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The toss goes higher than he’s used to by an inch. Kiyoomi has to stretch at the shoulder to hit it at the sweet spot toward the heel of his palm so he can direct its motion with his fingers.
When he lands, Atsumu is giggling like a half-wit in the echo of the ball’s hard smack against the linoleum.
“Nice kill, Omi-san!” Hinata cries from the sidelines where he’s sipping water.
Bokuto does a flying jump off the bench onto Hinata’s back. Apparently ready for it, Hinata bends at the knees, dropping his water bottle on the ground and immediately taking off at a loping, swaying jog around the court, somehow able to take the weight of Bokuto’s 190 pounds of pure muscle. Their laughter resounds around the emptying gym. It’s the end of practice, so some of the others have already left.
“Bokuto! Don’t break him!” Meian yells, but he’s fighting back a grin even from where Kiyoomi can see.
“Have you seen these thighs? He might break me!” Bokuto shouts back.
Kiyoomi schools his expression when Atsumu turns to him. “Too high,” he says before Atsumu can ask for feedback on the toss.
But he knows he’s thrown off-kilter by the ‘crack’ sound the ball just made. While jumping, he’d thought it was too high, but it hit just right where he likes it in his palm and allowed him to tweak the direction all the way from the base of his knuckles through his fingertips. For some reason, that slight addition of control pisses him off in the way only Atsumu can get under his skin.
“Aw, Omi-kun!” Atsumu replies, pressing his hands to his hips in that self-satisfied way he has. He’s watching Kiyoomi's face like he knows exactly what’s going through his mind, like he knows that the nicknames get on Kiyoomi’s nerves and he revels in the response. “I knew you’d get it. Ya should use that against the Arrows’ read blocker. He won’t be able ta touch it!” He leans forward so he can peer up the few inches Kiyoomi has on him. “Felt good though, didn’t it? That cut shot seemed stronger too. Thought ya could use an extra inch to eke out more control.”
Frowning, Kiyoomi turns away, “Don’t think too hard, Miya. You might hurt yourself.” He pauses. “And you should warn me next time. I need to stretch my shoulders out more for something like that.”
Atsumu makes a hurt sound. “It was our last play of practice! Ya can’t get any warmer than that!” he protests. “Come on! Tell me it was good, Omi-Omi. That was such a nice cut!”
Kiyoomi turns away without another word, mildly surprised as he picks up his own water bottle that Hinata and Bokuto have made it back to the bench before him. Meian might have underestimated Hinata’s thighs after all.
Behind him, Atsumu makes a loud, petulant sound at the lack of acknowledgement.
“Throw him a bone, won’t you, Omi-san?” Hinata says, laughing as he lets Bokuto hop off his back.
Bokuto slings a forearm over Hinata’s shoulder so he can lean heavily on him. They’ve been close since high school, apparently, but now that they’ve been assigned as roommates for away games, they’re near inseparable and feed off each other energy-wise. It’s enough to tire Kiyoomi out before he even starts warm ups for morning practices.
“I want a toss like that next time, Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto says, voice carrying across the gym.
“It was for Omi!” Atsumu yells back, scowling. He turns and stalks into the locker room ahead of them.
As Bokuto laughs, shaking his head, Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and slings his towel across his neck.
For all that he carries such a polished veneer of ease and relaxed behavior, and compounded as it is with his confident words, Atsumu has proven to be incredibly touchy.
While Kiyoomi isn’t exactly new to the team, he knows that it takes a while for people to grow accustomed to him and his quirks. So it is perhaps just that Atsumu is still learning how to deal with Kiyoomi’s prickliness. At least, that’s what Komori says - that Kiyoomi is prickly. Komori had mentioned too that he should try to take it easy on his new teammates, but Kiyoomi thought his feedback to Atsumu had been perfectly civil.
“Poor Atsumu-san,” Hinata says with a smile after him as he grabs his things under Bokuto’s weight. “Are you like that to him because he likes you?”
Kiyoomi frowns, glancing over his shoulder and pausing before he follows after the others to the lockers. “What? Like what?”
Hinata quickly waves both hands in front of him as if to backtrack as Bokuto steps back to pick up his own things. “You’re not mean or anything! Just - you know, colder, I guess? To throw him off? You know how he feels about you, so I just thought - “ he pauses when Bokuto slaps his back.
“What?” Kiyoomi says, something in him freezing.
“Nothing!” Bokuto exclaims, laughing awkwardly. “You’re not cold, Kiyoomi-kun! You’re - mysterious! Very cool! Yeah - uh - Hinata just means that Atsumu is - he’s just sensitive. That’s what Akaashi says, anyway. He works real hard, you know? And he’s just sensitive about getting things right.”
Kiyoomi is learning that Bokuto has a compulsion to mention his boyfriend at least once during every practice. These casual mentions, it seems, have only doubled since Bokuto shared with the team that he has finally bought a ring and plans to propose to his high school sweetheart. His nerves, gone since high school, seem to have resurfaced recently as he psyches himself up for his proposal, and he tends to need reassurance quite often.
“Well, maybe especially with Omi-san,” Hinata says, seemingly unphased by the way that Bokuto is shaking his head at him urgently, eyes wide. “But maybe it’s always been that way? He’s apparently liked you for forever. Right, Bokuto? Akaashi-san even said Miya-san - I mean Osamu-san - mentioned it, so maybe you - “
“What?” Kiyoomi says again. That frozen bit inside him cracks a little.
“Shouyou!” Bokuto finally cries, throwing his hands up.
“What!” Hinata exclaims, laughing in his confusion. “Are you ok, Bokuto-san? What!” He turns and eyes Kiyoomi’s impassive expression and turns back to Bokuto. “I mean, it’s not news, is it?” he asks, eyeing them both carefully. “Everyone knows already. You knew, right, Omi-san?”
Bokuto seems to deflate as Kiyoomi just stares at Hinata and Hinata stares back. “Just - let’s get showered, ok? Let’s just - “ Bokuto cuts off with a groan and scrubs his hands down his face.
Kiyoomi stares at them a moment longer - Bokuto avoiding his gaze, and Hinata smiling back sweetly - before turning and heading to the locker room.
///
By the locker room door, there’s a basket of necessities after every practice. He avoids showering in the locker room when he can, opting instead for going back to his own apartment or, if they’re away, to the hotel room’s bathroom that he normally scrubs down as soon as he arrives. But he still needs to get to his locker among the heavy, sweaty atmosphere of his teammates in the locker room, so he appreciates that the team provides his preferred supplies and always has them conveniently set out.
He squirts some antibacterial into his hands, rubbing carefully across his skin, then he takes a pair of gloves and pulls them on with a sharp snap. Next is the individually wrapped mask in white like he favors.
Once he’s all packed up, he sees Atsumu head out after quick farewells to the room, and keeps his head ducked down so he can avoid him.
Hinata had said - well. What Hinata had said was unfortunate.
Atsumu is familiar, sure. They’ve been in the same tournament circuits since they were in high school, always on opposing teams except for when they were both at the All-Japan Training Youth Camp. But they haven’t kept in touch past typical acknowledgments during seasonal matches.
Perhaps, throughout that time, Kiyoomi had felt the prickle of frustration at Atsumu’s confidence and the tilt of his lazy smile after particularly keen plays he’s directed for his team. And maybe Kiyoomi remembers the quick stab of something strange in his gut after landing a service ace or a game-winning spike, when he’d see that smile fall full tilt at him into a kind of grin Kiyoomi didn’t quite understand.
But there was a lot that Kiyoomi didn’t really understand about most people. He just never really felt inclined to ask Atsumu his normal slew of questions to dig deeper. He always had a feeling he’d arrive at a point he wasn’t sure he’d appreciate.
So yes, Atsumu is familiar - but he’s not close. That perhaps Atsumu has caught feelings is just another way that he is a frustrating aspect of Kiyoomi’s attempts to assimilate with this team - as if it wasn’t hard enough for him already.
“Uh, Kiyoomi-kun?”
Kiyoomi is just about out the gym door when Bokuto jogs up behind him. “Yes, Bokuto-san?”
“Yeah, hey!” Kiyoomi will never understand the level of energy that this man possesses, even after two-a-day practices. “So, about what Hinata said - ”
“I’d like to pretend he never said anything, if it’s all the same to you,” Kiyoomi cuts in, beginning to walk again.
Bokuto follows him out. “Yeah! That’s good. He didn’t mean anything by it, you know? It’s nothing to worry about.”
Kiyoomi casts a quick glance sideways and sees bright gold eyes peering at him carefully. He gets the sense that people often underestimate Bokuto. His level of energy is typically overwhelming, often deafening. But as someone who is a wallflower himself, Kiyoomi has seen firsthand that volume can bely a keen sense of perceptiveness about others. Case in point: Bokuto’s sensitivity to Kiyoomi's reaction to the news of Atsumu’s feelings, perhaps concern not only for his friend, but the fallout among them all on the team for it.
“It’s forgotten,” Kiyoomi says easily.
A smile brightens across Bokuto’s face in increments, and Kiyoomi can see why he always has the loudest fans at matches. Being subjected to that smile in full force is a little unsettling. Much like Hinata’s, there’s such warmth behind that smile, like the caster is seeing something deeper there and shining brighter because of it. Kiyoomi is not normally a recipient of such reactions, so he ignores it to the best of his ability and just nods.
“Bokuto-san,” he says in farewell, and he gets a heavy punch on the shoulder. As he leaves, he waits a few minutes before massaging away the residual ache of it.
///
Kiyoomi thinks he’s put the incident far out of mind, but it comes to a head a week later after they win a home game against the Toray Arrows. The team is funneling out, ready for a celebratory night out together at an izakaya nearby where they have a private room awaiting.
Kiyoomi had begged off so he could meet Komori for drinks. He doesn’t particularly mind team bonding; sometimes he even enjoys it because his teammates are nice enough. Today, though, he’d prefer to decompress away from the high level of energy that comes with a resounding win like this one.
However, tonight Atsumu seems to be in rare form. “Come on, Omi-Omi! Yer tonight’s MVP! That cut shot! What’d I tell ya, huh?”
Kiyoomi steps quickly to the side to escape Atsumu’s form filling the doorway. Though Atsumu blocks him again, Kiyoomi distantly appreciates that, no matter how annoying he can be, Atsumu is always careful about keeping his hands to himself.
“No thank you,” Kiyoomi says, shifting to the other side.
The other guys are beginning to funnel out of the locker room, and Atsumu is just letting them slide by. It doesn’t escape Kiyoomi’s notice that a couple of them are sending fond yet exasperated looks at Atsumu and Kiyoomi both. It only serves to flame the heat of Kiyoomi’s annoyance.
“Omi-kun!” Atsumu whines.
“No, I - ” but he’s cut off again as he shifts to the right.
“Look! I even got these little disposable cups for ya,” Atsumu says. From behind his back, he somehow produces a plastic-wrapped bag of disposable shot-sized cups. “Ya know, so ya don’t have ter wipe down the restaurant’s shit like ya do.”
Kiyoomi isn’t sure why his frustration is winding through him - cold and unforgiving. Sure he’s tired, and he’s feeling his anxiety low-key spinning through him, but those feelings are typical after a game and often easily overcome, or at least manageable, after a few deep breaths.
But right now, he’s having trouble composing himself. He’s staring at the little cups shoved in front of his face with a growing sense of discomfort and something hot and all-consuming rising in his throat. He shakes his head in refusal, but Atsumu is nothing if not persistent.
“Come on,” Atsumu is saying in a wheedling tone behind a bright grin. “First shot’s on me, even. And I’m not very giving, if you must know, so you should feel - “
“Just stop,” Kiyoomi snaps suddenly. “Will you just leave me alone for once? I don’t even like you!”
Normally, Kiyoomi’s words don’t phase Atsumu at all. He’ll talk over Kiyoomi or brush off any harsh words easily enough and might turn to someone else for the attention he apparently craves. But this time, Kiyoomi’s words seem to stop him cold, the smile freezing for just a moment on his face behind the bag of cups, before he looks quickly away. He comes back up with another grin, but it’s not like any grin Kiyoomi’s seen on his face before as he swiftly pulls back the bag.
“Fine,” Atsumu says, coughing out a laugh. Behind him, Kiyoomi sees Bokuto slow down as he wanders over. “That’s fine!”
Kiyoomi can’t help but stare, disquieted, at the bag of cups, no more words forthcoming and wishing like he could take back the ones that he’d inadvertently blurted out just moments before.
In true Atsumu fashion, he is still talking, albeit it’s behind that still-weird grin. And with a hint of unease crawling in his gut, he notices Atsumu isn’t quite meeting his eyes, even as his voice gets a little sharper. “Your loss, Omi-kun! More shots for me! And that was my set, by the way. So, ya know, ya wouldn’ta even - ”
“All right, all right!” Bokuto says loudly, slinging an arm around Atsumu’s neck on his way out the door. “I bet Meian I could drink him under the table tonight, and he’s probably getting a head start like the cheater he is. Come on.” He casts a quick glance over his shoulder at Kiyoomi before tugging gently so that Atsumu has to step quickly backwards with Bokuto or risk being choked by the beefy arm holding him captive. “See ya, Kiyoomi-kun! Have a good night!”
And then they’re out the door, the sounds of Atsumu’s whining protests and Bokuto’s laughter echoing behind the closed door, leaving Kiyoomi standing there in the silence of the locker room feeling suddenly like the biggest asshole on the planet.
///
“That...doesn’t seem like the nicest thing to say to someone who has feelings for you,” Komori says slowly.
Kiyoomi stares at him over his drink. They’re in Kiyoomi’s apartment having a nightcap at the bistro table by the windows, the record player humming a tune softly nearby and the city lights twinkling distantly through the floor-to-ceiling glass beside them.
“He doesn’t have feelings for me.”
Komori sets his own glass down on the table between them. “Kinda sounds like he does. Are those the disposable cups?”
Kiyoomi refuses to look at the aforementioned cups sitting on the coffee table by the couch. He’s not sure why he picked them up where Atsumu had dropped them as he was dragged out of the locker room, but he had. It’s done now. And the evidence of his strange misdeed sits there innocently like it’s not a manifestation of the guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders.
“No,” he says, and Komori smiles at him patiently. Kiyoomi hates that smile. It means he’s missing something, or is being transparent in a way that only his cousin, after years of playing together and being forced to socialize together, has been afforded access.
“Why’d you keep them?”
Kiyoomi sighs, downing the rest of the drink. He may as well get drunk if this is how the night is going to continue. “It would have been a waste to leave them there. The custodial staff might have tossed it.”
Komori hums in acknowledgement. “And it was a nice gesture, huh?”
“Miya is not nice,” Kiyoomi hisses. He’s not sure why he’s so defensive. Being nice is a good thing, right? He rubs at his temples.
“Well, maybe not to everyone,” Komori replies, and there’s something there beneath his words that makes Kiyoomi frown at him. “You wanna text him? I don’t imagine you’d say ‘sorry,’ or something banal like that. But maybe you could just say ‘thanks’?”
“I don’t have his number.”
“Yes you do, Kiyoomi.”
“I don’t like talking to him, let alone texting him. He is a serial texter, Komori. At least five responses to one single inquiry, and often multiple texts at once instead of using full sentences and paragraphs so the recipient’s phone doesn’t buzz incessantly. It’s inconsiderate.”
Case in point, the last texts he received from Atsumu from this morning contained a cat meme, too many exclamation points, and an embarrassing number of spelling errors. The messages have a tendency to haunt his entire day, and he isn’t sure why they rankle him so badly. He pours himself another two fingers’ worth of whiskey.
“I’m glad to hear you have friends on the team,” Komori replies, shaking his head when Kiyoomi tips the bottle in his direction.
“What about what I just said makes you think I have friends on the team?” Kiyoomi asks incredulously.
Komori just smiles at him easily. “Well, you normally don’t text many people. And you’re a well-known group chat lurker.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Making my point for me as usual.” Before Kiyoomi can reply, Komori says, “Did you reply? To Miya-san this morning, I mean.”
“I - “ Kiyoomi pauses. “Well, of course. I didn’t want to be rude.”
“You’re rude to me all the time,” Komori replies. “I am constantly left on read.”
Kiyoomi frowns down at his whiskey, and Komori graciously lets the conversation slide away. He’s always been kind like that.
///
Luckily, over the next week, it’s almost like nothing ever happened. No one confronts him about being an asshole, and Kiyoomi dares to think that maybe Atsumu has gotten over his strange infatuation.
At the very least, he’s acting as annoying as ever, and Kiyoomi grudgingly appreciates the grace of it. Though he does catch Bokuto and Hinata clinging a bit more to their setter, who is not as vicious about pushing them off as usual.
Plus, Atsumu is still assigned as Kiyoomi’s roommate on their away trip to play the Suntory Sunbirds. Despite how frustrating he can be, he is surprisingly respectful of Kiyoomi’s boundaries and isn’t a terrible roommate. Of course, there are the typical gripes about overkill on the scrubbing and not being able to enter the room until Kiyoomi has completed his cleaning routine, but all in all, things seem to be ok between them.
It’s during their first morning in town that Kiyoomi finds he’s a little unnerved. When he gets up promptly at 7 a.m., Atsumu apparently has already gotten dressed, somehow quietly enough not to wake Kiyoomi. The hotel room door snicks shut right as the clock ticks to 7. Kiyoomi frowns as he shuts off his alarm.
Atsumu is not naturally an early bird and is a heavy sleeper. He sets multiple alarms, which he snoozes at least once apiece as Kiyoomi gets ready. Sometimes, when he’s feeling magnanimous, Kiyoomi will shake Atsumu’s shoulder to wake him when he might be too late to practice if he doesn’t get up.
The strange behavior pings his attention again later that night after the press circuit. Promptly at 10 p.m., when Kiyoomi shuts off his light and sets his alarm, he realizes that Atsumu is not yet back in the room. Normally, Atsumu is crowding him in their shared bathroom, talking messily around his toothbrush as Kiyoomi eyes him warily, worried about flying spittle or dripped toothpaste. And there’s a seemingly never-ending spew of goodnights and some last-minute strategy talk before they both shut their lights off.
But tonight, it’s quiet and dark.
At 10:05 p.m., though, there’s that telltale click of the door opening. Atsumu surely knows that Kiyoomi has just shut the light off and hasn’t fallen asleep within five minutes, but Atsumu is careful and quiet as he heads into the bathroom.
Kiyoomi rolls over to face the door away from the other bed, a curious feeling twisting in his chest. He comes to the realization that maybe Atsumu had been going out of his way to spend a little more time with Kiyoomi, and that, now, Atsumu might actually be avoiding him.
It bothers Kiyoomi more than he’d like to admit.
///
At evening practice the next day, even Kiyoomi notices when Atsumu’s a little off. One toss comes too fast, and the next is at entirely the wrong height. If it were that alone, Kiyoomi might have just shrugged it off. But when he lands, he stares to his right at where Atsumu is frowning down at his hands, strangely quiet - at least for him. Normally, he’d blame Kiyoomi for ‘wasting a perfectly good toss’ or Bokuto and Hinata for being too loud, but right now he’s just - quiet.
“Don’t mind, Atsumu-san!” Hinata says, slapping his arm.
Bokuto drapes himself over Atsumu’s back, muttering something to him, and then he goes visibly dead weighted on top of him when Atsumu doesn’t respond.
“Oh my god, you guys!” Atsumu bursts out when Hinata comes back and slaps at his arm again. “Just back off, would ya!” He wriggles from underneath Bokuto’s suddenly tense form and looks away from their surprised expressions.
Of everyone on the team, Atsumu is the most likely to snap back at any given moment or in response to an errant word against him. As easy-going as he tries to seem, he gets easily upset and never holds back from expressing himself - in positive and negative ways alike. But even his angry outbursts tend to have with an undercurrent of good humor, like he’s ready to laugh at himself and the object of his chastising at the slightest invitation.
Right now though, he’s tightly coiled and sharp around the edges in a way that’s so at odds with his usual levity.
“Miya,” Meian calls. “You wanna cool off?”
SaKiyoomiusa takes in Atsumu’s balled-up fists, the tight line of his mouth, and finds himself feeling strangely concerned.
Instead of responding, Atsumu just heads straight to the bench to grab his things and walks right out of the gym. Bokuto and Hinata are looking at each other with heavy expressions even as Meian claps his hands to get everybody’s attention back on track.
Kiyoomi is uncomfortable to find that the gym seems a little emptier - and quieter - without their starting setter.
“It’s fine,” Bokuto says to him softly. “He gets like that sometimes.”
After practice, Kiyoomi heads to the locker room and finds that the team’s basket of cleaning supplies isn’t anywhere in sight. He asks the others about it.
Hinata just smiles gently up at him. “Well, Atsumu-san went home early, so he probably didn’t get a chance to set it out! Actually, I’m not sure where he puts it when we all leave.”
“Ah, yeah,” Bokuto says, and his grin is kind of muted - at least for Bokuto. “He stocks that little basket and puts it out after every practice.”
That uncomfortable feeling starts to weigh heavily in Kiyoomi’s gut. Strangely, it isn’t quite guilt, but a confused sort of warmth that he doesn’t know what to do with.
“Oh! It’s in his locker!” Hinata says, looking down at his phone. “He sent me his combo while we were still practicing, I guess. One sec, Omi-san! I’ll get it!”
Bokuto shoots Kiyoomi a small, consoling sort of smile. “He started doing it when you first joined the team. Said you had a thing about it since the All-Japan Training Youth Camp thing.” He pauses. “Aw! I wish I could've gone and met you guys back then too! Can you imagine how much better we’d be now?”
Inside Kiyoomi, the knife to the gut twists a little deeper.
He remembers that about the youth camp. No one was shitty about him being germophobic, and Komori had been there with him anyway to smooth away any tensions Kiyoomi created. But that first day at camp, Kiyoomi had carefully set out his necessary items on the locker room bench and respectfully asked that no one touch them because he’d need them after practice ended. Everyone had been surprisingly accepting about it, for which he’d been grateful. Though he does remember Atsumu looking at the array of products skeptically, and Kiyoomi had felt mildly irked about the unnecessary attention.
When Kiyoomi came to his first practice with the Jackals, he’d seen the basket of products on the foyer table of their locker room and stared at it with something like relief.
Atsumu had come up behind him, peering at it over his shoulder with that snide little grin on his face, saying, “Is it to your liking, Omi-Omi?”
“It’s fine,” Kiyoomi had replied. He’d used everything except the masks, which were the surgical blue kind, opting instead for an extra individually packaged white mask from his own bag.
The next day though, he’d been surprised to find white masks in the basket and thought that the team managers were really above and beyond.
Later, when Kiyoomi gets to their room, Atsumu is on the balcony. He has his feet kicked up on the rail as he leans back in the reclining chair, and he has his phone to his ear. By the grumpy tone to his voice, Kiyoomi gleans that he’s talking to his brother. They’ve been away-game roommates for a while now, and, without fail and at least once a day, Atsumu talks on the phone with his brother and his mom during every trip. Kiyoomi has the suspicion that it’s probably the same even back in Tokyo.
The basket on the hotel room foyer catches his eye then. He takes in the large-sized gloves, and he realizes that yes, they’re his size, but they’d be too large on Atsumu’s hands. There’s Kiyoomi’s preferred brand of hand sanitizer - 75% alcohol content with aloe to moisturize the skin even as it disinfects. There are the individually packed masks - white, not surgical blue. And there are few individual hand wipes too. For the first time, he notices the custom little chibi-Jackal sticker on the front of the basket and knows those aren’t available in the team shop.
“Omi-kun?” Kiyoomi looks up and sees that Atsumu has slid open the balcony door. He still has his phone to his ear, and he’s tipped far back in the lounge chair to look at Kiyoomi upside down with a questioning expression. “Ya all right?”
Kiyoomi swallows, warmth blossoming in his gut. He turns and walks right back out of the room without a word.
For some reason, he finds himself in front of Bokuto’s door.
“Kiyoomi-kun! Come on in!”
Kiyoomi doesn’t deign to take a seat anywhere, and he listens with half an ear as Hinata sings tunelessly as he soaks in the bath.
“So, about Miya,” Kiyoomi says, but then he stops, at a loss for what he actually came here to say. He is suddenly full of regret and embarrassment as Bokuto looks up at him from where he’s sitting on his bed.
“Ah,” Bokuto says, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks uncomfortable. “Yeah. We can totally switch rooms if you want. He said he’d move in here since you’ve got the room how you want it and all. Meian said it wouldn’t be a problem either, apparently, and - “
“What? No.” Kiyoomi pauses, thrown off track. “Wait. He wants to switch?”
“Huh? No? I thought that you - “
“No.”
“Oh, well.” Bokuto laughs. “I’m sorry, Sakusa, I don’t know what we’re talking about anymore. Want me to call Akaashi?”
Now completely confused, Kiyoomi asks, “Akaashi? Why?”
“Oh. I mean, I usually call him for this stuff. Tsum-Tsum comes by and we put Akaashi on speakerphone. They don’t even really seem to get along all that well, really. But it all works out by the end of the conversation somehow! And sometimes Myaa-sam is on the line too!”
“I don’t - no. I - “
“But they’re just friends!”
“What? Who?”
“Akaashi and Myaa-sam! Just friends. Yeah.” For reasons Kiyoomi could not begin to explain, Bokuto looks mildly concerned. He reaches for his phone. But then he places it back down on the bed next to him face down and laughs a strange sort of laugh that is not quite like him. “No. Yeah. I’m sure.”
“No, Bokuto, I just - I wanted to ask you about - “ Kiyoomi pauses for a moment, feeling his face heat up. Bokuto tilts his head to the side in question, much like the animal that is the inspiration for his hair. “What sort of things does Miya like?”
Bokuto stares for a moment longer before a grin breaks out across his face. “Ooh,” he says, drawing out the vowel. Kiyoomi feels his face heat up. But then Bokuto frowns. “You sure, Kiyoomi-kun? Atsumu might get the wrong idea.”
“Perhaps - perhaps the wrong idea is the right idea.”
It’s the first time Kiyoomi has ever said anything like this aloud, or even thought it to himself, but he’s starting to put a name to the strange feeling that keeps lighting up inside his chest. He just never would have thought he’d be discussing it so openly with Bokuto of all people - and with Hinata within hearing distance.
Bokuto hums doubtfully. “Uh - that sounds like something Akaashi would understand better. You sure you don’t want me to give him a call? I think I wanna give him a call anyway. Just to - “
“I want him to get the wrong idea, Bokuto-san, is what I’m saying.”
“I - I feel like he’s kinda already been through the ringer though? Hold on, it’s dialing.” Bokuto puts his phone on speaker so they can both listen to the tone.
“What I mean is, I just - I just want to do something nice, all right?”
“Koutarou.” Akaashi says through the speaker. Kiyoomi watches with mild interest as Bokuto smiles down gently at the phone even though his boyfriend can’t see him.
“It’s Kiyoomi-kun over here this time, Keiji,” Bokuto says.
It’s quiet on the other line for a moment, before Akaashi says, “Hello, Sakusa-san.”
“Akaashi-san,” he greets back.
“Is Myaa-sam there?” Bokuto asks, apropos of nothing.
“No. Why - no, I’m at the office, Koutarou.”
“Ah, good!” Bokuto says with another of those strange laughs and a quick, rather embarrassed-looking glance up at Kiyoomi. “I mean, not good. I mean - we’re talking about Tsum-Tsum!”
“I see.”
“I haven’t told you the story yet, Keiji! And also, you’re working so late. Did you eat dinner yet?”
“Well, this is unhelpful and mortifying,” Kiyoomi says finally, slowly taking a step back under Bokuto’s confused gaze. “Thank you, Bokuto-san, Akaashi-san, but I’m going to leave now.”
“My apologies, Sakusa-san,” Akaashi says on the other line. “I wish you all the best.”
“Uh, good luck?” Bokuto says as Kiyoomi continues to step away.
On his way out the door, he hears Bokuto say, “Keiji, you know I love you the most, right? More than anybody! And you love me more than anybody else too, right?”
The last thing he hears is, “Of course I do, Koutarou. Is everything all right? Are you homesick already?”
///
When Kiyoomi finishes with his errand and gets back to the hotel room, Atsumu is, thankfully, still there as opposed to avoiding him. He’s sprawled on his belly on top of his covers and flipping through a magazine. As Kiyoomi steps closer, Atsumu he takes a quick glance up at him. “Hey, Omi-kun. You’re back late.” He offers that small, weird grin before he looks back at his magazine.
Kiyoomi realizes what’s so different about it. That typical teasing, laughing kind of inflection is missing from his smile. Before, Atsumu seemed to always poke at Kiyoomi - through his needling tone, his little digs at things Kiyoomi would say or do, his goading expressions - like he was testing the waters or seeing what he might be able to get away with.
But now, the smile Kiyoomi’s grown used to and the tone Atsumu takes with him are more reserved, like he knows he might get snapped at again. Or rejected.
Kiyoomi sighs. He knows he isn’t nice. But he also doesn’t mean to be an asshole. Over the past few weeks, it has come to his attention that he has been, quite clearly, an irrefutable asshole to someone who apparently, and for no good reason, likes him. To someone who has gone out of the way to make Kiyoomi feel welcome and comfortable in conditions he typically is never comfortable in at all.
And now, Kiyoomi is a little more peeved than usual, because he feels like he’s been stupidly blind - and maybe like he’s lost a little bit of time. It really pisses him off in the way that only Atsumu can piss him off.
“Uh,” Atsumu says slowly, “what’d I do this time? Ya look like you’re tryin’ not to come over here and strangle me or somethin’. Trust me, I know that look. ‘Samu gives it to me all the time, but usually with more stranglin’.” He laughs, but it’s a cautious thing. And Kiyoomi hates it.
He holds out the bag in his hand. “I got you those gross puddings you like,” he says in a tired tone. Just because he’s trying to be less of an asshole doesn’t mean he has to be sweet. The idea of going all soft like Bokuto makes him feel a little ill, if only because Atsumu is not Akaashi, and the way Atsumu would respond would likely be much more vicious and degrading. Kiyoomi shakes the bag when Atsumu just stares at him.
Atsumu looks at the bag then up at him - back and forth like he’s confused. “What? Where! What? They don’t have them out here anywhere! Wait - why?” Atsumu finally asks in a rush with a suspicious tone.
“Apparently they do have them here,” Kiyoomi replies. “I found the product’s purveyor. They pointed me to a shop that stocks them.”
“What’d you do to ‘em, then?”
“What?” Kiyoomi says, affronted at the apprehensive expression on Atsumu’s face. “I didn’t do anything to them. I just got them for you. Do you want them or not?”
“What’s the catch?”
“There’s no fucking catch. If you don’t want them, toss them. I don’t care.” Kiyoomi drops the bag in front of Atsumu on the foot of his bed before turning back to his own. He leans back against his headboard, pulling out his phone for lack of anything better to do.
“Wait wait wait, Omi-Omi!” Atsumu cries. “I do want them!”
Kiyoomi doesn’t look up, but he’s really only scrolling through the news. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Atsumu sits up, swinging his legs off the bed and replacing his hold on the magazine for the bag of pudding.
“Seriously, what the fuck is happening?” Atsumu mutters. He digs into the bag and comes up with the chocolate flavor first.
As much as Kiyoomi doesn’t like using common-area storage, he appreciates keeping his electrolyte drinks cool in the shared fridge in the MSBY club room. Anyone who uses the fridge would be hard-pressed to miss the pudding. It is always full of them with Atsumu’s name scrawled garishly in kanji in big characters on the label. Something about it always struck Kiyoomi as very nostalgic. He’s heard Atsumu exclaim over the pudding cups and loudly warn the team off of them on many occasions because he makes his mom send them to him in care packages directly from his hometown in Hyogo.
Bokuto had stolen one once, wanting to try it, and Atsumu had been so upset that Bokuto had legitimately cried from guilt and promised to send the Miya household enough funds for 100 pudding cups in repayment. The response had been so genuine and so contrite that Atsumu in turn had looked guilty and grudgingly forgave him.
But it was clear to anyone watching that Atsumu was, no matter how at ease he tried to act, a small-town boy in a big city who often craved the comforts of his hometown.
“Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, drawing out the vowels of that blasted nickname. The sound of it makes heat rise in Kiyoomi’s cheeks, so he dips his chin down a little further. But then Atsumu says, “Do you like me?”
Kiyoomi is quiet.
Slowly, as if wary of the reaction he’ll get, Atsumu stands and walks over, gingerly taking a seat on Kiyoomi’s bed beside him. When Kiyoomi remains quiet, Atsumu says in a loud whisper, “Oh my god. You do. How embarrassing for you!” Then he breaks out into that bewilderingly childish giggle of his.
Kiyoomi drops his phone next to him on the bed so he can fold his arms and glare at the black screen of the television ahead of him. “Shut up, Miya.”
“No! Never! Oh my god. Ya shoulda kept pretending ta hate me. Yer never gonna hear the end of this now!”
“I wasn’t pretending to hate you!”
“Well, then I don’t know what you were doing,” Atsumu says, and Kiyoomi feels something begin to unwind in his chest at the familiarity of his grin. “Ya kept staring at me all the time! It was so confusing!”
“I wasn’t - “ But now that Atsumu has called attention to it, Kiyoomi thinks of the way he watches for any reaction his own actions might incite. He thinks of the way he makes sure Atsumu is being careful about the cleanliness of their room; the way Atsumu responds to Kiyoomi’s spikes and looks for that odd smirk Atsumu gets on his face at a nice hit; the way Kiyoomi can differentiate a strange, slightly off grin from a normal, teasing one.
And again, in true Atsumu fashion, he keeps talking as if no one else in the world exists but to hear his voice. “Wait ‘til I tell ‘Samu. He’s been such a fucking asshole. I told him ya liked me! But he said I was delusional. To be fair, it’s been years Omi-Omi. How dense are ya?” He nudges Kiyoomi’s shoulder with his own, and then keeps on nudging until Kiyoomi makes room for him on the bed so he can sit against the headboard too. “Yer lucky I’m so patient. Even my ma said I couldn’t be this patient, but look at us now, right? But, I mean, how could ya resist? I give ya all the best tosses! It’s our love language.”
Kiyoomi rubs his hands over his face, lamenting his poor life choices. “Is it too late to take back the pudding?”
“Way too late,” Atsumu says, shaking his head sadly, but that smile is pulling easily across his face.
Atsumu pulls out his phone then, and Kiyoomi peers at the screen. “What are you doing?”
Shooting him a quick grin, Atsumu says. “Telling everyone that you're in love with me and how embarrassing it is.”
“It’s not - “ he pauses.
Atsumu’s fingers freeze over the screen of his phone, and then he turns to look over at him. His expression is wide open, bright and teasing, yet narrowed like he’s trying to see how much he can get away with.
Kiyoomi swallows. He’s already put himself in this position, made room where he didn’t think there was space, found warmth where he’d always thought he was cold. “It’s not embarrassing,” he says finally.
Atsumu’s eyes widen with surprise. “Oh my god. You’re soft on me!” he says as if surprised. His tone is a little snide, but his own expression has eased a bit in its typical sharpness, in its readiness to cut as much as cajole.
Before he can look away, Kiyoomi feels soft fabric against his jaw. Atsumu has pulled his sleeve over his hand, and Kiyoomi is at once surprised and strangely touched at the consideration.
“Can I kiss ya?” Atsumu asks, his lips a breath away.
“That - that would be all right,” Kiyoomi allows, unfolding his arms from across his chest.
Instead of inching closer though, Atsumu pulls back with a laugh. “Well that’s as loud and clear as I’ve ever heard ya, Omi-kun,” he says. “Didn’t think ya’d be the passionate type.”
Kiyoomi’s not wearing gloves, he still hasn’t showered since after practice, and he’s probably blushing bright red out in the open without a mask on.
But Atsumu is still grinning, and it’s the right kind of grin.
So Kiyoomi just says, “Shut up, Miya,” and plants both hands on either side of Atsumu’s face to pull him in for a kiss.