Archive of Our Own ^beta

There are questions about one’s lover that should have easy answers.

Their favorite food. Their preferred side of the bed, their favorite color, how they like their tea, how they need to be comforted after a long day. Their favorite music. Their favorite movie or television show. 

“How are they?” should be one of them.

For Atsumu, somehow it’s not.

“How can ya not know how yer boyfriend is doin’?” Osamu asks.

“Dunno,” Atsumu replies with a shrug. “We’re both busy, I guess.”

Osamu frowns. “Yer no more busy than ya were six months ago.”

Atsumu finishes his onigiri, takes a long sip of water, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What are ya gettin’ at? Why do ya even care?”

His brother smacks him on the top of his head. “Idiot.”

“Resortin’ to fuckin’ violence every chance ya get,” Atsumu grumbles, swatting another smack away. “Answer the goddamn question.”

“I’ll answer yer question, but only if ya promise not to get mad at me.”

“Yer actin’ like I’m some brute or somethin’—”

Osamu raises his brow, and Atsumu huffs, “Yer the brutish twin, not me.”

“Are ya gonna kill me for tellin’ ya the truth?”

“The truth?”

“Your relationship looks, from my perspective anyways, like it’s dyin’.”

Atsumu clenches his hands into fists. “Watch yer mouth.”

Osamu leans over the counter with a firm expression, undeterred by Atsumu’s glare. “When’s the last time you went on a date?”

Atsumu bristles. “That’s irrelevant—”

“Or spent any time together?”

“We spend time together!”

“Volleyball doesn’t count.”

His heart squeezes in his chest in a traitorous way, in a way that agrees with the concerned expression splayed on Osamu’s face, and Atsumu grits his teeth. “I spend time with him.”

“Do ya even sleep in the same bed anymore?”

Atsumu stands up from his stool, the legs squeaking against the floor, and the sole other customer in the shop shoots him a funny look. “Fuck you.”

Osamu swiftly makes his way around the counter and places both hands on Atsumu’s shoulders. “I’m right.”

He doesn’t want his brother to be right. He wants his brother to be wrong in every way possible, but he’s not. Osamu is right. He’s not sure when it happened. Maybe it was during the chaos of the Olympics. Maybe it was exhaustion from practice. Maybe it was something Atsumu couldn’t remember. All Atsumu can think is that Osamu is right. He can’t remember the last time they went on a date. Sure, they sit next to each other on the bus to their away games and kiss each other goodbye. But they say little, and the kisses are short. When they get back to the sharehouse, they go to their own rooms and sleep in their own beds. He can’t even remember the last time they had sex.

Atsumu swallows a sharp lump of fear in his throat. “You asshole—”

“I’m sayin’ it ‘cause I care and y’know it,” Osamu counters. “I’m not pointin’ it out to say it’s over between ya two.”

“You fuckin’ said our relationship is dyin’!”

“Yeah, I did,” he says without wavering. “But it’s not over. You can fix it.”

Atsumu sits down on the stool again and slumps forward in surrender. “How?”

“Talk to him.”

Kiyoomi has always been painfully blunt with him, and there’s no way Kiyoomi hasn’t noticed the lull between them, too. If he cared, if it mattered, Kiyoomi would have said something. He would have fixed it himself by now.

But Kiyoomi has said nothing, and Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut at the realization. Maybe the apparent slow death of their relationship means nothing to him. Maybe this is Kiyoomi’s way of breaking up with him.

“I can’t.”

Osamu sighs. “You can’t talk to yer goddamn boyfriend?”

“If I bring it up, he’s gonna break up with me.”

“You don’t know that.”

Atsumu’s head snaps up. “I do.”

“You gotta talk to him, Tsumu.”

“Gimme another option.”

“I can’t—”

“Gimme another fuckin’ option, Samu.”

He sighs again, wearier this time. “I guess you could try takin’ him on a date, maybe somethin’ different.”

“Different.”

“Somethin’ you’ve never done before, somethin’ more…intimate.”

“Please tell me yer not suggestin’ I take Omi to a sex club.”

Osamu rolls his eyes and marches back to his side of the onigiri counter. “Of course not, dumbass.”

“Then what the hell do ya mean by ‘intimate?’”

“For example, Rin and I went campin’ the other weekend. Or sightseein’ in a small town. Somethin’ like that.”

“Campin’,” Atsumu echoes.

“Yeah,” Osamu says. “Although I’m not sure if yer boyfriend’s a camper.”

Atsumu mulls it over. Their next weekend is completely free. Kiyoomi would absolutely say no to camping, but Atsumu’s heard more than a few times about adversity bringing people close together to be afraid of Kiyoomi’s wrath. Maybe being as far away from everything stressful in their lives is the key to overcoming whatever is pulling them apart.

“You got a tent I can borrow?”

“Are you for real?”

“Some sleepin’ bags? A fire pit?”

“If you bring him to a campsite, he might actually break up with you.”

“I’d rather him break up with me over campin’ than over a conversation.”

“You make no goddamn sense.”

I’d rather him break up with me over bringing him campin’, Atsumu wants to say, than because he doesn’t want me anymore.

“Do ya got the supplies or not?”

“I have the fuckin’ supplies,” his brother says. “But it’s not my fault if this ends in disaster.”

Atsumu ignores him and stands up from the stool, this time with resolve rather than anger. “I need to borrow yer car, too.”

“Wanna borrow my house while yer at it?”

“Can I?”

“Get outta here,” Osamu says with a dismissive wave. “I’ll bring the campin’ supplies next time ya come ‘round, and Tsumu?”

“What?”

“You should really, really talk to him.”

That conversation flits through his mind in jagged pieces. Kiyoomi confirming their relationship is dead. Kiyoomi saying he doesn’t love him anymore. Kiyoomi pointing out all of Atsumu’s failures as a boyfriend. Kiyoomi admitting there’s someone else.

Kiyoomi leaving him, and Atsumu finally realizing the mistake he made in letting it get this far.

“Bye, Samu,” Atsumu says with a wobble in his voice. “Thanks for the onigiri.”

Osamu gives him a heavy nod. “Anytime.”

“A weekend trip,” Kiyoomi says slowly, peering at Atsumu from the doorway of his room. “This weekend?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “Just you and me.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

He purses his mouth disapprovingly. “Tell me.”

“But it would kill the surprise!”

“Tell me.”

“Just north of Osaka,” Atsumu says, smiling through the half-truth. The campsite is about thirty minutes north of Osaka, so he isn’t technically lying. “I figured we could go sightseein’ or somethin’, spend time relaxin’.”

“Why?”

His suspicious tone makes Atsumu flinch. In the past, Kiyoomi would have nodded and scolded Atsumu for not including him in the planning process. Then he would have kissed him and helped him pack.

Their relationship really was dying.

Maybe it was already dead.

“I wanna spend time with you, Omi.”

“We’re busy—”

“Not this weekend,” Atsumu interrupts him. “Unless you got plans…with someone else.”

Kiyoomi takes a step back. “What does that mean?”

“Nothin’,” Atsumu says, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you free or not?”

Kiyoomi folds his arms behind his back. “I’m free.”

Atsumu lets out a sigh of relief. “You good to leave Friday afternoon?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Atsumu frowns. “You always gotta choice.”

Kiyoomi opens his mouth and then closes it, something foreign flickering in his dark eyes. He swallows and then says, “Friday is fine.”

Atsumu nods. He leans forward to kiss Kiyoomi like he always does, but he feels hollow now. Alien. Scary. He presses a light kiss to Kiyoomi’s cheek and turns on his heel. “See ya then.”

“You’re driving,” Kiyoomi says in a flat voice, his narrowed eyes scanning Osamu’s car. “I could have driven.”

“Am I not allowed to drive ya for once?”

“I’ve never seen you drive.”

Atsumu lets out a frustrated exhale. “Yes, you have. I’ve driven yer car before when you were sleepy. Remember?”

“Oh,” Kiyoomi says. “Right.”

Every little thing, every sign and indifferent microexpression on Kiyoomi’s face, is an arrow through Atsumu’s heart. All he can hear is his brother’s voice saying he’s right. All he can hear is Kiyoomi’s voice in his recent nightmares telling him it’s over.

“So,” Kiyoomi says, breaking Atsumu free from his thoughts. “My bag.”

“I’ll put it in the trunk,” Atsumu says, picking up his gym bag and throwing it over his shoulder. “Go ahead and get comfortable up front.”

Kiyoomi eyes him suspiciously for the thousandth time before yanking open the car door and slamming it behind him. An exasperated groan escapes Atsumu’s mouth, and he tucks Kiyoomi’s bag next to one of the sleeping bags. He stares up at the sky and swallows the next groan. It’s a soft blue with gray clouds looming in the distance. When he read the forecast and saw there was a slight chance of rain, he laughed. Of course, his attempt to fix this could be rained upon. Of course, the sky would open itself up and weep all over his misery. At the very least, the rain would be light, and Osamu assured him the tent would be fine. Maybe the rain would be romantic.

“Why are we doing this?” Kiyoomi asks as soon as Atsumu slides into the car. “Why are you taking me somewhere?”

Atsumu forcefully punches his seat belt into the buckle and grips the steering wheel tightly. “Didja not hear me the first time? I wanna spend time with you.”

“Why now?”

“Do I need a reason?” Atsumu asks, shifting the car into drive and pulling off the curb. “Yer my boyfriend. Boyfriends spend time together.”

Kiyoomi unfolds a mask out from his pocket and methodically places it over the lower half of his face, and Atsumu wants to shout a thousand curses. Kiyoomi is hiding from him. Kiyoomi mostly wore his mask for hygienic purposes, but sometimes he did it to hide a blush, a wobbly mouth, or a wavering chin. He’s hiding something from Atsumu now. Maybe a frown that would tell Atsumu what he’s thinking. Maybe a cool, indifferent expression that would confirm Kiyoomi doesn’t care anymore.

Atsumu keeps his eyes on the road and says nothing. As much as it pains him to admit, he wants Kiyoomi to hide. He doesn’t want to know, and that makes him just as distant as Kiyoomi.

“I’m allowed to remark on the fact that it’s odd you suggested this out of nowhere.”

“I never said you weren’t allowed.”

“You’re not answering my question honestly.”

Atsumu grips the steering wheel tighter. “I am.”

“You aren’t.”

“If I tell ya I miss ya, is that good enough?” Atsumu demands, angrily flicking the blinker and turning left. “Or are ya not gonna believe that either?”

Kiyoomi stares at him with those unblinking, dark eyes before quickly looking out the window. “Fine.”

“I’ll take that as gettin’ yer permission to miss ya.”

“There’s no reason to miss me. We see each other almost every day.”

“So, I actually don’t got yer permission.”

Kiyoomi sighs. “It’s just strange.”

“Actin’ like yer boyfriend is strange?”

Kiyoomi pauses, and the car fills with terrible, crushing silence. “That’s not how I meant it.”

“Whatever,” Atsumu says, turning on the radio. “You can nap if ya want. It won’t take long.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Yes, you are,” Atsumu says. While Kiyoomi hides some parts of himself, Atsumu will always be able to read his exhaustion. “Just sleep.”

Kiyoomi’s hands curl into fists in his lap before slowly releasing. “Fine.”

Atsumu pulls onto the road leading into the forest, and he takes a deep breath. This is it. Either Kiyoomi sticks this out, sticks with Atsumu, or he’ll jump out of the car and walk all the way back home. Atsumu’s not sure which outcome scares him most. He wants to fix the ache in his chest, even if it means tearing it open before stitching it back together again.

“We’re here,” Atsumu says.

Kiyoomi lightly stirs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Even though Atsumu is frustrated with him, he finds him still so adorable. His ruffled curls. His yellow pullover and dark jeans. His bleary eyes, the little sound he makes when he rouses, the yawns he can’t fight. Cute, Atsumu thinks. When did I stop payin’ attention to how cute you are?

The magic quickly dissipates when Kiyoomi sits upright, his eyes wildly scanning each window. “Where are we?”

“So, ‘bout that sightseein’…”

“Please tell me,” Kiyoomi says icily, “we are not doing what I think we’re doing.”

“It was Samu’s idea,” Atsumu blurts.

“Pull over.”

Atsumu accelerates the car a smidge. “No.”

“Pull the car over.”

Atsumu gestures at the narrow path. “I can’t.”

Kiyoomi groans into his hands. “When you told me to wear comfortable clothes for walking, I didn’t realize you were taking me to a forest.”

“I figured it would be fun to do somethin’ new!”

“What about camping screams ‘fun’ for someone like me?”

“Someone like you?”

“Turn the car around.”

“Not now,” Atsumu says, more determined. “I wanna do this with you, Omi.”

That makes Kiyoomi hesitate. “Why?”

“Goddammit, I toldja why,” Atsumu snaps. “I wanna spend time with you.”

“In a campsite?”

“It’s more…intimate!” Atsumu says, borrowing the word from his brother. “I wanna be close to ya, and the best place to do that is when there’s no people ‘round or civilization or whatever the fuck. I dunno why yer so goddamn suspicious of me, but I’m tellin’ the truth.”

Kiyoomi stares at him blankly, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. His head snaps to face the windshield, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

Atsumu forces his best smile when they approach the attendant. The woman is upbeat and chatty while Atsumu shows her his reservation, and Atsumu can swear Kiyoomi is glaring at her over his mask. In the past, that would make Atsumu feel wanted. Now, he just knows Kiyoomi is angry to be here. The novelty has worn off. 

They drive in silence toward their allotted space, and Atsumu taps his fingers nervously against the wheel. No matter what happens, the forest is beautiful this time in November. The tall trees boast red and yellow leaves, and billowy rain clouds hover over the treetops with the promise to water the precious soil. They pass a few other tents, but the campsite is peacefully sparse with people. 

Kiyoomi begrudgingly opens his car door and carefully examines the dirt floor before closing it again. “What is your plan exactly?”

“We’ll make the tent first—”

“You’ll make the tent.”

Atsumu sighs. “But it’ll be faster if ya help me.”

Kiyoomi crosses his arms even tighter over his chest. “This was your idea.”

“But—”

“Let me know when you’re done,” Kiyoomi says, pulling out his phone. He is already scrolling through his unread emails, most likely something to do with his finances, and his mind is far away from Atsumu and the forest.

Atsumu closes his eyes. “Fine.”

He hops out of the car and slams the car door with unnecessary force. He stalks to the trunk and pops it open, snatching the tent with a loud huff. He has no right to be angry at Kiyoomi, but he is. He’s angry that Kiyoomi is sending emails rather than fighting with him. He’s angry that Kiyoomia acts more indifferent than outraged.

When, Omi? he wants to ask. When didja stop carin’ ‘bout me?

The tent is an unruly beast, and it is embarrassing how many times he fumbles with the poles. For once he is grateful Kiyoomi is too busy ignoring him because he looks like an oafish clown wrestling with the fabric. He is killing Osamu for planting this idea in his head, and this is totally Osamu’s fault. Not his, not Kiyoomi’s, not anyone’s other than his brother’s.

If only Osamu hadn’t said that word: dying.

With the tent firmly planted on the ground, Atsumu wipes the sweat off his forehead and takes a deep breath. He continues to set up their campsite: unrolling the sleeping bags and setting them inside, zipping up the tent, and setting the fire pit aside. He glances at the car, where Kiyoomi sits with his head in his hands. A part of him wants to glimpse inside his mind and know what he’s thinking. Another part is too scared to even glimpse his face.

“I’m done,” Atsumu says through the car door. “Let’s go hikin’.”

“Hiking,” Kiyoomi echoes him.

“What else do ya do in a forest?”

Kiyoomi tentatively opens the door, and Atsumu steps aside. “Do you even know how to get to the local trails?”

Atsumu clicks his tongue. “Of course, I do.”

“If we get lost—”

“We won’t.”

Kiyoomi glances down at his phone, and Atsumu impatiently taps his foot against the dirt. 

“Can you stop starin’ at yer phone?”

Kiyoomi hastily tucks it in his back pocket. “Let’s get this over with.”

Atsumu scoffs under his breath and jabs his thumb in the direction of the trailhead. “Follow me.”

The leaves crunch under their stomping shoes, and Kiyoomi’s taciturn demeanor never budges from underneath his mask. Despite their collective frustration and resentment, the trail is beautiful. A squirrel scurries up a tall tree, and birds chirp high above them. Atsumu has always liked the yellow leaves more than the red; they remind him of Kiyoomi’s favorite color. 

Kiyoomi trudges behind him, and Atsumu kicks at the dirt. “I know you can walk faster than that.”

Kiyoomi stops in his tracks. “My apologies for not being my usual self. I didn’t expect to spend my weekend hiking in a random forest while poorly dressed for the occasion.”

“You seem plenty like yer usual self.”

“What does that mean?”

“Actin’ like a pain in the goddamn ass.”

Kiyoomi places both hands on his hips, his legs drawn in a wide stance, and glares at him. “Says the person that dragged me here.”

“I drove you here.”

“You lied to me.”

“I toldja north of Osaka. We’re north of Osaka.”

“You lied to me.”

“God forbid I wanna surprise you!”

“You know,” Kiyoomi hisses, “I hate surprises.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Are you expecting me to apologize for not being who you want me to be?”

Atsumu’s jaw goes slack. “That’s how yer takin’ it?”

“How else am I supposed to take it? It’s fairly obvious what you’re trying to tell me.”

A droplet of rain splatters onto a crumpled leaf on the ground before another crashes onto a boulder. Rain falls onto Kiyoomi’s curls, and Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut when rain splashes on his brow.

“You really took me camping in the rain,” Kiyoomi says, almost in awe. “You actually thought this was a good idea.”

“As opposed to what?” Atsumu spits out. “Goin’ back to ignorin’ each other?”

Kiyoomi flinches. “So, you finally noticed?”

Atsumu grinds his teeth, feeling like a fool for not noticing it sooner. He loves volleyball; he’ll always love volleyball, and he’ll always pour himself into it with complete surrender. Something he loves about dating Kiyoomi is that he never has to compromise that part of himself. Kiyoomi loves volleyball, too. He agreed volleyball came first, and Atsumu felt like it was no problem to strive after being the best setter and that goal alone.

Somewhere in the past two and a half years Kiyoomi officially came in second or maybe third to volleyball rather than being its equal. He directed all his attention at volleyball, and he let everything else fall away. Atsumu chose volleyball over Kiyoomi, and he always thought that was okay to do. 

Now all those hours spent in the gym and on the court since May feel like a waste.

“Why didn’t ya say anythin’?” Atsumu asks. “I thought you were more honest than that.”

Kiyoomi took a small step back and shielded his eyes from the rain. “I guess I’m not always the way you like.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Atsumu says, stalking toward him. The rain falls harder, soaking their hair and clothes. The forest is a cacophony of noise—rocks, trees, shrubs, and gravel shivering with each passing curtain of water. Atsumu stands tall against a gust of wind, and he pursues Kiyoomi every time the latter steps backward. “You keep sayin’ shit like that.”

“You brought me camping,” Kiyoomi says, ripping off his wet mask to reveal a quivering mouth. “Is that what you want? Someone who likes camping?”

“You aren’t makin’ any goddamn sense!”

“Let me be clearer,” Kiyoomi says, raising his voice. “If you want someone else, then stop looking for it in me.”

Atsumu lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you tellin’ me to date someone else?”

Kiyoomi wraps his arms around himself, and he steps backward again when Atsumu tries to give him his hoodie. “If that’s what you want.”

“If that’s what I want?” Atsumu asks. “This is ‘bout whatcha want, and it sure sounds like you want me to go date other people. Is this what you want, Omi? For me to go out and find whoever the fuck and be with them instead? You’d be okay with that? You’d be fine with me sharin’ someone else’s bed? ‘Cause if that’s what you want—”

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen, and he suddenly launches forward. Atsumu dodges him, but Kiyoomi doesn’t tackle him or accost him. He sprints.

Kiyoomi sprints into the rain-drenched forest, and Atsumu sprints after him.

“Get back here!” Atsumu shouts after him. “Slow down!”

“Leave me alone!”

Atsumu takes a deep breath and runs faster.

“I’m not leavin’ ya alone in a goddamn forest,” Atsumu says between gasping breaths. He trains hard for grueling volleyball matches—not chasing his boyfriend uphill in the rain. “Get yer ass back here, Omi.”

“No.”

Atsumu digs into the dirt and charges after him until his muscles burn, and he grasps Kiyoomi’s hand and pulls him to a stop. Kiyoomi tries to weasel out of his grip, but Atsumu stands firm. “Stop runnin’ from me.”

Kiyoomi yanks out of his hold, but Atsumu quickly regains control and keeps him in place. “Stop. Runnin’. From. Me.”

“Or what?” Kiyoomi challenges him.

“I’ll chase you,” Atsumu breathes. “I’ll chase you till I can’t run anymore.”

The rain falls even harder, but the droplets do not wash away Kiyoomi’s tears. They mingle.

“Omi,” Atsumu says, his voice soft and tinged with exasperation. “What is it? Yer usually so honest with me. Why didn’t ya say somethin’? Is it ‘cause—’cause you don’t want me anymore?”

Kiyoomi rips out of his grasp and crouches down, covering his face with his hands.

“Omi—”

“Because I’m scared,” Kiyoomi says, peeking at Atsumu between his fingers. “I’m scared.”

“Scared?” Atsumu asks, crouching in front of him. “Yer never scared.”

“You’re the only person who can make me feel scared,” Kiyoomi says, tears cracking his voice. “Only you.”

Tears burn the corners of Atsumu’s eyes, and he struggles to swallow. “Scared, like in a bad way? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“You are such an idiot.”

“How ‘bout you stop fuckin’ insultin’ me and explain—”

Kiyoomi leaps to his feet and promptly sprints further down the trail. Atsumu groans in frustration and jumps back into the chase, fighting his labored breathing and the chill against his skin. He searches for the bright yellow pullover among the trees, and he runs as fast as he can.

“I’m scared, too!” Atsumu yells. “You think I wanna lose you?”

Kiyoomi says nothing, only taking a side trail and picking up the pace.

“Goddammit!” Atsumu says, spitting out a mouthful of rainwater. “Get back here!”

Kiyoomi runs just out of Atsumu’s reach, but he comes to a sudden halt when he comes across a fallen tree blocking the path.

Atsumu rests both hands on his upper thighs and nearly wheezes. “Yer killin’ me.”

Before Kiyoomi can consider jumping over the tree or sprinting in a different direction, Atsumu wraps both arms around Kiyoomi and doesn’t let go.

“Don’t make me carry yer ass over my shoulder.”

Kiyoomi squirms but fails to escape. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would! Take yer pick. Stay here with me and talk to me or enjoy bein’ slung over my shoulder.”

Kiyoomi bangs his forehead against Atsumu’s shoulder. “I got the sense you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I wanna talk ‘bout it now.”

“Why?”

Atsumu sighs. “Always with the suspicions. Let’s talk ‘bout this back at camp. You gonna walk with me or are we doin’ this the hard way?”

“You can’t pick me up. I’m stronger than you.”

“No, yer not.”

“I am.”

“Yer not.”

“Try me,” Kiyoomi says defiantly.

“Omi,” Atsumu says softly. “Just come back with me. It took me too long to figure it out, ‘kay? But I did, and I wanna talk it through.”

Kiyoomi tenses and then immediately relaxes, burying his face in Atsumu’s neck. “I want to talk it through, too.”

“Are you gonna run?”

Kiyoomi takes too long to answer, and Atsumu doesn’t hesitate. He scoops his boyfriend in his arms and throws him over his shoulder.

“Let me down,” Kiyoomi says with lethal precision, “right now.”

“So I can letcha get lost in the woods?”

“I am not lost.”

“Oh yeah? What trail are we on?”

Kiyoomi says nothing, and Atsumu lets out a genuine laugh. “Can I put you down?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi huffs.

“Are you gonna follow me?”

“I won’t run away.”

Atsumu begins walking back toward camp with his boyfriend, kicking and slapping him, still over his shoulder. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says, “put me down.”

“Not fair,” Atsumu whines. He’s always been a sucker for Kiyoomi saying his name. “Fine.”

He sets Kiyoomi down on the ground, and he dismissively waves at Kiyoomi’s venomous glare.

“Take my hand and follow me,” Atsumu says, holding out his hand. “It’s non-negotiable.”

“I thought you said I always have a choice.”

“That was before you sprinted like a lunatic through the forest. Hold my goddamn hand.”

Kiyoomi tentatively slides his hand into Atsumu’s, and Atsumu hates how cold Kiyoomi’s hand is. He squeezes it tight, hoping to transfer all of his warmth to him. 

“When you say we’re going to talk,” Kiyoomi says slowly, “you’re not going to break up with me, right?”

Atsumu blinks at him. “Is that what you thought I was doin’ bringin’ you campin’?”

Kiyoomi frowns and looks down at the ground. “Yes.”

“Why the fuck would I break up with you out here?”

“All of a sudden you wanted to take me out, you were obviously lying to me, and you were also clearly angry with me. What else was I supposed to think?”

“I’m not breakin’ up with you, Omi,” Atsumu says, his heart thudding heavily in his chest with sudden guilt. “I thought you were gonna break up with me.”

Kiyoomi peers up at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Oh,” Kiyoomi says. “I’m sorry.”

Atsumu furrows his brow and opens his mouth at the rare apology from the proud and unrepentant Sakusa Kiyoomi. “Say that again.”

“No.”

“Say it again or I’m carryin’ ya over my shoulder.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “You can’t threaten that every time you don’t get your way.”

“I think I can actually.”

“How about you race me back instead?”

“I don’t think I can run anymore ‘cause—hey!”

Kiyoomi disentangles their hands and takes off in the direction of the campsite, and Atsumu shouts, “Yer gonna regret that!”

“Empty threats,” Kiyoomi shouts back, and Atsumu runs as fast as he can, faster than before, until he finally reaches him. 

“I win,” Atsumu breathes once they reach the trailhead.

“Winner reaches the car first,” Kiyoomi taunts him, reaching into his reserves and picking up speed. “You can’t catch me.”

“Yes, I can,” Atsumu promises him. “Just watch me.”

Atsumu trails after Kiyoomi, but he finally tackles him just as they reach their lot, pushing him against the car and wrapping his arms around his neck.

“I’m not breakin’ up with you.”

Rain continues to soak their hair and clothes, water trickling down their faces in small rivulets, and their teeth chatter in the cold. But they hold each other tightly, and they keep each other warm. Kiyoomi buries his face in Atsumu’s neck again, wrapping his arms around his waist. 

“I’m not breaking up with you either.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Yes.”

Atsumu pulls back to see his boyfriend’s blushing face, red both from the cold and that adorable embarrassment he endures every time he’s a little affectionate. Cute, he thinks again. I’m never forgettin’ how cute you are ever again.

It’s cold, he’s shivering, and his boots are covered in dirt. It’s not as romantic out here as he imagined, but there’s only one thing he wants. 

“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu whispers.

Kiyoomi closes his eyes. “What?”

“I love you.”

His eyes blink open. “You do?”

Atsumu chuckles. “Idiot.”

He bridges the small gap between them and kisses him—slowly, tentatively, as if asking a question only Kiyoomi could answer. Kiyoomi replies with a fierce kiss, lacking any slowness or hesitation, and his arms tighten around him. Atsumu matches his passion, his hands wandering up into his curls and squeezing them, and hums against his lips. Rainwater slips between their faces and drips into their mouths, and Kiyoomi breaks the kiss.

“Inside the car,” he breathes.

“Or the tent?” Atsumu suggests.

Kiyoomi gives him a severe look. “The car.”

Atsumu retrieves their spare pairs of shoes from the trunk, and they quickly change into fresh tennis shoes before sliding into the car. He hurriedly turns on the car and the heat, and Kiyoomi rubs his hands over the vent beside him. Atsumu leans in to kiss him again, but Kiyoomi places a firm, warmer hand on his chest.

“We need to talk first.”

Atsumu sighs. “I can’t kiss ya a bit more?”

“No,” Kiyoomi says with narrowed eyes. “You promised to talk it through with me.”

“I will.”

“You will now.”

“Okay, okay!” Atsumu says with a pout. Beneath his petulant demeanor brews fear and dread. He knows this isn’t over now, but he doesn’t want to confront the fact that their relationship could have been. He doesn’t want to confront his mistakes, this overwhelming sense that he lost, that he couldn’t be as perfect as a boyfriend as he is as a setter, and that he made Kiyoomi cry. 

But he promised to talk it through. He promised to catch up to Kiyoomi, to never let him run ahead alone.

Atsumu scratches the back of his neck. Just like Kiyoomi, he is not good at saying sorry. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

“You were busy,” Kiyoomi says quietly.

“Stop makin’ excuses for me.”

“I was busy, too.”

“We were both busy, but we’ve been busy before. I dunno why it was different this time.”

Kiyoomi fidgets with the hem of his drenched pullover. “We’ve been together longer.”

“How is that an explanation?”

“We’re more comfortable with each other,” Kiyoomi explains with a hint of annoyance, “meaning it’s easier to go on autopilot and ignore the little things.”

He swallows. “Nothin’ I ignored was a little thing.”

Kiyoomi looks down at his lap. “I should have said something.”

“You should have.”

Kiyoomi peers up at him with full-blown annoyance. “You should have noticed it.”

He feigns a lazy smile. “Should I have?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi says with a soft frown. “I don’t know. Both of us were idiots.”

“I got Omi apologizin’ to me and callin’ himself an idiot all in one night. Am I dreamin’?”

Kiyoomi pinches Atsumu’s arm, eliciting a small yelp, and lets out a stubborn huff. “This is very real.”

“Can I get a real kiss?”

“Not yet.”

Atsumu groans, but the dread swirls in his stomach and climbs up his throat. He knows this isn’t resolved yet. He knows it’s his turn to be vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, Omi,” he says, his voice now soft and apologetic. “I let volleyball get in the way.”

He waits for Kiyoomi to tease him for saying sorry, but Kiyoomi bites his bottom lip. “It wasn’t in the way.”

“We both admitted we were busy.”

“And we both know we can’t give up volleyball even a centimeter, no matter what you say,” Kiyoomi counters. “There’s a way to be together without sacrificing anything.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

Kiyoomi pinches him again. “Will you listen?”

“I’m listenin’.”

“Good.” Kiyoomi straightens his posture and crosses one leg over the other in an almost professional manner. “We have to be intentional.”

“With what?”

“Everything,” Kiyoomi says. “We need to set aside planned time every week to see each other. We don’t have to spend every night together—”

“I want to,” Atsumu says. He’s not sure why they stopped. Maybe it was pure exhaustion from their increasing workloads. Maybe Atsumu was subconsciously avoiding Kiyoomi out of a mutual fear of being abandoned. Maybe they simply forgot, but Atsumu doesn’t want to forget again. He doesn’t want to forget Kiyoomi’s sleeping face, his little sighs throughout the night, the warmth of their legs intertwined. He wants to remember everything about Kiyoomi, about them, about love.

“Well, not every night,” Kiyoomi says. “I want to sleep well every now and then.”

“Hey! We sleep well together!”

“On a twin bed?” Kiyoomi says with a raised brow. 

“Would you prefer a tent?”

Kiyoomi scowls at him. “No.”

“Fine,” Atsumu relents. “Not every night, but at least on the weekends.”

“I agree.”

“What else do we need to be ‘intentional’ ‘bout?”

“We should choose a night for dates.”

“Wednesdays.”

“I truly appreciate your undying instinct to never ask for my opinion.”

“Thursdays?” 

Kiyoomi crosses his arms over his chest. “Wednesdays.”

Atsumu grins victoriously at him. “Anythin’ else?”

His face turns pink. “Sex.”

“You propositionin’ me right now?”

“Can you take me seriously?”

“I take you plenty seriously.”

“Then listen to me without flirting.”

“I can’t help but flirt with ya. Yer my boyfriend.”

Kiyoomi’s blush spreads to his ears. “I want to have sex again.”

“I do, too.”

“But it’s not like it was at the start of our relationship. We need to set aside time for it.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“Good.”

“And Omi?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t gotta be afraid of talkin’ to me,” he says gently, caressing his face. “There’s nothin’ to be afraid of.”

Kiyoomi leans into his touch. “I’ll try to trust you won’t break up with me if I talk about it.”

“Yes,” Atsumu says dryly. “Please trust me a little harder next time.”

“Same goes for you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Can I kiss ya now?”

Kiyoomi shyly nods. “You can.”

The kiss isn’t tentative because Atsumu is unsure or still dreads what is to come. He wants to get it right. He wants to remember every little detail: the curls plastered to his forehead, those adorable moles peeking out from his hair, the fullness of his lips, the shy blush on his cheeks, his wet eyelashes, his dark eyes, his drenched clothes. He wants to never take Kiyoomi for granted ever again. He wants to cherish him without forgetting to savor how lucky he is to have him.

“I love you,” Kiyoomi breathes. “I love you, Atsumu.”

“I love you, Omi,” Atsumu says, cupping his face with his palm. “Always.”

The kiss grows from careful to frenzied, their hands roaming over each other’s chests, slipping underneath each other’s shirts, grazing against sensitive skin, and lingering around their waistbands. Their tongues tangle, slip past each other, and taste what they almost lost. Their mouths crash and press and fit perfectly like a finally solved puzzle. They gasp, they moan, they hum, they whisper I love you, they kiss and kiss and kiss until the car grows unbearably hot. Rain hammers the roof of the car, but all they hear is each other.

After letting out a broken moan, Kiyoomi pulls back. “I’m not having sex with you in a car.”

“There is a perfectly fine tent out there.”

Kiyoomi glares at him, and Atsumu sighs. All that fumbling and frustration was for nothing. 

Atsumu caresses the inside of Kiyoomi’s wrist and tilts his head. “Will a hotel do?”

His glare melts before his eyes burn with something far more dangerous, and he says, “Let’s get out of here.”

Atsumu eyes the tent wavering in the wind, and he gulps. “I need to take that down first.”

“I’ll help you with the stupid tent.”

“You will?”

“I can’t wait forever for you to dismantle it. You looked like a buffoon putting it together.”

“You watched that?”

“Of course I did,” Kiyoomi says. “Even when it doesn’t seem like it, my eyes are always on you.”

Kiyoomi has to remind him three times to obey the law and drive like a normal person. It’s hard to drive normally when all he wants is to kiss Kiyoomi silly, but he follows his GPS’ instructions to the nearest love hotel like they’re holy scripture. He feels like an inexperienced fool as he fumbles with the payment, but Kiyoomi says nothing. As soon as the elevator doors close, their mouths are back on each other with renewed urgency. Kiyoomi pushes Atsumu up against the wall and wedges his leg between Atsumu’s thighs, grinding against his growing erection. Atsumu gasps for air, and Kiyoomi leads him by the collar once the door opens, tossing him surprisingly shy glances as they make their way down the hall. They stumble into the room, their shirts already halfway over their heads, and Kiyoomi shakes his head when Atsumu tries to suck on his neck.

“Shower first.”

Atsumu whines impatiently, but he steps back and glances at the bathroom. “You can go first.”

“I want to shower together.”

Atsumu blinks at him. “I thought that was off-limits.”

Kiyoomi grabs his hand and tugs him toward the bathroom. “I changed my mind.”

Atsumu practically rips his clothes off, and Kiyoomi follows suit. Atsumu impatiently waits for the water to warm up, but he takes the time as an opportunity to stare at his naked boyfriend: his toned muscles, the constellations of moles scattered across his skin, his flushed face, and his hard-on. 

Sexy, Atsumu thinks. I’m never wastin’ an opportunity to see ya this sexy ever again.

When Kiyoomi’s face reddens, Atsumu realizes he said it aloud. It doesn’t matter; Kiyoomi ought to know he is adored, that he always has been, and that he always will be. As soon as the water is at a satisfactory temperature, Atsumu excitedly hops into the shower and begs Kiyoomi to join him with his eyes. He wastes nothing—no opportunity, no time, no moment. He runs his hands over Kiyoomi’s chest, intentionally skating over his nipples and down to his hip bones. 

“Wash up first,” Kiyoomi breathes. “Be patient.”

“I want you,” Atsumu says, desperate and unafraid.

“You can have me when we’re clean.”

“Fine,” Atsumu huffs. “Pass me the shampoo.”

Kiyoomi picks up the small bottle, but he pours it into his own palm. “I want to wash your hair.”

“Don’t trust me to wash it properly?”

Kiyoomi sighs. “I just want to. Turn around.”

Atsumu obeys without any further protest, gulping as he waits for Kiyoomi to touch him. Despite the hot water, he shivers when Kiyoomi’s fingers slide effortlessly through his hair. He massages his scalp slowly, suds building up from his fingertips and into Atsumu’s hair, and his nails gently scrape up and down from the crown of his head to his nape. Atsumu closes his eyes and approvingly hums, and Kiyoomi steps forward until his erection presses against Atsumu’s ass.

“Fuck! Fuck, Omi, please lemme touch you.”

“I’m not done yet.”

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue, and he washes Atsumu’s hair at an even slower pace. Atsumu wants to beg again, but it feels so fucking good to be cared for. To be touched this lovingly, this carefully, this adoringly. He hums again, and Kiyoomi kisses his shoulder.

“Tilt your head back.”

He lifts his chin toward the ceiling, and Kiyoomi shields Atsumu’s eyes from the water with his hand. He runs his fingers through his hair, washing out any remaining shampoo. He does the entire process again with conditioner, but he speeds up his pace when Atsumu impatiently grinds against him.

“I can wash yer hair if you want.”

Kiyoomi hands Atsumu a washcloth and a bar of soap. “No.”

“Don’t trust me to wash yer hair right?”

“Yes,” he says primly.

“So high maintenance.”

Kiyoomi flicks water in his face and deftly dodges Atsumu’s retaliation. He nods at the bar of soap in Atsumu’s hand, and Atsumu sighs. Only Kiyoomi could make Atsumu tolerate another person’s ridiculous standards and needs.

Kiyoomi washes his hair methodically, targeting every curl with shampoo and then conditioner, and it takes Atsumu forever to wash his body because he keeps getting distracted by staring at him. 

“The longer you take to wash yourself, the longer you’ll have to wait to touch me.”

“You still have to wash yerself.”

Kiyoomi snatches the soap out of his hands. “I’m more efficient than you.”

“It would be nice if ya were a little distracted by me, too.”

Kiyoomi glances down at his own erection and then up at Atsumu’s face. “I’m plenty distracted. Be patient.”

“Fine,” Atsumu whines. “Hurry up.”

Kiyoomi acts like a tease, washing himself in slow circles, his hands lingering in the places Atsumu knows he is most sensitive. Atsumu tries to take over, but Kiyoomi slaps his hands away every time. He goes back to washing himself, this time running his hand along the length of his dick, and Atsumu groans. This isn’t teasing; it’s torture.

“Yer doin’ that on purpose.”

“Washing myself?”

“Turnin’ me on.”

Kiyoomi sets aside the soap and lets the water rinse away any suds. “You can touch me now.”

Atsumu doesn’t hesitate. He throws his arms around his neck and kisses him, breathing in steam and the smell of fresh soap. The shower water is much more comforting and warm than rainwater, and Atsumu angles Kiyoomi’s face away from the showerhead so no water drips into their eyes or mouths. Kiyoomi frames Atsumu’s face with his hands, kissing him hungrily and without any slowness. He is daring with each nip of his teeth, every suck, every lick, every desperate kiss. He walks Atsumu back until he’s flush with the wall, and he grinds their erections together. The sound of water barely drowns out their moans, and Atsumu grinds back without thought.

“Turn around again,” Kiyoomi tells him, his voice husky and low.

Atsumu’s heart quickens. “Why?”

“Do it.”

His eyes widen in realization. “Are you actually—?”

“Turn around.”

Atsumu turns around and braces himself against the wall, and Kiyoomi drops to his knees without giving Atsumu a moment to prepare himself. Before Atsumu can question Kiyoomi’s judgment, Kiyoomi grips Atsumu’s hips, pulls his ass backward, spreads his legs, and swipes his tongue across his hole.

“Goddammit!” Atsumu shouts, banging the wall with his fist. He reaches behind him with his other hand, tangling his fingers with his curls, and curses under his breath when Kiyoomi does it again.

“Fuck,” Atsumu moans. “Fuck, Omi. Fuck.”

The hot water on his back and his boyfriend’s tongue licking him over and over combine together into a searing, dizzying warmth. Kiyoomi licks him slowly and then with quick darts of just the tip of his tongue, and Atsumu pants as he feels himself grow painfully hard.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he says, whimpering when Kiyoomi replies with the slowest lick yet. “Yer killin’ me.”

Kiyoomi starts sucking, and Atsumu is convinced he might actually die.

“Omi,” he whines. “I’m close. I feel so close.”

Kiyoomi wraps his hand around Atsumu’s dick, slides his fist up and down only once, and Atsumu comes with a shout. Kiyoomi continues to move his hand through Atsumu’s orgasm, and Atsumu tells him through gasps to stop.

Kiyoomi grips Atsumu’s hips tighter to prevent him from falling, and he slowly comes to a stand. “I should really do that again.”

“Fuck,” Atsumu says, his whole body trembling with aftershocks. “What got into yer head to do that?”

He shrugs. “I felt like it.”

Atsumu gawks at him, and Kiyoomi steps out of the shower. “I’m going to brush my teeth and get the bedroom ready. Wash up again.”

“So bossy,” he grumbles, grabbing the soap and washing himself with shaky hands. “Gimme some time to prepare.”

Kiyoomi reaches forward and caresses his cheek. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Their room is a simple one with all black furniture and bedding, and Kiyoomi is a stark contrast against the dark comforter in his white robe and his rosy cheeks. Atsumu wants to throw himself at him, but his legs are still unstable. He’s not sure he’ll be able to walk properly by their next practice, and he can’t bring himself to care right now.

“Come here,” Kiyoomi says, patting the bed beside him. “Unless you need me to carry you?”

“Only if I decide to go on a marathon through the woods,” Atsumu says, laughing at Kiyoomi’s sheepish expression. “I can walk on my own.”

“I only did that because I didn’t want to hear you talk about dating other people.”

Atsumu’s face softens, and he climbs onto the bed to kiss Kiyoomi’s cheek. “I only talked like that ‘cause I was mad. I don’t wanna be with anyone but you.”

“Good,” Kiyoomi says, grabbing Atsumu’s chin and kissing him. “Because you’re mine.”

Something that surprised Atsumu when they first started dating was how possessive Kiyoomi can be. He’s never controlling, accusatory, or overly insecure; he simply can’t hide the disdain on his face when other people flirt with Atsumu. He marks his territory with his scowl, and it never bothered Atsumu. He loves it. He loves feeling wanted, feeling like he has found someone other than Osamu that fully appreciates him, and feeling loved.

Kiyoomi squeezes his chin tighter and whispers, “Mine” between every kiss. “You belong to me—no one else.”

“I’m yers,” Atsumu gasps into his mouth. “I don’t want anyone else.”

“Don’t talk like that ever again.”

“Don’t imply I should date other people again.”

“I won’t,” Kiyoomi says. “Now that I know we’re fine.”

“We’ll always be fine, Omi,” Atsumu says, kissing his neck, “if we want to be.”

“I want to be,” Kiyoomi whispers. “I want you.”

Atsumu peels off Kiyoomi’s robe and kisses the space above his heart. Kiyoomi hums in approval and tosses the robe onto the floor, throwing back his head when Atsumu pinches one nipple and sucks on the other. 

“Mine,” Kiyoomi whispers.

“Yers.”

“Mine,” he says again. “Mine.”

Atsumu teases his nipple with his teeth, and Kiyoomi groans in frustration. Kiyoomi hurriedly takes off Atsumu’s robe and throws it haphazardly on the floor, showing uncharacteristic disregard for their garments. He tries to tackle Atsumu onto his back, but Atsumu doesn’t budge.

“Nuh uh,” Atsumu says with a tut of his finger. “It’s my turn to punish you.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “Punish me?”

“You nearly killed me back there,” Atsumu says, glancing over his shoulder at the bathroom. “And I gotta teach ya a lesson for sayin’ those things to me.”

He narrows his eyes. “I didn’t do that to teach you a lesson.”

He raises his brow. “Not even a little bit?”

When Kiyoomi doesn’t answer, Atsumu lets out a laugh. “On yer back.”

“What are you going to do?”

Borrowing Kiyoomi’s words from earlier, Atsumu says, “Do it.”

Kiyoomi studies Atsumu’s small smile and relaxed posture, and he slowly lies down on his back with his head propped up on a few pillows. “I should no longer trust you after taking me camping.”

“But you just can’t help but trust me,” Atsumu teases him, straddling his hips.

“I wouldn’t say it’s out of helplessness.”

“What’s it out of?”

“Love,” he says simply.

Atsumu blinks at him, and Kiyoomi takes the opportunity to lunge at him. Atsumu, however, is faster, and he pins Kiyoomi down to the bed with his palms on his shoulders.

“How disobedient,” he tells Kiyoomi. “Makes me want to punish you more.”

“Then get to the punishment,” Kiyoomi says between gritted teeth. “Otherwise I have to surmise you’re all talk.”

“Surmise whatever the fuck ya want,” Atsumu says. “Just lie there all pretty and take yer punishment.”

Atsumu stands up on his knees and grabs the bottle of lube he is thankful he had the foresight to bring. Kiyoomi’s wide eyes follow Atsumu’s every movement, and they widen further when Atsumu reaches behind his back.

“What are you doing?” Kiyoomi breathes.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Atsumu asks, taking an uneven breath when he sinks a finger inside himself.

Kiyoomi swallows. “I can do that for you.”

“But it wouldn’t be a punishment if I let you, would it?’

Atsumu fingers himself slowly, staring down at his glaring boyfriend with a grin. He removes his finger to add more lube for a second, and he lets out a soft grunt when he sinks both inside himself.

“Let me do it,” Kiyoomi says, gripping Atsumu’s thighs. “I want to do it.”

Atsumu shakes his head. “Too bad.”

He finds his prostate and lingers, but he wants it to be Kiyoomi to drive him crazy. It doesn’t feel as good as when Kiyoomi touches him, but the way Kiyoomi watches him is the most powerful feeling in the world. His wild, dark eyes, the sweat on his brow, the twitch in his fingers—Kiyoomi wants him, and Atsumu loves to feel this wanted.

He alternates between laughing and moaning as Kiyoomi squirms beneath him, obediently playing the observer but clearly wanting to take over. He adds more lube and two more fingers, trying to hide his impatience to have Kiyoomi replace them. He fails. As soon as he feels prepared, he removes his fingers and wipes them on a towel.

“Yer turn. Since you were good, we can be in any position ya want, just tell me—”

“Ride me,” Kiyoomi says, tightening his grip on Atsumu’s thighs. “Right. Now.” 

“Fuck, yer impatient,” Atsumu breathes, shakily grabbing a condom and more lube. He trembles as he slides the condom on Kiyoomi, biting his bottom lip when Kiyoomi moans. “And needy.”

“As if you aren’t impatient, too,” Kiyoomi says with a scowl. “Your whole body is shaking.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Kiyoomi reaches up and pulls Atsumu down for a kiss. “Mine.”

Atsumu positions Kiyoomi at his entrance, and he takes a deep breath. Kiyoomi, like always, waits quietly for Atsumu to be ready. He can be so impatient and possessive in some ways, and he can be so patient and independent in others. He somehow strikes the perfect balance, just like they strike a perfect balance between their different brands of crazy. They lost their balance for a few months, but they’ve found it again. 

He slowly lowers himself onto Kiyoomi, and they share a long moan when Atsumu has taken all of him. 

“Mine,” Kiyoomi says again, but it will never get old. “You’re mine.”

“Yer mine, too,” Atsumu breathes, slowly lifting himself up and then quickly lowering himself again.

Kiyoomi throws his head back with a moan and shakily nods. “I’m yours.”

It takes a while for him to find his rhythm, but Atsumu does. He finds it again, the way Kiyoomi loves to be ridden—fast and rough and without care—and he and Kiyoomi lose themselves in each other. Kiyoomi’s hands roam over Atsumu’s chest, teasingly slipping past his waistline and barely grazing his dick, and squeeze and spank his ass. Atsumu indulges him, smiling every time Kiyoomi curses or whimpers, and only interrupts the rhythm to kiss him. 

“I’m going to come,” Kiyoomi finally breathes.

“I’m close,” Atsumu says, squeezing his eyes shut as Kiyoomi’s dick hits his prostate again. “I’m fuckin’ close.”

Kiyoomi wraps his hand around Atsumu and begins to move his hand with frenzied, rough movements, and Atsumu’s thighs violently shake.

“Don’t you collapse on me,” Kiyoomi tells him. “Come.”

“Fuck!” Atsumu says, coming over Kiyoomi’s hands and onto his stomach. “Omi, Omi, Omi…”

Kiyoomi comes with Atsumu’s name on his tongue, and Atsumu tries to ride him through his orgasm, but Kiyoomi reaches both arms up and squeezes him close.

“I missed this,” Kiyoomi breathes. “I missed you. I missed us.”

“You don’t gotta miss me anymore,” Atsumu says, gasping for air. “I’m here. I’m here.”

They take what feels like forever to resurface from their collective euphoria, holding and kissing each other until life returns to their limbs and their hearts begin to slow, and they slowly help each other clean up. Collapsing on the bed in their robes, Atsumu wraps his arms and legs around Kiyoomi and kisses his forehead.

“I won’t forget ‘bout you again,” Atsumu promises him. “I won’t let it get this far.”

Kiyoomi nuzzles his neck and kisses him. “I won’t stay silent next time.”

“Be honest with me,” Atsumu urges him. “Y’know I like it when yer all mean to me.”

“Being blunt and being mean are different things.”

“Says you,” Atsumu replies with a smile. “I like it either way.”

Atsumu knows his boyfriend is blushing, and he kisses his forehead again. “I promise, ‘kay? I’ll be intentional.”

“Can you intentionally not take me camping ever again?”

“Oh, c’mon! It could’ve been fun.”

“It’s cold,” Kiyoomi says. “And dirty.”

“And intimate,” Atsumu says. “Sittin’ ‘round a fire, cozyin’ up to each other in a tent, sneakin’ into yer sleepin’ bag…”

“Maybe,” Kiyoomi says quietly, pinching Atsumu when he laughs. “Maybe we can go camping when it’s fall again.”

“Seriously?”

“I might change my mind next year.”

“As long as ya don’t change yer mind ‘bout me.”

Kiyoomi pulls back and kisses Atsumu on the mouth. “Impossible.”

“Good,” Atsumu says, kissing him back. “‘Cause yer not gettin’ rid of me.”

“Because you’re mine?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says, holding Kiyoomi tightly. “‘Cause I’m yers.”