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"Aloha wau iā 'oe."
No idea what that means. That's all Kiyoomi has. Well, he knows it's Hawaiian, but that's the extent of his knowledge.
But Atsumu says it with such a fond smile and adoring tone that it can't be anything bad, right? Or maybe that's just it. If he says it with a pretty enough expression, a sweet enough timber, lays that honeyed accent of his on cement-thick, he can get away with just about anything.
Kiyoomi knows this. Likely, Atsumu knows this too. Maybe that's why he's tormenting Kiyoomi this way, because he knows the ace will have no choice but to submit to him.
Plus, Hawaiian sounds really good in his voice, even more golden and syrupy when molded around long strings of soft vowels. Kiyoomi would tell his boyfriend he wants to hear so many more words in such a language fall off his lips in such a way, but that would take a sledge hammer to his pride in a way he's not quite ready for just yet.
Atsumu leans up and kisses him, soft and chaste as it is fleeting, before setting his coffee on the counter to be dealt with later and flitting off to their bedroom to change for practice.
Kiyoomi stands confused in the kitchen, the absence of Atsumu's sickly sweet presence allowing him to (finally) think clearly. If he could remember at all what Atsumu had just said, he would be reaching for his phone right now to shove it through Google translate. But the phenomenon seems to be a once in a lifetime event that will later turn into a memory Kiyoomi doubts the reality of.
He breaks back to reality with a call from the demon in question.
"Babe, ya comin'? I mean, I'm glad yer takin' it easy, but don't do that fer too long 'cause we both know I'm not the responsible one in this relationship."
Kiyoomi startles to action, deciding to file this strange incident away as a one-off - he'll ask Atsumu about it later, about what's gotten into him and why he's suddenly spewing foreign languages over their morning coffee.
He fails to see that morning, the bigger picture, which is that this is actually just the first in a very long string of unsolicited one-offs.
-
Atsumu is unabiding in his search for almost constant affection, seeking out kisses between practice serves, touching Kiyoomi in any way possible whenever possible, even if it's just the brush of their knuckles or bumping of their shoulders. He seems to take great pleasure in the fact that he's the only one who is allowed to touch the spiker.
As he should. You don't see Bokuto or Hinata getting away with planting sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on his cheek every time he makes a particularly good spike. At the very least, they'd leave the brief interaction with a little more than a black eye.
But Atsumu being Atsumu, he gets off scott free like a criminal in a world un-policed.
They're in the locker room, the last two because that's how it always is - the rest of the team seems perfectly fine with letting them close up in exchange for having their sweet alone time.
Bokuto and Hinata are barely out the door, bidding their usual, over-enthusiastic goodbyes before Atsumu begins his normal prattle about what to have for dinner that night. It's almost routine now, a sating, comforting routine that, while changed up every once in a while when Atsumu's feeling antsy for variety, is always constant.
"Omi let's get pancakes for dinner," he says, almost on a whine - Kiyoomi has to suppress a sigh of fondness and annoyance at just how Atsumu a request that is.
"Or we could get food with nutrition. Or you know, eat some of the food we have at home because we spent money on it and it's going to go bad," Kiyoomi shrugs, sarcastic as a ever even in his endeavor to subtly adjust his boyfriend's diet to that of an actual athlete's. Sometimes he's genuinely convinced he can get Atsumu to stop eating like a middle schooler who was given free range of a grocery store, but such an illusion always comes crashing down.
"I'm mean, we could, but those are all vegetable which are gross."
Yeah, that would mean more if Atsumu found anything at all that contained nutritional value to be not gross.
"You know, some of the most successful athletes go on completely plant-based diets," he asserts like Atsumu's not a stubborn asshole who will argue his dying point until its last breath.
"Yeah, well this successful athlete thinks carrots taste like disgusting dirt-sticks so... Pancakes?"
From the moment Atsumu looks at him with those damned puppy dog eyes that could have governments crumbling and the world in a state of apocalyptic mayhem that he's going to cave - Atsumu could drag him halfway across the world to indulge his obsession with the Eiffel Tower and Kiyoomi would go without complaint.
"Please Omi?"
Against his better judgment, he says yes. Everything about Atsumu is against Kiyoomi's better judgment.
"Fine, whatever. But this is a one time thing."
Atsumu grins so wide and beautiful that Kiyoomi thinks his heart might just explode where it beats inhumanly rapidly in his chest. Fondness mingles with affection, lacing his every breath to the point where Kiyoomi is drowning on solid ground just looking at his boyfriend.
Atsumu plants another one of those sloppy kisses on his cheek, lingers a bit this time just to emphasize his point.
"Mahal kita," is whispered so casually that Kiyoomi's brain spends five solid minutes absently fiddling with the orientation of the words as if they sound even remotely Japanese.
But that's before his brain is stumbling back to reality and he's whipping his head in the direction of his boyfriend as if the answers are scrawled on Atsumu's broad shoulders. They're not, and once again, he's left in total darkness about what Atsumu just said to him.
Is he even expected to respond?
The second time this happens, Kiyoomi does not link it to the first. Stupidly, he doesn't see the pattern until the third.
-
It's some weeks later that the thrid incident occurs, that Kiyoomi's brain manages to somewhat connect the meager amount of dots he's been given. Although it takes him the better part of a night that should be spent sleeping.
Atsumu always kisses him before bed, a nightly ritual, as if Kiyoomi will somehow forget everything he adores about Atsumu over night and needs a handy reminder just before sleep erases his memory.
However, just like with all their routines, there is variation, because Atsumu is inherently, beautifully, unorganized - as many times as Kiyoomi has claimed to hate him for it, he really finds it so horrifically charming. Honestly, for a man like Kiyoomi who lives his life marching to routine's steady beat, it's nearly unfathomable.
But Atsumu is a creature of unfathomable... well, everything. So Kiyoomi sets aside logic and for once, allows fate to take the wheel.
Tonight, Atsumu kisses him slow and languid as he pulls the covers up over them to shelter them from the cold even though they both now that Kiyoomi's not bothered by it and Atsumu will eventually end up using him as a human heater.
And even despite his best efforts to maintain his cool, just the simple press of lips has Kiyoomi careening over the edge of sanity into the soft mushy parts of all his pre-Atsumu day dreams, back in the days he was still hopelessly pining for his pretty setter, making a fool of himself trying to ignore his feelings.
He's since given up on such an endeavor, finding that it can only end in dissatisfaction, which is almost worse than the potential for heartbreak. Instead, Kiyoomi allows himself to just feel everything he does for Atsumu Miya - which is a fucking lot - and he basks in the glow of it.
Atsumu's pull away is slow, followed up quickly by another chaste kiss to the corner of Kiyoomi's mouth.
"Szeretlek," Atsumu says soft and sweet from somewhere low in his throat, in a way that has Kiyoomi's heart tripping over itself in a frantic haste not to fall in love all over again - though he knows the endeavor is useless.
But Atsumu gives him no chance to respond or question before he's ducking his head to the crook of Kiyoomi's neck. It's an action so normal and warm that Kiyoomi could almost be tempted to let the third occurrence of this strange phenomenon slide.
But him being himself, he knows his brain will trip over itself until it eventually wears itself out, likely getting nowhere in the end, which is even sadder.
Kiyoomi wonders in that moment if Atsumu can feel his pulse beating against his skin, the heat of stress he's radiating. He probably can.
There's something terrifying about not being able to understand your boyfriend, about not being able to reciprocate even though the words would be on the tip of your tongue lightning fast if you knew what he said. Atsumu seems to have no expectation of reciprocation, no need for Kiyoomi to say anything back or even necessarily acknowledge his words - or word rather.
But that's of little solace to a man who's spent his whole life ignoring and has finally found someone he wants to put in the effort for.
So he stays awake that night, and he doesn't question because Atsumu is laying passed out on his chest, a sleeping angel he doesn't have the nerve or the will to wake. And because he's a little scared that whatever answer he receives won't be what he wants.
He doesn't even know what he wants.
-
Atsumu's clever about it, Kiyoomi will give him that. But that should come as no surprise. Atsumu is often smarter than people give him credit for - one of the many things Kiyoomi loves and despises about him.
He must sense Kiyoomi catching onto his...whatever this is, because he waits. He's skillful, almost, about the timing. Maybe it's completely inadvertent, but knowing Atsumu Miya and his horrifically competitive - in a way that even Kiyoomi can't match - personality, he has to assume that whatever the setter is doing is entirely intentional.
Three weeks. He waits three weeks before he's muttering things that could be curses or blessings in a foreign tongue, soft on Kiyoomi's ears in that accent of his but a menace to his late night inner-ramblings and the cause of many sleepless nights.
He's clever about the location too, waiting until they're out with the entire team in the middle of a jam packed bar - Kiyoomi is unable to escape and unable to accost his boyfriend at risk of a public scandal.
All he can do is stand there and take it and nearly drop Bokuto and Hinata's drinks as Atsumu whispers honey sweet in his ear,
"Thanks, babe, seni seviyorum."
Kiyoomi nearly malfunctions on the spot, eyes flying wide open to regard his boyfriend's quickly retreating figure, the action so abrupt it has beer spilling sticky and rancid over his fingers. He's going to kill Atsumu for this.
When he returns to the team's table, he sets the drinks down and obsessively wipes his hands on a napkin, a repetitive motion that fails to remove the stickiness from his fingers and only serves to rub his skin dry - he would go to the restroom to wash his hands, but if he does that, he might as well just inject himself with some sort of STD.
So instead, he plasters on his most neutral expression and sits down next to Atsumu, who drops his head to Kiyoomi's shoulder and smiles jovially as if he's not the devil incarnate.
Kiyoomi doesn't end up killing his boyfriend, a positive outcome both for Atsumu and his career - murder really doesn't look good on a resume.
Instead, just as Atsumu probably intended to happen, he sits and drinks and pretends like nothing happened, though his mind is already bouncing off the edges of his skull in an attempt to decipher what he said.
The longer he thinks about it, the muddier the words get, but one day he's going to catch Atsumu, the squirmy little bastard. And it's going to be soon, because as a general rule, Kiyoomi knows.
He just knows stuff.
He knows all of his teammate's secrets (look, the stuff they get all up in arms about are things middle schoolers would laugh at).
He knows Bokuto has a praise kink (because Akaashi is way too loose-lipped when he's hammered). He knows Hinata lived in a garbage can behind a Thai restaurant for a week because he forgot to pay rent three months in a row.
He knows that Meian is actually proud that his daughter wants to be an artist when she grows up even though his entire family was vying for something in the medical field. He knows how and when Komori lost his virginity - trust me, he wishes he didn't, but there's a certain amount of leeway you owe the cousin who kept your big gay secret your entire lives.
Kiyoomi just knows stuff. He finds comfort in knowing, even when he has no use for or interest in the information.
Not knowing sends unpleasant shivers down his spine. And right now, Kiyoomi doesn't know a lot of things, and Atsumu isn't explaining them.
Well, fine, he thinks. If Atsumu wants Kiyoomi to pry the answer from him by force, he will.
-
Atsumu messes up.
Kiyoomi's not surprised because he's always been impulsive and stupid, but this seems a blatant misstep in this game they've been playing, like purposefully setting the ball too low or high.
They're sitting on the couch together, watching the live action Cinderella because Atsumu likes the graphics and whimsy and Kiyoomi can't tell him no to anything, even when it bores the hell out of him. So he sits and watches and admits quietly to himself somewhere along the line that, if nothing else, the movie has a nice soundtrack - not that he'll ever give Atsumu the satisfaction of saying it out loud.
Atsumu sits half on his lap, legs thrown haphazardly over Kiyoomi's thighs, head resting in the crook of his neck. It's sweet and disgustingly domestic, a gentle warmth where Kiyoomi rests his hand on Atsumu's knee, arm hanging lazily around the pseudo-blond's shoulders.
It's so soft, Kiyoomi hates to break the moment so he doesn't - Atsumu takes care of that for him nicely, pausing the movie so he can cup Kiyoomi's face in his hands. The gesture is so cute and adoring that Kiyoomi pouts at how heavy his emotions weigh in his chest.
Atsumu just smiles too fondly for a man who's dating Kiyoomi Sakusa of all people, too affectionate for someone who willingly chose the prickliest asshole on planet earth to seduce. Kiyoomi breathes it all in like it's his own personal substitute for oxygen.
In moments like these, Kiyoomi is forced to remind himself that this is his now, that he's allowed to have this, allowed to feel the warm fuzziness of happiness ricocheting throughout his body.
And then it happens, like the sudden onset of a storm among previously immaculate blue skies.
"Je t'aime," Atsumu whispers. That's French. Kiyoomi doesn't know what for because he's useless at any language other than Japanese. But he knows it's French. And he's not letting Atsumu get away with this tonight. "Alright I needa drink of water."
He starts to get up, but Kiyoomi pulls him down, encountering little resistance with the surprise that accompanies such an action. Atsumu falls into his lap softly, Kiyoomi's arms around his waist, holding him in an iron grip because he's not running away with this again.
Kiyoomi knows stuff. He's determined to add whatever this is to the catalog of 'stuff'.
"Omi," Atsumu pouts, so cute that Kiyoomi is almost tempted to let him go and just figure this whole thing out another day. However, his willpower is much like him: stubborn to a fault, almost petulantly so. Kiyoomi coils his arms around his boyfriend's waist tighter. "I'm thirsty, what is it?"
"What are you saying?"
"What?" Atsumu feigns innocence - or maybe doesn't, but Kiyoomi is pretty sure the setter has to know what he's talking about, because otherwise he wouldn't be biting his lip in that damn adorable way that makes Kiyoomi want to pinch his cheeks just to make him stop.
"You keep saying things in foreign languages. What are they?" The hesitance in his voice is entirely unintentional, but he feels it bone deep, the sudden realization that maybe it's not something Atsumu wants him to know about-
But then why would he say it? Why go through all the trouble? Kiyoomi knows that Atsumu only knows (maybe) a few words English from high school. Which means he has to be looking this shit up. And Atsumu is an inherently lazy person.
So what is it that's so worth the effort.
"What are you trying to tell me that you can't say in a language we both understand?"
There's a pause, so heavy and laced with such a lethal does of silence that Kiyoomi worries he might have done something wrong. That maybe Atsumu will retreat in on himself like he does when there's something he's too unsure or insecure about to mold in words.
Kiyoomi takes a deep breath into the quiet and waits. He waits because Atsumu always waits for him. Whether it was at the beginning of their relationship when Atsumu waited three whole months for Kiyoomi to gather the courage to so much as hold his hand, or just Atsumu standing against the lockers while he waits for Kiyoomi to be done cleaning up.
Kiyoomi's patience is paid back in full, with a reciprocation better than his wildest dreams.
"I love you," Atsumu says, so earnest and genuine that it carves out a hole in Kiyoomi's heart that will forever be reserved for this moment and this moment alone.
The words on his lips, on his tongue, soft syllables molded in his honeyed Kansai dialect, Kiyoomi thinks this is the closest thing humans will ever have to true magic. He wants to kiss Atsumu and taste those words against tongue, hold the memory of their saccharinity close.
Of course though, since Kiyoomi isn't half has tactful as the most awkward human being on earth, all that comes out is a strangled,
"What?"
Atsumu swallows audibly, the bob of his Adam's apple as tantalizing as the way he keeps chewing on his plush bottom lip.
"I love ya. That's what I've been sayin'," he admits like it's a crime and not something Kiyoomi has been waiting for with bated breath since the very beginning of their relationship.
"Why couldn't you just tell me," to make up for his lack of fancy words and pretty ways to express how he's feeling, Kiyoomi holds him closer, reveling in the way Atsumu loops his arms around his neck, a gesture of trust even if his expression holds worry.
"In case ya didn't say it back," Atsumu said, doe eyes wide and innocent as if Kiyoomi not loving him was ever a possibility. "I just... needed ta say it. I wanted ya ta hear if even if ya didn't know...But I didn't wantcha ta know 'cause if ya didn't feel the same...I don't know."
Unfathomable. Atsumu and all his worries and ideas are completely unfathomable.
"But I'm with you. Willingly. All the time," he's confused, a little sad. Because he's wasted countless 'I love you's' with the excuse that Atsumu would run for the hills if he knew.
"Yeah Omi, I know. But tellin' someone ya love them is a big step. Like the second biggest after marriage. An' I didn't wanna scare ya off," Atsumu frowns, licking at his bottom lip obsessively - it often becomes his favorite play thing when he's nervous, a habit that Kiyoomi used to refuse to acknowledge the sweetness of.
Kiyoomi swallows around the words in his throat. How to say 'I love you'. So that's what Atsumu was so worried about. Such a fact breeds an unpleasant ache in Kiyoomi's chest. He never wants Atsumu to feel worried or afraid with him again.
So he decides then.
"Hey," he whispers one hand floating languidly from Atsumu's waist to his lips, thumb smoothing over anxiety-bitten areas, soothing them with a soft touch. "Je t'aime."