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“Don’t say it,” Atsumu gulps, shaky hands holding his front door open, eyes filling up with tears, “Kiyoomi, don’t ,”
His heart is out, displayed in the open air. It’s dripping with different kinds of fluids – love, yearning, regret – and Atsumu doesn’t know how to hide it anymore. He pulls away, but Kiyoomi displays his own, rushed and desperate; Atsumu stops moving away.
“No,” Kiyoomi shook his head, “Listen to me,”
Kiyoomi takes Atsumu’s heart into his hold and replaces his empty, waiting hands with his own. Atsumu doesn’t retaliate or say anything as he holds it in shaky hands. It feels tougher, fuller, like it’s about to burst at the seams.
“I’m scared,” he braves himself to admit it, gulping as he holds what Kiyoomi has given him close to his rapidly-beating chest.
He watches how the spiker handles his.
Slender fingers enveloping it, Kiyoomi doesn’t crush it; he doesn’t slam it into the floor either. Instead, he cradles it closer to his body, wrapping it up in the warmth of his body heat.
Kiyoomi can feel it. it feels softer, more tender than his own; like a slight breeze from one misunderstanding may mince it up into irreparable pieces.
“Can I?”
Atsumu lets him into his house.
It started as a suggestion from Hinata, for the four of them to hang out every few weeks. It was Kiyoomi’s turn this week, and expectedly, their night out turned into a night in, lounging around Kiyoomi’s apartment.
Nobody seemed to have an issue with it, to Kiyoomi’s relief; it pays off to be friends with people who can easily keep themselves entertained even if they’re given a piece of paper or a broken branch.
“What? No way, you’re lying, Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto points an accusing finger at the setter who sat on the opposite end of the dinner table, “You never dated before?”
Atsumu winces, pulling his sleeves down. He pouts, “I said I never had a long-term thing…”
He did not expect the night to unfold this way, though. A few drinks in and they’re playing never have I ever– for some godforsaken reason– and they’ve shifted to the topic of dating. Kiyoomi’s assumptions of Atsumu being a playboy throughout high school and after were quickly shot down with the singular question from Bokuto: “Never have I ever dated before,”
“Does it matter if it’s long-term or short-term?” Hinata ponders, “You still dated even if it was short term, no?”
Atsumu sucks his lower lip between his teeth, chewing contemplatively. Hinata was right, of course it was still considered a relationship, but, “It ain’t considered one if the other party… doesn’t wanna be associated wit’ me,”
“What?” Kiyoomi stops bringing the drink up to his mouth, whipping his head to face Atsumu, “What is the meaning of that?”
Atsumu laughs, but anyone with enough social skills can hear how strained and forced it sounds, “Y’know— I mean, like– Ugh. Nobody wants to be known to have relations with me,”
Hinata frowns, a confused look on his face; Kiyoomi understands where the confusion comes from, “That’s not true. I was really happy to know I was related to you somehow in high school. You were so cool, we told our juniors all about you even in our third year. Still a little upset you pulled of something that took months for Tobio and I to do, but I’m glad I knew you, I still do,”
“Yeah! Me too! I’m so glad I knew and still know you,” Bokuto enthusiastically agrees.
“Whoever said that to you is probably living their worst life right now,” Kiyoomi doesn’t even expect himself to say anything, but he was, “Whether it was one person or multiple, you don’t have to take everything to heart, or even with a grain of salt. You’re you, and if they can’t stand the thought of that, why would you bother to remember anything they said?”
Atsumu lets go of the breath he was holding and stops tugging on the fabric of his clothes. He stays quiet, internalising the words that have been thrown to him. There’s a sick twist of an unfamiliar feeling akin to satisfaction when the words sink in; Hinata was glad to know him, Bokuto was glad to know him.
Kiyoomi… seems to be glad to know him, judging by the amount of words that flowed out of his mouth, regardless how bored and monotonous he looked and sounded.
Not the same , a voice he’s too familiar with whispers.
Atsumu forces a smile, but Kiyoomi catches on to his bullshit quickly, “What else is on your mind? Speak it,”
Atsumu huffed, but he didn’t look annoyed, just… sad. He plays with the condensation on the cup of alcohol in front of him; with the softest voice he’s ever heard from Atsumu, “It ain’t the same,”
“How about this?” Bokuto smiled, “Why don’t we let our casanova show you that you’re worth it?”
“Our what ?!” Atsumu shrieks, not believing a single word coming from Bokuto’s mouth.
“Ca-sa-no-va, Miya. A romantic. Gallant, if you will. Promiscuous man. Or woman, whatever. Gender isn’t real,” Kiyoomi pours himself another cup of alcohol.
Atsumu shook his head, “No, I heard ya the first time. Just- when did we have one?”
Hinata snorts, “It’s Kiyo-san. You didn’t know?”
Atsumu shook his head. Kiyoomi shrugged, “Only if you’re up to it, though. It’s not for me to fuck around, it’s for you to know your worth,”
“Ain’t a casanova usually doin’ the opposite?”
—
Atsumu wakes up in someone else’s bed, head pounding and feeling dry to the balls. He scrambles around, ignoring the pounding in this head, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It looks awfully familiar, but he can’t place a finger on it.
“You’re awake,”
He feels like he experiences whiplash when he turns towards the door. Sakusa Kiyoomi stood there, only in his boxers, with his arms crossed in front of his chest as he leaned on the doorframe. Atsumu gulps, peeking under the blanket that was covering his body.
“We didn’t do anything,” Kiyoomi sighs, “I’ll get you some water,”
“Ah-?” Atsumu doesn’t get to get the question past his lips because the spiker is already heading back towards the direction of the kitchen.
Their conversation last night is helpfully supplied by his hazy brain.
Only if you’re up to it, though. It’s not for me to fuck around, it’s for you to know your worth.
He must’ve said yes to the offer then. Atsumu groans, burying his head in his hands. Memories flood back into his head. Unpleasant memories.
Why would anyone want to be related to you?
I would say that I’m sorry but you don’t even deserve it. See you never, we never had this.
You aren’t really someone anyone would want to stay with for a long time.
I hope you forget about me. We shouldn’t let people know we have history.
Atsumu grits his teeth, hands tightening in his hair as the balls of his palms dig into his eye sockets. He knows that crying will just make his headache– hangover?– worse. He lets out a shaky sigh, flinching when an arm wraps around his shoulders.
“You can cry, it’s okay,” he’s never heard Kiyoomi voice sound so soft, “I’m not going to judge, but at least drink some water first,”
Atsumu sniffles, taking his hands away from his face, eyes searching. Kiyoomi holds it out for him, and he takes it with shaky hands. He drinks like he’s never drank a droplet of water in his life.
“It’s not going to run away. Slow down,” Kiyoomi taps on his cheek, and he does slow down, “Did you even breathe?”
The deep gasp that Atsumu takes answers his question, “Sorry,”
“Do you want more water?” Atsumu shook his head at his question, so Kiyoomi continues with information that he probably would like to hear as he sets the cup down on the bedside table, “We have afternoon practice,”
“Thank fuck,” he slumps backwards, forgetting about Kiyoomi’s arm behind his shoulderblades; he drags the other man down with him, “Oh shit, sorry,”
Atsumu makes a move to roll away to free his arm, but Kiyoomi brings his other hand over and drapes over Atsumu’s waist. When Atsumu takes in a hitched breath, he pulls away a little, “Does that bother you?”
“No– I mean, well, not really. I don’t–,”
Kiyoomi blinks, “You know, it’s just me. Well… Do you want to have that conversation again? I should’ve asked that first,”
Atsumu shakes his head, “No… I know. ‘S just that I’on wanna waste yer time, or anythin’. It’s somethin’ I can easily go to therapy for,”
Kiyoomi hums, the arm under Atsumu’s body moving on its own and starts threading through blonde strands. Atsumu closes his eyes, savouring the feeling while he can. Kiyoomi notices, of course, and he smiles.
“Do you catch feelings easily? Is that why you’re having second thoughts?”
Atsumu sighs, “Yeah,”
“If it makes you feel any better, I can’t go anywhere, and it’s not like I want to. You can’t throw me away either,”
Atsumu shuts his eyes, taking in a deep breath. Kiyoomi’s hand hasn’t stopped threading through his hair, and maybe it’s influencing the decision that Atsumu makes. Though, the blonde doesn’t seem to care that it does.
“Okay,” Atsumu finally turns to look at Kiyoomi, “Show me what ya got, casanova,”
—
Practice goes on as usual, as if the two of them didn’t just agree to fake date each other a couple of hours ago. There are things that Atsumu notices though; the fleeting touches, the close proximity, the eye-contact and smiles.
Atsumu tests Kiyoomi during their debriefing. He’d probably get shoved away, get called annoying, and be left to stand awkwardly. He’d already prepared himself for the humiliation, and he slowly approaches behind Kiyoomi.
And rests his chin on his shoulder.
Atsumu gulps, heart pounding in his chest as he waits to hear a tongue clicking noise, and a harsh shrug. It never happens.
Instead, there's a hand pulling at his own, dragging it forward and Kiyoomi intertwines their fingers. Atsumu makes a move to pull away, but Kiyoomi tightens his hold, his thumb moving in soothing circles over the back of his palm.
Nobody notices them, nobody turns their head. If their coach saw, he says nothing about it. Atsumu sighs, but it isn't one of relief.
His shoulders are still bunched together, and there's a nervous lump at the back of his throat.
"'Tsu," Kiyoomi whispers, and Atsumu damn near has his eyes bug out of his head, "...Is it okay if I call you that?"
Atsumu nods his head, feeling awfully stupid. Kiyoomi sighs, "I'm not going to shove you away, if that's what you're expecting,"
Atsumu loosened his grip on his hand, taking a deep breath. He relaxes his shoulders, and he swallows down the lump in his throat. He scoots just a little bit closer to Kiyoomi, and the man responds with a soothing thumb over the back of his hand.
Kiyoomi sits beside the blonde on his couch, waiting for Atsumu to say something. He doesn't. He just stares out his balcony window, tugging on his sleeves.
Just like that night.
Kiyoomi reaches out, careful, and stops him from tugging the ribbing raw. Atsumu slumps in on himself, sighing. Kiyoomi opens his mouth to say something, but a desperate hand grips him tight. Atsumu looks at him, shaking his head, unshed tears in his eyes threatening to fall.
“‘Tsu-,”
“Don’t call me that when yer about to fuckin’ break up a fake relationship with me,” Atsumu grits his teeth, “ Fuck you , Sakusa,”
Kiyoomi grips his sleeve, desperate for him to listen, “Listen to what I need to say, please,”
“‘Tsumu,” Osamu waves in front of his face, a concerned look on his face, “Ya good?”
Atsumu nods, “Yeah. Just tired,”
“Ya can cut the crap with me, asshole,” Osamu barks out a laugh, before he goes around the counter and sits beside his brother, “Ya just won a game, and yer teammates are celebratin’ on the other side of my restaurant. What’s cookin’, huh?”
“I just wanted to spend some time with my brother, is that so wrong?” Atsumu tries to lie again, but it only earns a raised brow from the idiot he’s had the pleasure of sharing his whole life with.
“We’re gonna be spendin’ the weekend with Ma. Try again,”
Atsumu clicks his tongue, swirling his drink once more. Osamu doesn’t prod just yet, letting his brother find his words to tell him the truth– or another lie, which he will just accept for the time being if that was the case– as he gazes at his reflection in his drink.
“Are ya proud?” Atsumu asks, not looking away from his cup– his reflection–, “Are ya proud to have me as yer brother, I mean,”
Osamu frowned, “Fuck kind’a question is that? ‘Course I am. What’s wrong, ‘Tsumu? I’m bein’ dead serious when I say ya better tell me who’s got ya down in the dumps like this. I’ll beat ‘em up,”
Atsumu scoffs. Then he stands up and walks towards the exit of Onigiri Miya.
Osamu trails behind him, until they reach the back of the restaurant. Atsumu stands in the middle, hands shoved in his pockets as he straightens his posture.
“Hit me then,” Atsumu murmurs.
“‘Tsumu-,”
“Ya said ya’ll beat ‘em up, right? It's me. I’m the fuckin’ problem, ‘Samu. Hit me,”
Osamu mirrors his stance, but he doesn’t say anything. Atsumu’s eyes are filled with some sort of fire, sadness even, that Osamu doesn’t even remember if he’s ever seen that look in his brother’s eyes before.
Sometimes, if ya don’t understand, maybe all ya need is a hug. Ya don’t have to understand everything, Atsumu, Osamu. Ya ain’t God, ya can’t know the ‘why’s to everythin’ thrown yer way. Understand?
Yes, Mama.
Osamu takes a step forward, and he sees Atsumu shut his eyes instantly. He doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t need to. He doubts Atsumu understands himself, too. So he wraps his arms around his blonde counterpart.
“I’on fuckin’ want to punch ya with no rhyme or reason, dickhead. We ain’t twelve anymore,” Osamu rests his chin on his shoulder.
Atsumu’s hands fall out of his pocket, coming to wrap around Osamu’s waist. He sighs, choking up, “I’on understand, ‘Samu. I don’t fuckin’ understand,”
“Ma said it was okay not to understand,”
“I need to,” Atsumu lets his tears fall, “I have to, ‘Samu,”
Osamu rubs comfortingly on his back. He keeps his silence as his brother cries into his shoulder, muttering ‘I need to’ and ‘I have to’ over and over again.
—
Atsumu left the restaurant early, and now he’s bundled up on his hotel bed, playing Taylor Swift on the speaker he borrowed from Osamu. He traces the patterns on the ceilings with his eyes, trying to take his mind off of the thoughts in his head, something Kiyoomi had taught him to do.
Atsumu doesn’t understand why Kiyoomi agreed to show how much he was deserving of love. He doesn’t understand why Kiyoomi never looks bothered when he’s basically stuck with him until the time of the agreement comes to an end. Atsumu can’t seem to understand Kiyoomi beyond the court ever since this arrangement started and it makes him feel like he’s going insane.
Ding.
Kiyoomi doesn’t only put up his ‘boyfriend’ persona in front of others too, going as far as calling one another pet names apart from the usual nicknames. Atsumu doesn’t understand why he’s feeling butterflies and warmth around him instead of dread and cold, like he used to with his previous partners. He doesn’t understand why Kiyoomi feels so safe.
Ding.
Most importantly, Atsumu doesn’t understand why he doesn’t want this arrangement to end at the end of three months; it's a desperate feeling that’s clawing at his insides, pouding on the walls of his heart. He sighs, reaching for his phone to finally give attention to whoever that was messaging him.
From: Omi-Omi
> Tsu
> Wru?
To: Omi-Omi
> Sorry Mi
> Back at the hotel
From: Omi-Omi
> U left me here alone D: ??
> Bokuto's abt 2 climb a pole in your bro’s res
> It can hold his weight, right??
To: Omi-Omi
> Sorry I wasn’t feeling it, think I’m catching a cold or sumn
> HUH WHAT
> GET HIM DOWN??
From: Omi-Omi
> Uh I think Hinata’s getting him down
> U have ur bro’s menu memorised right?
To: Omi-Omi
> ?? Yes I do, why?
From: Omi-Omi
> What do u want 2 eat?
> Don’t tell me u alr eaten bc Osamu said u didn’t
> Tsu?
To: Omi-Omi
> Spicy tuna
From: Omi-Omi
> That’s all?
To: Omi-Omi
> Yep!
> TY OMI <3
From: Omi-Omi
> Alw babe
> C u @ hotel
Seen 9.23pm
Atsumu tossed his phone aside, slinging an arm over his eyes.
It’s okay not to understand.
Atsumu searches for an answer amongst Kiyoomi’s desperation first, “Today’s the end of the arrangement, right? Ya were flirtin’ with ladies left and right in the bar, too,”
Kiyoomi bites down his smile, in which Atsumu stomps on his toe for; Kiyoomi winces, but he doesn’t stop smiling,“‘Tsu, Meian brought the team to a gay bar,”
“What?” Atsumu blinks, “We were at a gay bar?”
“Yes dear, we were at a gay bar,”
Atsumu looks away from Kiyoomi, pouting. Sure, alright. They were at a gay bar. Kiyoomi strictly dates men, he knows that too. Now that is out of the bag, Atsumu feels even more stupid for getting jealous; getting jealous over his fake boyfriend… who is definitely about to break up with him now.
“Atsumu,”
Atsumu closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in. His fingers curl into his palm, his hands balling up into fists. He doesn’t want to hear it; he doesn’t want it to end.
“I like ya,” he whispers, “I like ya. I fuckin’ like ya, Omi. Don’t say it, please. I know what yer gonna do, I rather ya just leave-,”
“I like you,” Kiyoomi wraps his hand around his wrist, warm and desperate, “I came here to tell you that. I’ve been wanting to tell you this months ago, but I was scared you’d think I was… lying. I wasn’t lying about anything I told you, I’m not lying now,”
Atsumu opens his mouth to say something, but Kiyoomi stops him again; he realises that this was the first time that Kiyoomi had stopped him from talking in a long time, “I want to take you out on a date, a real date. I want to stay by your side, if you’d let me. I’ll grovel on the ground to make you mine if that’s what you want, I don’t care; I will do it , Atsumu,”
“I’ll reign Hell on whoever broke you in the past, because how fucking dare they . You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, since I met you in that hideous piss-coloured theme you had going on for yourself in highschool. I want to spend so many more years with you,”
Atsumu feels like he’s out of breath, his throat feels like it's being lit ablaze. There’s heat in his eyes, and his ears are hot and ringing. His heart is being held so tight, yet so tender, he feels like he might die.
Kiyoomi loosens his grip on his wrist a little, “Of course, if that isn’t what you want, I won’t force you into anything… anymore,”
Atsumu doesn’t like the sadness that laces his voice; he grips onto Kiyoomi’s arm, and yanks him towards him. Atsumu lets out a shaky sigh as he rests their foreheads together. Kiyoomi nudges their noses together, and Atsumu closes his eyes, a small smile pulling at his lips.
He takes Kiyoomi’s hand, and brings it up to rest right over his heart, “‘S yers,”
Kiyoomi mirrors his actions, “It’s always been yours,”
“Hey ‘Tsum,” Bokuto is smiling when he comes up to him that evening after practice, “Do you want me to let you in on a little secret?”
Atsumu raised his eyebrows, pausing from drying his hair, “What’s up, Bo?”
“Kiyoomi was never a casanova. Not in college, not the teams’ either. He’s just down bad for you. Do what you may with that information,” And then he struts away, with Hinata giggling in the distance.
Atsumu tilts his head, internalizing the information he’s just been fed. Kiyoomi comes up behind him minutes later, wrapping his arms around his waist, “Something wrong? You’ve been standing all confused-looking since Bokuto and Hinata left,"
“No,” Atsumu doesn't bring it up to Kiyoomi; it doesn’t matter anyway, “I got some wisdom from an owl, ‘s all,”
Kiyoomi raised his eyebrow, but didn't say anything more than planting a soft kiss on Atsumu's lips, “Let’s go, I want to try making those cupcakes we saw on television last night,”
“Can I help?”
Kiyoomi intertwines their fingers together as they walk out of the training facility, “Of course,”
As the earth revolves around the sun, pulled toward, but never touching. I am to you, and as Icarus fell, I have fallen for you.