Chapter Text
Sakusa Kiyoomi stared at his Advanced Sports Performance textbook until the words began to blur together.
The clock on his desk showed 1:28 AM, and he still had two chapters to review before his final exam tomorrow. His other finals—Sports Medicine and Business Analytics—loomed in the following days, casting long shadows over his already sleep-deprived mind.
"Omi-kun?"
Atsumu's voice was uncharacteristically soft as he padded into their shared apartment's study. He was wearing his MSBY Black Jackals practice shirt, the one he'd stolen back from Kiyoomi's laundry pile because "it's comfier when it smells like yer fancy fabric softener."
"You should be sleeping," Kiyoomi muttered, not looking up from his textbook. "Don't you have morning practice?"
"Nah, told Coach I'm taking a rest day tomorrow. Can't have my favorite future teammate burning out before he even joins the team, right?"
That made Kiyoomi look up. Atsumu was leaning against the doorframe, holding two steaming mugs of what smelled like Kiyoomi's preferred premium coffee.
"You didn't have to do that," Kiyoomi said, but he accepted the coffee when Atsumu set it down on his carefully arranged desk.
"'Course I did. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let ya suffer through finals week alone?" Atsumu pulled up the spare chair that they kept in the study. "Besides, I'm invested in yer success now. Can't wait to set for ya professionally."
Something warm (that had nothing to do with the coffee) spread through Kiyoomi's chest. The contract with MSBY Black Jackals was already signed, waiting for him to graduate. Sometimes it still felt surreal—that he'd managed to balance university volleyball with academics, that he'd earned his spot on one of Japan's top teams, that he'd somehow fallen in love with the most annoying setter in the V. League along the way.
"Remember when ya first moved in?" Atsumu asked with a small smile on his face, interrupting Kiyoomi's thoughts. "Ya had that whole list of rules about cleaning schedules and shared spaces."
Kiyoomi snorted. "You complained for weeks about having to take your shoes off in the genkan every single time."
"Hey, I was used to being lazy at home! But look at me now," Atsumu gestured proudly to his sock-clad feet. "Properly house-trained and everything."
"Congratulations on achieving basic hygiene standards," Kiyoomi deadpanned, but his lips twitched with amusement.
"Ya know ya love it," Atsumu winked. "Now, are we gonna study this or what?"
That was how they ended up sprawled across the study floor at 2 AM, flashcards scattered around them in organized chaos. Atsumu had insisted on using different colored sticky notes to mark different topics, and he was taking his role as quizmaster surprisingly seriously.
"Okay, next one," Atsumu held up a blue card. "Explain the relationship between perceived exertion and actual physiological stress during high-intensity interval training."
"Perceived exertion can be influenced by psychological factors independent of actual physiological stress," Kiyoomi recited, running a hand through his increasingly messy curls. "Athletes may underestimate or overestimate their effort levels based on mental state, experience, and environmental factors..."
He continued explaining, and Atsumu nodded along, checking the answer key he'd written on the back. Somewhere between the twentieth and thirtieth flashcard, Kiyoomi realized Atsumu was actually absorbing the information, occasionally commenting on how certain concepts applied to their own training.
"Ya know what this reminds me of?" Atsumu said suddenly, setting down a flashcard. "That time in high school when ya stayed late after training camp to practice serves, and I wouldn't leave because I wanted to prove I could last longer than you."
"We both ended up with muscle strain the next day," Kiyoomi remembered, a small smile playing on his lips. "Coach was furious."
"Worth it though. That's when I first realized ya were different." Atsumu's voice took on that soft quality that only appeared in these late-night moments. "Ya didn't just want to be good—ya wanted to understand everything about being good. The science behind it, the theory, all of it."
"You're getting sentimental, Miya."
"Can't help it. Watching ya study makes me feel things."
"That's concerning."
"Ya know what I mean!" Atsumu threw a sticky note at him. "It's like... ya take everything seriously. Even the boring stuff. It's kind of amazing."
Kiyoomi reflexively caught the sticky note, smoothing out its crumpled edges. "It's not boring to me."
"Yeah?" Atsumu leaned forward, genuinely curious. "Even the theoretical stuff?"
"Especially the theoretical stuff." Kiyoomi's fingers traced the edge of his textbook. "Understanding the science behind movement, behind our bodies... it makes everything on the court make more sense."
Atsumu watched him for a moment, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Show me?"
"What?"
"Show me what ya mean. Pick something from yer textbook and explain it to me like I'm not a total idiot."
Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. "That might be difficult."
"Omi!" Atsumu clutched his chest in mock offense, but his eyes were bright with interest. "C'mon, I wanna understand what gets ya so excited about all this."
So Kiyoomi found himself explaining the principles of muscle memory and motor learning, watching as Atsumu actually paid attention, occasionally nodding and relating concepts back to their volleyball training.
"Ya know," Atsumu said during a coffee refill break, "this stuff is pretty interesting. No wonder yer top of yer class."
"It helps that I can apply it directly to volleyball," Kiyoomi admitted. "The professors appreciate practical experience."
"Speaking of practical experience..." Atsumu set down fresh coffee and moved behind Kiyoomi's chair. His hands found their way to Kiyoomi's shoulders, gently working out the knots of tension. "Yer way too stiff. Can't study properly if yer all locked up like this."
"Mmph," was all Kiyoomi could manage as Atsumu's fingers found a particularly tight spot. When had Atsumu gotten so good at this?
"Remember that time in high school when ya wouldn't let anyone within two meters of ya?" Atsumu's voice was teasing but fond. "Look at ya now, letting me give ya midnight massages."
"You're less disgusting than you used to be," Kiyoomi mumbled, then added quietly, "And I trust you."
"Yeah?" Atsumu's hands stilled for a moment before resuming their gentle pressure. "That means a lot, coming from you. Though I gotta say, the first time ya let me touch yer hair, I thought I was dreaming."
"You practically had a background check done on your hair products to prove they were acceptable."
"And now look at us—ya steal my shampoo when yours runs out."
"It's convenient," Kiyoomi protested weakly, but they both knew better.
They settled back into studying, but something had shifted in the atmosphere. Maybe it was the late hour, or the comfortable silence broken only by flashcard questions and coffee sips, or the way Atsumu seemed to know exactly when Kiyoomi needed a break without being asked.
Around 3 AM, Kiyoomi hit the wall. The words on his notecards started swimming, and frustration built in his throat.
"I can't remember any of this," he growled, throwing down his notes. "If I fail this exam—"
"Hey," Atsumu caught his hands, his touch gentle but grounding. "Yer not gonna fail. Yer literally the smartest person I know, and ya've been studying for weeks. Plus, ya understand this stuff better than anyone because ya live it every day on the court."
"But if I—"
"If ya somehow fail, which ya won't," Atsumu interrupted, "then what? Yer still joining MSBY. Yer still gonna be an amazing player. Yer still gonna have me setting for ya, making ya look good on the court." His lips quirked into a smile. "And yer still gonna be the love of my life, even if ya bomb every exam, which ya won't."
Kiyoomi stared at him. "Did you just—"
"Call ya the love of my life? Yeah, what about it?" Atsumu's ears were pink, but his gaze was steady. "It's three in the morning and yer still somehow the most beautiful person I've ever seen, even with eye bags and messy hair and that grumpy look yer giving me right now. So yeah, I love ya. Deal with it."
Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or the coffee, or the way Atsumu could still surprise him after all this time, but Kiyoomi found himself laughing. It started as a small chuckle and grew until he was actually clutching his sides, papers scattered around him, while Atsumu watched with a mix of concern and amusement.
"Omi-kun? Did I break ya? Should I call someone?"
"You're ridiculous," Kiyoomi managed between laughs. "You choose now to say that? When I'm stressed about finals and probably look like death?"
"When else would I say it? Ya know I have terrible timing." Atsumu was grinning now, relief evident in his expression. "Besides, I've been thinking it for months. Years, maybe. Just waiting for the right moment to be super romantic about it."
"This is your idea of romantic? Coffee-fueled study sessions at 3 AM?"
"Hey, I brought ya coffee, gave ya massages, AND confessed my undying love. That's pretty romantic if ya ask me."
Kiyoomi looked at him—really looked at him. At the setter who'd somehow wormed his way past all his defenses, who'd learned to read his moods better than anyone, who was willing to sacrifice sleep just to help him study for exams that wouldn't matter in a few weeks anyway.
"I love you too," he said simply, because it was 3 AM and everything felt soft and honest in the pre-dawn quiet. "Even though your timing is terrible."
Atsumu's smile could have powered all of Tokyo. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Kiyoomi picked up his flashcards again, fighting his own smile. "Now help me finish reviewing these last chapters so we can both get some sleep."
"So demanding, Omi-Omi. Good thing I love that about ya too." Atsumu leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Kiyoomi's forehead. "Two more chapters, then bed. Deal?"
"Deal," Kiyoomi agreed, letting himself lean into the touch for a moment before returning to his studies.
The sun was rising by the time they finally crawled into bed, textbooks conquered and coffee cups empty. As Kiyoomi drifted off with Atsumu's arm around his waist, he thought about how love sometimes looked different from what people expected. Sometimes it looked like midnight coffee runs and shoulder massages and someone believing in you even when you're stressed and snappy.
Sometimes it looked like an annoying setter who chose 3 AM during finals week to tell you you're the love of his life, and somehow that made perfect sense.
Later that day, after Kiyoomi aced his exam (which of course, he did), he found Atsumu waiting outside the university building with a cup of fresh coffee and that same soft smile from the night before.
"Ready to go home?" Atsumu asked, handing him the coffee cup.
"One condition," Kiyoomi said, accepting the cup. "No more 3 AM confessions."
"No promises, Omi-kun. Ya know I'm at my most romantic when I'm sleep-deprived."
Kiyoomi took a sip—perfect temperature, exactly how he liked it. "Yeah," he said, and meant more than just going back to their apartment. Meant ready for everything: graduation, joining MSBY, playing professionally alongside this ridiculous man who loved him enough to learn how he took his coffee and quiz him on sports theory at 2 AM.
Atsumu seemed to hear everything he wasn't saying, because his smile widened. "Let's go then, future teammate."
And if Kiyoomi reached for his hand as they walked home, well, that was just the sleep deprivation talking.
(It wasn't, and they both knew it, but some things didn't need to be said out loud to be perfectly understood.)