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Kiyoomi accidentally smokes out the dorm room while using the portable induction cooktop (that he definitely isn’t supposed to have). When the RA calls the local fire department, Kiyoomi opens the door, obviously annoyed at the loud banging.
“Everything’s fine, I just—” his squinted eyes turn wide as he gazes upon blonde locks and honey eyes. "—burned the salmon.” he finishes slowly, his voice much softer.
The firefighter sets down his gear and pushes through Kiyoomi. “I still gotta take a look. Standard procedure.”
“Right, of course.” Kiyoomi watches as the man takes off his turnout coat, revealing suspenders over a tight black t-shirt. The sleeves sculpt his massive biceps and Kiyoomi hates (loves) how cliche this all is.
The firefighter opens all the windows and turns on the ceiling fan. “Ya might wanna leave fer a bit while the smoke clears,” he suggests, and Kiyoomi’s stomach grumbles in response. “Maybe ya outta get somethin’ ta eat while yer at it,” he adds as he fucking winks at Kiyoomi.
Perhaps this was fate? Kiyoomi never burns his food, and the one time he does, the universe delivers an actual god to tend to the (unnecessary) call. Maybe he’ll ask the man to dinner. He did just leave an opening.
“You’re probably right,” he fumbles. So much for fate...
“Well, take care of yerself…”
“Kiyoomi,” he blurts out, hoping that he got the timing right for that interjection at least.
“Take care of yerself, Omi-kun,” the man says as he grabs his jacket and heads towards the door.
Later that evening, Kiyoomi goes to the store to buy fresh salmon. He adds an extra fillet to his cart with absolutely zero intention of burning it later.
The tapping on the door isn’t nearly as forceful as the previous night, but Kiyoomi’s heart skips anyway. He opens the door, disappointed when he’s faced with his RA and not the dreamy firefighter.
“I’m going to need to confiscate that,” he says, pointing to the portable stovetop which was still smoking from the freshly burnt salmon.
“Of course," Kiyoomi respectfully agrees, though slightly embarrassed. He unplugs the device from the wall, tossing the pan into the sink. “Should we wait for it to cool down first?”
The other man nods. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I’ll come back later.” He leaves the door open to air out the dorm. Kiyoomi accepts defeat as he slouches onto the couch, scrolling through social media as he awaits the RA’s return.
“Maybe ya outta give up on the whole cookin’ thing, sweetheart.”
Kiyoomi whips his head around at the sound of the sultry accent, surprised to find the mysterious firefighter standing in the doorway, sans turnout gear, with a fire extinguisher in hand. “What are you doing here?” he asks while the overcooked fish in the sink sizzles the answer.
“Just happened to be in the neighborhood and saw the smoke.”
His grin is sinfully sexy—Kiyoomi struggles to fathom how anyone can look so good. He somehow plays it cool. “Thanks for checking in, but I’m good here.”
“Are ya, though?” the blonde teases as he gives Kiyoomi’s body a once-over. “Ya look malnourished.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, trying to decide if the the man is insulting him or just really bad at flirting.
“Gimme a break,” the man insists, “it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”
“Done what?”
“Asked out a stranger.”
Kiyoomi’s cheeks flush—so it was flirting after all. “You’re right, we are strangers. I don’t even know your name.”
“But I know yers, Omi-Omi.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Fine then, Kiyooooomi,” the fireman smirks, the name falling from his mouth like molasses as he holds his out his hand in greeting. “The name’s Miya Atsumu.”
Kiyoomi shakes the man’s outstretched hand, a chill running down his spine. “Nice to officially meet you, Miya.”
“Atsumu.”
“I’ll stick with Miya, thanks.”
“Whatever floats yer boat, Omi-Omi.”
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes at the repeated nickname; guess he should’ve seen that one coming. “You’re not giving me a reason to want to go out with you, you know.”
“Ya sure about that?” Atsumu mocks, waving a finger at his face. “Because yer blotchy mug says otherwise.”
“It’s a skin condition,” Kiyoomi lies while silently cursing his blushing body for betraying him. He’s suddenly feeling very silly—though he's admittedly enjoying the banter with the blonde. He changes the subject back to the matter at hand. “Fine. If I agree, where would we go?”
“There’s a place up the road with some really good smoked salmon.” The fireman grins before facetiously adding, “Not quite as smoked as yers, I’m sure.”
Kiyoomi’s shifting eyes are getting quite the workout. He really wants to shut this man up; though he also wouldn’t mind listening to that silky accent for hours on end. A strange dilemma—not that he’s complaining. “For the sake of the date, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that last part.”
“So it’s a date now?” the blonde asks hopefully.
Kiyoomi's long lashes flutter at the man. “I suppose it is.”
“Wait, so ya play volleyball for the university?” Atsumu asks as he takes as he takes another bite of his salmon.
“Yes. I was just named the collegiate league MVP, actually.” Kiyoomi’s not usually much of a bragger, but he doesn’t regret the admission when he sees the impressed look on Atsumu’s face.
“Yer somethin’ else, Omi-kun,” he swoons, a fist propped against his cheek. “So what’s yer position?”
Kiyoomi begins to believe he actually does have a skin condition; his skin perpetually pink. “Outside hitter,” he answers quickly.
“Ya know, I was a setter in high school.” Atsumu admits. “Maybe I could toss a few to ya? See what Mr. MVP is made of.”
Kiyoomi’s heart flutters. Could this man be any more perfect? “Yeah, I’d like that.”
After dinner, Kiyoomi sits in the passenger seat while directing Astumu to his team’s gymnasium. “Turn right here. You can park anywhere.”
“Are ya sure this is okay?” the fireman asks.
“The court is open to student-athletes anytime.” Kiyoomi answers as he unlocks the door. “It’s no trouble.”
Atsumu takes a peek around the facility. “Wow, so ya have yer own gym? Must be nice not havin’ to fiddle with settin’ up the net every practice.”
“One of the perks of being a top volleyball school, I guess,” Kiyoomi says with a hint of pride. He unlocks the supply closet, bringing out a cart of balls.
“Promise not to judge me? ‘m a bit rusty." the fireman bashfully admits.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Kiyoomi tosses the ball to the setter and runs to the net as Atsumu sets the ball beautifully. The spiker jumps and slams it into the opposite court.
“Holy shit.” Atsumu’s eyes widen, his face forming a dumbfound expression. “I can see why they made ya the MVP.”
Kiyoomi’s ‘skin condition’ returns. “Thanks, you weren’t so bad yourself.”
Time flies by as the two continue playing, and Kiyoomi becomes more impressed with the setter’s ability and stamina with each passing minute. “Let’s take a break,” he insists, finding a seat on the court.
“Sounds good,” Atsumu agrees as he plops down next him.
After they catch their breath, Kiyoomi turns to the blonde. “So why did you stop playing after high school?”
Atsumu rests his hands behind him, staring up at the ceiling. “I dunno. I never really saw myself as a college man, and I didn’t think I was good enough to go pro.”
“I think you’re good enough,” Kiyoomi finds himself saying.
The firefighter snaps his head in disbelief at the confession. “Omi-kun, c’mon. We’ve only done a few drills. It’s not fair for ya to say somethin’ like that to me.”
“Maybe so, but I can tell you have enormous protential.”
Atsumu’s eyes sparkle and Kiyoomi swears he sees specks of gold in his irises. “Ya really think so?” the setter asks hopefully.
Kiyoomi nods enthusiastically. “I really do.”
Atsumu bumps his shoulder into Kiyoomi’s. “Ya know, this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
The raven glances down, the corner of mouth slanting upwards. “Me too,” he admits to the ground.
The blonde reaches a hand to cup Kiyoomi’s jaw, tilting his head towards him. His pitch-black orbs gaze into the blonde’s glistening honey eyes as they grow closer until their lips just barely brush. “Atsumu…” Kiyoomi murmurs, relaxing into the warm touch. He gently shuts his eyes and closes the gap between them, locking around the plush velvet of the fireman’s lips. The kiss is brief. It’s sweet.
It’s perfect.
Kiyoomi smiles against the blonde's lips and presses their foreheads together. “How attached are you to fighting fires?” he mutters softly.
“Meh, It’s just a hobby.” Atsumu answers. “Why do ya ask?”
He’s only just met the man, but for some reason Kiyoomi feels a special connection to him. This whole thing is crazy, he thinks, as he stumbles upon a wild idea. It’s the longest of shots—but Kiyoomi has to take it. “I’ve got a few tryouts lined up after graduation. Come with me.”
Atsumu hesitates. “I dunno, Omi-kun...”
“Why not?” he pouts, sticking out his bottom lip. “I’ll train with you. I really think you can make it.”
The other man chuckles, delicately encasing his mouth around the protruding lower lip. “If I do that, who’s gonna stop ya from burnin’ down yer dorm?” he teases, thumbing circles into his cheek.
Kiyoomi dawns an affectionate smirk as he laces his fingers with the blonde’s, “Then I guess you’ll just have to come around more often.”
[1 year later]
“Next we have an opposite hitter whose service aces and wicked cross-shot landed him the title of collegiate league MVP. Put your hands together for number 15, Sakusa Kiyoomi!” the announcer broadcasts over the loudspeaker and the crowd goes wild. A feeling of pride swells in Kiyoomi’s chest, though it’s different today as he locks eyes with the striking blonde running towards him.
“And finally, the Black Jackals have opted to switch it up at starting setter, making way for a promising new rookie! Please give a warm welcome to number 13, Miya Atsumu!”
Kiyoomi kisses the golden band hanging from around his neck and cheers for his fiancé.