Work Text:
Kiyoomi, one of the best junior spikers in Japan, was currently in a training camp with other boys volleyball teams. All eight teams had been crammed into the cool, empty gym of Itachiyama. The floor was cold on his skin where he’d been sitting to stretch, the usual chatter of players filling the gym while the coaches leisurely chatted. Every team got a specific part of the gym to stretch, but everyone was spread out talking to friends from other schools. Hinata had already made friends with at least half of every team. The boy had a really high vertical jump despite his short height, so it was only natural that all the setters would be drawn to him. Even other middle blockers found themselves approaching him, especially with how friendly he was.
Kiyoomi’s lover was five feet away from him, stretching with the Inarizaki libero with the funny hair. Akagi, Atsumu mentioned him once or twice before.
They’d been official for 8 months already— having met online and recognizing each other. Weeks flew by and normal hang outs began looking more and more like dates. Restaurant and shop staff look at them and coo about how much of an adorable relationship they had. They’d given it a label when Kiyoomi asked Atsumu out to their favorite picnic spot, arriving with a bouquet of roses and a short speech. The blond cried, unsurprisingly, passersby who’d stopped to watch had clapped by how heart-warming the speech was despite its short length.
“Woah! Watch it, Miya.” Kiyoomi grumbled, glaring at Atsumu who’d tripped backwards onto him while he was stretching. The temperature in the air plummeted, nearby players starting to quiet down to listen.
“Sakusa-kun, ya look like yer ‘boutta pop a vein!” the faux blond teased, “someone get the guy a pillow befor’is spine breaks, yeah?” Kiyoomi suppressed a chuckle. That had been one of their inside jokes, from when Kiyoomi complained about his neck being stiff from hotel pillows. Atsumu had countered, “are ya sure it’s yer neck? Shouldn’t it have been yer spine that hurts?” They both looked at each other absolutely dumbfounded, before bursting out laughing. It had become a running joke since then.
Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow, feigning annoyance before speaking in his usual condescending tone, “oh shut up. Your shoulders are dipping, maybe you’re the one who needs a pillow.” Translation: “you’re slouching because you’re tired. Rest for a while.”
“Uh huh? Yer ankles dipping. Watch it,” Atsumu replied. To anyone listening, it sounded like an unwell thought out insult that made no sense. To Kiyoomi, it was a warning that his ankle was in an awkward position— he could sprain it, and he hadn’t even noticed.
Before Kiyoomi could step in with another snarky insult, Osamu and Motoya had stepped in.
“Okay! Kiyo, maybe let’s not provoke him?”
“Ya scrub! Quit pickin’ fights with other players, yer embarrassing us!”
They’d both gotten scolded by their respective teammates, who didn’t know they were flirting instead of fighting.
A few scrimmage rounds had passed, all the teams having gotten a chance to play. It was the last scrimmage of the day— everyone would do their cooldown routine after then go to their respective team hotel rooms. In court one, it was Itachiyama versus Inarizaki, while court two had Nekoma versus Fukurodani. Court one was on their last set— Itachiyama in the lead. Atsumu and Kiyoomi were glaring at each other and occasionally slipping insults when they met face to face in their rotation.
“Lost your footing there, huh Miya?” Kiyoomi teased, having been able to block the last spike from Inarizaki’s team and taking the win. He’d noticed Atsumu lost his footing before the set, and his hands stuttered setting which led to an awkward toss to Aran. The buzz-haired boy said it was fine and that they’d win in the scrimmage tomorrow, but Kiyoomi just had to tease him about it. The blond pouted, about to reply with another insult when some random guy approached them. His jersey was white and dark blue, reading the name ‘Nakamura’ on the back. Neither Kiyoomi nor Atsumu recognized him from the starting lineup of Datekogyō. He was chuckling, looking at Atsumu with something like annoyance. “Your brother really is the better setter huh? The moment you mess up, you’re just dead weight to the rest of the team.”
The pair went quiet. Nobody else had heard his comment, the chatter around them continuing. Despite this, all Kiyoomi could hear was his blood pumping in his ears. All he could see was when Atsumu had sat in his lap, crying and asking for what must have been the hundredth time if Kiyoomi really loved him. Atsumu’s broken, hoarse voice echoed in his mind, “I— I know I’m really unlovable, so it’s okay if ya wanna leave me! I won’t be mad..”
Kiyoomi looked to his setter, who was staring at the ground.
“Who even are you?” He quieted down at that. Everyone else began to stare when the temperature in the gym plummeted as Kiyoomi glared at Nakamura. “Maybe if you spent more time practicing your fundamental skills instead of talking shit about people who you’re jealous of because they’re actually important, you wouldn’t be sitting on the bench watching your teammates do all the hard work while you laze around and take credit for winning every game.” The boy’s face went beet red as Futakuchi and Aone approached to ask about what happened.
“Sakusa-san, right? What happened?” the boy with the light brown hair asked, concern and confusion written all over his face. “He was talking about how Miya was dragging his team down with his awful sets.”
“I’m so sorry for his behavior, Miya-san, Sakusa-san. I promise this will not happen again,” the two Dateko players bowed before leaving to scold the guy while everyone else gave him disapproving looks. Even the kind, quiet blonde girl from Karasuno stared at him with disgust.
Before Osamu, Motoya or Suna could approach them, the setter bolted out of the gym which Kiyoomi chased after, leaving a jaw-dropped Motoya and a concerned looking Osamu standing behind where he previously stood.
Leaving was probably not a good idea, but Atsumu couldn’t care less. He tried to smile when that Natsukishi guy insulted him, but it came out more like a grimace. He was happy when Kiyoomi stood up for him, but his words really struck a nerve.
He knew he was the worse twin at volleyball. Osamu had always been more talented than him, but was he really dragging his team down? If he left the Inarizaki volleyball team, would they win nationals?
The setter found himself standing outside a tight storage room he’d made out with Kiyoomi in a few months back. He stepped in, sitting down to cry. He hugged his folded legs to his chest, forehead resting on the peak of his knees. Two knocks startled him, but he knew exactly who it was.
“Atsu, sweetheart?” Kiyoomi’s voice rang out. The door shut quietly as Kiyoomi kneeled before his lover. “Oh baby..”
“Omi, was.. is he r-right? A-am I useless to ma t-team?” The blond’s voice was muffled, yet still echoed off the dusty walls of the storage room.
“No, of course not. Your setting is what makes them complete. That guy is a complete dumbass, he’s just a benchwarmer,” Kiyoomi replied. Despite his harsh words, Atsumu let out a soft giggle which was enough for him. The spiker wrapped his arms around his lover, hugging him tightly. “Theres that laugh. Do you wanna talk about what happened, Tsu?” Atsumu finally looked up, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “It— it was just.. I lost my footing at that set to Aran-kun, and—and then I m-messed up.. and then that guy s-said it out loud, and it felt like all of ye were thinkin’ it,” he murmured softly, avoiding eye contact as he spoke. Kiyoomi brought a hand up to swipe a thumb under the setter’s eyes, stopping the tears from tracking more stray stains on his cheeks. “Baby, I—“ The door slammed open. “Atsumu!” Osamu’s voice rang out. The pair looked back to see Osamu, Motoya and Rintarou all staring at them in shock. Kiyoomi, the spiker notorious for his misophobia and snappiness when it comes to hygiene was sitting on the dusty storage room floor comforting a hysterical Atsumu.
The blond pushed the spiker away on instinct, starting to stutter. “I— O-Omi was just— telling me how ugly I am when I cry..?” Atsumu sputtered, though it sounded more like a question than a statement. He looked at his twin, then his Kiyoomi, then the other two standing behind his twin and just bursted out sobbing again. Everyone froze. His body shook with cries as he hid his face in his hands, while Kiyoomi tried to soothe him. “I— I’m sorry Omiiiiiiii! I messed up, I blew it!”
“Tsu— no, no it’s okay, honey! It’s okay, I don’t mind! It’s okay, please don’t cry!”
“I shouldn’t have, Omi I’m sorry! I messed everything up for ya, I’m awful! Hngggg I’m sorry Omi!” Atsumu sobbed, curling in on himself. Kiyoomi just held him as he sobbed, whispering soft reassurances and rubbing his lover's back.
In the time the five of them had spent together, Rintarou, Motoya, not even Osamu had ever seen Atsumu break down like this. They’d started hanging out when Rintarou confessed to Motoya and Osamu— to which the two happily accepted— around a month ago. Osamu dropped to the floor in front of his brother, the other two slowly following. “I-I’m sorry,” the setter voiced between hiccups and sobs. Motoya’s empathetic voice rang out, “oh Atsumu.. You have nothing to be sorry for, nothing’s wrong!” He extended a hand to the blond, taking his hands into his. “You’re an amazing setter and player okay?”
“He’s right.” Atsumu’s head snapped up, hearing his usually nonchalant friend speak. “The team wouldn’t have made it as far as we did without you, so. You’re useful, okay?” Osamu grabbed his twin by the shoulders, hands moving up to squish his brother’s cheeks. “Listen. If ye weren’t here to set for me, I wouldn’t even be here today. Plus, yer sets are kinda better than mine, so.. don’t think about yerself like that.” Atsumu chuckled, hands coming up to wipe the tear streaks on his cheeks. “Thanks, ‘Samu. You too, Motoya and Sunarin.”
After a moment of silence, Rintarou began to speak. “Okay. Now that the crisis is over and nobody’s dying, can we talk about how Kiyoomi called Atsumu ‘honey’?”
Osamu raised an eyebrow. “Even since we all got closer, you guys never stopped calling each other by your last names. Now you’re suddenly Omi and Tsu?” Motoya chuckled. “I guess we’re not the only ones in a relationship, huh? How long have you guys been dating?” the libero asked.
“Eight months,” Kiyoomi replied automatically.
.
.
.
“WHAT?!” Osamu yelled, shaking his brother. “Why didn’t you guys tell us?!” Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Tsu cried when I confessed,” he said, watching in amusement as his blond lover stomped his feet in a tantrum, mortified. “Shut up, Omi! Don’t tell ‘em that!” Rintarou’s jaw was basically on the dusty storage room floor, only reattaching to his skull when he began to speak. “The entire time we’ve been making fun of you guys for being single.. you’ve been dating all along?”
Motoya just laughed, clapping his hands together. “At least when you tell everyone, they’ll all know the five of us as a package deal!”