Work Text:
Kiyoomi immediately begins to pace the length of his apartment when he sees the text from Atsumu.
From Miya:
>>> I’ve been offered a contract to play for Ali Roma.
He searches the entirety of the tiny screen, gathering every miniscule detail from the message before attempting to formulate his response. Obviously he doesn’t want Atsumu to leave. He’s the best setter in Japan and Kiyoomi would be hard-pressed to find someone to—
No. Kiyoomi’s always been able to adapt on the court. That’s not what this is about.
Long fingers reach to the roots of his unruly black locks, sifting through them until a knot catches between them. He grips hard into the curls, grinding his teeth together before releasing his grasp, the dead weight of his arm falling to his side.
He knew this day would come, many long nights spent having deep conversations with the blonde should have prepared him for this. After all, it is the next logical step in their professional careers. So why is he so blindsided by this news? Perhaps Kiyoomi expected to be offered a contract first.
How incredibly self-centered.
The fleeting thought brings Kiyoomi back to the matter at hand. Right. This isn’t about him. This is about Atsumu. He peers at his phone once more, typing a quick reply.
To Miya:
>>> Ali Roma, as in Kageyama Tobio’s Ali Roma?
The three dots indicating the other party is typing appear instantly. Moments later a response comes through.
From Miya:
>>> Yeah. I heard he’s headed to Ifviga Torino.
And before his brain can catch up, Kiyoomi’s fingers concoct another message.
To Miya:
>>> Do you really want to continue living in Kageyama’s shadow?
Kiyoomi mildly regrets the decision to hit send on that one, but oh well. What’s done is done, and he’s nothing if not an honest man.
From Miya:
>>> Harsh, Omi.
>>> I really don’t wanna have this conversation over text. Just wanted to letcha know before ya heard it from someone else. Can we meet up tonight?
To Miya:
>>> Sure. My place at 8?
From Miya:
>>> See ya then, Omi Omi.
The chime of the doorbell rings more ominously than usual. Kiyoomi uses an app on his phone to talk through the smart speaker attached. “It’s open. You can come in.”
Kiyoomi is in the kitchen pouring a glass of wine when Atsumu rounds the corner. “There’s beer in the fridge,” Kiyoomi says in an inadvertently cold tone. He tries not to make eye contact when Atsumu thanks him before they both make way to the living room.
This is going to be harder than he thought.
“Omi,” Atsumu starts as he sits on the opposite side of the couch, placing one leg across the cushions before turning to face Kiyoomi, “why do I get the feelin’ yer mad at me?”
Kiyoomi takes a sip of his wine. “I’m not,” he states plainly.
“Okay, but ya are bein’ weird.” Atsumu’s bluntness rivaled his own; one of the many things that Kiyoomi liked about him. “I get it, though. This is huge. That’s why I wanted to talk to ya in person.”
The tenseness in Kiyoomi’s shoulders finally begins to subside. “Sorry, I’m still processing,” he apologizes. “It’s amazing that you were offered an overseas contract, Miya. Congratulations.”
A precious dust of pink flushes across the setter’s cheeks as he playfully shies away. “Aw, shucks. Thanks, Omi-kun.“
“So are you going to take it?” Kiyoomi asks frankly.
Atsumu’s usual boisterous demeanor disappears, quickly replaced with one of timidness. “I—I’m not sure,” he stutters. “Everything’s happenin’ so fast. I only have ‘til the end of the week to decide.”
Kiyoomi’s never seen Atsumu look so…defeated. “Hey, this is a good thing right? He props a socked foot up on the center couch cushion, wiggling his toes against the arch of Atsumu’s foot. “Forget what I said about Kageyama.”
Atsumu pulls his knee up to his chest to break loose from the tickling appendages. The giggle that escapes Atsumu’s throat puts Kiyoomi in a chokehold. “Dammit, Omi! This is serious!” he scolds with a smirk on his face.
Kiyoomi doesn’t want to lose this. The banter, the smiles, the light touches. Most of all, Kiyoomi doesn’t want to lose him.
But again, this isn’t about Kiyoomi.
“You should go for it.”
“What?”
“If you turn this down, who knows when you’ll get another shot. You should take it now.”
Atsumu swings his leg to the ground in front of him, elbows propped against his thighs and fingers lace together as he rests his chin on top of his hands. A heavy sigh flows through his nostrils as he stares blankly ahead.
“What is it, Miya?” Kiyoomi questions.
Atsumu unclasps his hands, planting his face in his palms. “I need more time,” he says, voice muffled.
Kiyoomi shifts to the center cushion to lay a comforting hand on his friend’s back. He’s never been the best at these types of things, but as he feels the other relax under his touch, he figures it was a favorable move. Kiyoomi feels the rise and fall of Atsumu’s shallow breaths as he draws circles into his back. “You’re 28. How much more time do you need?”
The blonde lifts his head, glancing back at Kiyoomi with tear-filled eyes. “Omi…I…” he starts, but apparent spit seems to catch in his throat, causing him to cough.
Kiyoomi knows Atsumu isn’t actually sick, but in the midst of the coughing fit he’s closes his eyes and imagines what it would be like if he was.
Normally, any person hacking up a lung would send Kiyoomi flying to the next room. But Kiyoomi pictures himself taking care of the setter, tossing a throw blanket over his shoulders before brewing some hot tea.
Kiyoomi just knows that Atsumu will fight him when he forces the blonde to take his liquid cough medicine, calling it ‘god awful’ while accusing Kiyoomi of trying to poison him. But after the big baby calms down, Kiyoomi will prepare his majesty’s favorite soup and make sure he’s drinking plenty of fluids.
And as he tucks the other man into bed, Kiyoomi imagines placing a kiss on his sweat-soaked forehead…
“Omi?” Atsumu’s drainage seems to have calmed down, bringing Kiyoomi’s daydream to a screeching halt. “Did ya hear me?”
Kiyoomi hadn’t noticed Atsumu speaking after the initial cough, so he shakes his head. “Sorry. I was distracted.”
“I was just sayin’ six years isn’t long enough,” he repeats, his glossy eyes refilling with water. “I…I need more time.”
Kiyoomi stops his movements, stilling his palm flat against the setter’s back. Atsumu leans back into the touch before shifting his whole body to face Kiyoomi, back pressed against the armrest.
“Six years?” Kiyoomi questions. “But you’ve been with MSBY for ten. And why do you need more time?”
“I’ve been here for ten. You’ve been here for six.”
“What does that have to do—“
“I need more time with you, Kiyoomi.”
Kiyoomi’s brain short-circuits, unable to form thoughts, feelings, or words after Atsumu’s confession. His lips, however, react on instinct as they crash into the other man’s at full force.
Atsumu was definitely right about one thing. Six years wasn’t nearly long enough. Hell, a lifetime wouldn’t be long enough now that Kiyoomi knows what Miya Atsumu’s velvet lips feel like pressed against his own. God, how could they have wasted all this time not kissing?
A hand reaches around Kiyoomi’s nape, pulling him impossibly closer. His mind reboots once more when Atsumu readjusts his lips, parting them slightly. The tip of his tongue pokes at the underside of Kiyoomi’s upper lip, politely requesting entrance.
Kiyoomi happily obliges.
Jumbled letters form words, words turning into thoughts as Kiyoomi’s brain comes back online. As Atsumu’s tongue dances with desire, the raven suddenly remembers why they’re kissing in the first place.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi breathes into the blondes mouth, and Atsumu lets out a whimper at the sound of his given name.
“Oh, Omi…” he groans back, hands beginning to wander.
Kiyoomi winces as he pulls away. As much as every part of him, body and soul, longs to continue, he doesn’t want to do something that might influence Atsumu’s decision or jeopardize his future.
“We should stop.”
“Don’t wanna…” Atsumu lunges forward, eyes still closed, lips searching for Kiyoomi.
Kiyoomi stops the advance with his hand. “We still need to talk about your contract.”
“Forget it, Omi. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He pushes a slew of fallen curls out of Kiyoomi’s face, resting his palm on his strong jaw before adding, “Not now.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Kiyoomi scoffs. “You can’t throw your whole career away after one kiss.”
“It was a hell of a kiss.”
A valid arguement, and quite possibly the understatement of the century. Kiyoomi should really be commended for his emotional prowess, given the situation. “Still…” he starts, daring not to look the other in the eye. He may be strong, but he’s only human.
Atsumu’s hand falls to his lap and Kiyoomi instantly misses the warm touch on his skin. “I know, Omi. I’m just so happy to finally be kissin’ ya.”
Kiyoomi finds the willpower to glance back at Atsumu, now faced with a headful of platintum locks as the other stares into his lap. Kiyoomi reaches his own hand underneath, the stubble tickling his fingertips as he feels around for the tip of Atsumu’s chin. He tilts it upwards, tear-filled honey eyes peering back at him.
Kiyoomi leans in, giving Atsumu’s lips a soft peck. “You’re an idiot if you think a 10-thousand measly kilometers would keep me from kissing you.”
Miya Atsumu signs with Ali Roma the next day…
…and Miya Kiyoomi signs with them two years later.