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Kiyoomi doesn’t really know why he keeps giving into Motoya’s ridiculous requests. Parties were never really his thing, especially those fancy dinner parties his family loved to hold, and college frat parties were no different. The music was loud enough to feel like his skull was rattling, and he could feel the bass thrumming in his feet. There were multiple bodies jammed into one main room, the strobe lights were giving him a bit of a headache, and the smell of booze was heavy in the air. But, midterms were finally over, and Kiyoomi had made the mistake of mentioning he wanted to do something after being cooped up in his room in an offhand comment.
Now he’s here, stuck in this hellishly loud party. He wonders if he made a mistake in deciding to come to America for university.
He’s dressed in a simple black button down, paired with black slacks, a belt looped around his waist, his usual mask tugged over the lower half of his face. Motoya, on the other hand, had gone to a pre-game party, wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. But now, his cousin is wearing some gaudy neon-colored cargo shorts with knee-high white socks, slides, a tie-dye shirt and a short-sleeved Hawaiian button-down. Kiyoomi has no idea how it happened, and prefers to be kept in the dark about it.
Said cousin is a few paces away from where Kiyoomi is standing, guzzling down a red Solo cup of beer. Motoya slams the cup back down on the pong table with a grin and picks up the ping pong ball – Kiyoomi grimaces – and shuts one eye, tongue sticking out of his mouth as he makes an exaggerated gesture before taking a shot. It lands directly in one of the last two cups on the other side, and Motoya lets out a whoop, high-fiving his teammate.
Kiyoomi lets his gaze roam around the crowded townhouse, mouth curved into a slight pout beneath his mask. He recognizes some of the songs that are being blasted from the speaker, Motoya’s sung them enough times beneath his breath. The next song that comes on draws out a roar of approval from practically everyone in the room, and before Kiyoomi knows it, everyone is singing drunkenly along to the lyrics.
Kiyoomi makes his way over to where the drinks table is, feeling his lip curl a little bit when he notices how messy it is. He opts for the cooler and grabs a water bottle, and as he straightens back up, he feels a presence behind him, and there’s a gentle graze of a hand on the small of his back.
“Excuse me, darlin’.” It’s low, with a little rumble, and a familiar lilt to the words that Kiyoomi’s all too familiar with hearing when he and Motoya speak with their classmates. He’s impressed with himself that he even heard it over the thrumming music. Nonetheless, Kiyoomi feels his breath catch in his throat, and immediately whirls around, but whoever it was has disappeared into the crowd. His heart is thumping in his chest, Kiyoomi’s confused and nervous, and he doesn’t know what to do. He came out as bisexual when he was fourteen, but he hasn’t felt that fluttery feeling in several years. Is it possible to just be attracted to someone without even seeing their face?
Apparently.
Kiyoomi slinks back to his corner, eyes scanning the crowd even though he knows it’s useless. It’s entirely possible that Kiyoomi misheard the accent, but if he heard correctly, it should be easier to figure out who it was, right? It could be a little foolish for Kiyoomi to try to find one person at a crowded party just because of his voice, but it could be some of the alcohol swirling in his brain.
“Hey! Kiyoomi, right?”
Kiyoomi feels himself jump as someone shouts at him, a hand clamping down on his shoulder. He suppresses the grimace, thanking the mask covering his expression, still not used to people butchering the pronunciation of his name. Still, Kiyoomi turns respectfully to greet the other person. It’s an unfamiliar face, but apparently he recognizes who Kiyoomi is on the campus of a couple ten thousand students.
“Hi,” Kiyoomi replies, stilted and awkward. He has a tendency to speak softly, and when the other guy leans in a little closer to hear him, Kiyoomi decides to raise his voice. “Have we met before?”
“We were in the same junior seminar,” the other guy says, looking a little hurt. “We were in a group together. I’m Matt.” Kiyoomi blinks. The past semester was a little fuzzy, but Kiyoomi shrugs, offering an apology. Matt laughs, waving a hand at him. He asks how Kiyoomi’s classes are going this semester, and Kiyoomi replies to the best of his ability.
During their conversation, Kiyoomi spots Motoya across the room, playing a drunken game of pool. It’s amusing to watch, and eventually, Matt follows his gaze.
“Oh, you know Motoya?”
Suppress the cringe, Kiyoomi.
“He’s my cousin.”
“Oh, that’s wild! Motoya’s totally a party animal. No offense, but you don’t look like this is your type of scene at all.”
Kiyoomi isn’t entirely sure what Matt means by that, still getting accustomed to the slang, but shakes his head anyways, “I’d much rather be sleeping.” Matt grins at him, all teeth, and tips back the rest of his drink.
“You’re both from Japan, right?” Matt asks. Kiyoomi nods. Matt tilts his head, contemplatively. “I think there’s another few students here from Japan as well.” Kiyoomi hates the way his heart jumps, intrigued. “I don’t really know them too well, or their names, but they’re pretty popular, I guess.”
That doesn’t entirely add up, but on a campus of nearly thirty-five thousand students, Kiyoomi supposes that it makes some sense, at least.
“Are they here?” Kiyoomi asks. “At the party?”
“I think so,” Matt has to raise his voice as the next song played practically shakes the walls. “I heard they were coming, though! Maybe your cousin knows more?” Kiyoomi glances over at where Motoya is half leaning on his pool teammate. His Hawaiian button down is now nowhere to be found.
“Maybe,” Kiyoomi concedes.
“That’s all,” Matt pats Kiyoomi on the shoulder. “Just wanted to swing by to say hello! Enjoy the rest of your night!” Matt slips back into the crowd before Kiyoomi can say anything else. But there is some hope now.
Kiyoomi decides to risk it and weave his way through the crowd, eyes scanning the crowd for any sort of clue. But the strobe lights and multiple bodies makes it difficult to discern faces. As Kiyoomi finally makes his way over to the pool table, Motoya spots him and perks up, shoving his pool stick at his partner to trot over to him.
“Kiyoomi!” Motoya sings, slinging an arm over his shoulders, dragging him down. Motoya’s words are a little slurred, cheeks flushed. “Come play pool with me!” Motoya must really be drunk, because he’s no longer speaking in semi-broken English, but rather a combination of Japanese and English. Kiyoomi sighs, and pushes his half-drunk water bottle into Motoya’s hands.
“Sober up a little bit, and then I’ll consider it.” Kiyoomi offers. Motoya chugs the entire bottle in a couple of seconds, grinning at Kiyoomi with a gummy smile. Kiyoomi sighs, and allows Motoya to drag him over to the pool table just in time for his teammate to pocket the 8-ball.
Motoya pats his pockets and tugs out a package of anti-bacterial wipes, cleaning off one of the pool sticks before thrusting it at Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi takes it wordlessly, ignoring the inquisitive looks the others give him. Motoya introduces them all to each other, but their names are lost on Kiyoomi over the music.
Kiyoomi breaks, and pockets two solids, hitting another one in before he misses. He’s not certain if Motoya can tell the difference between the solids and the stripes, having to correct him a handful of times to hit the correct balls into the pockets. He and Motoya end up winning several games in a row, and they’ve gathered a little bit of a crowd by now. He finds that he doesn’t mind too much.
Kiyoomi’s loosened up a little bit because of the bit of alcohol he drank, his shoulders are no longer tense, and he’s smiling beneath his mask whenever Motoya bumps hips with him whenever they pocket a ball. After being declared undisputed champions, Motoya drags Kiyoomi away from the pool table by the wrist.
“There’s some people I want you to meet!” Motoya shouts. Kiyoomi nods, letting Motoya lead the way through the crowd, only flinching when someone bumps into them. Motoya traipses up the stairs and barges into a room with an unlocked door. There’s a small group of four guys sitting in a circle on the floor, a window cracked open as they all chat, taking sips from their cups. Kiyoomi’s almost completely forgotten about his attraction to the faceless voice he’d heard earlier when he realizes that they’re all Japanese.
“Motoya, you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence.” One of them drawls, speaking in a familiar dialect. His hair is a little wild, flipping out like tufts behind each ear. His expression is lazy, sitting with his legs crossed and braced against his palms.
The next thing Kiyoomi notices is that there’s a set of twins in the room, staring up at Kiyoomi with identical expressions. The only thing that’s different about them, as far as Kiyoomi can tell, is their hair color. The last guy looks like someone Kiyoomi wouldn’t get along with. There’s an inquisitive look to his eye, one that rings alarm bells in Kiyoomi’s head.
“Ah, Toya-chan, who’ve you brought with you?” He asks, a small smile on his lips.
“This is my cousin! The lazy-lookin’ one is Suna Rintarou. The twins are Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu, you can figure out which one is which, and the last bastard is Oikawa Tooru.” Motoya waves at them lazily before he plops down next to Suna. Kiyoomi awkwardly folds his legs beneath him to sit next to his cousin.
“Nice to meet you all,” Kiyoomi says, dipping his head politely. “I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
“Motoya says you both came here from Tokyo?” Suna asks. Kiyoomi nods, and Suna sighs, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Tokyo’s great. I miss my home city.”
“You’re from Tokyo?” Kiyoomi can’t help but to ask. Suna nods, before he jerks his fingers in the twins’ direction.
“Yeah. I moved to the Hyogo area in high school where I met these two numbskulls.” Suna hums.
“Hey!” The twins scowl, and Suna smirks. The blond twin turns to look at Kiyoomi and offers a brilliant smile.
“The name’s Atsumu. Nice ta meet’cha.”
“Osamu,” the other twin tacks on. “Motoya mentioned you didn’t like crowds, so hopefully this is a more comfortable space.”
Kiyoomi feels his breath catch in his throat at the familiar lilting tones. But he’s not certain which twin was the one behind him, if he’s even on the right track.
“It’s better,” Kiyoomi murmurs. “Thank you.”
“So, Omi-kun, whatcha study?” Atsumu asks, golden eyes inquisitive. Kiyoomi feels his brow furrow at the nickname, and glances from Atsumu to Osamu, then to Suna and Oikawa. They all look exasperated with Atsumu, but eventually look over to give Kiyoomi their full attention. Motoya nudges him encouragingly and Kiyoomi clears his throat awkwardly.
“Business management.” Kiyoomi shifts, “my parents want me to take over their business when they retire. What about you all?”
“Interior design and fashion,” Oikawa is the first one to speak, and for some reason, Kiyoomi thinks that fits him perfectly despite only knowing him for a few minutes.
“I’m just sort of here,” Suna shrugs. “Media studies and journalism, mostly, though.” He tilts his head. “Almost went into med school, though.” Suna snorts, “don’t think I’d be here if I was, though.”
“Sports nutrition,” Osamu swirls the liquid in his cup absentmindedly. “I want to become a personal trainer or nutritionist some day.”
“I’m studyin’ to become a physical therapist,” Atsumu puffs out his chest proudly.
“Which means he’s good with his hands,” Oikawa comments, a sly grin on his face. Atsumu goes red in the cheeks, lips curving down into a pout, and the others laugh at his expense. Atsumu’s eyes flicker over to Kiyoomi, as if to gauge his reaction, but Kiyoomi simply shrugs a shoulder.
“It’s a good job,” Kiyoomi says simply. “It takes a lot of work, but it pays off in the end.” Atsumu’s lips curl back up into a small smile, dimples in his cheeks, and Kiyoomi feels his heart flutter.
They make small talk for a while, reminisce on things that they miss in Japan, frustrating things that they’re dealing with in classes, the shitty paying jobs on campus and the semi-decent food in the cafeteria.
“Samu and I are pretty damn good at cooking,” Atsumu snaps his fingers when Kiyoomi makes an offhand remark about how different the foods are in the American cafeterias in contrast to the ones back home. “You and Toya-kun can come over to our apartment sometime if ya wanna.” Atsumu gestures towards his twin, Suna and Oikawa. “We all live together off campus.”
“Sounds great!” Motoya butts in before Kiyoomi can even say anything. He has to admit though, a home-cooked meal does sound amazing after living off of instant noodles and cafeteria stir-fry and pizza.
A few minutes later, Kiyoomi excuses himself to use the bathroom, and the moment he slips out into the hallway, grimaces. The rooms in this townhouse were much more soundproof than he gave them credit for. He finds the bathroom downstairs, and has to wait a little before it’s free. He relieves himself, and as he leaves, someone gets knocked into him. Kiyoomi can just barely make out their features, and he’s pretty sure it’s Atsumu, when-
“Oh, ‘scuse me, darlin’. Sorry ‘bout that.”
Atsumu’s locked the door to the bathroom before Kiyoomi can regain his bearings. He’s still standing there, stunned, when Atsumu walks back out.
“Oh! Omi-kun, were ya waiting to use the bathroom?” Atsumu blinks up at him, golden eyes glimmering in the strobe lights.
“Uh… no,” Kiyoomi says. Great job, Kiyoomi. “I saw you when I was about to leave, so I thought I’d wait.”
“Aw, ain’t that sweet of ya,” Atsumu beams. “C’mon! Let’s get back to the others.” Atsumu takes Kiyoomi by the wrist and bounds through the crowd. Normally, Kiyoomi would shirk away from anyone touching him, even Motoya’s touch is iffy. But Atsumu’s hand is smooth and warm and calloused and… safe.
When they get back into the room, Atsumu releases Kiyoomi’s hand, and he can’t help but to feel a little disappointed about it. The others seem to catch Atsumu’s movement, and a few brows raise. Kiyoomi ignores it and settles back down next to Motoya, and Atsumu plops next to Osamu, who tugs him closer by the sleeve to hiss something in his ear. Whatever it is has Atsumu’s eyes flickering over to Kiyoomi, and his cheeks are flushed pink.
“So, Kiyoomi, are you up for a game of pool sometime?” Suna asks, and Kiyoomi tilts his head, a little confused. “Atsumu said that you and Motoya drew a lot of attention to yourselves as the undefeated champions of pool at this party.” Suna jerks a lazy thumb over at the twins. “Osamu and I are a pretty formidable team.” Kiyoomi glances at the door, where the loud party music is still filtering through.
“There’s a pool table in the games room of our apartment complex,” Atsumu offers, rocking from side to side. Kiyoomi glances over at Motoya, who’s looking right back at him, waiting for him to give an answer.
“Sure.” Kiyoomi nods. Suna fist pumps, before he reaches into his pocket to pluck out his phone.
“Goddamn, it’s only nine-thirty?” Suna groans, tilting his head back. “I thought we'd been here for hours.”
“It has been hours, Rin-chan.” Oikawa tsks. “We got here at four-thirty and it was already in full swing.” Oikawa glances over at Kiyoomi, and he’s not quite certain he likes that sly smile on Oikawa’s face. “You said your dorm is on the opposite side of campus?” Kiyoomi nods, albeit a bit hesitant. Oikawa grins. “You should come to our apartment, then. You and Motoya; we have room, and we’re all around the same size so you can borrow clothes. Besides, our apartment is a five minute walk from the south entrance.” Oikawa gestures to the open window, where the said south entrance is visible.
“Sounds good to me!” Motoya chirps.
“Tsumu and I are sober enough to make some food, too.” Osamu adds.
“And when I’m more sober, we’re playing pool.” Suna points a lazy finger at Kiyoomi. “If Motoya’s passed out, then you can play with Atsumu. He’s not too great at pool, though.” Suna ignores Atsumu’s indignant cry to continue, “so you might have to teach him.”
There’s something that feels amiss, but Kiyoomi can’t quite put his finger on it. But nonetheless, he’s been itching to leave this party for a good while now, so he agrees. They all make sure they have their things and clean up the room, bringing their garbage downstairs to throw it away before slipping out of the door one by one.
“Ah… fresh air.” Atsumu inhales deeply, eyes closed and head tilted up as he steps outside. “That feels damn good.” In the moonlight filtering through the clouds, it makes Atsumu’s golden eyes glow, and casts an almost silvery light to his hair. Kiyoomi tears his gaze away to make sure that they have everyone, and falls into step with Atsumu as they make their way to the apartment.
Atsumu chatters on for the majority of the walk, Kiyoomi interjecting only when Atsumu turns his attention to him expectantly. The others are talking amongst themselves, and it’s only when they’re about a block away that the twins end up racing each other back. Their apartment is a nicer one, and there are a few piles of books and haphazardly scattered notebooks around the living space, a sign of frantic midterm studying. The twins disappear down the hall, bickering in whispered hisses, and Suna and Oikawa get to clearing up the couches and tables.
“Make yourself at home,” Suna calls as he dumps a bunch of notebooks in a basket and kicks it beneath the kitchen counter.
“Pardon the intrusion,” Kiyoomi murmurs, following Motoya past the doorway to take off his shoes and sets them neatly to the side. Motoya is still somehow alert and wide awake despite the amount of alcohol he probably consumed, and carefully hooks a finger into the elastic of his mask behind his ear and tugs it off.
It’s only after he’s folded it and tucked it into his pocket that he feels eyes on him. He looks up to find Oikawa and Suna staring at him. “What?” He frowns, feeling a little self-conscious.
“Nothing, nothing,” Oikawa waves. “You’re just very attractive.”
“He’s gonna lose all functionality,” Suna mutters.
Kiyoomi has no idea what they mean, but slides into a seat at the kitchen counter next to Motoya. They chat for a little bit with Suna, and Oikawa goes off to figure out where the twins went, claiming that he was hungry and wanted to eat before passing out. They hear the twins returning before they see them.
“Katsu curry is good, but it ain’t gonna feel too great. It’s too heavy after a night of drinkin’, Samu.”
“Well, what’s your suggestion then, smartass? You didn’t even drink.”
“I did! Well, not a lot, but that’s not the point. Somethin’ like soba or that shimiji miso we make for Oikawa when he’s hungover so he’s not a whiny princess for the rest of the day.”
The twins stop bickering as they cross the threshold to the kitchen. Or rather, Atsumu stops talking entirely, eyes a little wide and slack-jawed as he ignores – or doesn’t hear – Osamu’s reply as his gaze falls on Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi, not used to being stared at so openly with curiosity and what appears to be awe, averts his gaze to stare at the counter, and his own cheeks feel warm.
“Tsumu, stop gawping, he’s gonna think yer a creep.”
“Shut the fuck up, Samu.”
The twins whip up some salmon, rice and miso in about twenty minutes, and Kiyoomi finds it fascinating to watch them both work together wordlessly. It’s flawless. It tastes amazing, too, and Kiyoomi feels a little tight-chested at the nostalgic taste. He offers to help clean up, but is quickly ushered away to sit in the living room with the twins and Motoya as Suna and Oikawa clean.
“What made ya come to America for university?” Atsumu asks, sitting a couch cushion away from Kiyoomi with his legs tucked up to his chest. Osamu and Motoya appear to be in a deep conversation with each other, glancing at something on one of their phone screens. Kiyoomi shrugs.
“I wanted a change of pace.” He glances out the window. “Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice.” He’s quiet for a few moments, before he glances at Atsumu. “What about you and your brother?”
“Ah…” Atsumu scratches the back of his neck. “I was offered a full ride athletics scholarship here. Samu too. So we both jumped at the opportunity.”
“What sport do you play?” Kiyoomi blinks. He does a quick scan of Atsumu, but he isn’t able to really identify what Atsumu’s build would contribute to.
“Volleyball.” There’s a bit of a forlorn look on Atsumu’s face. “I used to play it. I had a bad accident earlier this year. Haven’t been able to play since.” He stares down at his feet, and Kiyoomi feels a little guilty about bringing it up.
“You think you’ll be able to play again?” Kiyoomi asks. He doesn’t want to offer his apologies, or condolences. Pity is one of the worst ways to even try to console someone. Atsumu’s lips quirk up into a wry smile.
“I don’t think so.” Atsumu pauses, before a smile crosses his face. “But that’s why I switched to physical therapy. I wanna be able to help others who struggle with things, and maybe I can even help someone to keep pursuing their dreams of becoming a professional athlete.” Kiyoomi hesitates briefly before he reaches over to awkwardly rest his fingers against Atsumu’s arm.
“You’ve got a good heart, Atsumu.” Atsumu blushes, but he offers Kiyoomi a shy smile in thanks.
They chat idly with each other for the next few minutes, and Kiyoomi isn’t certain how it happened, but they end up with Atsumu pressed up to his side as he shows Kiyoomi old videos of his cat. Atsumu’s warm, and his hair is soft where it brushes against Kiyoomi’s neck. He’s easy to talk to, and the occasional arrogant quip doesn’t bother Kiyoomi like he thought they would. Atsumu’s attractive and smells like apples, and Kiyoomi’s barely known Atsumu for five hours, but he’s hopelessly gone.
Motoya’s asleep by the time that they decide to play pool, which means that Atsumu and Kiyoomi are a team against Suna and Osamu. Oikawa retires for the night, leaving the four on their own in the game room. It’s nearing midnight, but Kiyoomi doesn’t really feel tired. The twins set up the pool game while Suna and Kiyoomi wait a few paces away.
“Hey, Sakusa,” Suna drawls. Kiyoomi hums in acknowledgement. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but have you ever dated anyone before?”
“Uh…” Kiyoomi tilts his head. “I think I dated a couple girls back in high school and a guy my freshman year here. I’m not dating anyone right now, though. Why?”
“Just curious,” Suna shrugs. “You’re attractive, so I sort of just assumed you had a partner already.” Kiyoomi gives a derisive snort.
“No. Not many people stick around.” Kiyoomi says. Suna quiets for a few moments.
“Sorry to hear that. I’m sure you’ll find someone in the future who’ll be happy to stick by your side.” As Suna finishes his sentence, his eyes flicker over to the twins so quickly that Kiyoomi thinks that he imagined it. Before he can say anything, Atsumu calls them over to start a game.
Suna’s comment about Atsumu being bad at pool was mostly accurate, if it wasn’t for the fact that Atsumu was absolutely terrible. After Atsumu’s fourth attempt to hit the cue ball only to miss, Kiyoomi stepped up next to him, his hand barely hovering over the small of Atsumu’s back. He didn’t dare to touch, nerves lighting along his skin.
“Atsumu, don’t lean so far forward,” Kiyoomi murmurs. Atsumu practically has got his entire torso pressed against the pool table, reaching up on on his tiptoes. Atsumu straightens, ear tips a little red, and follows Kiyoomi as he rounds the table, and indicates Atsumu try to hit the cue ball from that direction.
“Oh.” Atsumu tries again, but his posture is bad, and he’s gripping the pool stick too hard, and–
Kiyoomi throws caution to the wind and places a hand at the small of Atsumu’s back, feeling muscles jump beneath his touch. He murmurs a soft apology before he fixes Atsumu’s posture, fingers carefully loosening Atsumu’s from around the lacquered wood, awkwardly holding his arms to show Atsumu the right movements. Atsumu’s ears are red, his cheeks flushed, and Kiyoomi knows that his own face is warm, and he desperately wants to tug his mask back on to hide behind it. Atsumu tries again, and he fumbles, but he manages to actually make the cue ball hit another ball for the first time since the game began.
“Thanks Omi-kun!” Atsumu’s words are a little shaky, breathy, and when Kiyoomi steps away, he catches a flash of disappointment in Atsumu’s eyes before it’s gone. Kiyoomi watches as Osamu lines up and pockets two striped balls, before he goes up for his turn, managing to pocket three before scratching the cue ball.
When Atsumu’s turn comes back around, his form is better, and he manages to pocket their last solid ball. He immediately whips his head up, eyes wide as he meets Kiyoomi’s. A grin splits his lips and Kiyoomi simply offers one in return. Atsumu misses the 8 ball, giving Osamu a chance to win the game to hit the last striped ball in along with the 8 ball. Although Kiyoomi and Atsumu lose the first game, Atsumu’s practically vibrating as he demands a rematch.
Atsumu stays close to Kiyoomi’s side, occasionally bumping up against him as he leans against the pool stick, and Kiyoomi notices Suna and Osamu watching them with curious gazes, nudging each other before dipping their heads to speak in low voices. Atsumu doesn’t seem to notice, though, too focused on trying to hit another pool ball.
Atsumu said that you and Motoya drew a lot of attention to yourselves…
He’s not too great at pool, though. So you might have to teach him.
He’s gonna lose all functionality.
Tsumu, stop gawping, he’s gonna think yer a creep.
Have you ever dated anyone before?
The knowing looks that Atsumu’s friends were giving him, the sly, side comments, the way Atsumu flushed so easily beneath Kiyoomi’s gaze and compliments – Kiyoomi’s connected the dots. He decides to put things to the test when it’s his turn and he has to move past Atsumu. He slips past him, barely brushing his fingers against the small of Atsumu’s back.
“Excuse me, darling.” Kiyoomi’s voice is a low murmur, a soft rumble of breath, and he catches Atsumu’s eyes go comically wide, cheeks flushing a dark red and his breath hitch in his throat. Kiyoomi suppresses a small smile and the giddy feeling bubbling in his chest.
Atsumu looks like he’s in a daze for the next few turns, fumbling, and even though they lose the second game, being able to feel Atsumu’s lips on his as he gently presses Atsumu to the door of his bedroom later that night is worth it.