Chapter Text
Sakusa Kiyoomi loathed the noise. The pulsing bass of the music through the walls rattled his skull and drowned out all coherent thoughts. The room smelled like cheap liquor and sweat, an oppressive combination that only heightened his discomfort.
He stood stiffly by the wall, a half-empty cup of beer in one hand - a newly opened, plastic-wrapped straw dipped in, he had made sure of it - and his phone in the other, glaring at the crowd as if it had personally offended him. He’d been here for less than an hour, and he was already regretting every decision that had led him to this godforsaken party. But none of those decisions mattered as much as the one person who had convinced him to come: Miya Atsumu.
Kiyoomi’s dark eyes found him easily, after all, he stood out no matter where he went. Atsumu was in his element, laughing loudly, his blond hair catching the neon glow of the strobe lights as he twirled a girl around the dance floor. His movements were carefree, unrestrained, every inch of him screaming confidence and charm.
It made Kiyoomi’s stomach twist, nausea swimming up his throat.
He hated the way Atsumu could command a room without even trying. He glared at the people surrounding him, as though Atsumu’s mere presence in a close proximity would grant them some kind of reward. He hated most of all the way his own chest tightened at the sight, jealousy coiling in his gut.
It was stupid. Kiyoomi knew it was stupid. Atsumu wasn’t his. He would never be his. Atsumu was as straight as they come. Atsumu fucked around. Atsumu could dance with whoever he wanted, and flirt with whoever he pleased. And yet, the thought of someone else touching him, making him laugh, making his eyes crinkle up into those crescents he’d grown to adore so much - Kiyoomi clenched his hands into fists.
It wasn’t like Kiyoomi didn’t understand what he was feeling. He wasn’t dense. He’d known for a while now that Atsumu meant more to him than just a teammate, more than just a friend. But acknowledging those feelings would mean admitting he wanted something he could never have.
So he didn’t.
Instead, he stayed on the sidelines, watching as Atsumu charmed his way through the night, his grin bright enough to outshine the lights of the party. Kiyoomi took another sip through the straw of his drink, the bitterness of the beer doing little to wash away the bitterness in his chest. He made a face at the taste once again.
He didn’t care. He would leave the party as soon as he had stayed for at least an hour - his promise he made to Atsumu. He glanced down at his lockscreen, wincing at the fact barely 40 minutes had passed. When he looked back up, his eyes naturally drifted towards Atsumu.
But suddenly, Atsumu wasn’t alone.
Kiyoomi’s gaze darkened as a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into Atsumu’s personal space. He was handsome in a way that made Kiyoomi’s teeth grind—sharp jawline, easy smile, the kind of confidence that came from knowing he could have anyone he wanted. The guy leaned in close, whispering something into Atsumu’s ear that made him laugh, his hand resting casually on Atsumu’s waist. Kiyoomi’s grip on his cup tightened, the plastic crumpling slightly under the pressure.
He just needed to relax. It’s fine! Atsumu would laugh and brush him off, tell him he wasn’t interested in guys like that. He swallowed hard, inhaling deeply and trying his best to tear his eyes away from the sight.
“Ughhhh, you look like you’re about to murder someone,” came a voice from beside him, followed up by a large gulp of his own drink.
Kiyoomi didn’t need to look to know who it was. He sighed. “Hinata, don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
Hinata grinned, his orange hair turning multi-coloured through the strobes. “Nope! I’m enjoying this too much. But, I saw you glaring holes into Atsu, again. What did he do this time?”
“Nothing,” Kiyoomi muttered, finally tearing his eyes away from the dance floor.
Hinata raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. I think our Omi’s jealouuuusss~”
“I’m not jealous,” Kiyoomi snapped, cutting Hinata off, though the heat rising to his face betrayed him. “And I told you not to call me that.”
“Sure, sure.” He raised his hands in defence, a knowing grin on his face. “Sorry. I forgot His Holiness was the only one who could use that nickname without getting spiked with a volleyball,” Hinata responded, glancing down at Kiyoomi’s cup. “Um, y’might want to stop crushing your drink before you spill it everywhere.”
Kiyoomi’s eyes flicked down, realizing belatedly that his fingers had practically dented the plastic and squished it to a pulp. He scowled and set it down on the nearest surface, ignoring Hinata’s amused smirk.
“Why don’t you just talk to him?” Hinata suggested. “You’re both so stubborn, it’s exhausting to watch.”
“Mind your own business,” Kiyoomi said, though his gaze drifted back to Atsumu against his will.
The blond setter was still laughing, his arm slung casually over the guy’s shoulder now. Why hadn’t he told him to fuck off yet? The sight sent another wave of irritation coursing through Kiyoomi, and before he could stop himself, he turned on his heel, storming towards the bar for another drink.
If he was going to survive this night, he was going to need it.