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If someone asked Miya Atsumu who his best friend was, he wouldn’t say Suna Rintarou. Rintarou was his close friend, sure, but he was Atsumu and Osamu’s friend. Later on, he was Osamu’s boyfriend, and that seemed to take precedence over his friendship with Atsumu quite often.
If someone asked Miya Atsumu who his best friend was, he would say Sakusa Kiyoomi. Prickly, (initially) touch averse, mean, beautiful Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Before the National Youth Training Camp, Atsumu knew of Kiyoomi as an up and coming spiker with a sick spin on his hits, an ace at Itachiyama while still only in his first year (just like Atsumu).
At the camp, they clashed. Atsumu was blunt and arrogant, Kiyoomi was mean and took no shit from anyone. Inevitably, they got into an argument during their first match, but nothing soothes wounds like a volleyball game. Atsumu felt wonder he hadn’t felt in years as he set to Kiyoomi, watching the ball soar from his fingertips right into the palm of the black-haired boy, and then hearing it slam to the ground on the other team’s side.
It was safe to say their fight didn’t last long.
“Sakkun, ya’ll keep in touch, won’t ya?” Atsumu drawled as they gathered at the train station to say goodbye before everyone went their separate ways at the end of the camp.
“You’d show up at my house if I didn’t.” Kiyoomi grumbled, his voice muffled behind the black mask on his face.
“You say that like you wouldn’t like that,” Atsumu gave him a lop-sided grin. “I’ll message when I get home. Don’t be a stranger, Sakkun.”
“Kiyoomi is fine.” Kiyoomi muttered under his breath and Atsumu’s grin grew, somehow, bigger.
“I knew I was growing on you!”
“Like a fungus,” Kiyoomi muttered. “You’ll miss your train.”
“Oh, shit!” Atsumu yelped, walking backwards. He blew a kiss in Kiyoomi’s direction before turning and running in the direction of his platform. Kiyoomi watched him go, his lips curled in a fond smile beneath the mask and his cheeks flushed.
“Your ears are red.”
“Shut up, Motoya.”
The rest of high school felt like it passed by in a blur. Inarizaki got to the semifinals and Atsumu lost to Kiyoomi in that final match. The following Spring Tournament, they were both knocked out. It wasn’t until Atsumu’s third year that they managed to bring home a Nationals win for Inarizaki.
Osamu applied for university in Tokyo, and Atsumu tried out for every Division 1 team he could. MSBY Black Jackals sent him an offer and he called Kiyoomi first. Not his mother, not his brother, no… he called his best friend and cried to him on the phone that he would finally be able to play volleyball in the V. League.
After graduation, he moved into the Jackals dormitories and met his new team. They were unlike anything he had ever expected, after the high school experience. They were nice, welcoming, accommodating. They didn’t mind when he asked more of them, they didn’t mind when he asked to run extra drills or hit more balls with him past extra practice hours.
“Kiyoomi, they invited me out fer drinks!” Atsumu whispered into the phone furiously one night, the device tucked in the crook of his neck, supported by his chin, while he cooked in the shared kitchen.
“I’d assume they would,” Kiyoomi replied, sounding somewhat amused. “Isn’t that a standard practice? To drink with teammates?”
“I dunno. This is all so… new ta me,” Atsumu sighed. “I wish you were here.”
“I will be.” Kiyoomi said softly, but surely.
Both Atsumu and Kiyoomi tried to keep in contact with each other as much as possible, even with both of their busy schedules with university and matches respectively. Usually, they were very good at keeping in contact, not going more than a few days without at least a message to check in.
Which is why Atsumu was surprised and worried when a week passed without a single message from Kiyoomi. It was nearing the end of the season and Atsumu knew their team had no more matches coming up, so he requested a few days off, packed his bag and got on the Shinkansen to Tokyo.
A whopping two and a half hours later, he got off at Tokyo and followed the familiar path to Kiyoomi’s flat in Shinjuku. He had visited him countless times over the years, always taking the same route from Osaka and then to his flat near the university. He got to the building in record time, taking the lift up and finally arriving at Kiyoomi’s door.
He knocked. Once.
The door swung open and there he was. Sakusa Kiyoomi in all his messy-haired, stained-shirt, glasses-wearing glory. Yes, glasses. It turned out, they had that in common. When it got dark sometimes, or they needed to do a lot of reading, they both needed glasses.
“Bokuto told me you were coming.” Kiyoomi rushed to get out.
“He ruined the surprise,” Atsumu sighed. “Ya alright, Omi? ‘S been a while since ya –”
Atsumu was cut off by Kiyoomi quite literally falling against him. He dropped his bag with a curse, fumbling to catch him. He took a step back to steady them, staying upright and wrapping his arms around Kiyoomi.
“Kiyoomi?” Atsumu murmured, running his hand up and down Kiyoomi’s back slowly. He got no response back so he merely nudged his bag with his foot until it was inside the flat, then manoeuvred himself and Kiyoomi inside too before shutting the door with the same foot.
“I wanted to reply. To your messages,” Kiyoomi said, muffled against Atsumu’s shoulder. “I told myself I would. I just… I had exams, and essays, and my dissertation, and every time I remembered I thought it was too late and – ” He was borderline hyperventilating now and Atsumu shushed him, wondering how he could have let it get this bad without checking in.
“It’s fine, it’s okay, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu said softly. “I know how ya get when yer swamped.”
“I should be better at this after years in education. I should be better at this considering it’s my last semester.” Kiyoomi grumbled, digging his chin into Atsumu’s shoulder.
“Okay, ow, ya have a pointy chin,” Atsumu complained, pulling away from Kiyoomi to hold him by the shoulders. “Yer last year is different, more work, more pressure. I don’t blame ya.”
“Maybe you should.” Kiyoomi, honest-to-god, pouted.
“Do ya want me to be mad at ya?” Atsumu asked, amused.
“No?”
“Yer so confusin’, Omi.” The blond sighed. “Come on, if I know ya, and I think I do after all these years, then ya definitely haven’t had a proper meal in a while.”
“No time.” Kiyoomi said, following behind Atsumu to the kitchen.
“There is always time for food,” Atsumu shook his head. “And none of that… shitty instant ramen.”
“Listen –”
“Yer an athlete, Kiyoomi! Ya study sports science!”
“I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite,” Kiyoomi muttered. “Besides, I don’t eat them a lot.”
“Sure,” Atsumu shook his head, pouring some rice into the rice cooker and washing it repeatedly under the water ran clear. He stuck it back into the cooker and closed it. “Ya got any protein?”
“I was defrosting salmon in the fridge.”
“That works.” Atsumu nodded, unearthing the package from beneath the mess in the fridge and laying two fillets onto a sheet of baking papers on an oven tray. He seasoned them with some salt and pepper and slid the tray into the oven. Kiyoomi was content to sit at the island and watch Atsumu fill a pot with water and put it on the stove, dissolving some miso paste in it, and chopping up tofu, some spinach and green onion and tossing them all into the pot. He let it simmer on the stove-top and leaned on the island opposite Kiyoomi.
“What’s got ya in a tizz recently?”
“It’s my dissertation,” Kiyoomi cracked his knuckles unconsciously as he spoke. “I – it’s finished but I keep going back and rewriting it. My advisor said it was fine, but I don’t… I don’t think it is. I don’t think it’s good enough. God, I don’t know how many times I’ve rewritten it in the last week and a half.”
Atsumu, who was plenty familiar with this train of thought from Kiyoomi after years of being friends with him, merely smiled. “Here’s what we’re gonna do… we’re gonna have a nice meal, and then yer going to go to bed and leave me yer dissertation. I will read it over and tell ya how good it is, because I know it will be, and then yer going to send it off. And that’ll be the end of it. Okay?”
“Okay.” Kiyoomi whispered. When Atsumu began plating their food, all he could think about was how wonderful it would be if he got this every day. If he could come home from an exhausting day at university after socialising with people and have Atsumu there. If he could come home not to an empty flat for once. If Atsumu was around to cook for him, and make sure he was okay, and spend time with him.
“Eat.” Atsumu nudged him, pushing a pair of chopsticks his way along with a tray laden with food. One bowl held a steaming pile of white rice topped with some furikake, another bowl was filled with miso soup, and the final plate held a fillet of salmon that just came out of the oven.
“Thank you for the food.” Kiyoomi murmured, bringing his hands together as he did and then he dug in. He nearly cried at the taste of hearty, home-cooked food that made him feel all warm inside. Kiyoomi really did try not to let it get to this point because he was, as Atsumu had said, an athlete, and he couldn’t afford to not be disciplined, especially when it came to his diet.
“Good?” Atsumu asked when they had both cleared all of their plates, not leaving even a crumb behind.
“You don’t need me to inflate your ego.” Kiyoomi scowled.
“That’s answer enough,” Atsumu grinned. “Alright, come on. Brush yer teeth and hand me yer dissertation. I’ll read; you sleep.”
“Why are you ordering me around?” Kiyoomi grumbled as he got up obediently to head to his bathroom to brush his teeth. Atsumu shook his head fondly as he stacked all the dishes inside the dishwasher, hand-washing the ones that weren’t dishwasher safe. By the time he dried the things he’d washed, Kiyoomi had made his way back into the kitchen with a booklet in hand.
“That it?” Atsumu dried his hands on a towel.
“I printed out my latest version,” Kiyoomi held it out. “I’d give you my laptop but it’s dead.”
“Plug it in ta charge.”
“No, it’s literally dead,” Kiyoomi shook his head. “I had. A moment of weakness and it’s broken.”
“Kiyoomi!” Atsumu’s laugh escaped before he could contain it and he clapped a hand to his mouth, eyes wide.
“It’s fine, I was going to get rid of it after I finished anyways. Too many bad memories associated with it.” Kiyoomi shuddered and Atsumu couldn’t help but laugh.
“Alright, give it here,” Atsumu swiped the paper from Kiyoomi. “Go ta bed, overworker.”
“Whatever,” Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, turning around to talk back to his bedroom. He paused in the doorway and turned his head to the side. “Thank you.”
“No trouble, Omi, not if it’s you.”
When Kiyoomi woke up, he felt pleasantly well-rested and still somewhat full from the meal he’d eaten earlier. He brushed his teeth again when he managed to roll out of his awfully warm bed and then ventured into the main living space.
The smell of cleaning products instantly flooded his nostrils and he looked around to see the rug looked vacuumed, the floors shining as if they’d been mopped, and all the surfaces wiped down. His pillows had been tidied up on the sofa, blankets folded and the general messiness of the flat cleaned up like it never existed in the first place.
And there, on the sofa, sat Miya Atsumu. The blond looked up when he heard Kiyoomi’s door opened and smiled at him. His glasses rested on his face and he held Kiyoomi’s dissertation in one hand. The dark-haired man moved forward slowly as Atsumu opened his mouth to talk.
“Omi! Yer awake! I read yer dissertation, I also tidied up because I had nothin’ else to do, and I thought I might as well. Anyways, you were definitely overthinkin; it because this sounds great from a professional athletes perspective. I think ya did a phenomenal job, and ya need ta trust in yer own abilities more, so I –”
He was cut off by Kiyoomi practically lunging at him to press their lips together. Atsumu tensed for only a second, arms raised in surprise before he responded with just as much fervour. His hands went right to Kiyoomi’s hips and he tugged him closer until Kiyoomi was sat on his lap, thighs on either side of him. Those setter hands trailed down until Atsumu had one on each of Kiyoomi’s thighs, squeezing the muscles gently.
He leaned back, taking Kiyoomi with him and traced his tongue along the seam of Kiyoomi’s lips, slipping it inside the second those pretty pink lips parted for him. Kiyoomi made a stuttered moan and Atsumu’s hands gripped his thighs tighter at the sound. Atsumu was barely aware enough to recognise the tightening of his trousers and how tightly they were pressed against each other, knowing they were both aware of how good this felt.
“Omi, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu murmured against his lips, drawing away slightly and nosing at Kiyoomi’s neck. “What was that for?”
“You looked good in your glasses.” Kiyoomi replied.
“What?” Atsumu drew back fully, laughing a little. “Yer serious? That does it fer ya?”
“Kind of,” Kiyoomi shrugged. “I – you came here because I hadn’t responded to you in a while. You cooked me food and made me go to bed. You read my whole dissertation because I thought it wasn’t good enough, and you cleaned my place for me. If I wasn’t already so in love with you, that would have sealed the deal.”
“In love?” Atsumu squawked, his cheeks flushing. “Ya –”
“I think I did a good job hiding it.” Kiyoomi said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“We could have been makin’ out ages ago!” Atsumu groaned, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “Oh my god, I thought ya knew and were ignorin’ me!”
“What?” Kiyoomi sounded baffled.
“Kiyoomi, I’ve been head over heels in love with ya since ya beat my ass at the Interhigh our first year,” Atsumu said seriously. “I was so shit at hidin’ it, I thought ya knew!”
“I didn’t,” Kiyoomi said faintly. “I – I wouldn’t have ignored you.”
“Well, I know that now! Ya really are so oblivious, aren’t ya?” Atsumu said in wonder. “Baby, I don’t know how ya didn’t, everyone made fun of me fer it.”
“Who made fun of you?” Kiyoomi frowned, trying (and failing) to ignore the fluttery feeling in his stomach at Atsumu calling him ‘baby’, especially in that Kansai accent.
“All jokes, Omi. Nothin’ serious, darlin’.” Atsumu soothed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He really needs to stop with the nicknames, Kiyoomi thought, knowing that by now his cheeks and ears must be bright red.
“Kiss me. Now.” Kiyoomi demanded.
“So bossy,” Atsumu teased. “Whatever ya want, Kiyoomi.”
As much as those endearments and pet names made Kiyoomi feel like the luckiest guy alive, made his chest all warm and brought out all the mushy feelings he normally kept locked up in a box, he thought the best thing he could be called was his own name, for it sounded the most wonderful coming from Atsumu’s lips.