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Perfection is relatively stupid.
Kiyoomi knows this, and yet, he cannot find it in his heart to give up or release his hold on this invisible god. He brings himself to the altar and kneels; prayers coming deep within and up into the heavens where they are to be stored, never to be answered.
In his mind, Kiyoomi has always chalked up perfectionists to being selfish or too self-centered. Not in a bad way… just in a way that screamed, “When I’m at my highest I’m better than you.” It never felt right to him. Sure, he had his moments; specifically when he plays volleyball and only when he plays volleyball. Though in the end he knows that there will always be someone better- a team or another middle blocker. That’s why he’s dedicated his young life to training.
Of course, the longer one lives the more susceptible they are to change, and with change comes new habits and new substitutions of behavior. Change is also… unfortunately inevitable.
His one constant in his dull life was volleyball. Growing up, Sakusa Kiyoomi woke up to play the sport. He went to training camps, acquired the appropriate diet, had the passion, and knew from an early age that he wanted to go pro. This was a fact that kept his life steady. It grounded him whenever his parents left the house for an unreasonable length of time, or when his siblings went out, leaving him to sit at the kitchen table picking apart his mixed vegetables.
It happened like this:
“Why don’t you play volleyball with me?” his cousin, Komori, once offered over a phone call during a lonely night, “it would probably be better than whatever you’re doing right now.”
Young Kiyoomi twisted the telephone cord and thought it out. His parents probably wouldn’t mind. In fact they would most likely encourage him to have an outlet of some sort. They often told him that they felt guilty for leaving him alone, buying him his own pet at one point to make up for it. But, it died a few months later and his mom and dad went back to their apologies. So no, his parents would not mind him picking up a sport to pass the time.
And he could always quit if he hated it. Right?
His cousin caught onto the silence and ended the topic with, “you can always quit if you’re bad- which wouldn’t surprise me... your arms are kinda small.”
That comment made his blood boil so he hung up the phone and signed up for volleyball that weekend and that was that.
Years passed and Kiyoomi now wears the number 15 paired with the MSBY Black Jackals team logo.
This is how he sees himself when the change begins.
Being teammates with Miya Atsumu was something Kiyoomi never even thought to picture.
Sure, they grew up together and were rivals on the court.
Sure, Kiyoomi was a difficult person and had his own quirks that made him standoff-ish. It never seemed to deter Atsumu’s presence in his life.
Okay, so maybe he enjoyed being around the most dramatic person he’s ever met.
Sure, whatever, he had a small crush on the guy. Hormones and loneliness will do that to you.
Yes, this crush did last all throughout high school and up until the present. Your point?
In Kiyoomi’s brain, Atsumu was always a rival and never anything else. He couldn’t be. Straying outside the lines of routine is dangerous and uncomfortable. Like a virus, change needs a host that has its defenses down and the door unlocked. A host of a virus- whether it wants to or not- dusts out the cobwebs, changes the sheets, and makes a cup of coffee to welcome said virus as it leeches and sucks until the host’s defenses have strengthened and adapted. This process can take awhile. So, in order to prevent this for as long as possible, Kiyoomi is careful to wash his hands, distances himself from crowds, deep cleans the surfaces in his home, and might even wear a mask outside if the day is bad enough.
The sudden surprise of letting his defenses down comes one day after practice while he and Atsumu find themselves walking in the same direction towards their parked cars. Just two rivals-turned-teammates walking side by side. In the sun. Atsumu’s blond post-shower hair being tossed around by the light breeze that just passed, his exuberant laugh (that was caused by Kiyoomi himself of all people) ringing in Kiyoomi’s ears which causes a small smile and a light blush to appear behind his cloth mask.
You know… rival-turned-teammates kind of stuff.
Once they reach their cars Atsumu stops and turns to him, takes in a breath and says, “You know Omi-kun, I’m only gonna say this once, but I’m actually really glad you and I ended up here.”
The breeze makes another appearance.
“What do you mean?” Kiyoomi asks, a little confused with the sudden change of topic.
Atsumu ruffles his drying hair and then smoothes it over with his hand which then falls to the back of his neck, “I’m just sayin’ if I had to play volleyball with someone professionally… I’m kind of glad it’s you.” He shifts his weight and leans on the back of his car as Kiyoomi just stares. “I mean, when we were kids we had that whole competitive streak goin’ on, but we’re also friends, right?”
“Sure,” Kiyoomi finds himself admitting, “yeah we’re friends. But what about your brother? Or Hinata? Or Bokuto? Isn’t it the same with them?”
“It is but it isn't,” Atsumu sighs. “It took me a while to understand ‘Samu but I’m glad he quit. He’s happier with his shop now than he ever was playin’ with me. And with Bokkun and Hinata… It’s different. I can’t explain it.”
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, “so then it's not that different.”
“No, it is, I just can’t explain it! It’s like… like… “ Atsumu is now standing straight with his hands scrubbing his face in hopes to find the words he’s looking for (or avoiding the words he doesn’t want to say). Thankfully, Sakusa Kiyoomi is attuned to the ever exasperated Miya Atsumu and has an inkling of what he means. At least, he hopes he knows what the latter is trying to say, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by. That look is very familiar. Kiyoomi wears it often.
It’s different because it’s you, he thinks.
Kiyoomi pulls his mask down because he wants his rival, teammate, or whatever the hell he is to fully understand what he’s trying to hint at. And then he smiles and says softly, “I get what you mean, Atsumu.”
Atsumu just lets his arms fall and he stares. The breeze cuts through the newfound tension and then he takes two tentative steps forward. A soft pink colors both of their faces.
“…No, I don't think ya do Omi.”
Kiyoomi meets him halfway. As always. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because yer an idiot sometimes.”
Both men chuckle and Kiyoomi hums, then in a moment of insane courage he asks, “okay, well will you expand on it then? Since I’m the idiot here.”
The blond huffs. He looks at the other’s hand like he wants to reach out but doesn’t. Instead he murmurs a quiet, “I don’t think I can.”
Of course he chooses now to be a coward, Kiyoomi thinks. Atsumu was never scared to make his presence known in any moment that he’s been alive. He was always there pushing his teammates to their limits and creating new goals for everyone to follow. Him and his dumb bleached-blond hair were everywhere Kiyoomi turned and refused to leave. In passing he sometimes found lingering stares or flirtatious comments coming from Atsumu, who seemed very brave to be making those choices when Kiyoomi was almost never in the mood. Or sometimes, they would be seated across from each other during post-game meals and would veer into discussions ranging from philosophy to arguing about this or that.
Once, they found themselves sitting in front of Kiyoomi’s TV with their cups of cooled tea long forgotten on the coffee table all because he mentioned that he could simply beat anyone and their mom at any Rainbow Rod level in Mario Kart. This of course had Atsumu smirking with his muttered comments of “sure Omi-kun” and “heh, I could beat ya” which indubitably had Kiyoomi proving himself right then and there.
Atsumu won (derogatory) and there will be revenge for making him look like a fool in his own home- make no mistake.
There are also those times when Kiyoomi will wake up feeling every wrong thing around him and Atsumu then, in his own way, helps him and even makes sure practice is not one of those “wrong” things. Those are the days when Kiyoomi finds himself thinking that maybe he feels differently about his friend and that maybe- just maybe he feels a very certain way about him.
So today of all days he decides to reach out to those feelings and takes hold of Atsumu’s pinky, intertwining the sucker and holding it steady while sending up another prayer to whichever god is listening and doesn’t let go. After this courageous feat however, Kiyoomi has to take a moment to steel himself accordingly because he could very well be rejected any second. He has to prepare himself for what might come, so he slowly breathes out and releases the extension in his shoulders.
Finally glancing up, he sees a vibrant blush splashed onto the face of the man staring back at him. Surprise has got him looking shy and sweet and his mouth is hanging open slightly like a cliche. Oh yeah- Kiyoomi’s confidence is back and revenge tastes oh so sweet.
Relishing in this slow moment he swings their wrists just slightly, taking note of the weight and texture of Atsumu’s hand and feeling the calluses that have been built up throughout the years.
“What about now?” Kiyoomi finally asks.
A raspy voice chokes out in response, “I want to but I won’t lie to ya, I’m a little scared of what you’ll say back. Bein’ the devil that you are.”
In a way, Kiyoomi is thankful for this reply. It gives him the chance to do something that he’s never done before- never wanted to do before.
He fully opens himself up to change.
And so, with the courage that is still lingering, he dusts out the cobwebs, changes the sheets, and brews a cup of coffee in his heart in preparation for a new visitor. He moves until he’s face to face with the other man and looks at him like he looks at a scoreboard with a one-point difference; one hit, one block, one serve, one choice, and the tides change for better or worse.
Kiyoomi kisses Atsumu and Atsumu kisses back, leaving him to think that this moment of change is definitely for the better.
Definitely.
Once, when he was 16 years old, Kiyoomi got a splinter from an old broom in his school’s gym supply closet. He was just trying to put it away and suddenly he felt a sharp pain on his ring finger. Pulling his hand away with a wince, he inspected the damage and found that he could barely see the small sliver of wood sticking out from where the top part of the finger bent.
He had to wait until he walked home to pull it out. It was sitting in his skin- infecting and spreading and it hurt and he couldn’t do anything except walk; picking at the splinter would only hurt more and would most likely result in pushing it further into his finger. So Kiyoomi had to be patient, and once he opened up his front door he stormed down the hall and into his bathroom to find a pair of tweezers. Getting the splinter out hurt like a bitch but once removed there was instant relief.
Supid metaphors.
The beginning of their relationship had a surprising sweetness to it. Like when a child takes a spoonful of honey thinking they know what it tastes like, and then the honey coats the entirety of their tongue and they realize oh, this is good.
Much to their surprise there was nothing all too different from before. Instead of playing a vicious game of Mario Kart side-by-side on the couch, someone would have a pair of legs on their lap and a bragging kiss every now and then. Overall things were going pretty well, until eventually it was time for old habits to come out of their shadows where they have been waiting for a moment to be made known.
The situation that stirs Kiyoomi’s metaphorical pot was all his idea so technically it was his fault too. If that information is important to anyone.
Jealousy comes in all shapes and forms, and for him it came in the shape of a large, clear bottle of downer.
Every time Atsumu and Kiyoomi get together with friends there is a small space in Kiyoomi’s stomach that twists and churns when his boyfriend looks so free and without burden; the latter boy is standing by a near corner with a cup of water and a distant look on his face. This is it, he thinks, I’ve had enough of this.
And so Kiyoomi suggests on the drive back to Atsumu’s place, “ I think it would be fun if we had a drink or two together sometime.”
It’s a big step towards trust for him; Atsumu knows this because he continuously asks if he’s sure and with each question comes another assurance. In his head he is sure that he’s tired of himself and wishes he could change, and, perhaps with a bit of liquid courage he can make that happen for the person who holds his hand like some precious thing.
Being under the influence is a big deal for someone who guards themselves so carefully. To put his guard down is to surrender- and who better to surrender to than the captor of his heart?
This night is the result of the constant pressure of making sure that his partner is comfortable. At holiday get-togethers when Kiyoomi refuses touch and crowded groups despite the familiar presence, is Atsumu comfortable? At home, when they’re watching TV and he reaches over to Kiyoomi to massage his thigh even though Kiyoomi doesn’t feel like being touched for whatever reason, is Atsumu comfortable?
Kiyoomi used to be an advocate for honesty and speaking up. Everyone on the team constantly tells him to ease up because apparently they can’t take the blunt truth as it is. Whatever. Times change and he’s gone soft for the one he loves- accidentally creating a false sense of reality for this person, who probably thinks the reason Kiyoomi has let him touch and force a way into his bubble is because he’s special.
It’s true though- that Atsumu is so, so special. But sometimes being special is not enough for people like Kiyoomi. People who crave touch and yet cannot stand it; someone who wants to be told sweet little nothings yet knows that most of what’s said won’t hold up when Kiyoomi has his wall up and distanced from everyone.
Do childhood wounds ever heal? Or do they just fester like that annoying splinter?
Anyway.
They are back at Atsumu's apartment and Atsumu is currently whipping out some random bottle of liquor while Kiyoomi sits criss-cross-applesauce on the couch. He’s a little nervous considering he doesn’t know what will happen once he’s downed a few… whatever it is they will be downing. He really wants to do this and let go of his uptight endeavors, and yet he doesn’t know how his body will react during and after these shenanigans with Atsumu.
It is important to mention that Kiyoomi has little experience in drinking and only does it when he’s with his cousin or by himself. So, this is sort of a big step.
Atsumu hands Kiyoomi a glass of something that smells a bit sweet and sits beside him.
“I’m not gonna lie” Atsumu starts, “I didn't know you drank.”
Kiyoomi’s forehead crinkles weirdly when an eyebrow raises, “what do you mean?”
“I’ve just never seen you do it and it’s something that you haven’t ever brought up- I just assumed I guess.”
“Hn.”
“Do you have a favorite drink?”
“Uh… typically something on the sweeter side. I’m not one to take pain for pleasure.”
“I can change that.”
“Ew."
Atsumu winks and they both start drinking after giving a quiet “cheers.”
The night starts out just like that. A bit of flirting from Atsumu and a sprinkle of late-night talking and touching. After a while Kiyoomi begins to feel that buzz in his head and everything that was making him tense leaves his body in one long breath.
“I am going to have another ‘un.” He reaches out for the bottle and Atumu begins to rub his back as some sort of comfort? Buzzed Kiyoomi is unsure.
“How are you holdin’ up?”
Kiyoomi pours a bit too much and spills a few droplets on the table when he lifts the bottle. He gets the strange idea to wipe them off with his hand and lick the remnants and because his mind is so relaxed he does exactly that. It tastes like his hand. Okay cool. He gets the taste of hand off his tongue by taking a large swig from his glass.
With his mind refusing what is slowly becoming obvious, he mumbles out, “I feel fine. Buzzed maybe.” To which Atsumu replies with a laugh that should not be there because Kiyoomi is not being funny right now. So why is he laughing?
“Ha! Yeah sure, three glasses of that and you are right as the rain. Sure, sweet thing.” The blond has a pretty blush on and has himself pressed up close to the other, neither of them mind at all. In fact, Kiyoomi feels a great urge to swarm the other with his own body. So he ever so politely sets his almost empty glass down and heads for his target.
They both share a laugh as Kiyoomi forces Atsumu to lay down on the couch, their bodies both clinging to each other as he rubs his face on his boyfriend’s neck because he is warm and always safe.
“Don’t that tick- Omi wait no come back-” Omi, Kiyoomi thinks, that’s me. And he cannot escape that feeling of freedom that he has found. Where he can push and pull as much as he wants, Atsumu doesn’t look like he minds as he’s currently laughing at something else Kiyoomi is doing that certainly is not funny. He is not trying to be funny right now. But he just can’t help himself as he continues to rub his face against Atsumu’s in an attempt to make him laugh harder. Their faces hurt from smiling so hard and Kiyoomi thinks this is normal. This is what normal people do.
The whole thing is really unremarkable. They are just two people laughing at each other due to the funny antics that sometimes comes with being drunk. They are on the couch and it really isn’t anything special.
Except it is because Kiyoomi can’t hear a thing. He just feels and feels and feels, going along with impulses that are telling him to say “I love you,” or to bite an ear, or just using his hands to make his way from the top of Atsumu’s head all the way to his stomach. He feels the bleached hair, soft skin, a nose, a mouth, a strong neck, and muscles that usually come with being a professional athlete.
There is no bad feeling and he is acting so open and vulnerable and it feels great. There is nothing in his brain that reminds him to stay calm or to be on-guard. Tonight, Kiyoomi is normal.
They spend the night like this; it is intimate but not sensual in the way that they touch and babble and laugh. They end up falling asleep curled up in Atsumu’s comforter and Kiyoomi drifts off thinking he has made his boyfriend happier.
But that’s probably just a stupid drunk thought making its rounds.
When he wakes up, Kiyoomi is very tired and his bladder hurts. With a big stretch, he looks over to his right where Atsumu is snoring away but doesn’t bother with looking any more than that. He needs to pee and get some water.
He rubs at his eyes and stands up, his head spins a little from last night but he makes his way to the bathroom; as he washes his hands he looks in the mirror and stares.
Kiyoomi takes note of himself, I can feel my body again, he announces to his brain for whatever reason. As his hands work at rubbing off the soap he makes out the way the suds glide off of his skin-if he focuses he can feel the individual bubbles that are there on his wrist. He can identify the swirls on the pads of his fingers and decides that he is taking note of too much and turns off the water.
As he dries his hands he makes sure to ignore how the texture of the towel pokes up on his palms and makes his way to the kitchen, where he gets a glass from a cabinet and fills it with water. After gulping down a few glassfulls and taking another for when Atsumu wakes up, he walks back to the bedroom and sets the glass down next on the nightstand.
Kiyoomi walks to his side and gets into bed to meet Atsumu, who would be sleeping soundly but Kiyoomy accidentally hits a leg with his foot while sliding in and he’s met with sleepy eyes and lips that look dry as hell.
“Mm’don’t hit me I’m still sleep’n” Atsumu groans and stretches. God, his lips look dry.
There's a bit more rustling as they both settle and Kiyoomi mutters out, “there’s water on the nightstand if you need it.”
As his eyes close he hears a “thank you” and Atsumu gulping down the entire thing in under three seconds. The weight on the bed shifts and they’re both drifting back off to sleep. At least, that’s what Kiyoomi thought until he felt a few taps on his pillow and opened his eyes to see Atsumu, who was staring at him with some sort of question in mind.
“Hm?”
“I’m a li’l dizzy still. How’re you feelin’?”
Kiyoomi thinks back to the towel in the bathroom and sighs. “Fine.”
When it comes out he feels weirdly guilty for what feels like a lie. He says fine but doesn’t really feel fine- his body is healthy and he is successful, and has a partner who still has dry-ass lips, but he doesn’t feel normal anymore. That feeling slipped away while he was sleeping and was replaced by something a bit heavier, but nameless.
“Hey,” Kiyoomi starts, “are you happy in your body?”
Atsumu kind of gives him a confused expression but considers the question as it is. “You mean like… um.” A pause, “Yeah. Pretty sure. Are you not?”
Kiyoomi doesn’t know so he continues on. “Were you happy last night?”
“Yeah. Was fun. Were you? Are you okay?”
Sitting up on his elbow he sighs, “I’m fine. I just-” Atsumu scoots closer and waits for him to continue, so he does. “This may sound over-dramatic but sometimes I watch you and I feel like I could be doing more. Are you happy?”
“Yer right, that was over-dramatic. But yes, I am happy. With you. Are you happy?”
“With you, yes. With me, I’m not sure.”
Atsumu looks at him with calm eyes and a mouth in a thin line, and well, if Kiyoomi is going to win the best partner award that’s completely made up in his head then he should probably continue (and yes, he is competing with himself. He won last year but one can never be too careful about this year’s results).
Looking into dark, honeyed eyes, he explains that sometimes he feels like less than a human being because of how distant he can be. How sometimes he will watch The Miya Twins laugh and wrestle but will watch only. Or how, during team bonding nights, he will see some of their teammates interact with their significant others and they look normal and content with holding hands or putting an arm around the other’s shoulders. All of the outsiders look perfect in their domesticity and comfortability, all while Atsumu and his partner have to have codes and signals for overstimulation and overwhelming sensations. Isn’t physical touch a sign of a loving and happy relationship? He also finds interactions with friends are made of a similar difficulty.
More often than not, Kiyoomi feels like a splinter just waiting to be taken out. He feels like he is something that festers and waits, contaminating and irritating whatever is around him at that moment. Someone who is normal doesn’t sit in corners, alone, because they want to. Normal people like to talk with their friends at get-togethers and hug the people that they love. And god, these thoughts keep circling around and it gets so tiring to constantly focus on this but he can’t help it because Atsumu could be with someone who wants to hold his hand all the time. Some days it feels like the other settled for someone who doesn’t meet whatever invisible standards that are there. Wherever they are.
Kiyoomi ends his speech by shoving his face in a pillow and covering his entire body with the comforter to hide from whatever answer the other man is about to give, like the juvenile he is.
He doesn’t hear Atsumu say anything right away, but he feels two strong arms pick him up and tuck him against the rest of the strong and warm body. Kiyoomi whines but doesn’t move from where is now placed.
“Is this alright?” Atsumu asks and Kiyoomi makes an affirmative sound in response. “Okay, so here is what I’m hearin’. You feel bad that you aren’t all touchy n’ stuff all the time and you feel because of that you aren’t normal. And you feel bad because you think that if ya were to change yourself you could make everyone around ya happier, includin’ me. Would you say that is correct?” Another affirmative groan. “Well then gorgeous I just have to say that you are silly. And I love you.”
This time there is a negative groan coming from the blankets.
Atsumu looks up at the ceiling and continues speaking, undeterred by the noisy lump. “Kiyoomi darlin’, you are not perfect- none of us are- but you are good just as you are. Somethin’ that I learned from an early age is that the more you look to the sidelines the more unhappy ya get. And don’t you think I get a little insecure from time to time about us? Do you think I’m too much?”
A dark set of curls pops out as Kiyoomi uncovers his face, “Not too much, just sometimes we get on different levels.”
“Mhmm. And what happens then?”
“We let each other know.”
“Yep. And then what?” To this, Atsumu gets a confused scowl in return. “We communicate and move on. Do we judge each other for that? No, because we are two separate individuals who happen to love each other. And, babe, just because you don’t like touchin’ sometimes doesn’t make you any less of a person. It just makes you Kiyoomi. And if people are judging ya and making ya feel bad for being you then they aren’t really worth having in your life. Does that make sense?”
Kiyoomi stares at a seam of Atsumu’s shirt and thinks about how stupid everything is. Overthinking is stupid and relationships are stupid and Kiyoomi is stupid. As his punishment for being so, he comes clean about one more thing.
“That’s why I wanted to drink last night. Thought I would show you what a normal me should look like. Was jealous of you too, I think.”
Kiyoomi dares to take a peak at Atsumu, only to find that he looks almost… mad?
He asks, “what, is it that bad? Why do you look like that?”
Atsumu’s frown deepens. “Yes, I actually hate that you said that. Do I make you feel like that?”
“No, not at all. I just don't like myself sometimes.”
“Okay well… good. The thing about me I mean. And the thing about you is something that we can work on.”
Atsumu says we and it makes Kiyoomi feel a bit lighter. His skin feels comfier to live in and he sinks into Atsumu’s arms a bit deeper.
“What about you?” Kiyoomi wonders, “should we work on you too?”
The look on Atsumu’s face softens with a smile and Kiyoomi can’t help but smile back. “Yeah. We can work on ourselves together.”
They stay like that for a few moments, just looking at each other in the quiet that surrounds them. After a bit the AC unit kicks on and becomes background noise.
But then Atsumu suddenly furrows his brows again and bonks their heads together, to which Kiyoomi gives an offended “ouch.”
“You deserve that. Don’t think I forgot the part where we got drunk, all because you felt like you had to in order to prove something as stupid as your normalcy. Stupid. You are good just the way you are, Omi. This will not be happenin’ again. Understood?”
Kiyoomi gives a short nod. “Yessir. Sorry sir.”
“Good. And don’t patronize me.”
“Spell patronize.”
“Yer honor, I would like to object.”
“Your honor, I object as well. The opposing counsel can’t even spell. How are we supposed to continue like this?”
“P-A-T-R-O-N-I-Z-E- are ya happy now?”
Kiyoomi is smiling all big and stupid, and Atsumu looks down at him only to return the smile. They’re both lame.
“Not one bit” Kiyoomi whispers, but they both know the truth.
So yes, perfection is stupid. There is no such thing and anyone who is claiming to be so is foolish. But it seems that the gods have answered Kiyoomi’s prayers. They have sent him opportunities to learn from, to show him that the changes that occur in one’s life cannot be stopped. That sometimes change festers like a splinter, and only when one has the right tools at the right time can they do something about it.
Today, Kiyoomi has been given the opportunity to grow with Atsumu, to rewrite a habit of thought that has been haunting him for years and years on end.
And as the day goes on, Kiyoomi thinks that if change needs a place to stay, then he’s willing to dust a few more of those cobwebs if it means he can do it with someone he loves.