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Kiyoomi wakes to Miya banging on his door, yelling words that put the fear of god in him.
“Omi-kun, get out here, we’re gonna be fathers.”
He decides he’s dreaming and burrows deeper under his covers. The racket doesn’t end. And it’s soon joined by Bokuto’s voice, yelling congratulations to Kiyoomi and Miya.
Realizing he needs to put a stop to this before it gets out of hand, Kiyoomi pulls on a bathrobe, puts on his most vicious expression, and stomps to the front door.
“What is it?” he hisses, when he flings it open to find his two excitable teammates.
“Look, Omi,” Miya whispers loudly. He points at the placard between their doors that displays their room numbers. On the ledge above the placard is a bird’s nest, balanced precariously. Kiyoomi can see four tiny eggs inside.
“I scared the mom away,” Miya continues, “Walked outside minding my own business, and she nearly blinded me when she flew away.”
“The bird probably won’t come back,” Kiyoomi answers, “Guess we have breakfast now. I’ll get the makiyakinabe oiled.”
He is immediately accosted by gasps and shouts and lectures from Miya and Bokuto, labeling him variations on the spawn of satan.
“We have to take care of ‘em if the mom doesn’t come back,” Miya announces.
“You were the one who scared the bird away,” Kiyoomi says, frowning. He stares at the nest, closing one eye then the other. “Also the nest is mostly on your side,” he decides.
“No way, it’s dead center,” Miya replies, “The sweet mama chose both of us to take care of her babies.” Bokuto moves his head back and forth and nods, confirming Miya’s baseless statement.
“It is an animal with no such higher brain processes. And it shouldn’t have put its nest here anyways.” Kiyoomi doesn’t even know how the bird could have built it there without him noticing. He attributes it to his inclination to slink out of his apartment quickly and quietly to avoid anything to do with Miya.
“Omi-Omi, I knew you were cruel, but I didn’t think you’d turn away yer own kids,” Miya says, eyes watering as he looks at Kiyoomi.
“This is a ridiculous conversation. I’m going back to bed,” Kiyoomi answers, “Stop hovering around the nest. The bird will come back eventually.”
---
The bird does not come back. Kiyoomi is bombarded with texts from Miya the rest of the morning.
Miya: She hasn’t come back yet, Omi.
Kiyoomi: If you stopped opening the door every five minutes to check, maybe it would.
Miya: I’m not opening the door, I’m watching through the window.
Kiyoomi: It can probably see your unnecessarily bright hair through the shades.
Miya doesn’t answer for a few minutes, and Kiyoomi hopes he’s lost interest in the eggs.
Miya: I asked Kita-san, and he said unless we plan to never leave our rooms, we’ll keep disturbing the mama and then she’ll stop coming back.
Kiyoomi: I really have been craving tamagoyaki today.
Miya: OMI, DON’T YOU DARE
Miya: OMI?! I’M WATCHING YOU.
Miya: Omi, what should we do?!
Kiyoomi: I’m going to practice in half an hour. Because it’s my job.
Miya: Kita-san says we can take care of the babies and raise em right.
Kiyoomi: Good luck.
Miya: Kita-san sent me a lot of advice. He says he’s done it before and if we don’t do anything they’ll die or get eaten by spooky predators.
Kiyoomi: Not if I get to them first.
Miya: I’m gonna find some of my stuff to put on them to keep them warm. You should add something too, so they get used to both our smells.
At this nonsense, Kiyoomi puts his phone down and begins his lengthy process of getting ready for practice. He leaves earlier than usual to avoid having to walk with Miya. After closing the door quietly so as not to alert Miya to his departure, he spares one look into the nest. The four eggs are small, barely enough for a few bites. They are a pale white, speckled with tiny black dots in different patterns. Kiyoomi leans closer, adjusting his face mask. They are… sort of pretty. About half the size of a chicken egg, more cylindrical, with none of the factory sameness he associates with eggs from the grocery store. He wonders if they’re warm to the touch.
“I call that one Omi Jr.”
Kiyoomi leaps back, somehow not noticing Miya exiting his room. Miya is pointing at one of the eggs that is set slightly apart from its brethren.
“It has two little dots right where I imagine the eyes being,” Miya continues, then he looks up with a grin and gestures at Kiyoomi’s face.
“Don’t name them,” Kiyoomi grits out, his face heating up. He thinks his twin moles are tingling, and briefly panics that they’re becoming cancerous.
“Too late, I’ve named them all, so they know they’re loved,” Miya says. He hefts his backpack on his shoulder and points forward. “Shall we? If the mom isn’t home when we get back from practice, those really are gonna be our kids, Omi.”
“Make Bokuto or Hinata entertain your madness.”
“Omi-kun,” Miya whines, “We’ll be great together. I’ll make sure they’re showered with affection, and you can make sure they’re clean and don’t get sick.”
“I hope you get bird flu.”
“No you don’t. We spend all our time together, which means you’ll get it too.”
Kiyoomi walks faster, and Miya jogs along next to him, still babbling about insulation and heat lamps.
---
Miya showers with record speed after practice and thwarts Kiyoomi’s attempt to depart on his own. When they make it back to the apartment, Kiyoomi leaves Miya cooing over the eggs and retreats to the sanctity of his small one bedroom. After he had signed with the Jackals, Kiyoomi had debated whether to get his own apartment, but the location and the MSBY’s guarantee to hire a cleaning company of Kiyoomi’s choice to do a deep clean before he moved in led him to stay in the MSBY dorms.
When he gets another series of texts from Miya, he regrets the decision deeply.
Miya: I added a sock to the nest. What r u going to add?
Miya: I also ordered a heat lamp.
Miya: Kita-san says we can raise it indoors. I think we should use your apartment.
Miya: Omi, are you there?
Kiyoomi: No.
Miya: No to what?
Kiyoomi: Everything.
Miya: Omi-kun it’s gotta be your apartment. Your place is clean and quiet. Bokkun and Shouyo are always over here and you know one of em is gonna try juggling our kids and it’ll end in disaster.
Miya: I’ll come over every day and take care of em.
Miya: Or I can come over once every other day to just look at em.
Miya: Omi-kun, are you there?
Kiyoomi throws a volleyball at their shared wall.
Miya: Just think about it. I’m worried about the little guys outside. Even with my sock and your face mask covering em.
A feeling of rage fills him after reading this text. Kiyoomi storms to the door and pulls it open. He looks into the nest and sees, draped around the eggs, one of Miya’s disgusting socks and an old face mask, presumably his. Miya’s door creaks open, and he peers outside cautiously.
“I couldn’t find anything else of yours,” Miya says, by way of explanation, “That dropped out of your pocket during practice, so I just took it.”
“You…” Kiyoomi begins, but doesn’t know how to finish.
“Maybe you could add a sock instead.”
Kiyoomi stands at a crossroads. Both roads lead to somewhere horrible. The first path is full of Miya texting him every minute, stealing bits and pieces of Kiyoomi’s belongings to add to a bird’s nest, panicking about the safety of wild animals at every moment in the day and conveying that worry to Kiyoomi. The second path is dark and unknown and involves bringing something from the outside into Kiyoomi’s carefully curated space. He stares at the nest, the curve of his face mask touching the toe of Miya’s sock. He makes a decision.
“The nest stays in my apartment. I am doing the bare minimum to care for it. You can visit it once a day only after you have properly sanitized yourself. If they start to emit a rotten smell, they are going in the garbage. I will come up with other rules later.”
Miya’s eyes are wide, and he nods mutely.
“Take your sock and the face mask out.”
“Wait, no, Omi, I have to leave a bit of me with ‘em, so they remember me,” Miya begs, “I’ll take the face mask away. The sock is clean, I swear.”
“Where is the other one?”
“I dunno. The washer ate it or something,” Miya shrugs, “That guy’s just been sitting on my dresser after I last did laundry. I don’t think its buddy is going to turn up.”
“When… was the last time you did laundry?” Kiyoomi asks, dreading the answer.
“Two days ago,” Miya says, “I’m not as gross as you think I am, Omi-Omi.”
“Take the face mask out. That’s not sanitary,” Kiyoomi replies, not wanting to argue any more about Miya’s hygiene or lack thereof. Miya complies quickly, pocketing the face mask.
“How am I supposed to move it?” Kiyoomi frowns.
“Let me ask Kita-san,” Miya says, pulling out his phone. Kiyoomi commiserates with Miya’s former captain. It must have been a chore controlling Miya and his brother.
Kita answers after a few rings. “Kita-san,” Miya breathes out, smiling at his phone. It’s an expression Kiyoomi hasn’t seen before, boyish and eager. Kiyoomi is suddenly reminded of a small dog looking for its owner’s praise.
“Atsumu,” Kita answers, “What is it?”
“Kita-san, Kita-san, Omi says he’ll keep the birdies in his apartment,” Miya says, “How can we move the nest? Where should we put it?”
“You’re certain the mother isn’t nearby?” Kita asks, and Kiyoomi finds himself looking around for an angry bird. Something about Kita’s tone makes it feel like he’s standing behind Kiyoomi, watching and judging everything that he does.
“I don’t think so,” Miya says, “I added my sock to the nest. Should I not have done that?”
“Hmm,” Kita answers, some disapproval in his voice, and Kiyoomi shudders in time with Miya.
“Well, if you’ve already done that, then the mother will not return. There is no special science to moving the nest. Just make sure you are holding it securely and take care not to jostle the eggs. Please place it in a warm spot in Sakusa-san’s apartment. I told you already about insulation and heat lamps for warmth. You’ll want to rotate the eggs several times a day.”
“Got it,” Miya salutes, “I’ll send you pictures, Kita-san.”
“Thank you, Atsumu. Please try your best to take care of them.”
“I will, I will,” Miya replies, “Omi and I will do a good job.”
“Please also send my best to Sakusa-san.”
Miya hangs up, a smile still on his face when he turns to Kiyoomi.
“How did you end up the way you are with a captain like him?” Kiyoomi asks.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Miya glares.
“I’m taking these stupid eggs inside now,” Kiyoomi says. He opens his door and props it open with one foot before reaching for the nest.
“Careful, be careful,” Miya says, hovering nervously. Kiyoomi picks up the nest, which is much lighter than he thought it would be, taking care to sit it securely in his palm. Miya moves closer to stare at it.
“They’re so small,” he whispers, “Though what if we’re raising eagles or something.”
“You’ll have to feed them your fingers then.”
“No, these fingers are precious. All of Japan is relying on them for the Olympics,” Miya replies. He tries to follow Kiyoomi into his apartment, but Kiyoomi shoots him a glare.
“Sanitize yourself.”
“I took a shower after practice,” Miya whines.
“You walked here, and what is appropriate cleaning for your own apartment is not for mine.”
“You better not kill them before I can see them again,” Miya mutters, running quickly into his apartment.
Slowly, Kiyoomi walks the nest into his living room and looks around for where to deposit it. He decides on the bookshelf, which has a nearby plug for the small radiator Kiyoomi uses in the winter. He puts the nest down and gazes at the eggs, half-covered in Miya’s sock. Kiyoomi takes a pen and pokes at the sock, rearranging it around the eggs. He then goes to his bedroom, grabs his least favorite pair of socks and adds them to the nest. With that taken care of, he retreats to the bathroom for another shower.
---
A loud rapping on his door disturbs Kiyoomi from his important work of analyzing the Adlers’ most recent game for Wakatoshi’s weaknesses. He looks at the clock and sighs. It’s 7 PM, the designated time for Miya to visit. It’s been a few days of this. Kiyoomi has done some research to determine how long it takes for eggs to hatch. Two weeks by some counts, which is two weeks too long for Kiyoomi to be participating in this farce.
“Are you clean?” he asks when he opens the door. Miya’s hair is still wet, but Kiyoomi can see from his arms that he subjected himself to a vicious scrubbing.
“Yes, Omi-kun,” Miya says. He rolls his eyes and pushes past Kiyoomi, zeroing in on the bird’s nest.
“There they are,” he coos, towering over them and smiling happily at the four eggs, “There are my babies.”
“I’ve already rotated them today,” Kiyoomi warns to prevent Miya from overeagerly doing so again. He sits down on the couch and turns the Adlers back on. Miya continues to make fussing noises in the background. He has already named each of the eggs and is frighteningly good at telling them apart. Kiyoomi tried to trick him once by moving them to different positions, and Miya had instantly berated him for subjecting them to danger.
“Omi Jr., you’re looking particularly glossy today,” Miya says.
“Please stop calling it that.”
“Tsumu Jr. is gonna give Omi Jr. hell when he gets outta his shell,” Miya continues. (Miya has named the largest of the eggs after himself. The smallest is named Shouyo Jr. The one most enthusiastically covered in spots in Bokkun Jr. Kiyoomi refers to them as Egg 1, 2, 3, and 4.)
“Tsumu Jr. is the first one I’m going to eat,” Kiyoomi replies.
A moment later, he dips slightly to the side as Miya sits down next to him on the couch. Kiyoomi assumes Miya is about to berate him for his remark and prepares to respond by kicking him out of his home.
“You said my name,” Miya says happily. Kiyoomi stares at him. “No, I said the dumb bird’s name.”
“My name is in the bird’s name, Omi.”
“Yes, and that’s the reason I’m eating him first.”
“I know yer not gonna eat ‘em,” Miya giggles, “Your motherly instincts have kicked in. I saw you added some more of your socks to keep them warm.”
Kiyoomi crosses his arms, refusing to be embarrassed for having common sense. “If I do something, I’m going to do it right.”
“Sure Omi, sure.” Miya relaxes onto the couch, slouching down so he sinks into the hood of his sweatshirt and a strip of his stomach is exposed.
“Watchin’ the Adlers?”
“Yes,” Kiyoomi answers, forcing his gaze back to the television.
“Oh I watched it last night,” Miya nods, “Tobio-kun was excellent, though I suppose you’re only looking at Mr. Stoic because yer obsessed with him.”
Frowning, Kiyoomi stops looking at Wakatoshi and shakes his head, “The Adlers are our biggest competition this year. It’s natural to focus on their principal threats.”
Miya hums, eyes hooded as he watches the screen. Kiyoomi can tell his attention is razor-sharp despite his posture, a textbook example of concentration in repose.
“We’ll have to find someone to take care of the kids this weekend for the away game,” Miya says, “Who knew parenting would be so hard.”
“They’ll live,” Kiyoomi says curtly.
“Samu would come. He should, as their uncle,” Miya continues, ignoring him. “We should leave a key in a lockbox. You can trust Samu , Omi-Omi. He always has to be squeaky clean for work.”
“I don’t want to deal with that. Just leave the nest in your apartment. If we’re away, they’ll be safe from Hinata and Bokuto.”
“Okay,” Miya nods. He tilts his head to Kiyoomi and smiles, “Co-parenting is kind of fun, isn’t it, Omi-kun?” Before Kiyoomi can respond, Miya stands up and dances away, laughing. “I know, I know, you hate it when I say stuff like that, Omi. I’ll get outta yer hair. I’m goin’ to Samu’s for dinner tomorrow. Want me to bring you anything back?”
Kiyoomi contemplates this. Miya Osamu’s food is very good.
“Yes. I’ll text you my order. Let me give you some cash for now.”
“No no, it’ll be our treat.”
“Miya, take the money. I’m not freeloading off your brother like you do.”
“I’ll pay Samu for ya, Omi-kun. Stop bein’ silly,” Miya replies. He waves goodbye to the nest and disappears out of the apartment. It’s quiet, when he leaves. Kiyoomi wonders when Miya’s inane comments on co-parenting stopped being annoying to him. Miya will never find out; it would only make him more insufferable. But Kiyoomi stops by the nest and taps Tsumu Jr. Egg 4 gently on the shell before retiring to his bedroom that night.
---
Miya frets about the birds the entire weekend they are away for their game against the Falcons. It begins as soon as he closes the door to his apartment, then immediately opens it again out of fear he didn’t turn the heat lamp on. It continues on the bus, as he moans to Kiyoomi that he should have gotten one of the pet cameras so he could watch the nest remotely. It escalates when they reach their apartment, and Miya Osamu is three minutes late announcing that he has arrived to check on the birds. It culminates twenty minutes past Kiyoomi’s bedtime, when Miya is still pacing around their shared hotel room.
“Omi, I think we have to go back. Samu sounded weird on the phone. I think he might have killed them and didn’t know how to tell me.”
Kiyoomi squeezes his eyes shut and hopes Miya will think he’s sleeping.
“Omi-Omi, are you awake?” Miya is by his bedside now, doing everything to be annoying except physically touch Kiyoomi, which even he must recognize is a point of no return.
“We have a game tomorrow,” Kiyoomi says tiredly, cracking one eye open, “We cannot go back to Osaka.”
“Coach and Captain would understand,” Miya says, wringing his hands together, “This is about family.”
Kiyoomi notes that Miya is truly anxious, not theatrical anxious as he tends to be before games. His brow is furrowed, the downtick at the corners of his lips prominent. Kiyoomi has seen Miya like this a handful of times before. When waiting for a diagnosis of some knee pain, when his brother’s restaurant was about to open, when he learned his mother was hospitalized and the next bus to Hyogo wasn’t scheduled to leave for another hour. Miya’s nerves will continue to fray at the corners, growing exponentially worse by the minute without intervention. Cursing that he is the only one around to stop this cycle, Kiyoomi sits up, propping a pillow behind his back.
“The birds are fine, Miya,” Kiyoomi says. Miya takes this as an invitation to sit down lightly on Kiyoomi’s bed, shooting him looks as if to check to make sure he’s not about to be booted out of the hotel, or the province. “I was there, your brother rotated them, he showed us on camera. They looked just as boring as they did when we left,” Kiyoomi continues.
“That was a few hours ago. What if they’ve started hatching, and they’re stuck under my sock and are gonna suffocate—”
“They’re not due to hatch for at least another week,” Kiyoomi says, “If they started hatching now, your sock would be the least of their problems. They’re the safest eggs in Japan right now, Miya.”
Miya grips his shirt, still in search of other worries.
“Call your brother tomorrow morning. If he doesn’t have time to go by, I have an associate who can take a look if you are amenable to providing your lockbox information.”
“Yeah, yeah that’s fine with me, I don’t have anything worth stealin’,” Miya says, lighting up. His shoulders have relaxed now, and Kiyoomi knows the worst is over.
“Go to sleep. You’re making my head hurt,” Kiyoomi mumbles, settling back under his covers.
Miya doesn’t move for a few moments. Finally, he turns to Kiyoomi and gives him a shy smile, one that is so very different from the overconfident smirk Miya usually presents to the world. It catches Kiyoomi off-guard, like seeing a daisy in a car park.
“Co-parenting is nice,” Miya says quietly.
Kiyoomi grunts in response, turning his back to Miya so the bloom of red on his face isn’t apparent. He hears Miya shuffling quietly around the room, and soon enough the lights turn off and the sound of Miya’s breathing lulls Kiyoomi to sleep.
---
When they are dropped off back at the training facility, Miya sprints toward their apartments.
“What’s gotten into him?” Inunaki asks.
“Birds,” Kiyoomi replies, walking faster than he usually would after Miya. He’s only mildly curious, mostly about Miya’s reunion with the eggs. They will have done nothing interesting, but he wonders if Miya will start crying when he sees them. He doesn’t think he particularly cares about the eggs themselves.
He is surprised, then, when a flare of warmth rushes from his chest to the tips of his fingers and toes when he sees them again, four oblong shapes, tucked in with his black socks and Miya’s bright red ones. He tries to school his expression into one of detached neutrality.
“Do you think they’ve grown, Omi?” Miya asks, stroking Egg 1 (Omi Jr.) with a careful finger.
“No, that’s not how eggs work, Miya.”
“I feel like I can hear ‘em making noises. I can’t wait to see them pecking their way out all weird and slimy. Don’t worry Omi, I’ll take care of the gross stuff when they’re naked and pink.”
“I’m bringing them back where it’s safe,” Kiyoomi announces, trying his hardest not to think about the strange alien creatures covered in a thin layer of slime he’s seen from his research.
He has managed not to touch anything in Miya’s apartment and doesn’t intend to break that streak, so he carefully picks up the nest in his hands without touching the table it’s sitting on. Miya follows him until the threshold of his own apartment, then waits near the door, poking as much of his body into the living room as he can without physically stepping in.
“I didn’t get to spend any time with ‘em,” he sighs.
Against his better judgment, Kiyoomi looks up from arranging them under the heat lamp.
“You can… after you shower, you can come back.”
Miya lights up at this offer and patters away. Wondering why he decided to give up his valuable decompressing stage after away games to spend more time with Miya, Kiyoomi stomps to the shower. He takes a quicker one than usual and is drying his hair when he hears sharp raps on the door.
“Are you decent?” he asks.
“Ya know people usually ask that to make sure someone just has clothes on, Omi, not that they’ve finished takin’ a bath in hand sanitizer,” Miya’s muffled voice comes from the other side of the door. When Kiyoomi opens it, Miya makes a beeline for the kitchen, then drags a bar stool toward the eggs.
He sighs happily, staring down at the eggs like he’s watching the Olympic finals.
“I asked Kita-san and he says we can feed the birdies moist dog food with a q-tip so I ordered some. Did you know you’re not supposed to feed worms to baby birds? I was ready to go diggin’. Kita-san also said you can feed them hard-boiled eggs. Isn’t that fucked up?! I’m not raisin’ cannibals in this house.”
“You’re raising them in your house,” Kiyoomi answers, shuddering at the concept of moist dog food.
“Okay, but you’ll come visit, right Omi?” Miya asks. He turns his sad eyes to Kiyoomi, and Kiyoomi feels like a bug caught in amber. “I know we can’t keep them forever, but we can watch ‘em get big and fluffy and then watch ‘em fly. Maybe they’ll come back and visit us.”
The first time Kiyoomi had to enter Miya’s apartment, his eyes were drawn to a shelf laden with knickknacks and the most random of items. The first receipt he had from Onigiri Miya, a rock from the Inarizaki soccer field, a broken Vabo-chan keychain from a gatcha machine, a tiny fox figurine from a Hyogo shrine, his first knee brace (gross). Miya turns sentimentality into an art form. Kiyoomi tries to imagine Miya raising baby birds and then watching them fly away. It would almost be a mercy to toss the eggs in the nearest bush before Miya can get more attached.
“They’re not coming back, Miya,” he says shortly, “They’re going to fly away and have families and you shouldn’t expect them to remember anything that you’re doing for them.”
“I know, Omi-kun,” Miya replies. His voice is small as he curls in on himself, his large form slumped as he looks sadly at the nest. “I know. I’m gonna make sure they get big and strong and they’ll be the best birds to ever bird.” He sniffles a bit, and Kiyoomi is mortified that he has to witness this.
“I’ll visit when they hatch,” he says suddenly, “They have to be fed constantly. I can help with that.”
“Omi, you’d touch wet dog food for our kids?” Miya asks.
“You said we would use a q-tip,” Kiyoomi replies, shocked. He tries to hold back a gag.
“I’ll order some gloves too,” Miya says. He’s smiling a bit now, sitting up a little straighter. He adjusts the heat lamp and carefully turns the eggs, making humming noises as he does so, fully in caretaker mode. Kiyoomi expects him to suddenly start playing Mozart for the eggs or something similarly unreasonable.
“Gonna make some tea,” Kiyoomi grunts when it seems like Miya doesn’t intend to move.
“Can I have some of the lemon lavender? I think the scent will be calming for the eggs,” Miya calls after him. Kiyoomi bites his tongue and pulls out the sachets of lemon lavender tea.
---
The day of reckoning comes during a heavy rain. Kiyoomi is dusting his bookshelves when he hears peeping sounds followed by tiny cracking noises. His gaze shoots to the nest, where fractures have appeared on the shells.
“Fuck,” is his first thought. He pulls out his phone with shaky hands, trying to find Miya’s number on his contacts. He can feel his heart pounding, too fast, almost irregularly. When his vision swims and the peeping grows louder, he gives up and bangs his fist on the wall he shares with Miya.
“Miya, they’re— Atsumu, Atsumu. The eggs,” he yells hoarsely.
He hears a thud on the other side, swiftly followed by a thumping on his front door. He flings it open, and Miya rushes into the room. His hair is defying gravity, likely through grease judging from the sheen. He’s dressed in a ratty old t-shirt and his boxer briefs, eyes still blurry with sleep. But right now, Kiyoomi could kiss him as he looks down at the eggs, surprisingly calm.
“Should we help them?” Kiyoomi asks, wringing his hands as he shifts from foot to foot.
“No, no, we shouldn’t,” Miya answers, “They have this weird little hammer thing. It’s part of getting stronger. We should only help if it’s been a super long time. Holy shit, Omi, holy shit it’s actually happening.”
They both watch with wide eyes as the eggs move, slowly revealing the tiny animals inside, crack by crack. Kiyoomi briefly thinks something ridiculous about the miracle of life. He wonders if Miya will make fun of him for saying it out loud. His heart is still racing, and he’s never felt more on the same wavelength with his teammate, more than in the middle of a game, more than after a long practice of perfect sets. He opens his mouth to say something sentimental that he’s going to regret, but before he can get it out, Miya whispers, “Come on Tsumu Jr., you gotta be first.”
Any good will that Kiyoomi had for Miya is instantly washed away in ice water, and he glares at him.
“Are you kidding?” Kiyoomi says heatedly, “Look at Omi Jr. Look at the progress he’s made.”
“Omi Jr. is gonna start off fast, but he doesn’t have the endurance in the long run,” Miya grins, “He takes after you.”
“Fuck you, Miya,” Kiyoomi hisses, “Tsumu Jr. is going to emerge from that egg with half a braincell and only know how to fly into glass windows.”
“Omi, don’t talk about any of our kids like that,” Miya says, feigning a pout. He leans over the nest, eyes bright. Turning his head, he grins at Kiyoomi. “Omi-Omi, you’ve got to get closer. They say that birds imprint on the first thing they see. They gotta see both of us.”
“You can have them,” Kiyoomi responds, but he nonetheless shifts closer to the nest. He’s awfully close to Miya now, and he fears the worst. But Miya still has the lingering smell of bodywash and had at least brushed his teeth that morning. This close, Kiyoomi can see light freckles on Miya’s tanned skin, a scar above his eyebrow, a black fleck in the white of his right eye.
“They’re almost there, Omi-kun,” Miya whispers, “Oh they look so fuckin’ ugly but I would die for ‘em.”
Kiyoomi turns his attention to the eggs. They look extremely ugly with their huge bulging eyes, fluff plastered to their bodies by a wet film. Though Kiyoomi wouldn’t go so far as to die for them, he would consider murdering for them. The sounds are louder now, peeps and chirps filling Kiyoomi’s living room.
Miya curses. “Shit, I gotta go get the food ready. Give me like ten minutes, Omi, I’ll be right back.”
“Just… just bring the food here and get it ready here,” Kiyoomi replies, not willing to be left alone with the helpless creatures for that long. If one of them starts choking or something bad happens, he wants Miya around to figure out what to do.
“Okay, gimme two seconds, Omi-kun,” Miya replies, stumbling out of the apartment.
He returns quickly with a box in his arms and mercifully with some pants on. He spreads a drop cloth on the floor, an act that Kiyoomi is particularly grateful for. He pours some dog food into a bowl (also his own, again Kiyoomi is grateful) and cracks open a water bottle of some very expensive spring water.
“Only the best for our kids,” Miya mutters when Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow. He mashes the contents of the bowl together, and Kiyoomi resists the urge to cover his ears at the sound. When he finishes, he carefully packs everything back into the box and puts the bowl on the bookshelf next to the egg.
“If they’re anything like me, they’ll smell food and start to go beast mode on the egg,” he says. Kiyoomi may be imagining things, but their progress does seem to speed up.
“I think we can move the broken shells aside,” Miya whispers, wordlessly handing Kiyoomi a pair of gloves. Kiyoomi snaps them on and helps Miya take bits and pieces of eggshell out of the nest. When they’re done, four baby birds sit amongst their socks, helpless shrieking sounds coming out of their open beaks, surprisingly loud for such tiny creatures.
“Okay okay, breakfast time, little guys,” Miya says, taking a q-tip and scooping up a small bit of dog food. “Omi Jr. first because he’s so quiet and cute.”
Kiyoomi holds his breath as Miya drops the food into his namesake’s mouth. Will the bird cough or choke or not know how to swallow? Is the food too big? What if he’s allergic? The bird’s beak closes and for one desperate moment, Kiyoomi thinks something has gone horribly wrong. Then, Omi Jr. opens his mouth again, continuing his previous calls. Kiyoomi lets out his breath, watching as Miya alternates between the four birds, feeding them carefully and competently.
“Wanna try, Omi?” Miya asks.
“I—No. Wait, is it hard?” Kiyoomi manages to say.
“Nah, you can do it,” Miya replies, handing Kiyoomi a new q-tip. He glares at his trembling hands as he tries to get a suitable amount of mush onto the q-tip. Miya doesn’t comment, just gives him an encouraging smile as Kiyoomi approaches Tsumu Jr. He feels like he’s in the process of defusing a bomb. Just before he gets the food to the bird, it drops off the end of the q-tip, landing on Bokkun Jr. Kiyoomi gasps, flounders, panics. His hands feel like shovels, all of his usual dexterity lost. But then Miya’s hand is on his, giving it a light squeeze.
“Let’s go that off you, Bokkun Jr.,” Miya says cheerfully. He plucks the bit of food off and wipes it on a nearby napkin. “Give that another go, Omi-kun.”
“You should do it,” Kiyoomi replies, “I’m not good at… taking care of—"
“You can do it, Omi-Omi. Just breathe. Don’t be chickenin’ out on me, hehe,” Miya responds, laughing at his own bad pun. Kiyoomi glares at him; Miya’s face split into a huge grin. With renewed determination after the taunt, he moves quicker and manages to deposit food in Tsumu Jr.’s mouth.
“That is one way to shut you up,” Kiyoomi says when Tsumu Jr.’s mouth closes and his cheeping stops. “Works on the bird too,” Miya giggles as Kiyoomi delivers food to the rest in rounds until thankfully they all quiet down.
Job done, Miya stumbles over to the couch and collapses onto it. Kiyoomi wordlessly joins him.
“Air high five, Omi-Omi,” Miya says, holding his palm up and motioning in the air, “We did it. We’re raisin’ little guys.”
“How long till they can…” Kiyoomi makes flapping motions with his hands.
“Two weeks,” Miya replies, “Kita-san says it’s the mama who incubates them, but daddy-o sticks around and when they hatch, they both feed the babies. Since you incubated ‘em, I gotta step up and feed ‘em more.”
“So I’m supposed to be the mother?” Kiyoomi asks tiredly.
“We can both be the mom and the dad,” Miya replies. He rests his head on the back of the couch, and Kiyoomi chalks it up to his recent bizarre experience that he doesn’t scold him for the unsanitary state of his hair.
“I’ll bring ‘em over to my place in a bit,” Miya says after a moment of silence.
“Just… just leave them here,” Kiyoomi replies, “My home is still always going to be quieter and cleaner.”
“How am I gonna feed ‘em then?” Miya asks.
“I’ll give you a spare key. We can come up with a schedule,” Kiyoomi replies.
He stands up, ignoring Miya’s shocked expression, and pulls out a key from a kitchen drawer. He tosses it at Miya, who quickly fumbles to put it on his keychain.
“You’re not afraid I’m gonna come in and steal all yer stuff?”
“Should I be?” Kiyoomi asks, eyes narrowing, “Text me before you come, I don’t want to be caught by surprise.”
“Waddya get up to that you’re so worried about me seein’?” Miya asks.
“Murder and blackmail.”
“Honestly, Omi, when you say it, it actually sounds pretty sexy and cool. I’ll make sure to give you warning so I don’t have to be a witness to any of that. I’ll come over and feed ‘em and do other stuff.” Miya pulls out his phone. Kiyoomi sees that he’s scrolling through his texts with Kita-san and feels infinitely grateful for the Inarizaki captain.
“They’ll start to get fluffy as they dry,” Miya announces, “And they’ll need to be feed like every couple hours. Oh also… fecal sacs.”
Kiyoomi feels the blood drain out of his face at the two words.
“They poop little sacs that the parents take out of the nest, so they don’t sit in their own poop all day long,” Miya continues. Kiyoomi allows this information to stay in his head for a millisecond before ejecting it, leaving behind a ringing sound in his ears.
“I’ll get rid of the poopy bags,” Miya says quickly.
“Say poopy bags one more time, and I’m smothering those creatures with your pillow.”
“Kita-san says the things-that-I-won’t-name are pretty regular and happen a little after they eat. I’ll make sure you don’t ever have to see or smell them. I swear, Omi,” Miya replies, hustling toward the nest and standing over the birds protectively.
“I’m making tea,” Kiyoomi responds, wanting to cleanse the chalky sensation out of his mouth.
“I want lemon—”
“I know,” Kiyoomi snaps, and leaves Miya doting over the birds with a smile on his face.
---
Kiyoomi: Miya
Miya: I’m up, I’m up, sorry Omi
Covering his head with his pillow, Kiyoomi tries to drown out the noises of the birds in the living room. They have created a nightmare situation, deciding that they need to eat a few times every night. The first night, Kiyoomi put up with this, stumbling out of his room to drop bits of food into their greedy mouths. After the third time of being woken up, he called Miya from under his covers. He had expected a fight, but Miya had come over immediately, calming the birds down then whispering a “Good night, Omi” at Kiyoomi’s bedroom door before he left. They reached an agreement, which was more of a demand, the next day during practice that Miya would sleep on the couch to care for them at night. They alternated running back and forth from the training facility throughout the day during breaks, an act that amused their teammates to no end.
Kiyoomi hears Miya now, pulling out the container of food that they make every evening to keep at room temperature. He listens for the sounds of the birds eating their fill and sighs into the merciful silence.
Kiyoomi: We’ve spent weeks raising birds from omelet to drumstick. Please tell me we can just eat them now.
Miya: I can’t believe you’re still talkin about eatin our kids
Kiyoomi: If we lose against Raijin, it’ll be because of those chicken cutlets
Miya: Finches, they’re finches
Kiyoomi: Finch cutlets
Miya: Go back to sleep, Omi, yer bein grumpy
Kiyoomi: Wake up earlier next time, before they can wake me up
Miya: I willlllll. Night night Omi-kun.
---
When Kiyoomi wakes up and leaves his bedroom, he sees Miya still sprawled on the couch. The couch is covered in a plastic tarp and a sheet. When Miya fidgets, the plastic makes a funny squeaking sound accompanied by a light snore. Kiyoomi hides a smile behind his hand and goes to take a shower.
He emerges in a billow of steam and walks to the kitchen. Miya is now halfway off the couch, long limbs draped over the edges. Maybe Kiyoomi should invest in a futon, he considers. But, this… situation will only last a few more days. The realization of this should fill him with relief. For some reason, Kiyoomi feels a hollow nest-shaped pit in his stomach.
To distract himself, he decides to make breakfast. When he opens the fridge, his eyes land on the carton of eggs that has been sitting in the same spot for weeks, purchased the day before they found the nest on the placard between their doors. The eggs will expire soon. He reaches for it, trying to decide between scrambled or fried. When his hand lands on the carton, he freezes, reconsidering.
“Toast,” he says out loud, grabbing butter instead.
He makes extra for Miya, who gradually wakens, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He shuffles over to the table, looking down at the two plates.
“Do you have jelly, Omi-kun?” he asks, voice hoarse. Kiyoomi, halfway through buttering his toast, points at the fridge with his knife. Miya walks past him, scratching at his side, and pulls out the strawberry jelly. As he spreads it onto his toast with a grating scraping sound, Kiyoomi thinks about quiet mornings, toast for two, tousled hair, sleepy comfort.
“Bokkun Jr. didn’t eat that much,” Miya says, munching slowly on the toast, “He seems a lil sad. Maybe I’ll take the nests outside so they can get some fresh air and see the world.”
Kiyoomi grunts.
“Will you come with me?” Miya asks.
“You can’t manage tiny birds on your own?”
“What if a falcon comes and tries to take ‘em from me?”
“You’ll have to sacrifice yourself.”
“We’ll just go to the courtyard, Omi-Omi.”
“Fine,” Kiyoomi sighs, standing up to pour two glasses of orange juice and wondering when he became so docile. Miya downs his drink and stands up, moving his plate and cup to the sink. Without prompting, he begins to wash them, humming to himself, taking Kiyoomi’s plate and cup as well.
“Shall we?” he asks when he finishes to Kiyoomi’s exacting standards. He slips on his thin jacket. Kiyoomi grabs a face mask and cups the nest of birds in his hands. Miya holds the door open for him, and they make their way down the steps toward the back of their building. It’s a balmy day, the wind gentle and the sun bright. Kiyoomi sits down on a bench, the nest resting on his lap. He looks down at the birds as they blink up at the brightness, beaks opening and closing. They are sort of cute, encountering the world for the first time.
“Omi, you’re smiling.”
He looks up to see Miya regarding him carefully. He forces the corners of his lips down.
“You love Omi Jr. and Tsumu Jr. and Bokkun Jr. and Shouyo Jr., dontcha, Omi-kun?” Miya asks. Kiyoomi expects to see a shit-eating grin emerge on his face, but he remains serious.
“They’re fine.”
“Hm,” Miya hums, looking up at the sky. “You really think they won’t come back and visit?”
“I really don’t think so.”
“Maybe we can get some more birds then?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Hm,” Miya says again. He opens his mouth, then thinks better of what he’s about to say. Kiyoomi wants to congratulate him. Self-restraint is a strange look on Miya. But he actually would like to hear what is currently on Miya’s mind.
“Spit it out, Miya,” he demands.
“I just… it’s been… a lot of fun,” Miya whispers.
“Waking up five times in the middle of the night has been fun?”
“I mean, that’s not great, but I like… I like taking care of somethin’ little, ya know? And I like hangin’ out with you, Omi-kun. I usually never see ya and now we’re attached at the hip.”
“We really aren’t,” Kiyoomi replies, the words coming out faintly.
“Yeah well, close enough for Omi standards. Once our birdies leave, you’ll keep sneakin’ away from me before and after practice and you won’t let me into your apartment without scaldin’ my skin off, and—”
“Why do you care?” Kiyoomi asks, “I’m not… fun to be around, Miya. Why is it such a big deal?”
“Sure you are,” Miya says, “You’re, like, awesome, Omi-Omi. But I know it’s just the kiddos that make you hang out with me.” He slouches down on the bench, and Kiyoomi wants to grab him by the collar and tell him he’s got it all wrong. That he wouldn’t mind sitting on this bench with Miya even if there weren’t baby birds on his lap. And this thought is so sudden and so visceral that it catches Kiyoomi off guard, leaving him breathless.
He clears his throat. “When the birds go, I’ll still— You can still— come over for tea and breakfast. If you want.”
Miya glances up at him, surprise in his eyes, and Kiyoomi feels a nearly imperceptible but cosmic shift in the space between them.
“I want,” Miya says, “I want that.”
“You should get me more lemon lavender tea since you’ve cleared me out,” Kiyoomi says, trying to fill the air with something more familiar, a demand, scorn, critique.
“I’ll get some today and some bread and strawberry jelly and orange juice,” Miya nods as he ticks each off on his fingers.
“You don’t have to replace everything.”
“You’re smiling again, Omi-kun,” Miya points out, and Kiyoomi gives up on holding back his good mood, chuckling as he looks down at the birds moving restlessly in their nest.
“I’m going to go feed them,” he says, standing up and holding the nest close. “You should take a shower and take a nap, you look horrible.”
“Aye aye, Omi-Omi,” Miya yawns, as they trudge back up the stairs, “I’ll come see them in the afternoon.” He treats Kiyoomi to a tired smile before ducking into his apartment, Kiyoomi entering his own and relocating the nest next to the window.
“Don’t grow up too fast,” he whispers to them before beginning the process of cleaning up after Miya’s staying the night.
---
They do grow up, the birds, in fits and starts. One moment, they’re fluffy balls of down, then they’re all soft feathers, preening in the sun by Kiyoomi’s window. He’s taken to opening it, though he usually hates letting dust and pollen into his apartment, because they are livelier when they feel the breeze.
“Omi, what if they don’t know how to fly?” Miya asks, kneeling by the bookshelf, eye-level with the nest.
“They’re birds, they know how to fly.”
“Maybe we’re supposed to show ‘em how.” Miya puts his hands up above the birds, moving them slowly like wings, casting distorted shadow puppets on the wall.
“If that’s how they fly, they’re going to nosedive onto concrete.”
“You show ‘em then,” Miya says, “Since you know how to fly so well.”
Kiyoomi kneels next to Miya, watching them carefully. Tsumu Jr. stares at him, then cocks his head to the side. It’s adorable, and oddly reminiscent of what Miya does when something confuses him (many things do).
“You fly like this,” Kiyoomi explains, flapping his arms.
“Omi,” Miya laughs, “Oh Omi, keep doin’ that, I gotta take a video.”
Kiyoomi immediately stops and glares at Miya fumbling for his phone.
“Do it again, please, please Omi,” Miya begs when he holds the phone up.
In later days, months, years, Kiyoomi will be glad that he sacrificed his pride by pretending to be a bird for a moment. Because Miya just so happens to have his phone open and recording when Tsumu Jr. toddles onto the side of the nest, flaps his wings, and manages to fly or, more accurately, fall onto Kiyoomi’s shoulder.
“OmiOmiOmiOmiOmi,” Miya says frantically, “Don’t move, oh my god, Omi, don’t move.”
He doesn’t move, going into a stillness that would make the statue street performers in Tokyo envious, though he strains his eyeballs trying to see the tiny bird nestled on his shoulder.
“Is he going to try again?” he hisses at Miya, “If he falls, you better fucking catch him, Miya.”
“I know, I will, Omi. I think I’m gonna cry,” Miya replies, voice choked.
“Is he moving?”
“No, he’s just sitting there, all puffed up. Tsumu Jr. loves you, Omi.”
“He should go back before he falls,” Kiyoomi says.
“Okay, I’ll help him,” Miya answers, moving close and carefully scooping Tsumu Jr. into his palms. Kiyoomi can feel the heat of him, a slow burn of nervous energy, and tries to breathe evenly through his nose. After depositing Tsumu Jr. back in the nest, Miya leans toward him.
“What are you doing?” Kiyoomi asks, pulling away.
“Tryin’ to see if Tsumu Jr. pooped a poopy bag on you,” Miya replies. Kiyoomi can feel Miya’s breath on his neck and shudders.
“Oops, sorry, not supposed to say poopy bag,” Miya laughs, misinterpreting Kiyoomi’s movement and dancing backwards away from him. He picks up his phone again. “I gotta send this video to everybody. Maybe the social media people will let me post it on the MSBY twitter.”
Kiyoomi ignores him and turns to the nest, watching Tsumu Jr. resettle amongst his brothers. It’s getting too small for the four of them. Tsumu Jr. crowds next to Omi Jr, practically sitting on top of Shouyo Jr. It’s all horribly endearing, and Kiyoomi works to compose his expression into stoic lines.
“Bokkun says you’re their favorite dad, so I need to go to his apartment now to fight him,” Miya announces, a disgruntled look on his face.
“I am their favorite,” Kiyoomi confirms.
“You’re Tsumu Jr.’s favorite, but the others like me. They cheep real loud when I come in.”
“That’s because you’re obnoxious and wake them up with your stomping.”
Miya turns to the birds and fawns over them with baby talk, curving his already strong Kansai accent into something almost unrecognizable. The birds respond with small peeping sounds, and Kiyoomi has to leave the scene to stop himself from smiling too hard.
“Miya, I am going to the store.”
“I’ll come with,” Miya replies, “Gonna take the kiddos for some fresh air.” He pulls out a tray he’d purchased a few days ago and puts it around his neck with makeshift straps. He puts the nest on the platform it creates on his chest, making sure it’s secure.
“After you, Omi,” Miya says, fully confident despite the ridiculous set-up.
They exit into a beautiful day, and the birds immediately begin a cacophony of sound. Inunaki pokes his head out of his apartment to watch them go by, giving them his most impish grin.
“Hello resident MSBY dads.”
“Hello Shion-kun,” Miya says cheerfully, stopping to show off the nest. Kiyoomi continues forward but turns on his heel when he hears Inunaki say, “They look kinda small still.”
Kiyoomi hisses, “They’re growing perfectly on schedule. Tsumu Jr. has already stretched his wings. Soon they’ll be fledglings and be able to leave the nest, but it takes them some time to fly. They’re not behind in their development.”
“Omi-kun, relax,” Miya says, putting a hand on his shoulder. Kiyoomi huffs out a breath and looks away from Inunaki’s amused face.
“I see you’re going to be a helicopter parent.”
“I’m going to the store,” Kiyoomi responds. Miya bids goodbye to Inunaki and walks next to Kiyoomi, humming softly. The birds are staring up at the sky, eyes open and blinking. Bokkun Jr. scratches at his head.
“Hey Omi, how do we know they’re all dudes?” Miya asks suddenly, “What if they’re all ladies? How do we check? Feels weird to look for a dick on ‘em.”
Kiyoomi frowns. “I don’t think we can figure it out until they start to molt. The males are colorful, and the females are brown-grey.”
“I hope they’ll come back, and we can see,” Miya sighs.
“They’re not going to come back,” Kiyoomi says, something he’s told Miya more than once to lower his expectations.
“But maybe they will.”
“They won’t.”
“We gotta love ‘em more and then they will.”
“Miya, if they come back, I’ll eat my shoe.”
“Omi-kun, I can’t believe you’re even joking about that.”
“It’s just a saying,” Kiyoomi frowns, “Now stay out here. I need to get q-tips and some more wipes for Bokkun Jr.’s eyes. What else?”
“Can you get little sailor hats? I want to do a photoshoot where they’re all tiny sailors.”
Kiyoomi ignores this and enters the store, pulling his mask on tighter as he thinks about what treats the birds might enjoy for their afternoon meals.
---
Miya lies face-down on the ground of his apartment, and Kiyoomi doesn’t have the fortitude to explain how unhygienic the action is because their four birds are currently waddling around on Miya’s back, experimentally flapping their wings.
“Are you takin’ pictures, Omi-kun?”
“I am,” Kiyoomi responds, “You look ridiculous.”
“It’s not about me, it’s about the kids. But you better be makin’ my ass look top-notch.”
Kiyoomi spares a glance for Miya’s ass and the long length of his legs and the broad width of his shoulders and forces his attention back to the birds.
“They’re ticklin’ me,” Miya says, voice breathless, “I can feel their little claws.”
Holding out a hand to prevent Omi Jr. from tipping off the side of Miya’s back, Kiyoomi leaves it resting against Miya.
“It’s okay if they fall, they’re all fluffy and they gotta learn how to fly,” Miya says, turning his head and looking toward Kiyoomi.
“Yes, well, Omi Jr. didn’t look like he was prepared yet,” Kiyoomi explains.
“They’re big now,” Miya says, some regret in his voice, “It’s weird to look at them and think they came from tiny eggs a few weeks ago.” Bokkun Jr. chooses this moment to hop off Miya’s back, landing mostly gracefully, and tottering to a nearby slipper, pecking at it with his beak. He’s quickly joined by the others, and Miya pushes himself up and brushes himself off. He looks at them, misty-eyed.
“Let’s get them some air,” Kiyoomi says quickly before Miya can get any more emotional. He picks two of them up in his palms and carries them outside to a planter box they’ve installed on the railing. Miya brings the other two, gently settling them amongst cotton balls and socks and remnants of their old nest that no longer fits them.
“Gotta grab my phone,” Miya says gruffly, wiping at his eyes. Kiyoomi stays with them, always wary of predators. He watches Shouyo Jr. take an ungainly leap, grip onto the side of the box, and begin to preen.
“You used to be ugly and the size of a tangerine,” Kiyoomi tells him.
Shouyo Jr. looks up at him, and for a moment, Kiyoomi thinks he sees a look of fondness in his beady little eyes. Then, Shouyo Jr. turns forward and launches off the side of the box.
“Miya,” Kiyoomi shouts, “Miya. Atsumu. Atsumu, they’re—”
Miya bursts out of his apartment and just manages to catch Bokkun Jr. taking off, wings spread awkwardly but, after a heart-stopping moment, he manages to flap them and flies away.
“Omi,” Miya moans, “Omi, it’s too soon, I’m not ready.” Kiyoomi watches desperately as Tsumu Jr. and Omi Jr. move restlessly. He wants to grab them, hold onto them, bring them into his apartment, never let them go. But he stops himself, feeling his own eyes stinging as they prepare for their flight.
“Be careful Tsumu Jr. and Omi Jr.,” Miya says, voice cracking, “Take care of each other.” With a chirp, they both launch away from the box in tandem, dropping first, and then they’re gone, drifting far away until Kiyoomi can’t see either anymore.
“Oh fuck, I really am gonna cry, Omi. Don’t make fun of me, please,” Miya says. He sinks down to the ground, peering through the bars of the railing, eyes watering.
“They’re going to be fine,” Kiyoomi says, “They’re… they’re going to be fine.” He is in no shape to make fun of Miya, tears threatening the corners of his eyes.
They fall into silence, still looking out at the horizon. The sun is just beginning to set, casting warm hues of red and purple on the sky.
“They chose a beautiful day to leave,” Miya sniffs, “Do you think they’ll remember us, Omi?”
Kiyoomi is certain that they won’t, but he makes a noise of assent.
“Omi, can we have dinner together? And can I still sleep on the couch?” Miya asks, so much vulnerability in his voice that Kiyoomi couldn’t imagine denying him.
“Fine,” Kiyoomi replies, “I’ll make some tea.” He hesitates, “Better yet, I’ll get some alcohol.”
---
A few beers in, Kiyoomi finds himself flipping through his phone to look at all the pictures he has of their birds, Miya resting his head against his shoulder to see. He feels light, from the alcohol, from the warmth of his living room, from Miya’s presence.
“You took… so many pictures of ‘em, Omi,” Miya says, his words slurred.
“They were cute.”
“They are cute, Omi-kun. Stop talkin’ like they’re dead. I still think they’re going to come back and visit.”
“They’re not coming back to visit.”
“Or you’ll eat your shoe.”
“I never promised that.”
“Omi-kun, if someone had told me a few weeks ago that I’d be raisin’ little birds with you and you’d actually get invested, I would have eaten my shoe.”
Kiyoomi frowns, stopping on a photo of Miya kissing the top of Omi Jr.’s head.
“It… wasn’t bad.”
“I think you had fun.”
“Maybe,” Kiyoomi says shortly, continuing his walk down memory lane. He had taken a frightening number of photos of birds.
“I like that one,” Miya says, pointing at the phone, finger hovering an inch away from the screen, knowing better than to touch it. It’s a photo of the four birds in their original nest just before they relocated them to their bigger home, huddled close and sleeping together in a pile of feathers. “They look so snuggly.”
Miya is being snuggly himself, pushing close to Kiyoomi to better view the screen. Kiyoomi can feel Miya’s breaths rising and falling against him. If he lowered his head, he could rest his chin on the top of Miya’s. He does so, experimentally.
“Omi-kun, your chin is like a dagger.”
Kiyoomi pulls away immediately, and Miya looks up at him, eyes full of mischief. Kiyoomi refuses to look away on principle, and as the seconds creep by, he realizes this is a mistake because his eyes end up lingering on the curve of Miya’s lips, on the shape of his eyebrows, on the line of his nose. Miya finds some sort of permission in the heated gaze between them, and slowly, carefully, kisses Kiyoomi’s jawline.
“Okay, I take it back, it’s not that sharp,” Miya whispers.
“Miya—” Kiyoomi begins, his heart an engine overheating.
“You called me Atsumu earlier, when you were panicking. You tend to do that when you’re all frazzled.”
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi tries, because he is certainly panicking right now. Miya— Atsumu, looks up at him, liquid warmth in his gaze.
“Can I kiss you, Omi-Omi?”
“Fine,” Kiyoomi breathes, and Atsumu tilts his head up, placing a feather-light kiss on the corner of his lips.
“We kinda skipped a lot of steps,” Atsumu whispers, “Raisin’ kids together before we even dated.”
“Before we were even friends,” Kiyoomi corrects.
“Sure, Omi, whatever you say,” Atsumu says, “Will you date me now though?”
“I’ll consider it. Given all that we have been through.”
Atsumu laughs at this, pulling himself fully onto Kiyoomi’s lap. Kiyoomi turns his phone off, not wanting the photos of their birds to see what might happen next. He looks up at Atsumu and his lopsided grin. His hands, so gentle with tiny creatures, reliable to a fault both in volleyball and apparently bird parenting, are light on Kiyoomi’s shoulders.
“I liked you before the birds came,” Atsumu says, “The nest was mostly on my side. I manipulated you with cute baby animals to spend time with me.”
“I knew it,” Kiyoomi grimaces.
“Do you regret it?” Atsumu asks, uncertainty in his eyes.
“No,” Kiyoomi answers immediately. He pulls Atsumu toward him, bumping their foreheads together. “I don’t,” he continues, enjoying his front row seat to the spread of red on Atsumu’s cheeks.
“Do you think our kiddos will come back?” Atsumu asks.
“No, Miya,” Kiyoomi says, annoyed, “Stop asking that or I’ll have to find some way to gag you.”
“Omi-kun,” Atsumu says innocently, “Do you think our kiddos will—” Kiyoomi shuts him up by kissing him, knowing he’s playing in Atsumu’s game, but finding himself perfectly content to play by his rules as Atsumu sighs happily into the kiss.
---
“Omi, Omi, I know you’re in the middle of your five-hour cleaning routine, but get out here,” Atsumu says, flinging the door to Kiyoomi’s apartment open.
“You’ll let in pollen,” Kiyoomi says, storming toward him.
“They’re back, they’re back. Oh, I gotta get the grossest shoe for you to eat,” Atsumu says excitedly, disappearing from the doorway.
A brightness fills Kiyoomi’s body at Atsumu’s words, and he hurries outside, hope a fledgling in his chest. It’s been more than a month since their birds flew away. A month of breakfasts together, falling asleep together at night, tangled limbs on the couch as they reminisce about one of the strangest times in both their lives.
He sees Atsumu first, hovering by the box that they’ve left on the railing between their rooms. A grin splits his face ear to ear. Kiyoomi looks into the box and sees two birds inside, two finches, brown feathers and white chests. They don’t fly away, chirping happily when they see him.
“They’ve gotta be ours,” Atsumu says tearfully, “Otherwise they’d be scared. I can’t tell which ones they are though.”
“Omi Jr. and Tsumu Jr.,” Kiyoomi replies, and he has never been more sure of anything in his life.
“They were my secret favorites,” Atsumu nods, “Guess they’re ladies though. Hello gorgeous.”
“Hey birds,” Kiyoomi says, the corners of his lips pulling up as one cocks her head to the side and looks up at them both, “Are you going to stay a while?”
“Maybe they’ll lay their own eggs here,” Atsumu says hopefully, “Maybe we’ll have grandkids soon, Omi.”
“I’m not taking care of them. They’ll have to raise any kids on their own and just let me play with them,” Kiyoomi replies, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Duh, that’s the grandparents’ life, Omi-Omi.”
“Then they can stay as long as they clean up and aren’t noisy.”
Atsumu laughs, wrapping his arms around Kiyoomi as they watch their birds preening in the nest they made.
“They love us, Omi.”
“I guess they do.”
“I think I might love you.”
It’s almost painful, the way Kiyoomi’s heart seizes in happiness at Atsumu’s words.
“I think I might love you,” he replies and feels Atsumu’s squeeze keeping him from falling into pieces.
They are quiet for a few peaceful moments.
“Still gonna make you eat a shoe,” Atsumu says, and their ensuing fight startles Tsumu Jr. and Omi Jr. into flight. Kiyoomi isn’t worried though, as Atsumu kisses him in apology. They’ll come back; he knows they will. Hope is the thing with feathers after all.