously having to remind himself that this is normal, this is something friends do.
Go out of their way to help others. Gently massage their sore joints until they’re loose. Sitting so close by they can see the shadow of their eyelashes reflect on their cheeks. Look at each other as they’re the only thing that matters.
Kiyoomi is delusional enough to tell himself everything Atsumu has done so far it’s just because he’s a really good fucking friend, but he has no way to explain this. There’s no way Kiyoomi can describe the atmosphere in the bathroom as he lets his head hang by the edge of the tub, close to where Atsumu is sitting on a small stool.
It’s… extremely intimate. This, Kiyoomi thinks as Atsumu gently runs his fingers through his hair, isn’t something just friends do.
“Your hair is so soft…” Atsumu murmurs almost as an afterthought, pushing Kiyoomi’s hair away from his temple.
“I try to take care of it,” Kiyoomi sighs, subconsciously relaxing into his touch.
“I can tell,” Atsumu softly chuckles. “You’ve got like a million hair products.”
“It’s not my fault you only know how to use three in one shampoo.” Kiyoomi groans, but apparently that makes Atsumu laugh.
“I don’t do that anymore,” He says, and Kiyoomi can hear him uncap something, probably the shampoo. “I’ve learned. Can’t you tell?”
I can, Kiyoomi wants to say. Because he too has noticed how soft Atsumu’s hair looks and wishes he could touch it with as much liberty as Atsumu is doing to his hair right now, the pad of his fingers pressing lightly against his scalp.
“Hmm,” Kiyoomi hums instead, closing his eyes. “Be careful, please.”
Atsumu’s hands on his hair are even more relaxing than when they’re massaging Kiyoomi’s wrists. Gentle fingers get to his scalp, running through his damp curls, carefully rinsing and repeating. Sometimes, Atsumu would get his hands under the back of Kiyoomi’s head, kindly touching his nape, and going down to his shoulders, and Kiyoomi would sigh, instantly relaxing to it.
Kiyoomi has had many, many opportunities to think about Atsumu’s touch in the last week and a half, and he has come to the conclusion he likes it. Craves more of it. Atsumu holds him with his hands full every time, ten fingers always grazing over his skin, as if he wants to feel every inch of Kiyoomi he possibly can, and Kiyoomi lets him because there’s no safer place for him than on his capable, tender hands.
Warm water runs down his hair, probably rinsing away the conditioner (or maybe even the hair mask, Kiyoomi has been so relaxed he almost fell asleep at one point, he can’t tell), when Atsumu’s soft voice disrupts the nice quietness they’ve slipped themselves into.
“You know, Omi, the other night, I wasn’t really drunk,” Atsumu murmurs, his fingers carefully combing through Kiyoomi’s hair. He must be thinking Kiyoomi fell asleep for real. “I mean, I was a bit tipsy but… I wasn’t drunk, I just…”
It’s like the nice warm water around him has completely frozen over and left him paralyzed in place. The only sign he’s still alive is his heart, which is beating so fucking fast he’s praying Atsumu can’t hear it.
Kiyoomi braces himself, trying his damn best to stay as still as possible, pretending he is asleep. Absolutely relaxed and not freaking out because he can almost hear what Atsumu is going to say before he says it.
“... I just didn’t have the guts to tell ya I like ya, Omi.” Atsumu softly breathes out. So low and faint Kiyoomi fears he might have imagined the whole thing. But then Atsumu chuckles, his fingers brushing his ears when he says, “I like you so much, Omi. Shit– Wish I could tell ya for real.”
Kiyoomi’s heart is pounding. Drumming. It’s going to come out of his fucking chest. Oh, my god.
He’s an idiot. A whole, oblivious idiot. He’s gotta open his eyes, tell Atsumu he likes him too, he’s gotta–
But then he feels Atsumu shift above him, and a pair of lips pressing lightly on his forehead.
“Wake up,” He murmurs, leaning back as fast and quickly as he leaned forward to do that. “We’re done, Omi. Did ya’ fall asleep?”
Kiyoomi deserves a damn award for the way he blinks his eyes open as if he was really sleeping the whole time. As if he didn’t just hear his friend confess like he’s been waiting to for way too long.
“Hmm, yeah,” Atsumu’s face is right above him as he looks up, golden strands of hair almost touching his own face. “We’re done?”
When Iwaizumi told him he had to rest for two weeks, it seemed like a lifetime. Kiyoomi thought he would go mad in the meantime, but now, as his two weeks of rest come to an end, he doesn’t feel relieved, or happy… he feels… weird. Almost nostalgic.
He knows he shouldn’t, because truth be told he had missed practice, and playing, and the thrill of winning a good match, and seeing his teammates, but there’s a part of him that will miss the moments he shared with Atsumu in the past two weeks.
For fourteen days, they created a routine. Something that felt almost like a relationship, with Atsumu coming back after practice every day, and the soft touches, and the quiet moments filled with so many emotions Kiyoomi swears they both could feel it under their skin. Kiyoomi had let himself fall into it, allowed himself to believe he really had all of that with Atsumu and that it wasn’t just a matter of time before they had to back to their lives and different routines where they were nothing more than good friends and teammates.
He isn’t ready to let this go yet.
Right as he’s taking his jacket off, Atsumu knocks at his front door, just like he has been doing for the past two weeks.
“So?” Atsumu smiles right when Kiyoomi opens the door, he’s almost visibly vibrating where he stands.
Kiyoomi smiles, waving the note he just went to fetch from Iwaizumi’s office.
“I come back tomorrow.”
“Hell yeah!” Atsumu's smile grows bigger, and before Kiyoomi can even think, Atsumu is over him again, pulling him into a tight hug that Kiyoomi just has to reciprocate, slipping his arms below Atsumu’s backpack and around his waist.
“Don’t you think this is a bit too much?” Kiyoomi half laughs, half sighs there where Atsumu’s hair is tickling his chin. “It’s not like I was injured or anything.”
“Yeah, but still…” Atsumu’s words linger in the air as he tries to pull away, but Kiyoomi just tightens his arms around him.
It’s a bit scary, to recognize the moment you’re about to take a risk. It’s both freeing and extremely, extremely scary. Especially when it’s about Atsumu.
“Wait,” Kiyoomi whispers.
“What?” Atsumu’s voice shines with a light tone of alarm. “Are ya’ ok, Omi? Oh, fuck – were ya lying to me? Are ya’ actually injured? Did Iwaizumi-san…”
Kiyoomi sighs deep from the very core of his soul. Of course nothing about Miya Atsumu is ever easy, so why would he confessing his feelings for him ever going to be?
“No, no. God– no, calm down.” Kiyoomi slowly, gently pulls away, enough to look back at Atsumu, but not nearly enough to not feel the warmth of his skin radiating off of him.
“What is it, Omi?” Atsumu murmurs again, golden eyes piercing through him.
“Just…” Well, here goes nothing. “I didn’t imagine all of this, did I?” Kiyoomi softly asks, heart drumming. “Because I swear, Atsumu, that if you just did all of this… as a friend, I couldn’t… I don’t…”
“Well, I was kinda hoping you didn’t think I was just being a good friend.” Atsumu half laughs, half nervously chuckles, and suddenly the tight knot in Kiyoomi’s throat loosens up.
“ So you like me,” Kiyoomi says, only to confirm because it doesn’t feel completely real yet.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not fucking with me?”
Atsumu laughs then, his breath hitting Kiyoomi’s face. “Nah, Omi-kun. I have liked ya for a while. I just didn’t know how to tell ya.”
Well, that’s ironic.
“So you did mean what you said that night at the bar? And back in my bathroom?”
“How did ya–” Atsumu’s eyes open comically wide. “Ya’ asshole! Ya were awake, weren’t ya?”
“I was,” Kiyoomi admits, a smile slipping past his lips.
“Why didn’t you say something!” Atsumu protests, blush running to his cheeks.
Kiyoomi doesn’t answer his question, instead, he murmurs:
“You’re an idiot,” His voice drops down as his eyes do too, focusing on Atsumu’s lips. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“About damn time.”
Kiyoomi’s hands come up from Atsumu’s waist to hold his face between his fingers, hooking his thumb below Atsumu’s chin to tilt his head up just a bit and bring their lips together. The way Atsumu sighs into the kiss feels like a dream.
If Atsumu’s hands are warm, his lips are even more so. Warm, and inviting, and so, so nice as they move along Kiyoomi’s ones he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this. Of kissing him, of Atsumu, of them.
He’s back at Iwaizumi’s office about a week and a half later for a quick check-up, Iwaizumi’s fingers expertly helping him stretch out once again.
“Seems like everything is fine,” He smiles at him, letting go of his left wrist to hold at the other. “Way looser now.”
Kiyoomi hums.
“Atsumu’s been helping me with the daily stretches.” He casually comments, not missing the way Iwaizumi’s eyebrows quirk at him.
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” Kiyoomi smiles, then adds, just to get back at him, “He’s wonderful with his hands.”
Iwaizumi chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.
“So did you tell him?”
Kiyoomi takes a look out the window, eyes going to where Atsumu is once again waiting for him to come out of Iwaizumi’s office. Mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Everything is kind of the same as if it was almost a month ago, except they’re together now.
Finally.
“It was kind of mutual,” Kiyoomi smiles. “But yes.”