Archive of Our Own

There is one thing that has Kiyoomi stumped about this whole… camp situation.

Obviously, training on the national level brings many opportunities to the table, all of which should have Kiyoomi excited and greatly anticipating the few days awaiting him. Between the great experiences the camp can bring and the new doors it can open for his future, it’s everything he could have ever asked for at this point in his volleyball career. After all, it isn't every day that a bunch of players of this caliber — a little crazy and crazy dedicated — are thrown together in one place. It is a great chance to practice with some of the best, to get to know their unfamiliar playing styles and perhaps pick up a thing or two along the way.

It should be great. Key word being should.

But of course, Miya Atsumu is the reason why it’s not one-hundred percent great. Rather, it’s equal parts unnerving, irritating, and so damn confusing.

Kiyoomi remembers his first time at nationals like it was yesterday, for more reasons than one. The main reason just happens to have a mop of poorly-dyed blond hair and enough confidence to make Kiyoomi sick to his stomach.

The one and only time he interacted with Miya Atsumu was devastating, simply because Atsumu is not the kind of person you meet and then forget about. Even more devastating? He never even had a direct conversation with the setter.

That being said, his first time at nationals was hellish in the best way possible.

From the very moment Atsumu laid eyes on Kiyoomi he absolutely latched onto him, his competitive nature coupled with his innate desire to annoy fueling his need to get under Kiyoomi’s skin, making it his own personal mission to make him absolutely miserable. Considering the way he taunted Kiyoomi, with sideways smirks and steady glares, it was only natural for Kiyoomi to want nothing more than to knock his too-large ego down a peg. It became slightly worrisome — the extent to which he focused on this new goal of his — because in every waking moment, all he could think about was that stupid boy.

Playing against Atsumu was a thrill, a chase, the very thing that hooked Kiyoomi onto volleyball and kept him wanting more. Spike after spike, he was consumed by that indescribable feeling, the constant and satisfying feel of the ball against his palm keeping him grounded while his brain raced with thoughts about Atsumu. All he could think about was wiping that smirk off his face. All he wanted was to stop receiving those golden glares Atsumu loved to give.

Kiyoomi scored the final point of their crazy match, claiming the win for Itachiyama, an indescribable expression taking over Atsumu’s features. But, it only lasted for a second.

The look Atsumu sent him then, panting and stern-eyed and so eager, was fiery enough to sear its way into Kiyoomi’s memory. It made his heart leap in his chest with intense anticipation. It was a silent challenge, but Kiyoomi felt it as if it were the most tangible thing in the world, the erratic thrumming in his chest making that clear. He felt it all — the excitement, the adrenaline, the pure unrelenting desire — all of it.

He didn't know what this meant for Atsumu, not exactly, too dazed to really make sense of it considering the high of winning had his thoughts scattered. To an outsider, it probably looked like a genuine competition, or a matter of that profound sense of pride Atsumu loved to carry on his shoulders. A test for the spotlight, maybe.

Kiyoomi didn’t know a single thing about the boy outside of volleyball, but he would be foolish to think that it was that simple because nothing about it felt simple in the slightest.

So now, staring at the list of players pinned to the entrance of the training center, eyes glued to Miya Atsumu’s name, Kiyoomi thinks things are about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.

With a calculating gaze he surveys the few groups of players already gathered around the room, his eyes quickly finding Motoya, who is engaged in conversation. With a small sigh of relief he trudges forward, most people steering clear of him because of what his cousin likes to call his “I will smite you if you breathe in my direction” aura, but quite frankly he could care less about coming off as unapproachable. It’s not completely effective anyway, as evidenced by the obnoxious, overbearing, and far too loud boy who Kiyoomi really wishes he could forget about.

He is interrupted from his thoughts and comes to a stop as Motoya turns around to wave at him with a mischievous sort of eagerness in his eyes and a wide grin on his face. Kiyoomi doesn’t even opt to address his cousin, and instead looks past him to stare at the blond who is peering over Motoya’s shoulder with raised eyebrows and this look that Kiyoomi instantly decides he doesn’t like.

Ignoring Motoya’s distant protests, he wordlessly decides to take his resident corner of the room away from everyone else in a desperate attempt to keep his sanity for as long as possible. As he always does when Kiyoomi decides to hightail it to a corner, Motoya pulls out his phone seconds after Kiyoomi does the same. Motoya turns to face the corner after receiving his expected message, narrowing his eyes.

Kiyoomi:
>Why are you working with the enemy
>You shouldn’t be over there

Toya:
>LOL why are you so dramatic ahaha

Kiyoomi:
>I am not dramatic

Toya:
…
>That is the biggest lie you’ve EVER told Kiyo

Kiyoomi:
>Whatever
>You’re being dramatic
>Have you been waiting long?

Toya:
>Nope, got here maybe ten minutes ago
>We were just getting familiar with each other
>And!! We were just talking about you :)
>So stop sulking and join us

Kiyoomi looks up from his phone to glare at Motoya, but he is talking to Atsumu, smiling widely. He huffs out a sigh and types out his response.

Kiyoomi:
>What makes me the topic of conversation

Toya:
>Apparently Atsumu is looking forward to setting to you
>He is really nice, I think you’ll get along

Kiyoomi:
>We are only here for a few days, I doubt there will be much getting along.

Toya:
>Famous last words >:)

Before Kiyoomi can ask about the ominous response, Motoya appears before him, a smug look on his face. “Are you going to spend the rest of your time here in the corner?” he laughs, shaking his head. Without waiting for a response he begins tugging on Kiyoomi’s sleeve, but Kiyoomi tugs back in return, stopping them in their tracks.

“Miya is the last person I wanted to see here, I’m not going.”

His cousin turns around, amused. “You’re pouting again! C’mon, you’re going to have to speak to him at least once before we leave. Just get it over with, you big baby.”

Kiyoomi grumbles in protest as Motoya urges him forward, clearly having far too good of a time seeing Kiyoomi so reluctant. He begins trudging towards Atsumu with a grimace, only to breathe a sigh of relief when the coaches enter the room, instantly silencing the chatter of all the players.

They join the others at the front of the room, and he sneaks a sideways glance at Atsumu once they start talking. The setter is listening intently with a clear eagerness in his eyes. It’s contagious, and it leaves a very similar, very devastating imprint on Kiyoomi’s mind, just as it did at nationals.

Motoya nudges his side and wiggles his annoying eyebrows. All Kiyoomi can do is roll his eyes in return, willing himself to actually listen to the coaches instead of letting his eyes wander elsewhere.

By the time the coaches are done with introductions and a very quick tour of the facility, Kiyoomi is itching to get on the court and get his hands on a volleyball. Knowing that he will get to play is the only thing that’s keeping him focused because Atsumu is right there and he is really beginning to feel the misery of the situation set deep into his bones.

Atsumu is talking and laughing, looking completely unbothered and carefree and so damn excited to start practicing while Kiyoomi is doing everything in his power to not do so much as spare the setter a tiny glance.

The irony of the situation irks him. By some great misfortune he and Atsumu are similar, as Motoya has regretfully explained to him on multiple different occasions, even if it’s in the most different of ways.

Atsumu is demanding, constantly challenging himself and those around him like no other, to the point where that’s what he is known for. People recognize him and are either too intimidated by his presence or too jealous of his skills to give him the time of day, but they always recognize him. Of course, Atsumu welcomes the attention with open arms, ever the prideful player. People see how he is obnoxious in the most boisterous of ways, they see the obvious intensity that follows him every time he steps out on the court, and how he silences a whole crowd with the mere wave of a hand. He has a certain air about him, even if they don’t always see it the same way. Whether he is talented, condescending, prideful as hell, or a straight-up jackass is up for debate. From what Kiyoomi has heard, anyway.

His pride is truly unmistakable.

Atsumu almost radiates it — in the way that he carries himself, in the way that he maneuvers the players on the court, and in the way that he monitors Kiyoomi’s movements with a watchful gaze from the second he picks up a volleyball.

He is proud to be on this court. And it shows.

With a confidence that doesn’t falter nor waver, Atsumu stands on the court like he knows he is exactly where he belongs. Like he knows that all eyes are on him.

And he is right. Kiyoomi doesn’t take his eyes off him, as much as he hates to admit it. Not once, not for a single second.

Kiyoomi, on the other hand, isn't one to bask in attention, nor flaunt his abilities. He doesn’t care for needless praise or recognition, even going as far as shying away from it at times. He is aware of his talents and isn’t arrogant or openly prideful in the slightest, yet the fact that he never boasts of his abilities somehow turned into a certain pride of its own.

Kiyoomi accepts the spotlight that is placed on him, whether it be because of his top three title, his “freaky wrists,” or whatever other reason deems him worthy of being the center of attention. But Atsumu welcomes the spotlight. For better or for worse he welcomes it because he feels that the spotlight should be his to claim.

It should annoy Kiyoomi, the way in which Atsumu carries himself, because it is everything he isn’t and everything he never wants to be.

Yet here he is, mesmerized by those perfect sets that are so accurate it’s stupid. Deep down, he’s looking forward to the next few days more than he has ever looked forward to anything in his life. He finds himself wanting to chase that feeling he felt at nationals, simply because it’s right in front of him and why the hell shouldn’t he?

As the players scatter with the blow of the final whistle, Kiyoomi finally feels himself relax a little, the practice intense but also incredibly satisfying. He mindlessly goes through some cooldown stretches in an attempt to forget about the numerous times his and Atsumu’s eyes had met across the net, then makes his way over to Motoya, who looks a little too cheerful for someone drenched in sweat.

“So, first day, huh? How were things?” Motoya asks, eyeing him expectantly.

“Alright. I’m still not sure what to make of that one setter. Kageyama.”

“Ah yeah, Atsumu definitely had some things to say about him,” Motoya chuckles.

At the mention of his name, Kiyoomi peers at Atsumu, still stretching on the floor a good ways away, and looks back to Motoya with questioning eyes. The libero sees his expression and waves his hand dismissively. “Apparently he thinks he has potential but is holding himself back or something like that. I don’t know. Setter things.”

Kiyoomi hums. Motoya wipes the sweat from his brow and sighs, looking at Atsumu across the gym.

“So have you spoken to him since we got here?”

“No.”

Motoya opens his mouth to respond but pauses, considering his words. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says, tipping his chin upward, “What ever happened with that weird unspoken thing that happened between you guys at nationals?”

Kiyoomi takes a sip from his water bottle to avoid his cousin’s eyes. “There was no thing, Motoya.”

Motoya makes a show of raising his eyebrows, Kiyoomi’s lack of a real response seeming to confirm his suspicions enough, and he smirks. “Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that. I saw the glares you kept shooting each other from across the net. You weren’t subtle, Kiyo.”

Kiyoomi shakes his head with a frown and moves to grab his things, lips set into a thin line as he walks away. “I’m showering, I feel gross.”

Motoya laughs, well aware that he hit a sore spot. Kiyoomi huffs out an annoyed sigh, not bothering to look back at his cousin who is definitely making fun of him for storming off.

He decides to ignore Atsumu’s gaze following him on the way out.

Kiyoomi lets the warm water run down his back, finally giving himself time to slow down and really grasp the wild range of emotions he felt throughout the day. Being in the same room with Atsumu was confusing, to say the least. The setter had an overwhelming presence, making it a point to talk to every single person in the room, sharing bright smiles with ease, even when he was immersed in the game. He made his opinions known, saying what needed to be said and much more to everyone there — everyone except Kiyoomi.

His gaze held the same weight it did at nationals, his eyes constantly focused and intending to win, practice game or not. In the few times their eyes did meet off the court, Atsumu always looked like he was thinking. He was contemplating something, but aside from that, his expression was neutral, much to Kiyoomi’s frustration.

Once Kiyoomi decides he’s stood under the water for long enough, he dries up and quickly throws on his clothes to go meet with Motoya. They barely had time to stay in their room earlier as they were rushed off to practice, so he is definitely looking forward to setting up his space and cleaning a little, eager to jump into a somewhat familiar routine among the chaos that seems to be following him everywhere he goes.

He turns to his things and as if right on cue, he nearly bumps into said chaos himself.

Atsumu looks up and raises his eyebrows at the sight of him, the surprise quickly fading from his face as he looks Kiyoomi up and down. Atsumu’s eyes trail along his form and the setter huffs out a small breath, wordlessly walking past him to place his bag down by the sinks.

Kiyoomi realizes that he is staring a little too late.

Atsumu looks over when he notices his lingering eyes and smirks. “See something ya like?”

Kiyoomi blinks, tearing his gaze away from Atsumu. Instead of responding right away he reaches into his bag for a mask, it proving to be useful for more than one reason given the rising crimson of his cheeks.

“You wish, Miya,” he grumbles, keeping his eyes trained on anything but Atsumu’s face, currently sporting a challenging look that Kiyoomi really wants to wipe off, one way or another.

He cringes, desperately wanting to escape the uncomfortable space they have created in the bathroom, the gentle plip plop of water falling on the bathroom tiles the only sound to his ears.

The boy in front of him is so damn observant it makes Kiyoomi feel as if he knows about the intense round of mental gymnastics he just went through thinking about him. He tugs the mask over his face and pinches the bridge to secure it over his nose, feigning nonchalance as Atsumu moves closer, eyes narrowed like those of a predator closing in on its prey.

“Nice to finally meet ya. This has been long overdue, dontcha think?”

Kiyoomi zips up his bag and throws it over his shoulder. “How is it that you have said so little to me, and yet you are somehow so insufferable?”

A moment of silence passes between the two of them before Atsumu laughs. “Straight to the real questions, huh? No ‘hello Atsumu, nice to see you, how are ya?’” He sighs, a lazy smirk forming on his lips. “Well, I’m great actually, thanks. And the pleasure is truly mine.”

Kiyoomi gives him a blank stare, waiting for him to answer the actual question. Atsumu places his hands on his hips and tuts.

“Well I think insufferable is a strong word, I’m not sure that’s very fair.”

Kiyoomi returns the gaze of the setter, unimpressed. “Bummer.”

Atsumu laughs at that. “You really are a character aintcha?”

Kiyoomi’s expression remains neutral, but he finds himself unsure of what to say. A few other players shuffle into the room, and Kiyoomi takes that as a sign to leave. He glances Atsumu’s way and starts to silently walk off.

Atsumu chuckles to himself before calling after Kiyoomi. “It was nice meeting ya, Sakusa-kun. You’re real prickly, ya know!”

Hearing those last words, Kiyoomi nearly trips over his own feet right then and there, but he keeps walking, probably a little faster than he had been before.

After some short-lived moments of peace, Motoya announces his presence, entering their room. Kiyoomi’s back is facing the door, eyebrows scrunched together in telltale frustration, focused on wiping down the nightstand by his bed. He decidedly ignores his cousin.

Kiyoomi can almost feel Motoya’s eyes on him, his posture betraying him. “You ran into him, didn’t you?”

Kiyoomi briefly turns around to acknowledge him, a frown plastered on his face. “Unfortunately.”

Motoya chuckles and throws his bag off his shoulders, flopping onto his bed. “And? What do you think of him?”

“He’s annoying,” Kiyoomi huffs. “Nothing but trouble.”

Motoya hums, corners of his mouth slightly upturned. “Sure, sure. But would you object to familiarizing yourself with said trouble?” He snickers. “You know, maybe getting into trouble could be good for you.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, letting out a sigh. “Stop beating around the bush and just spit it out, Motoya. Speak like a normal person.”

“Okay, okay,” Motoya starts, moving upright to better look at his cousin. “Do you want the truth about this whole situation or my personal opinion?”

“What’s the difference?” Kiyoomi’s eyes crinkle around the corners, the grimace on his face growing more disapproving by the second.

“Okay, I’ll give you both then.” He shrugs and holds up a finger, looking far too sure of himself. “First, the truth. You need to talk to someone here who isn’t me? And have a real conversation? Like, just… live a little. You are at least familiar with some of these players, so it’s not completely foreign territory. People think you are totally anti-social and broody Kiyo, and if I didn’t know you I’d believe them.”

Kiyoomi stares down at his cousin with a blank expression but lets him continue.

“Plus, Atsumu is approachable. He doesn’t seem like the type to force conversation. And neither are you, so if it doesn’t work out, no one gets offended.”

Kiyoomi purses his lips. Atsumu is definitely the type to force conversation, especially with him. “And your personal opinion?”

Motoya stifles a laugh and pulls the straightest face he can muster. “The tension between you and Atsumu is really suffocating. I think other people are starting to notice, too. You guys should just like… make out already.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes grow wide, his face turning a deep shade of red. He quickly sees himself out of the room, too embarrassed to come up with a retort of any kind because hearing the words “Atsumu” and “make out” in the same sentence apparently does that to a person — stripping them of their ability to think sensibly because making out with Atsumu? Makes no sense.

Kiyoomi briefly hears Motoya erupting into a fit of laughter before he slams the door shut, speeding away from his menace of a cousin as fast as humanly possible. Cleaning could wait.

He hastily rounds a few corners, not even entirely sure of where he is going, and as if summoned by some unrelenting higher power, he walks right into Miya fucking Atsumu.

Kiyoomi grips onto Atsumu to prevent himself from falling over, but as his fingers brush Atsumu’s skin he yanks his hands back faster than imaginable, sputtering out a quick apology. Kiyoomi shrinks into himself and tries to rush past him, but his name is called before he can save himself from more inevitable embarrassment.

“Sakusa-kun!”

Kiyoomi scrunches his eyes shut, willing for the blond to just disappear. After Motoya’s near harassment it would be rather convenient, but Atsumu is still here, still expecting an answer.

He reluctantly turns around, hoping that his blush isn't visible. He wills himself to stop biting his lower lip and clears his throat, letting out a clipped reply.

“Yes?”

Atsumu cocks his head to the side and chuckles. “You okay?”

Kiyoomi huffs out a strained laugh. “Never been better.”

Atsumu laughs at that, shaking his head. “Just watch your step alright? Don’t fall for me now, Omi-kun,” he says in a singsong voice, turning the corner to leave Kiyoomi wide-eyed and speechless.

After a few moments Atsumu's footsteps fade and he lets out a strangled noise.

“What the fuck is an Omi-kun?”

After an unbearable night of rather cruel jabs from Motoya and terrible dreams of amber eyes and “Omi-kuns,” Kiyoomi is more thankful than ever that their next day starts bright and early with nothing but volleyball.

The practice starts out pretty standard: Kiyoomi is able to keep his eyes trained on the ball the whole time, quickly becoming engrossed in the sport. It’s easy to get lost in the game, where his body almost moves on autopilot from years of conditioning and training.

But things change when rotations occur and Atsumu ends up on the same side of the net as Kiyoomi. Surprisingly enough, it doesn’t seem like the most terrible of changes.

Kiyoomi can hardly complain, simply because Atsumu is nothing but a great setter. He is observant, quick, and sends the ball exactly where it needs to go, right when it needs to be there.

It’s obvious they are the best second years playing their respective positions, but what they have is unexpected. They match up near perfectly and move in sync like they have been playing on the same team for years. It impresses the entire gym.

For once in his life, Kiyoomi thinks he does feel a sense of real pride, the type that you can feel swelling in your chest. The way Atsumu looks at him — with those big, round, golden eyes that sparkle with awe — like he just made his day and so many more, makes his heart do strange things.

This time, all eyes are on both of them, and he can’t say he hates it.

Once the game ends, their team winning the final set, everyone offers each other words of encouragement after the well-played match. Not only are they some of the best high school players in Japan, but they are also some of the most exuberant. Choruses of laughter and smiles are shared across the gym, a stark contrast from the pinpoint focus they all mostly sported during the practice.

Atsumu treads to the bench Kiyoomi is seated at and plops himself down next to the spiker, taking a swig from his water bottle. Kiyoomi slides himself over just before their knees could knock together, avoiding his gaze.

Atsumu wears a questioning look, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he studies Kiyoomi.

“You are sweaty and gross,” Kiyoomi murmurs.

Atsumu cocks an eyebrow, clearly not knowing what to make of the statement. “Thanks? You too?”

Kiyoomi sighs, exasperated, as Motoya takes the other seat right next to him.

“Man, you really are awfully prickly.”

“Oh, trust me,” Motoya laughs, slapping his cousin on the back. “He is. But, once you warm up to him, he isn’t that bad.”

Atsumu sends him an amused look. “Is that so?”

“He is a blunt jerk, but don’t let it fool you. The more he seemingly hates you, the more he just hates to admit he actually likes you.”

Kiyoomi glares daggers at Motoya and shrugs his arm from his shoulder in distaste.

Motoya grins. “See? He constantly acts like he wants me dead, so that puts me in one of the highest positions. It’s an honor, really.”

Atsumu’s laugh fills the air. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

After a moment Atsumu gets up to do cool downs, and Motoya wiggles his eyebrows at Kiyoomi. “You're welcome… Omi-kun.” He laughs, walking away to do the same. Kiyoomi sighs, reluctantly following closely behind Motoya, eyes wandering across the gym.

Once he is finished he’s the first to retreat to the showers as always, but this time Atsumu follows, almost eager to get a conversation out of him. He can’t help but feel there has to be a reason for all the attention.

“So, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot yesterday and I wanted to talk to ya, but I take it you’re not much into conversation?”

Kiyoomi continues looking straight ahead, shoulders slouched in exhaustion. “I don’t waste my breath, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He hums, and a moment passes between them. “I like that about ya.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“There’s something interesting about ya, being all brutally honest from a distance and stuff. ‘S hard to explain. Plus you’ve got a mean spike, so. That’s a plus.”

Silence takes over them once again, but it feels comfortable.

It’s so different from what Kiyoomi felt on the court at nationals. That was fierce and intense. This is… nice.

Kiyoomi doesn’t do nice. People don’t do nice. Not with him.

It’s foreign, but it isn’t wrong. He wonders why he feels this sense of familiarity with Atsumu of all people, and why Atsumu doesn’t feel the need to shy away like everyone else. He is supposed to be arrogant and unbearable, but truthfully, he isn’t.

Kiyoomi is almost upset that Atsumu defies all expectations of himself because it just makes him that much more interesting — and that much more likable, as much as the thought pains him. Somehow the fact that Atsumu’s personality cannot be dumbed down to arrogant ass makes Kiyoomi want to understand him, even if only a little bit, because he is not as deceptively straightforward as he seems to be. He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Once all the boys are cleaned up from the tiring practice, they slowly file into the dining area, quiet chatter turning into loud conversation as tables get more packed. Kiyoomi, to his dismay, sits in the center of it all.

How Motoya manages to wrangle some of the loudest players to sit around a singular table remains a mystery. It seems his cousin is a magnet for wild, overzealous types who apparently have no knowledge of impulse control nor how to use an inside voice. To top that off, the presence of one specific setter makes it that much more tempting for Kiyoomi to slip away when no one is looking. But he simply can’t catch a break, because Atsumu is always looking his way.

Atsumu keeps trying to drag Kiyoomi into the conversation, and he desperately tries to not be the jerk Motoya called him out for being earlier. He doesn’t exactly ignore anyone, he simply strategically tunes them out so he can eat in relative peace, only contributing to the ever-changing topic of discussion when absolutely necessary.

The chatter does not die down, unfortunately, and Kiyoomi only sinks further into his chair as the night continues. Everyone finished eating a long while ago, but every time he gets antsy in his seat Motoya shoots him the look and he stays put. His cousin really is more terrifying than he lets on.

He debates the risks and rewards associated with being the first to get up and leave, but before he can make a move a crumpled up napkin hits his forehead.

He briefly glances at the sad-looking ball of paper with disgust, and then looks at the person responsible for throwing the projectile. Across from him sits one Miya Atsumu, very clearly pretending to be interested in whatever everyone is talking about around them. Kiyoomi scoffs, tossing the napkin back into Atsumu’s tray.

Kiyoomi probably should have known better than to hand back the ammunition, because a few seconds later he is hit with it again right on the nose. He blinks a few times before giving the setter an unimpressed look.

“Miya.”

Said offender remains slouched in his chair with his cheek in his palm, feigning nonchalance. Failing to hide the smile on his lips, the telltale shake of his shoulders easily gives away his poor attempts at repressing his laughter.

Kiyoomi blows a stray curl from his face in exasperation and places the napkin on his own tray.

Atsumu can’t help but smile at the spiker’s reaction, nodding his head towards the door once he meets his eyes.

Kiyoomi studies his expression, a mixture of amusement and anticipation taking over his features. Seeing him excited like this makes it difficult for Kiyoomi to ignore him. He thinks for a moment before giving a small nod to him, not entirely sure what he is agreeing to, but if it means leaving the noisy, far too crowded dining hall, then yes is certainly the answer.

Atsumu makes a show of getting up, smacking both palms on the table to draw attention from the vibrant conversation to himself. Kiyoomi, barely resisting the urge to facepalm, watches as he declares that he will be calling it a night. He is met with a low chorus of good nights, and Atsumu turns to Kiyoomi with bright eyes and a blinding smile.

“Care to join me, Omi-kun?”

A couple people turn his direction, Motoya being one of them. Kiyoomi wills himself to not meet the gaze of his cousin, fully aware of the somewhat terrifying look in his eyes that is most definitely urging him to accept the offer.

“Sure.”

Atsumu smiles, clearing the table of their trays and moving toward the exit.

As his footsteps begin fading, Motoya leans over the table and whispers, “Don’t leave him hanging now… Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi mumbles a small “shut up” with no real malice behind it, and rises from his seat to trail after the setter who is so graciously holding the door open for him.

Kiyoomi quickly thanks him, and he is met with the realization that Atsumu just doesn’t stop smiling. It’s incredibly terrible, considering he’s really trying to tune out the quickening beat of his heart.

“You looked like you were being held against your will in there with all of us.” Atsumu chuckles.

Kiyoomi sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Was it that obvious?”

He hums in agreement. “It's not hard to tell. Your nose gets all scrunched up when you’re annoyed.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does! Ya looked like ya wanted to strangle your cousin a couple times too.”

Atsumu’s chuckles turn into laughter as Kiyoomi showcases his annoyance with the very expression he just described. “See? You’re doing it now. ’S cute.”

Kiyoomi nearly stops in his tracks after hearing that remark, failing to hide the blush slowly making its way up his cheeks.

Cute. Cute?

Kiyoomi has been called many things by many people — apathetic, intimidating, weird, and everything in between. But never has he been described as cute.

Atsumu might be the death of him.

Kiyoomi looks away, not knowing what to say. Atsumu follows the movement, honey eyes not leaving his face.

“What?”

He hums. “Nothing. Ya just… keep surprising me.”

They continue walking and Kiyoomi, still not sure of where they are headed, lets Atsumu take the lead. If he had been told a few days ago that he would be in this exact situation, trailing after Atsumu to ditch everyone else at dinner after what he could only describe as flirting of all things, he probably wouldn’t have believed it for a second.

His thoughts are interrupted by a cool rush of air as Atsumu pulls open one of the doors leading to the outdoors, the low hum of the city interrupting the silence. “You’re bundled up enough right?”

Kiyoomi nods and ducks outside, the chilly Tokyo air providing a welcoming change in atmosphere. Atsumu reappears by his side, leading them to nowhere in particular.

“What did you mean by that? That I surprise you?”

Atsumu shrugs. “You’re not the most inviting person in the world I suppose.” He pauses, contemplating his words. “I thought as much when I first met ya at nationals. The same goes for when you waltzed into camp the other day, running off the second I so much as looked at ya.” He gives Kiyoomi’s side a little nudge, a small glint in his eyes. “But, you’re not so bad.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, lips threatening to quirk up in amusement. “You are barely tolerable.”

Clutching a hand to his heart, Atsumu pretends to hiss in pain. “Ouch. I’m wounded Omi-kun!” he cries, theatrics forming a small smile on Kiyoomi’s face. “And here I thought we were starting to become this unstoppable duo, unmatched on the court. My dreams are crushed. I hope you’re happy.”

He snorts in response, shaking his head. “Keep dreaming, Miya.”

They explore the grounds surrounding the facility, talking about anything and everything that comes up, whatever it may be. It’s comfortable and welcoming, the warmth Kiyoomi feels in Atsumu’s presence proving to be something he wants to bottle up and keep all for himself. They chuckle as Atsumu describes stupid stories involving him and his brother. They make small confessions and share hushed laughs, ducking around corners and streetlights as if they’re doing something against the rules when there is no real curfew in place for them to follow anyway.

It’s freeing, somehow. Being in the presence of someone who can capture Kiyoomi’s attention and hold it without even trying. For some reason, it doesn't take much effort at all.

He doesn’t even know how long they are out for, but based on the fact that the doors are definitely locked when they return, he figures it was quite some time. Kiyoomi knows he will hear more than a mouthful from Motoya tomorrow, who very reluctantly lets them back in, but he can’t help but think it was all worth it.

The next day’s training goes similarly to that of the day prior, where all the players work to refine their individual skills and also work together on the court. Kiyoomi and Atsumu once again are placed on the same side of the net, much to the dismay of the other players. As much as Kiyoomi pretends it isn’t true, playing on the same team as Atsumu is… fun. He catches himself wanting to smile after Atsumu’s cheers bounce off the gym walls. He longs to see the proud sparkle in his eyes after they win a set. His eyes constantly follow Atsumu, no matter where he moves. He’s just so painfully aware of everything that he does. He doesn't want to say his heart is swelling in his chest, but after the events of the previous night, he isn’t exactly in a place to deny it.

The coaches let the teens work on their cool down stretches after the intense practice, giving them a few minutes before having a final talk with them to end the day, so Kiyoomi is left to his own devices. He focuses on the flex of his wrists, the dull thrum of his heartbeat barely evident in his ears. He doesn’t even realize just how intensely he is focusing until he finds himself lost in his own thoughts. He sighs, supposing he should get himself washed up.

Kiyoomi shakes his head, looking around the gym, only to barely make out the outline of Motoya in the far corner of the room. He tries blinking the fatigue out of his eyes, but his body simply doesn’t cooperate.

His heart starts beating in an unsettling rhythm in his chest, growing louder and louder as the slow seconds pass, and the brief thought that this feeling probably isn’t from a post-game surge of adrenaline sends his mind into a frenzy. He tries to swallow but his mouth is impossibly dry, his throat feeling uncomfortably tight.

He immediately knows what’s coming, the all too familiar feeling slowly creeping up his spine, causing him to shudder. Instead of subjecting the whole gym to seeing him in such a panicked state, he shakily rises to his feet and rushes out of the noisy area in the most cautious way possible.

Kiyoomi exits hastily, looking around to make sure no one witnessed the uncharacteristic look on his face. Once he retreats to the hallway he lets out a long sigh, cradling his face in his hands. His shoulders tense as he hears a voice he has become far too familiar with.

“Omi-kun? Omi?”

Atsumu calls but gets no response. Kiyoomi only gives him a dismissive wave of a hand before he ducks into the bathroom next to him, instantly leaning on one of the sinks, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. Atsumu is clearly concerned, and he should say something but his breaths are coming out broken and shallow, and it’s all he can seem to focus on.

He distantly hears Atsumu call out his name again, and he curses under his breath as the door opens behind him.

He looks up, panic settling over his features, meeting Atsumu’s eyes in the mirror. Atsumu moves closer to him, and Kiyoomi sees the change in his eyes when he realizes what is happening. He looks like he wants to speak, but his mouth remains shut.

Kiyoomi leans himself further over the sink to avoid his gaze, not bothering to tell him to leave.

Tears threaten to fall down his cheeks after every labored breath. He squeezes his eyes shut, slowly shifting to a sitting position so he doesn’t need to support himself, back against the wall. Atsumu lowers himself down to Kiyoomi’s level, whispering soft reassurances to him with worry in his eyes.

“Hey, hey, Omi-kun. You’re okay.”

He shakes, knowing just how small he looks at that moment. Atsumu moves his hand from his side to lightly grip Kiyoomi’s shoulder, causing him to look up.

“Look at me. You’re safe, Omi. You're okay. I just need you to breathe for me, alright?”

Kiyoom’s eyes are brimming with tears but he focuses on the golden ones that are fixated on him, looking so kind, so warm, so gentle. They are saying the same thing they said all those months ago when they first met. Keep your eyes on me.

He takes a small breath, a shaky inhale and a forced exhale, and cradles his head in his hands.

“There ya go. Again, in and out.”

So he does. Again and again in time with Atsumu’s instructions. Eventually his breathing starts to even out, and his eyes fall to the floor.

“Hey. Ya okay?” Atsumu asks, genuine concern in his voice. Kiyoomi only realizes Atsumu is still holding onto him when he starts rubbing small circles into his shoulder. His eyes trail down to Atsumu’s hand, and the blond yanks his arm back as if burned.

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean— I just thought maybe—”

“No, it’s— it‘s okay,” he quietly trails off. He looks to the floor bashfully. “It helped. You… you helped,” he murmurs.

Atsumu lets out a breath and awkwardly folds his hands in his lap. “You sure you’re doing okay now?”

He nods slowly, curls slightly bouncing with the movement. He wipes his tear-stained cheeks, letting out a long sigh. “You should probably go back. I know the coaches wanted to talk to everyone after the cool downs.”

Atsumu looks at a loss for words, mouth hanging slightly open. He blinks a few times, eyes set on Kiyoomi. “Only if you’re sure—”

Kiyoomi lifts a hand, cutting him off. He shifts himself to sit cross-legged and peers up at him.

“I just need a minute. But I’m okay, really.”

Atsumu studies him for another moment and reluctantly nods. He gives Kiyoomi a small smile, and slowly moves to his feet, eyes not leaving him. Before he can turn around, Kiyoomi tugs on the hem of his shirt, causing Atsumu to look down at him expectantly.

“Thank you. I…I didn’t think anyone noticed me leaving, and that was the whole point of leaving — so I wouldn’t be around anyone — but, I’m glad you did.”

Atsumu stares at him for a moment, lips slightly parted in surprise. “Yeah,” he says, breathless. “Yeah, of course.”

Kiyoomi tosses and turns for the better part of an hour when he finally decides he probably won’t be getting much real sleep for the remainder of the night.

He keeps thinking back to the events of that day, from the wonderful way he and Atsumu had worked together during the practice matches, to the cocky banter they exchanged during water breaks, to the way Atsumu was so incredibly gentle with Kiyoomi while he was most vulnerable. He isn't vulnerable or open like that with just anybody. At least, not until Atsumu proved that to be false, easily bringing an uncharacteristic softness to Kiyoomi’s eyes and an unlikely smile to his face without needing to do so much as try.

He sat on the bathroom floor for heaven's sake, and Atsumu had no problem being right there with him. Nobody was forcing him to stay, and nobody was forcing him to care. But he did all that and more. Motoya’s presence in those situations has always helped too, but with Atsumu… it was different, somehow.

He kicks the sheets off his body with a defeated sigh and stands to walk around for a bit, hopefully to the point where he would tire himself out and finally be able to fall asleep. He slips out of the room quietly, trying to not wake Motoya, and silently makes his way away from all the dorms hosting the volleyball players. He walks down a flight of stairs at the end of the hall but stops in his tracks upon seeing a figure sitting at the bottom.

Despite the dim moonlight being one of the only light sources illuminating the hallway, he easily recognizes that head of blond hair.

“Miya.”

Atsumu quickly turns around, eyes wide in a panic, before he realizes who is behind him and his expression softens.

“Omi, geez. Don't creep up on a guy like that. Nearly scared me halfway back to Hyogo.”

Kiyoomi bites back a smile. “You still aren’t giving up the stupid nickname?”

“‘Scuse you, nicknames are great. I, for one, think Omi is some of my best work.” He sends him a smirk. “You’re welcome.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and shuffles closer to where Atsumu is seated with his legs tucked close to his chest, and sits himself down next to him.

“Why exactly do you call me that?”

“What, Omi? I mean, Sakusa is a mouthful dontcha think?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t think so, but he shrugs. He plays with a loose seam of his shirt by his wrist, contemplating what to say next. “You must have been pretty deep in thought if you didn’t hear me walking this way.”

Atsumu lets out a breathy exhale. “Yeah. Just... thinking I guess.”

Kiyoomi studies him, taking note of the way he shrinks into himself. His eyebrows are slightly pinched together, and he has a pensive, borderline sad expression taking over his usually radiant features. His hair, slightly frizzy and tousled, looks as if he had been constantly running his fingers through it, perhaps out of frustration or maybe because it’s a nervous habit. Kiyoomi briefly wonders what those strands would feel like between his own fingers.

“You want to talk about it?”

Atsumu looks up and grins. “Omi-kun, are you being nice to me? I didn’t think it would be this easy.”

Kiyoomi crosses his arms over his knees. “Never mind, then.”

He laughs at that, but Kiyoomi hears a hint of sadness in the trailing ends of his voice. They sit in silence for a moment and Kiyoomi watches Atsumu unconsciously bite at his lower lip, clearly contemplating his words.

“It’s just my brother. We are always doing everything together so when we aren’t… it’s…” He shakes his head. “It’s different.”

Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows and his eyes soften. “You miss him.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but Atsumu looks at him with defiant eyes.

“Can’t believe that asshole. Didn’t get himself invited.” He scoffs.

“You didn’t deny it,” Kiyoomi says in return, amused.

“Fine.” He almost sounds angry to be admitting it, dropping his chin to his knees. “I might… wish he was here. But ya didn’t hear it from me.”

Kiyoomi chuckles. “Him not getting invited doesn’t make him an asshole. He surely can’t be any more of an asshole than you are.”

“Everyone says I’m a piece of shit, more so than he is. But I’m a completely capable and very amazing piece of shit that holds the number one setter title so I don’t care.”

Kiyoomi hums. “They’re right.” Atsumu’s eyes meet Kiyoomi’s something akin to awe in them, and Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows with a small smirk.

“You are a piece of shit,” he says, thoughtfully.

Atsumu looks offended for all of a second before he throws his head back in laughter, and Kiyoomi can’t help but be affected by his joy, the beautiful sound putting him at ease. Before they know it, they are both laughing, trying and failing to use hushed voices because it’s still one in the morning, but Kiyoomi would wake up the whole block if it means getting to see Atsumu like this for a little while longer.

Atsumu wipes his eyes and gives Kiyoomi a look that makes him melt on the spot. He really has a hard time believing that this boy, undoubtedly one of the biggest pieces of shit Kiyoomi has ever met, somehow squeezed himself into his life in the easy manner that he did. The same boy he couldn’t stop thinking about for the past few months because of their unspoken rivalry. The same boy who Kiyoomi could hardly understand just a few days ago, who was so damn misunderstood that people considered a little attitude and a lot of passion for fatal character flaws. The same boy who could reduce him to a near breathless mess after a perfect toss, suited for the palm of his hand alone.

Kiyoomi brushes a stray curl from his forehead and the shaking of his shoulders slows to a stop. He steals a glance at Atsumu’s profile, and his eyes are drawn to the way his warm irises sparkle and his flushed face takes on a gentler look with his downcast eyes and lingering smile. He’s breathtaking.

“You're staring Omi.”

If Kiyoomi were a braver boy he would tell Atsumu how just how his smile makes his heart flip-flop in his chest. Or how simply looking into his eyes makes him feel butterflies in his stomach.

“Thanks again for earlier by the way. It was unfortunate timing but you made it a little more bearable.”

Atsumu turns to Kiyoomi with curious eyes, but it’s clear that he knows exactly what he’s talking about. “It kinda scared me, to be honest. I didn’t know what to expect but that definitely wasn’t it.” He pauses. “Did something happen?”

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “Panic attacks just happen sometimes. There isn’t always a reason for becoming anxious.” His hand rises to touch his shoulder, remembering the warmth of Atsumu’s palm from only hours ago, suddenly feeling slightly bashful. “Thanks for being courteous with my boundaries too. Most people are rather dismissive about them.”

“No need to keep thanking me Omi. But…” he trails off. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you not wanna…” He waves his hand around, looking for the words. “Y’know.”

Kiyoomi inhales a deep breath. He doesn’t really direct conversations toward this topic often. He isn’t exactly unwilling to talk about it, but he often doesn’t because most people either don’t care or scoff at him for being too picky or too sheltered. Not that it bothers him; it isn’t any of their business to begin with. However, he feels that Atsumu wouldn’t do either of these things.

“I’m just super aware of my surroundings I suppose. I’m not sure when exactly it started, but I’ve always hated getting sick, so I’m always more careful than most when it comes to cleanliness and hygiene.”

He looks down to the floor. “But with volleyball it’s different. I never feel overwhelmed on the court. It’s freeing.”

Atsumu tilts his head in thought and nods, a look of genuine understanding on his face.

Kiyoomi suddenly yawns behind his hand, his eyelids starting to feel heavy as the silence grows between them. Atsumu notices, and with a small chuckle mentions that they should probably get some sleep if they don’t want to drop dead on the court tomorrow.

Kiyoomi stands first, stretching with another yawn. Atsumu looks at him, corners of his lips tugging upwards into a small smile.

Maybe it’s his tiredness, or maybe the fact that he’s in the presence of Atsumu, but his inhibitions seem to fade given the soft look in his eyes, and without much thought Kiyoomi offers Atsumu his hand.

Atsumu sucks in a sharp breath and stares at him with parted lips, eyes darting from his outstretched hand to Kiyoomi’s dark eyes, looking for an explanation.

Kiyoomi shakes his hand and raises his eyebrows, emphasizing that Atsumu should take it, because dammit he’s making an effort for once and he also really wants to get some sleep.

“Omi, why… are ya sure?” he asks hesitantly.

“I wouldn’t be offering if I weren’t sure.”

“But—”

“I can always wash my hands. But, regardless… I trust you.”

Atsumu swallows, looking nervous as if he’s the one stepping out of his comfort zone. He slowly lifts his hand and slots it in Kiyoomi’s.

It feels like jolts of electricity dancing up Kiyoomi’s arms the second he touches Atsumu’s fingertips, but the sensation isn’t unpleasant in the slightest.

His palms are warm to the touch, welcoming. Just like Atsumu himself.

Kiyoomi becomes slightly overzealous with his efforts, pulling Atsumu up to the point where he stumbles into his personal space. With a yelp Atsumu places a hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder to balance himself, a faint red tinting his cheeks, making him look even more attractive in the pale moonlight.

They wordlessly stare at each other slightly wide-eyed, breath dancing across each other’s lips. Kiyoomi makes the mistake of looking down ever so slightly at those inviting lips — the ones that cheer, taunt, encourage, challenge. The ones that can’t seem to shut up, both on and off the court, but despite that Kiyoomi finds himself wanting to hear more from those lips, always a little more, because he supposes there’s no harm in being a little greedy.

Would it be greedy if he stole a kiss from Atsumu?

Before Kiyoomi can answer his own question, Atsumu clears his throat and awkwardly takes a step back, putting some distance between them. Kiyoomi blinks a few times and swallows audibly, muttering a quick apology.

Atsumu waves it off with a breathy laugh, and he runs his fingers through his hair, eyeing the floor beneath their feet.

“Thanks for keeping me company Omi,” he whispers. He hesitates slightly before murmuring a shy goodnight, making his way back up the stairs.

It feels like deja vu, being left speechless because of Atsumu's actions, alone in a quiet hallway with no sound other than his rapidly beating heart to fill up the silence.

He sits back down on the stairs, cradling his head in his hands in hopes of catching his breath and calming his racing heart, because shit he really wanted to kiss Atsumu just now, didn’t he?

When Kiyoomi wakes the next morning, it’s due to Motoya shaking his shoulders. Apparently, he had slept through his alarms. This explains Motoya's questioning looks, since Kiyoomi never sleeps through his alarms.

He groans in protest, swatting the hand in his face away from him. Kiyoomi reluctantly rolls out of bed with a pout on his face, unwilling to answer all of Motoya’s questions as to why he looks like he hasn’t slept for a whole week.

He brushes it off as being exhausted from the constant practice of the training camp, but Motoya knows him better than that.

Kiyoomi quickly gets himself freshened up and digs around his bag for his clothes, less than enthusiastic about the full day of training the coaches would inevitably squeeze out of them, it being the last full day of camp and all.

“Were you out with Atsumu?”

Kiyoomi furrows his eyebrows as he tugs his shirt over his head, trying to not look entirely alarmed considering the accusation is absolutely correct. Apparently his tiredness betrays him and is contributing to his lack of a filter, because Motoya raises his eyebrows in response to whatever expression Kiyoomi is wearing.

“I didn’t sneak out. Nothing happened.”

“You look miserable, Kiyo. Something obviously happened.”

Kiyoomi plops down on his bed, and Motoya does the same, handing over a protein bar. Kiyoomi takes it and rips it open, hoping that eating something would help him keep his eyelids open for longer than three seconds.

“Did you finally figure it out?” Motoya asks.

Kiyoomi sighs, biting into the bar. “Yeah. And I didn’t get any sleep because of it… I hate when you’re right.”

Motoya fistpumps the air, bouncing around in celebration. Kiyoomu continues eating, listening as his cousin leads the one-sided conversation about how you should always listen to your cousin, Kiyo. Kiyoomi's unimpressed eyes watch Motoya as he paces around the room.

“So! Now that you have come to terms with it, what are you going to do about it?”

“Move to a new country and change my name,” Kiyoomi deadpans, rolling his eyes. “Just… keep playing volleyball, Motoya.” He gets up, heading to the door to leave for the gym. “I can deal with this later.”

Motoya grins and nods in response, following him. “I’ll help you out Kiyo!” He slaps his back for good measure. “You are going to have a boyfriend by the time we are back home, I can promise you that much.”

Kiyoomi sighs, murmuring under his breath. “Or, I could just deal with it never. That would probably be better, honestly.”

Practice bleeds into breaks, which bleeds into another rowdy dinner, and by the time the sun sets all Kiyoomi can think of is how nice curling up in bed sounds, but the universe (and his cousin) have other plans for him.

Motoya wouldn’t stop with the looks during practice, not holding back in the slightest. Kiyoomi is just thankful that Atsumu was at the other end of the gym for most of the time, because no one should be subject to the degree of pestering Motoya so kindly put him through, causing his face to scrunch up in disgust during most of their water breaks.

So Kiyoomi thinks he deserves a real break, away from volleyball players, away from his cousin, and away from Atsumu, who is the real reason he needs a few seconds to himself. He needs a few seconds to come to terms with the fact that he probably really likes Atsumu, who he technically just met, but also didn’t even want to meet in the first place.

But, that break will have to wait for some other time. By some great misfortune, all of the players came to a unanimous decision to spend the last night in one of the common rooms, doing whatever they please. Some are huddled in small circles talking about who knows what, others are playing games amongst themselves, and the remainder are sandwiched on a few of the couches that litter the room, most of them too small to fit players of their size.

Kiyoomi doesn't know how long he sits there, trying to become immersed in a conversation he truly doesn’t care much about, but eventually he notices Atsumu growing restless beside him. His hands can’t stay still at his sides, always moving. This is the first time Kiyoomi is seeing him like this, his eyes not remaining on Kiyoomi for more than a few seconds, just as Kiyoomi has come to accept how often Miya Atsumu likes to stare at people.

He worries that somehow Atsumu knows, that he sees right through him, because when does he not? Maybe Atsumu isn't comfortable with his feelings, and never saw him that way to begin with. Maybe Kiyoomi got too overeager, became too obvious, and now he is simply driving Atsumu away, losing one of the only people who has been able to make him feel so much, so easily.

His wild stream of thoughts is interrupted when Atsumu shifts in his seat, causing their thighs to start touching. He is so warm, a little tense even, and Kiyoomi has to force himself not to grab at his hand and ask what’s bothering him.

It’s so wrong, watching the vibrant and loud Atsumu become uncharacteristically quiet. He looks like he has plenty of things to say, but doesn’t say a single one of them.

Kiyoomi nudges his side, prompting him to speak. “What is it? You’ve been antsy all night,” he says in a hushed voice, glad the loud conversation of the others in the room keeps the attention off of them. “You can tell me what’s wrong, you know.”

They stare at each other for a while and Atsumu inhales deeply before standing, dragging Kiyoomi with him. People have been filtering in and out of the room all night, so they don't look entirely out of place, but as soon as Motoya catches them he shoots his cousin an enthusiastic thumbs up, and it takes all of Kiyoomi’s energy not to walk to the other end of the room and strangle him for encouraging this mess in the first place.

As soon as they are out of sight, Atsumu grabs Kiyoomi’s elbow and leads him to the same staircase they were at less than twenty-four hours ago. Moonlight once again dances across the polished floors, their footsteps the only sounds bouncing off the walls.

Atsumu turns around to face him, a determined look in his eyes. Kiyoomi’s breath hitches in his throat considering their proximity, nearly identical to that of the night before.

“You know if I did something wrong, you can just be upfront about it. I’m sorry if I—”

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong, yeah?” Atsumu says, cutting him off.

His hands slowly trail up Kiyoomi’s arms, phantom touches that send shivers down his spine. They aren’t unsure in the slightest, but they are tantalizingly slow to the point where Kiyoomi itches to guide Atsumu’s hands himself.

“I’m gonna just go ahead and say it because I don’t wanna leave it unsaid,” he starts, voice in a low whisper. “But... I can’t keep my eyes off ya Kiyoomi.”

His voice drips with a sweetness that rivals honey and Kiyoomi can’t help but want to hear his name falling from Atsumu’s lips again and again and again just to make sure he hasn't been forced into some cruel dream he would inevitably have to wake up from.

Kiyoomi exhales a shaky breath at the confession and gulps audibly, unsure of how to respond.

“I… um…”

“Ya don’t have to say anything,” he quickly interjects, shaking his head. “Ever since nationals I couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing you were. How amazing you are. And when I finally got to set to ya the other day it was kinda hard for me to keep my cool because I thought about what that moment would be like way too much.” He chuckles, slightly nervous, and looks up to meet his eyes.

“Listen, I don’t really know where I’m going with all this, but I think I like you. I mean, we haven’t... exactly known each other for super long but I feel like I’ve known you for forever at the same time, somehow.”

Kiyoomi’s lips part in surprise, not knowing what to say in response to something so heartfelt. No one has ever viewed him in such a way, not even remotely. He is always the one people shy away from, the one who needs space. But with Atsumu, he doesn’t feel that need. Atsumu considers his boundaries without question, yet with him they are hardly even up to begin with. He is always distancing himself from people, but Atsumu isn’t just people.

“Yer talented, and unique and funny even when ya don’t intend to be.” He hesitantly grabs Kiyoomi’s hands, and when he is met with no resistance he intertwines their fingers.

“And I felt like you should know, I guess.” He bites at his lip, his normally unbothered nature nowhere to be seen. “Sorry for rambling,” he chuckles. “I couldn’t leave tomorrow without telling ya.”

Kiyoomi nods, his heart rapidly beating in his chest. It’s so crazy, it makes no sense, and Kiyoomi doesn’t know how it will work but all he knows is that he wants it to work.

As if he could tell exactly what Kiyoomi is thinking, he gives his hands a reassuring squeeze, forcing him to look up at him.

“Hey.”

Atsumu gently tilts Kiyoomi’s chin upwards to face him. His smile is impossibly soft, eyes impossibly hopeful.

“We don’t needta figure it out right this second. I'll be the first to admit that I am new to this. But I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge and I don’t think ya would turn yer back on one either,” he says. “I’m willing to see where this goes, if you'd let me.”

Kiyoomi nods with wide eyes, sucking in a breath as a finger tucks a stray curl behind his ear.

Atsumu presses a quick kiss to Kiyoomi’s cheek, grinning widely as he pulls away. “I’ll see ya tomorrow then, Omi-Omi."

He lets their hands fall and he turns around to retreat down the dark hall. Kiyoomi places his fingers over the spot where Atsumu's lips met his cheek, feeling his face heat up.

Kiyoomi leaves the camp the next morning, eyes much brighter than when he entered, heart a little fuller. He leaves the camp with a small slip of paper in his pocket, Atsumu’s number hastily scrawled on it. He leaves holding onto promises of phone calls and messages and whatever else the future has to bring.

He leaves the camp with Atsumu, hand in hand until they part ways, a few whispers and kisses shared between them until they each head home.