Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Welcome in."

The bell above the 7/11 door rings, and Kiyoomi gives a polite nod in response to the tired greeting from the girl behind the register. His shift had gone late, so the sun had long set, and he's the only customer in the store other than a salary man pointing to a pack of cigarettes behind the counter.

The fluorescent light above the instant meal aisle flickers with a hum as he browses his options. Absolutely horrific. The contents printed on the back of one meal feel like enough to induce a heart attack just by reading them.

If he had any mind, he'd leave without making any purchases. Actually, he does have the mind to do so, but unfortunately not the funds.

Kiyoomi has recently acquired a new responsibility— sustaining himself. Paying his rent and living expenses all on his own. He has a paid internship at the hospital(picking up phones and coffee runs) that works around his class schedule and practices, so it's going great.

The bell rings again as he picks up a pack of instant ramen and reads the salt percentage.

It's going terrible.

But he brought it upon himself and he can't go back now; his pride won't allow it. Just a couple weeks ago while he was visiting home, he and his parents got into that age old argument concerning Kiyoomi's future career.

'We're proud of your achievements, we recognize your talent, blah blah blah, but we didn't agree to take care of your university costs so that you could throw away your degree to become a professional athlete instead.' Or something like that.

"Mom, if you guys cut off Kiyoomi, can I have his savings?"

Kiyoomi scowled across the dinner table. Why his grown thirty-three year old brother always found these conversations so humorous, Kiyoomi will never understand. He mentally thanked his sister-in-law for pinching him at the comment.

"No one's getting cut off," his mother assured with the slight shake of her head. "Kiyoomi wouldn't survive a month without the credit card."

That was the last straw. Kiyoomi stood the scrape of his chair, loudly announced that he was effectively cutting himself off, and stormed upstairs. The next morning before he left, he handed his parents his credit card and assured them that he logged out of every subscription they have.

He would rather die than run back to his parents and admit that they're right. That living without their financial help is too difficult. So here he is, with a sorry excuse for a bank account, genuinely considering buying instant ramen for the first time in his life.

"Woah, small world."

It takes Kiyoomi a second to realize that, being the only other person in the store now, the comment was directed at him. He looks to his right and sees a familiar face at the end of the aisle.

"Miya."

"Hey. How's uni?"

He looks down to the cheap food in his hand.

"…Fine."

Despite going different routes out of high school— Atsumu going pro right away while Kiyoomi opted to get a degree— they do see each other every once in a while. Since the college is so close to the Jackals' main gym, they sometimes scrimmage with the pro team. And two members of said team have a gift for getting on his nerves.

Atsumu does a fine job at getting under any opponent's skin, but during their practice matches he specifically targets the only familiar face on the other team, Kiyoomi. Bokuto is less intentional, but still loud. Very loud. And he acts way too familiar for Kiyoomi's tastes.

"What're ya doin' out here? Your school's a little ways from here."

"I'm interning at the hospital nearby."

"Cool, cool," Atsumu nods, now shifting on his feet next to Kiyoomi because he had been taking a step for every sentence out of their mouths. "What're ya studyin'?"

Kiyoomi sighs, slouching even further into himself. He's in a terrible, tired mood, and anticipating one of the worst meals of his life, so engaging in small talk with someone he merely considers an acquaintance isn't too appealing. But he's sort of trapped between the freezer aisle and the now much better looking toned head of hair, so he relents.

"Sports medicine. I work with a physical therapist."

"What's that like?"

Another sigh. Kiyoomi turns his head at an incredibly slow speed, and the setter's eyes widen for a split second at the dark eye bags illuminated by the bright store lights. "Tiring."

"Yeah, ya look like shit."

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Oh yuck, you're into the beef stuff?"

He points to the pack Kiyoomi is holding, and the latter scowls at his apparent disgust. "I don't know. I've never had any of it before."

"Never had instant ramen? Any of it?"

"That's what I just said."

"Why start now? Shit's unhealthy."

"My dietary decisions don't concern you."

"Money problems? I ate a lot of ramen back when I had money problems."

Kiyoomi's silence must be confirmation enough for him, because he lets out an infuriating chuckle.

"Oh buddy. You're talkin' to the king of budgeted eatin'."

"...Buddy."

"How were ya plannin' on eatin' that?"

Kiyoomi squints at him. It feels like a trick question with the way Miya is looking at him so smug. So he reads the obvious instructions on the back to make sure he isn't actually stupid. "Boil some water and throw it in with the flavor packet."

Atsumu makes a way-too-loud and obnoxious buzzer sound, throwing up an 'x' with his arms.

"How else are you supposed to do it?" Kiyoomi snaps back at him.

"First of all, you're gonna want one of these," Atsumu explains, grabbing a couple different packs off the shelf. "They're spicier. And ya want all the flavor you can get with these cheap things."

Kiyoomi puts his pack back and tentatively takes one of the ones Miya holds out to him.

"And ya need green onion, soy sauce, carrots, and I know they're a little pricey, but adding an egg or two goes a long way protein wise."

Kiyoomi never thought he'd be taking dietary advice from the boy he saw eating a banana that was on the ground outside of the training gym for more than five seconds (already unpeeled, mind you), and yet here he is, mouth watering at the thought of something other than poorly cooked chicken with a side of rice and tap water.

"You just, throw it all in?"

"Well, no, there's a good time and order for everythin' to mix better. Like before ya add the noodles you should— ya know what, it'd be easier if I just texted ya. What's your line?"

Kiyoomi gets flashbacks to when everyone at Youth Camp bombarded him for his line. And then when many of them tried again at Spring Nationals. And then again and again the next year. Hoshiumi was particularly offended by his constant rejections, but Kiyoomi refused to risk subjecting himself to any of their bothersome group chats.

But Kiyoomi's convictions are slowly draining from him by the day, so he wordlessly holds out his phone for the other to type down his information.

Then Atsumu follows him around the store, pointing his recommendations of which brand of each ingredient he should get, while also filling his own basket with his own needless things.

"Okay," Atsumu says, leaning on the counter as the girl scans Kiyoomi's items. "I only want one thing in return for my expert cooking advice."

Kiyoomi hums for him to continue.

"Send me the finished result and a review admitting how awesome it tastes."

"And if it tastes terrible?"

"If it tastes terrible, it means the cook is an idiot."

One side of Kiyoomi's lip curls up in distaste, especially because he can tell Atsumu isn't even trying to be funny. He's always found the directness of Kansai people to be a bit obnoxious.

"At least send a ratin' outta ten."

"If it doesn't work, you're reimbursing me for all the ingredients I didn't plan on buying tonight."

"Sure, sure."

When the cashier hands him his bag, Kiyoomi mumbles out his thanks before brushing past Atsumu to the door.

"Night Omi-kun!"

He practically jolts at the almost forgotten nickname, pushing the door open with the ring of the bell.

Miya A.
11:54 pm

Get 2 and a half cups of water boiling

Add a tablespoon of green onion and 2 tablespoons of soy sauce

let that all boil for 5 minutes ish

Pretty sure we got u the microwaveable carrots? so u can make those and add them on at the end

Add noodles and let it cook for 3 more minutes

Take pot off the heat and add seasoning packet

Forgot abt this one in the store oops add some red pepper if u have any

Tiny splash of milk if u want a creamier broth

Do the eggs howver u want and throw them on top

Also hot sauce if u can handle it

Kiyoomi places his masterpiece on the counter, situating the hard boiled eggs he split in half to look nice on the noodles.

"Smells good," his roommate comments as he pours a cup of what is definitely not decaf coffee at almost one in the morning.

"Just instant ramen with a few other things," Kiyoomi explains as he breaks apart the chopsticks he stole a handful of the last time he picked up some takeout.

He sets them in the bowl and takes a picture. It doesn't look half bad if he does say so himself. But before he sends it to Atsumu, he has to give it the taste test.

He takes a bite. Another. It's nothing to write home about, but it's loads better than any bland meal he's made for himself in the past week. He imagines it's certainly better than what it would be with only the packet of seasoning in it.

Sakusa K.
12:47 am

*attachment*

7/10

Miya A.

Wowwww looks great

It's at least an 8 and u know it

Kiyoomi becomes addicted. After a few nights of recreating Atsumu's recipe, he looks up other ways to spice up instant ramen. Soon, it's been a week and a half of alternating between ramen and healthiest option of takeout he can find.

It gets to the point where his roommate and his girlfriend hold a mini intervention.

"Just 'cause you're adding eggs and meat doesn't make it healthy, Sakusa."

"The salt in these things… is your heart feeling okay?"

Having his health judged by two people who get drunk at least twice a week is a wake up call for him, so he looks up healthier alternatives. But it's all either too unappetizing or too expensive.

He smacks his phone down on the kitchen table with annoyance, staring down at the bowl of cereal awaiting him for dinner. Just as he takes his first bite, his roommate, Kubo, comes through the door with a takeout box in hand.

Kiyoomi can smell his leftovers, and his mouth waters as he imagines the taste of some good tempura. He apparently does a horrible job at hiding it, because Kubo shakes the box at him. "Want it? I don't really like reheating shrimp anyway."

Kiyoomi considers it. He actually considers eating someone's leftovers that their saliva coated chopsticks have already stuck around. He needs help.

"C'mon, I know you want it."

"I don't."

"Alright, suit yourself."

The fridge door opens and shuts, and Kiyoomi picks his phone back up. And he cannot believe he's desperate enough to be doing this right now.

Sakusa K.
7:03 pm

I need more budget meals. Google has been entirely helpful

He doesn't expect such a quick response, though he supposes it's prime time for someone to be on their phone.

Miya A.
7:04

Guess you cant live off ramen forever lol

I'll have to brainstorm. Send u a few tomorrow

Sakusa K.
7:06

Not too much salt please

Kiyoomi wakes to his alarm and a grumbling stomach. He shuts the phone off and throws an arm over his eyes with a groan, knowing that his breakfast for the morning won't be more than a protein bar on his way to class.

He eventually wills his arm away from his face and sits up, letting the sunlight wake him more fully before he picks up his phone. There's a text from Atsumu waiting for him already, sent just minutes ago.

He clicks on it expecting a couple new recipes, only to be jump scared by no doubt Bokuto Koutarou's smiling face as the thumbnail of a video. He seriously contemplates whether or not it's worth opening while he goes to brush his teeth. After he spits, he gives in to his curiosity.

"Okay is it-"

"Hey Sakusa! It's Bokuto!"

The camera is so close to his loud face that the audio quality diminishes for a second, and all that's visible are his nostrils and more teeth than Kiyoomi ever wanted see from him.

"Remember? From Fukuroda-"

"This ain't a social call, just shut up and film!"

Bokuto flips the camera at Atsumu's snapping, and the blonde's face goes from a scowl to a smile in the blink of an eye.

"Hey Omi, we're meal preppin' for the week, so I thought I'd just film one of 'em instead of typin' it all out."

"The Miya curry recipe, mmm mmm."

"Alright, alright, let's go. This one will make ya at least three servings so the price ain't too bad. So you're gonna need a pound of meat— it's better with beef, but chicken tends to be cheaper. Uh, not that ya don't already know that, sorry."

Kiyoomi did not already know that.

"Then a box of curry roux, obviously. Ya probably already have the carrots and green onion from the ramen recipe if you've been remakin' that. Get some cauliflower and a potato too, and these are optional but—"

The camera pans to the counter where a colorful assortment of vegetables are placed, and Kiyoomi gets to his desk to jot down each one Atsumu lists.

Then Atsumu gets the knife out and the camera zooms in on his work. Cutting, peeling, dicing. He's clearly not a chef, but he does have a steady hand. And huge veins. And very defined tendons. If this were just some stranger's YouTube tutorial, Kiyoomi might find those hands attractive.

"Okay! Now brown the beef with the onions. Or the chicken, whatever ya get. And once it's done, stir in the vegetables and bring it to a boil. Let it simmer at a lower heat for like ten, fifteen minutes. Okay end it."

The video ends, and Kiyoomi goes to click on a new one he received while he was watching it.

"Okay, turn the heat off but leave the pot there. Throw the curry roux in and stir it around until it's totally melted."

The video ends again, and he plays the next.

"It should look like this," Atsumu says, holding up a spoon that the thick sauce drips off of. "Then turn the heat back on low, and let it sit under the lid for five minutes."

The video ends, and to Kiyoomi's dismay there isn't a new one awaiting him yet. He was invested.

The phones buzzes while he gets dressed, and he taps on the newest video as he tugs his backpack over his shoulder.

"Okay! Add a little soy sauce and… Looks good, yeah?"

"Lemme try!"

Atsumu smacks down Bokuto's hand, claiming his hands aren't clean. Then he dips a finger in for his own taste test.

"It's good. Now listen!"

He points the spoon at the camera, flinging some curry onto the cabinet doors and apparently Bokuto, based on his pained hiss behind the phone.

"You're gonna taste it and wanna add more salt. Don't do it! There's already enough salt. Don't go crazy on the soy sauce either."

"You always add more salt Tsum-tsum."

"I don't! Cut that out before ya send—"

Kiyoomi speeds through his routine in the locker room after afternoon practice, as if he won't have to wait for the bus anyway. But he can't help from being eager to try the new recipe.

He purchases everything he needs from the convenience store by his apartment and hurries home while his stomach growls at him impatiently. And as he fumbles with his keys, his phone starts vibrating in his hand, 'Mom' shining on the screen.

"Hello?" he answers as he pushes the door open.

"Kiyoomi, how are you?"

She's texted him here and there to check in since he started back at school, mostly making sure he's been keeping up with school despite his internship and practices. But a call is rare, because she's fully aware of how busy he is.

"Fine. Just got home from practice."

"Are you eating well?"

He pauses for a beat before answering.

"Yes. I'm making curry before I go to work so I can eat it later tonight."

"Okay… keeping up with rent?"

He sighs, dropping his bags on the counter with a thunk.

"Yes."

"School?"

"Yes."

"Okay… I'm going to send you a few-"

"No," Kiyoomi says sternly into the phone. "If you send me any money I'll just send it right back."

"At least log back into Netflix."

"My roommate lets me use his. I need to go so I can get my dinner ready."

A long sigh comes from the other end of the phone.

"Fine. But please don't be stupid."

"What?"

"When you run low on funds just tell us. No need to suffer from your pride. Have a good night."

He has to physically bite his lip to stop from talking back to her with an attitude, gritting out a 'goodbye' before hanging up.

And then he gets to work. Cutting up all the ingredients, turning on the stove, getting the chicken ready with the onions. It's all going swimmingly until he adds the curry roux. After a few minutes of stirring it looks nothing like Atsumu's had in the video.

He tries to salvage it, but he doesn't really know how to go about salvaging a failed meal. He plates some to try out, and his face immediately scrunches up at the texture.

"No good?" Kubo asks from where he was getting a drink from the fridge.

Kiyoomi spitting his bite into the sink is enough of an answer.

After the longest shift of his life, full of blinding hospital lights and getting snapped at every time he made a mistake (which was a lot), Kiyoomi drags his feet to the 7/11 convenience store nearby. He can barely nod at the cashier who greets him when the bell rings.

Knowing that there's an empty fridge at home, the instant ramen aisle has never looked so appealing. He takes two packs off the shelf and walks to the fridge in the back, scanning it for his favorite peach tea. But one look at the price has him putting it back and letting the fridge swing closed.

After spending so much on the curry ingredients that he can't justify purchasing anything else. Looks like dinner tonight is a bowl of salty noodles with water.

"What, not into the curry?"

Kiyoomi fumbles with the ramen after jolting at the familiar voice next to him, and Atsumu's hands jump out catch them. He's so out of it, he hadn't even registered that anyone else had entered the store.

"My bad, didn't mean to spook ya."

"I… failed."

"Huh?"

Kiyoomi takes a heaving breath as he drops his forehead onto the fridge door with a thunk, putting way too much of his weight onto the handle that he holds with a white-knuckled grip. Atsumu holds the ramen out to him with a confused albeit concerned expression.

"I failed," Kiyoomi repeats in a forlorn tone.

"Dude, relax. One failed curry pot's not the end of the world."

That's only part of Kiyoomi's failure. Now that he's standing in a convenience store with barely enough money to feed himself while paying his ridiculously expensive rent, reality sets it.

"I spent too much on curry that came out inedible, I don't know if I'll make rent this month, and there are huge fees on late payments. My feet hurt, my back hurts, I have three classes and practice the morning, and I can't even go to sleep when I get home because I have a million things due tomorrow."

He shuts his eyes, taking another heaving breath. His shoulders sag under the weight of his backpack.

"My parents were right," he mumbles, "I can't survive a month without them."

He stays there with his head against the cold glass, thinking of all the homework he still has to do when he gets home. Then whether or not the humiliation of crawling back to his parents is worth it.

He doesn't expect Atsumu to still be there when he finally lefts his head, yet there he is, the ramen packs now in his own basket.

"First time livin' off your own money, huh?"

Kiyoomi gives a sad excuse for a nod. "I brought it upon myself."

He spots his ramen in Atsumu's basket and reaches to grab it and escape from this embarrassing situation, but Atsumu steps back, pulling the basket out of his reach.

"Brought it upon yourself? What does that mean?"

"Give me the ramen, Miya."

"Well, I guess it can't be helped. C'mon, I live on the next block."

Atsumu turns to head to the front with Kiyoomi wearily lagging behind. He doesn't even make it to the counter before Atsumu has already paid for his ramen, taking the bag from the cashier and heading for the door. When Kiyoomi doesn't follow, he looks back from where his hand sits ready to push on the door.

"You comin'?"

"What?"

"I have the curry I made this mornin'. You can have some."

"…Why?" Kiyoomi questions with a suspicious look.

Atsumu sighs, rolling his eyes like Kiyoomi just asked the most inconvenient question ever.

"I might feel a tiny tad bit responsible."

"For giving me a faulty recipe."

"Nuh uh," Atsumu denies quickly, pointing a finger at Kiyoomi. "You're faulty. But I guess I should've considered ya wouldn't be on that level of cookin' yet if ya didn't even know how to spice up a ramen bowl."

He pushes the door open and turns in the opposite direction of Kiyoomi's bus stop. But Kiyoomi's stomach produces a noise that makes him forget all about getting home to finish his homework, so he follows Atsumu out the door.

This is weird.

Giving an acquaintance who gets on his nerves his number so that he could get a recipe was a little weird. Texting him back asking for another was a little less weird.

Stepping into his apartment to mooch off of his food after having a little breakdown in 7/11 is really weird. And definitely a low point for Kiyoomi.

On the way, he had been so blinded by the prospect of a free warm meal, he hadn't really thought about it. And now he's sitting at Atsumu's kitchen table, silently waiting for his food to be taken out of the microwave.

The apartment is emptier than Kiyoomi expected. Yet still very lived-in. He hadn't necessarily expected Atsumu to be a total slob, but he had expected more clutter.

The kitchen is very organized, with everything on the counters in a specific location, and only a few papers and photos stuck to the fridge. From what he can see into the living room, it's very neat. The coffee table has nothing but a laptop and bag of chips on it. There's a clean volleyball on the ground, and knitted blanket hanging off the couch's armrest.

"You can look around if ya want," Atsumu says from the kitchen, and it's only then that Kiyoomi realizes he had been leaning over the table for a better view of the living room.

He stays seated, and Atsumu brings two steaming bowls to the table, then circles back with two bottles of peach tea. Kiyoomi perks up at his favorite flavor being placed in front of him.

"You like this stuff?" Atsumu asks.

He nods, unscrewing the cap quickly while Atsumu takes a seat at the head of the table beside him. They both take their first bites, and Kiyoomi almost melts on the spot.

"So," Atsumu says after swallowing. "Enlighten me. Why're ya broke?"

Kiyoomi's mood dampens at the reminder, and it surely shows on his face. He takes another bite while he thinks on where to even start with his explanation, and Atsumu's impatient gaze is on him the whole time.

"My parents aren't exactly supportive of my choice to go pro after college."

"So you are going pro!"

Kiyoomi's raises a brow at the sudden response.

"…Yes."

"Nice, I mean, yeah it's nice. Cool. What teams are ya- nope, never mind, stay on topic. So your parents cut you off when ya didn't budge on it?"

Kiyoomi shakes his head. "I cut myself off."

"Come again?"

He sighs, taking a sip of tea.

"The argument has been coming up for years. A couple weeks ago I visited for the weekend and it came up again. They said they're glad to pay my university expenses, but they feel like it's all going to waste if I don't decide on a career that I'll apply my degree in."

"But aren't ya in on scholarship?"

"Yes!" he exclaims, and Atsumu's eyes widen at the outburst. "And in high school too! I'm actually their least expensive child."

"Right."

"But they did pay my rent and groceries. My mother claimed I couldn't last a month without their credit card. And that's- that's just ridiculous."

"Of course."

"So I handed it back and I've been living by my own means since then."

"And it's going pretty well, huh?"

Kiyoomi scowls at his comment and the amused smile on his face.

"Sounds like they didn't actually wanna cut you off," Atsumu continues. "Just ask 'em to spot ya a couple bucks."

"I'd rather go homeless."

"Harsh. And dramatic. Are you the youngest child?"

Kiyoomi doesn't dignify him with a response, but that's response enough for Atsumu.

"You'll get the hang of it," the blonde assures. "But if buying curry ingredients puts ya back on rent, there's somethin' seriously wrong with your budgetin'."

Kiyoomi hums in reluctant agreement.

"So let's see it."

Kiyoomi looks up from his bowl with a brow quirked in question.

"My bank account?"

"Your budget. How ya spend your money."

"I don't… write it down or anything."

Atsumu stares. Kiyoomi is suddenly feeling almost embarrassed by the disbelief projected at him.

"Well, we found the root of your problem," Atsumu finally says. "You're definitely not makin' enough money to spend without a plan."

"A plan…?"

Atsumu holds up a finger and gets up from his chair, scurrying down a hall to hid bedroom and emerging with a laptop. He moves his dinner to sit next to Kiyoomi, putting the laptop between them.

"Okay," he says, clicking around. "We can go off of the sheet I made for my first year on my own. Yours will probably be different but we'll figure it out."

He pulls up a full spreadsheet next to an empty one, and starts asking Kiyoomi questions. What's his pay, how many hours a week does he work, how much is rent, et cetera. Then he gets Kiyoomi to pull up the spending recorded on his debit card.

"You're gonna need to cut down on takeout. It seems cheap in the moment, but it really builds up."

"Okay," Kiyoomi agrees reluctantly.

"Whew, rent's a little steep for what your makin'."

"I can't get out of the lease."

"It's all good," Atsumu says with an oddly reassuring smile. "We'll figure it out."

Kiyoomi eats his curry while Atsumu types away. He may actually be enjoying this, barely paying mind to Kiyoomi looking over his shoulder.

"How long will I have to keep eating like this even after I join a professional team?" Kiyoomi asks.

"Uhm, not long at all," he responds, not taking his eyes off the screen. "My starting pay was good, and yours will probably be higher coming off a D1 team. If you get a cheaper place to live you should be able to go back to splurgin' on meals pretty quick."

Kiyoomi purses his lips in a confused look. One Atsumu doesn't catch because he's so intent on typing out how much Kiyoomi should be spending on groceries every week.

"If that's the case, then why are you the self-proclaimed 'king of budgeted eating'?" Kiyoomi asks, making air quotes with his fingers.

"Oh," Atsumu says, glancing up from where his face was way to close to the screen. "I put a pretty big chunk of my pay into my mom's retirement account. Wanna get her out of work as soon as we can. She's always had to make due with less; that's why I know all the convenience store meal tricks."

Kiyoomi gives a quiet hum in understanding and Atsumu turns to skim over the final product of the sheet. He's suddenly feeling pretty ridiculous— moping and sighing over living without the constant flow of money from his parents, while Atsumu, at the same age, is actively sending money back to his.

"Alright!" Atsumu exclaims, throwing his hands up off the keyboard. "She's done."

Kiyoomi turns the laptop more towards himself. He may make some tweaks to how it's formatted, but overall it's very organized, and after a quick skim he can't argue on any of Atsumu's decisions.

"Is it Omi approved?"

"Yes," Kiyoomi answers a little too quickly.

"Awesome, that'll be 3000 yen."

Kiyoomi freezes for a second before turning to look at Atsumu's straight face. He should've known there was an ulterior motive here. Or maybe he should've known that no one just does these kinds of services for free.

"…I don't have any cash on-"

"Woah, I'm kiddin' Omi. I'm not that much of a jerk."

Kiyoomi hides his relief, mumbling out "debatable".

"Let's share the document with ya."

Before Kiyoomi can turn the laptop, Atsumu is leaning into his space with an arm draped over the back of his chair. Kiyoomi straightens up with his hands in his lap to give Atsumu's other hand more room to move on the mousepad.

Hopefully he's is leaning forward far enough that he can't tell Kiyoomi is eyeing the way the sleeve of his white t-shirt clings to his tanned bicep.

"Okay, put your email in there."

He quickly darts his eyes back to the screen at the sound of the low voice. Atsumu leans back to give him room, but the big arm around the back of the chair stays.

Kiyoomi types in his email with shaky hands at the realization that he is attracted to Miya Atsumu. Physically, that is.

"Next time I make curry I'll have ya over. Maybe you're the type that learns better through experience."

He considers the invitation. The image of Atsumu's chest pressed up against his back, the man reaching around to hold his bigger hand over Kiyoomi's to guide him in cutting vegetables. And getting their bowls ready to go sit on the couch while they watch shitty reality TV, with Atsumu's huge thigh pushing up against his as he laughs into his ear and feeds him a bite from his bowl every once in a while.

He might be more than just physically attracted to Miya Atsumu.

He clicks the share button and picks up his phone from the table. After a beat he receives the notification, and wordlessly flips his screen to show Atsumu, who nods in response. Kiyoomi inwardly mourns the loss of proximity when Atsumu pulls his arm away, clearing his throat.

"I've uh, got some beer, if ya want. Or another tea."

Kiyoomi fiddles with his phone while the offer is spoken. As much as he does sort of want another tea, he's more afraid of ridiculous he might start acting after his recent revelation. He'll have to come up an excuse to leave. Like, he has practice tomorrow, or he has a lot of homework.

He jolts upright, and Atsumu flinches beside him.

"I have homework," he says, more of a realization than an explanation.

"Oh. Okay yeah, you should head out then."

Kiyoomi groans into his hands, leaning forward his curls brush the tabletop

"I have so much homework," he says, muffled into his palms.

After a moment, he stands and goes to grab his backpack by the front door while Atsumu follows.

"Thank you," he says, angling himself to face the blonde more as he slings his bag onto his shoulders.

Atsumu's jaw drops with a dumb "Huh?"

"For dinner? And the spreadsh-"

"Right! Right, right, right. No problem. I'm a really givin' guy in that way."

Kiyoomi doesn't even try to hold back a scoff.

"I don't want to owe you. I'll buy you a meal at some point."

"We just went over how you're spendin' too much at restaurants," Atsumu says, reaching around him to open the door while his other hand hovers over Kiyoomi's backpack.

"Then I'll make you a meal."

Atsumu's arm drops back to his side as he level Kiyoomi with a doubtful look.

"I will," Kiyoomi insists.

"Yeah, okay."

"I will, and you will enjoy it."

"Lookin' forward to it."

The smug smirk on his face indicates he doesn't have much faith, but finds it very amusing that Kiyoomi does. Kiyoomi adjusts a strap of his bag with a huff as he exits out the door.

"Bye."

"Night Omi!"

Chapter Text

Referencing his budget sheet for the next couple weeks, Kiyoomi is able to make rent without starving to death. It took going through his academic days without a lick of coffee, resulting in major headaches, but it was about time he started weaning off of caffeine anyway.

He hasn't seen Atsumu since that night, but he'll receive a text every once in a while when Atsumu remembers another recipe.

Sometimes they're typed out, sometimes they're shakily filmed by Bokuto, and then there's his favorite format— Atsumu filming on his own, setting up the phone at different angles on the counter.

There are four of those total. When he's by himself, Atsumu talks softer. Sometimes so much so, Kiyoomi thinks sometimes he might just be talking to himself, forgetting about the video for a minute. Kiyoomi isn't ashamed to admit to himself that he loves the domestic feel that comes from these videos.

And sometimes Kiyoomi forgets it's a video just for him. Just as it might start to feel like watching a YouTube tutorial, Atsumu will remind him it isn't by saying his name as if he's actually in the room to hear it.

"And lock in Omi, this step's important."

"Okay Omi-omi, now that we're done with the meat-"

"Send me a review if ya ever make it, Omi."

"Okay, that's it. Bye Omi."

Omi this, Omi that. Omi can't handle it. Maybe he is a little ashamed. Atsumu is sending him friendly tutorials on meals to help out a new friend, and said friend is replaying them as background noise while he does his homework so he can pretend Atsumu is actually in his kitchen cooking for him.

And even worse, he rewinds and pauses on his favorite parts. Those would be the blinding smiles when the blonde succeeds at a difficult step, and the particularly good views of the his muscles.

In the newest video Kiyoomi received that he watches on the couch, Atsumu is wearing a black t-shirt with the Inarizaki logo. He probably fit into it perfectly in early high school, but the muscle he's gained since then causes it to cling to his arms. And shoulders. And chest.

He holds the phone up to his face to rant about a deadly dog that had chased him in front of his apartment, and the corner of Kiyoomi's lip quirks up at the story.

"If I ever find that thing's owner I'm givin' them a piece of my damn mind! But enough, let's start this next recipe Omi."

The nickname is accompanied by one of the top ten most charming smiles Kiyoomi has ever seen. No, top five. Top three. Okay, it's number one. He rewinds to take a screenshot.

He had rarely seen anything other than a smirk or a smug grin from the setter before these videos. Sure he does a more than fair share of bragging during the tutorials, but overall he seems more relaxed than usual.

He sets the phone of the counter, angled so that the cutting board is visible, but so is most of him. At six foot two, his waist easily reaches above the counter, revealing that he's wearing the lethal combo of gray sweatpants with the hem of his red tartan boxers peeking out.

Atsumu ducks a bit to focus on the knife he holds, and Kiyoomi zooms in on his concentrated face. His tongue is barely peeking out through his lips, and his sandy blonde hair isn't styled with gel like usual, falling loosely over his forehead.

Still zoomed in, he slides his fingers on the screen to move his view to Atsumu's shoulders, watching the right one move up and down with his cutting. The down his arms. Then over to his chest. Then a little lower to his abs. Then a little lower to his-

"Ooo, scandalous Sakusa-kun!"

He jolts at the sudden voice behind him, flinging his phone onto the coffee table before whipping around. Kubo and his girlfriend are behind the couch, and were apparently rudely watching over his shoulder. He was so focused on the video he hadn't heard them come in.

The girlfriend, Tamura, smiles at him curiously while Kubo raises a brow at his previous actions.

"Who was that?" Tamura asks.

'Nothing more than an acquaintance slash rival, until recently, when we started talking because of my poor cooking and spending skills, and even though we've only interacted in person outside of volleyball twice, I've formed a crush on him disgustingly fast and now think about ripping those tight shirts off of him and putting my hands on that chest while letting him manhandle me,' he thinks.

"A YouTuber."

"He's hot."

Kubo elbows her.

"He does… budgeted cooking tutorials," Kiyoomi says. "They're helpful."

"Yeah?" Kubo asks. "Does he take his shirt off when the stove's on?"

"No," Kiyoomi snaps with a scowl, picking up the phone that still plays the video.

"—and my building's AC is broken so I gotta strip, not gonna lie."

The couple snickers behind him, and Kiyoomi flushes at being caught in a lie he hadn't meant to tell.

The AC is definitely broken, because his entire tanned, chiseled body glistens with sweat when he pulls the shirt over his head. It's objectively gross to be preparing food in that condition. But it would take a nuke dropping in Kiyoomi's living room to get him to look away.

"You should leave a comment," Tamura says, leaning over the back of the couch for a better view of the phone. "Shoot your shot."

"I'm not doing that."

"C'mon," Kubo says, gripping Kiyoomi's shoulders to give him a shake. "You're a good looking guy. And athletic, you guys got that in common. He'd totally go for it."

Kiyoomi rolls the hands off his shoulders as he stands.

"I'll write the comment for you!" Tamura offers with her hands out ready to take the phone.

"I'm going to the store," Kiyoomi says, shoving his phone in his pocket as he walks past them.

Fourth times the charm, hopefully. Kiyoomi has made the same meal for the past three nights in hopes of it proving Atsumu's doubts wrong. The first two attempts were…. questionable. But last night's was okay.

And tonight is the first niht they coul come up with where they're both free. With Kiyoomi's afternoon shift and Atsumu's late training, 8:30 was the earliest they could agree on. So now, at 7:50, Kiyoomi gets to work.

The recipe is plain and simple— yaki udon. Not too many ingredients, not too much time, and not too much money.

He's just finished cutting up the vegetables and putting water on the stove when there's a thunk on the door. He goes to check, only for it to burst open the second he exits the kitchen.

"We're hoooome," Kubo calls way too loudly into the apartment, a giggling Tamura glued to his side.

Kiyoomi hadn't accounted for them, making a very displeased face at their drunken states.

"What's with that nasty face," Tamura teases, wiggling a finger at him.

"It's Friday, I thought you'd spend the night at your apartment."

"Sorry man," a stranger— one of their friends, Kiyoomi assumes— calls from the doorway. "They were just way too out of it, and Kubo's place was closer. Thanks!"

He shuts the door, leaving Kiyoomi alone with two drunken messes. Who gets drunk before nine pm? A lot of people, actually, he just wishes it weren't the case.

"What, were you gonna have someone over?" Tamura asks, wobbling into the kitchen.

"Yes," Kiyoomi answers, dodging a hug from Kubo, shoving him by his shoulder. "So I'd appreciate it if you both stayed in the bedroom for the rest of the night."

"Yes sir!" Tamura yells, straightening up with a stiff salute.

Kubo copies her salute with much less precision, falling onto the wall beside him. Tamura pours them both glasses of water, then coos at her boyfriend until he finally stands up straight and heads to the bedroom behind her.

Kiyoomi lets out a sigh when he hears the door shut. Back to work.

He pours the noodles in, and while he stirs he hears retching coming from the bedroom. Thankfully, nursing his drunk roommate and his girlfriend was not in the lease agreement. All he has to do is hope they get it out of their systems before it's time for him to eat.

The bedroom door creaks open, interrupting his peace. Kubo drags himself into the kitchen like a zombie, smacking his lips.

"Sorry man," he slurs. "She's usin' my toilet so."

Kiyoomi is about to ask him what he means by that when he leans over the sink and pukes. He pukes in the sink.

Lost for words, Kiyoomi watches the man empty his guts into the beautiful sink that they wash their dishes and vegetables in, then finally stand to wipe his mouth with the bottom of his shirt.

"Whew, it's blazin' in here," he says, ripping off his shirt and tossing it behind him.

Kiyoomi dodges it, then painfully steps over to the sink to turn the faucet on with one finger.

"Aw, thanks."

"I'm going to kill you."

"Whuh?"

"Rinse it out properly!"

Kubo complies, taking the sink head out and rinsing around the edges. Kiyoomi can't bear to look, bracing the counter with his eyes screwed shut.

"Is it s'pposed to be doing that?" a new voice slurs.

Kiyoomi wills his eyes open to look over the counter at Tamura, who has emerged from the bathroom. She's points behind him just as a concerning smell hits his nose.

He turns around quickly, and sure enough, there's a fire. As if it couldn't get any worse, the discarded shirt had landed right by the open flame on the gas stove.

"Oh fuck, a fire!" Kubo yells, yanking the sink head up. "Move, I'm gonna water it dow-"

"No!" Kiyoomi cries, blocking him from making it worse. "Get a towel!"

Kubo pulls open the towel drawer beside him, and Kiyoomi snatches the handful from him to shove onto the fire. He puts the fire out, but pulls back with a hiss, burning the side of his palm. The smoke only gets worse.

"It's fine," Kubo says through a cough, breathing into the crook of his arm.

The fire alarm shrills, and Kiyoomi bangs his head on the fridge.

It's well into the fall season and cold enough to see your breath under the streetlights, so the three college students leaning against their apartment building get more than a few concerned glances. One being in a t-shirt, one in a puke stained tank top, and one void of a shirt entirely.

"Sorry."

The couple has sobered up a tiny bit, and it's the fifth time one of them has made an apology. Kiyoomi has ignored each one, holding his injury that one of the fire fighter's had wrapped for him.

Kubo rubs at one of his girlfriend's arms in an attempt to warm her up a bit while she uses her trembling hands to unscrew a water bottle that she had grabbed before the fire department kicked them out for the night.

She takes a sip and immediately spews the liquid out onto the sidewalk.

"That is not water," she grits out, wiping her mouth.

"That's my vodka," her boyfriend explains.

"Then leave it in the damn vodka bottle!"

"It's too big to fit in the freezer, I have to distribute it."

"It wasn't even in the freezer."

Kiyoomi reaches over to snatch the bottle from her and wipes at the rim with the bottom of his shirt.

"Hey, I wasn't gonna drink-"

The words die in her mouth, and the couple watches with slack jaws as Kiyoomi takes six big gulps from the bottle, detaching his lips with a cough and shoving the bottle back in her hands.

"Oh my god. That was like, at least five shots in one go."

"You good man?"

"No!" Kiyoomi snaps, the sting of the alcohol down his esophagus providing short relief from the cold.

They stand in a few blissful minutes of silence as the alcohol starts to hit Kiyoomi, until Kubo opens his mouth again.

"…We're sorry. I know you had a date or something coming over."

Kiyoomi lets his head fall back against the building. He had totally forgotten to text Atsumu and cancel. He checks his phone— 8:23. He's probably already on his way.

"It wasn't going to be a date," he says, despite it being none of their business. "He made me dinner one time, so I was making him dinner so I wouldn't owe him. And he didn't think I could do it right, so I was going to prove him wrong, but now he's just going to be all smug and annoying about it!"

He's ranting, so the vodka might be starting to set it.

"…Sounds like a date."

"Just shut the hell up."

He has no time to react before Kubo wraps a sweaty arm around him, and Tamura goes his other side to do the same. He barely puts up a fight to shove their disgusting bodies off of him, so it's safe to say the vodka is definitely set it.

They start to lean their weight on him, and he comes to the realization that they have both fallen at least half asleep on each of his shoulders. He's too loopy to notice Tamura drooling on his sleeve.

"What the hell happened here?"

Kiyoomi's half lidded eyes shoot open at the familiar voice. Atsumu stands in front of them, eyeing the scantily clad people that cling to Kiyoomi's stiff body with a bit of distaste.

"Get them off me." Kiyoomi begs, though it comes out as a demand.

"Yep," Atsumu says stepping forward like he was waiting for the order.

He pushes Tamura away by her shoulder, but plants a large hand right on Kubo's face to shove him off. He stumbles and Tamura groans as she stands up straight again, rubbing her eyes.

"What's happening?" she grumbles.

"That's what I'm wonderin'."

Her eyes adjust for a moment, then widen when they land on Atsumu's face.

"You! You're-"

She freezes at Kiyoomi whipping his head to pin her with a glare that could set another fire.

"You're uh, familiar! Do you have a YouTube channel?"

"No."

Tamura gives Kiyoomi an evil, knowing grin.

"But I play volleyball. Maybe you saw me on TV or- can someone tell me why we're standing in the cold with no clothes on?"

The 'we' is improperly used, since Atsumu has an MSBY hoodie on while the rest of them shiver.

"He tried to burn down my apartment," Kiyoomi says as he steps forward, and it makes Atsumu look behind him at the couple in concern.

"It was an accident," Kubo says. "And I'm sooooo, so, so sorry for ruining the date. Please forgive me."

He bends to bow at a full ninety degree angle, and Kiyoomi is so drunk by now that he almost skims over the word 'date'.

"There's no dinner," he says quickly to Atsumu. "You can go home. Sorry."

Atsumu smiles, shaking his head.

"Let's go, I know a place that'll serve ya even smellin' like that. Can ya handle a twenty minute walk?"

Kiyoomi pulls the hem of his shirt up to sniff, and scrunches his nose at the burnt smell. It makes him consider whether or not he wants to be in public like this.

"Don't worry about us, Sakusa," Tamura says, patting his back. "We'll be okay without you."

"I was not worrying about you."

"Want the rest of the vodka?"

He shakes his head, storming down the sidewalk.

"Other way, Omi."

He turns around, and pointedly does not return the couples' waves goodnight as he does so.

When he proves unable to walk in a straight line, Atsumu puts a hand on the back of his elbow to steady him.

"So," the blonde starts, "bad date, huh?"

Kiyoomi staggers, narrowing his eyes.

"What date?"

"With the guy back there? Abs, no shirt, huggin' you to death and-"

"He's my roommate," Kiyoomi supplies quickly. "Not a date. He was talking about- he doesn't know what the hell he's talking amou- about. He's drunk."

"He's not the only one. How much have ya had?"

"…Like half that bottle."

"Jesus. You a functionin' alcoholic or somethin'?"

"It wasn't that mu-"

Kiyoomi cuts off with a sneeze from the shiver running up his back and goosebumps raising the hairs on his arms.

"Here," Atsumu says, pulling them to a stop. "I'm gonna freeze watchin' ya shiver like that."

He pulls his hoodie off, and it lifts the t-shirt under to expose his skin and the bit of his boxers peeking from his jeans. So he does that all the time.

Kiyoomi somehow stops staring before Atsumu's head is free from the hoodie. Before he takes the sweatshirt held to him, he takes off his own shirt.

"I think she got her puke on me," he explains, trading with Atsumu.

"Oh great, I get the puke shirt. Thanks, asshole."

He folds it inside out wads it into his hand while Kiyoomi pulls the black hoodie over his head. It smells like cologne. And what he assumes is just Atsumu.

"Better?"

"Mhm."

"Suits ya. Are the Jackals on your list after college?"

Kiyoomi nods, wrapping a hand around Atsumu's cold bicep when the toe of his shoe catches on the sidewalk.

"That's good," Atsumu says in that soft voice, barely above a whisper.

Kiyoomi leans more of his weight onto him, knocking his cheek against his shoulder.

"So how'd ya start a fire?"

"I didn't."

He explains the shit show that he had to deal with more animatedly than Atsumu ever expected to see him. Atsumu ends up understanding why Kiyoomi chugged that vodka before he arrived.

"Okay," Atsumu says after a bit of walking. "We're here."

Kiyoomi loosens his grip, looking up at the sign on the restaurant reading 'Onigiri Miya'.

Atsumu's hand snakes into the pocket of the hoodie, and he mumbles out an apology for his reach when he pulls out a set of keys. He steps forward to unlock the door with Kiyoomi following.

"You're really abusin' those key privileges," a voice says through the dimly lit restaurant.

Atsumu hurries over to the counter where his brother is filling out inventory forms, aggressively whispering something as Kiyoomi makes his way to the counter more slowly as to not allow the alcohol to come back up.

"Fine," Osamu says, getting up to head further into the kitchen. "But ya owe me like thirty hours of work by now."

"'Samu's gonna whip somethin' up real quick," Atsumu says, patting on a stool for Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi watches Osamu come back and dump ingredients on the counter, and instead of sitting, goes around the counter.

"Omi, seat, right here."

"No," he responds, "I said I'd make a dinner that you'd enjoy. So I will."

"Fine by me," Osamu says, throwing up his hands and walking back around the counter to sit at the bar and get back to his papers. "Just put on a spare hat."

Atsumu points out where they are before taking a seat next to his brother. He stays still for about twenty seconds until Kiyoomi whips a large knife.

"Woah ho ho, maybe no knives under the influence yeah?" Atsumu says, standing from his stool to join him behind the counter.

He gently takes the knife from him and goes to get his own hat on.

"I'll cut, you just tell me what. Cool?"

"Fine."

He directs and Atsumu cuts, and eventually he pushes the blonde aside to get to work on them on his own. Atsumu leans against the counter beside him, watching his hands as they mold the rice, until Kiyoomi stops suddenly.

"What's up?" Osamu asks, apparently also watching Kiyoomi's process.

"Nothing, just… sobering up. Sorry about this."

"It's fine, just don't hack on my counter."

He was hoping his nausea wasn't visible. But he now knows how horrible it feels to watch someone puke their guts in your kitchen, so he nods and powers through, finally plating his creation.

"Done," he states, sliding the plate to Atsumu.

He picks up the onigiri that crumbles a bit in his hold, tilting his head to get all the angles of Kiyoomi's handiwork. He comments that it looks good (it looks like a five year made it) and takes a bite. Kiyoomi holds his breath, waiting for feedback.

Atsumu swallows with a thoughtful hum. Osamu rolls his eyes when he smacks his lips obnoxiously, tilting his head up with squinted eyes.

"Fantastic."

"Whatever," Kiyoomi scoffs.

"No seriously, way better than I was expectin' with the presentation. Here, try."

He tries to break off a piece, but it only falls apart in his fingers. Before he can try another method, Kiyoomi leans over to take a bite directly from it in Atsumu's hands. He doesn't catch the way Atsumu freezes or heats up in the face.

"It is good."

"Right? My turn."

He bumps Kiyoomi by the hip to take his place at the counter, and in a faster and neater manner, makes Kiyoomi an onigiri of his choice. When he eats it, he holds back the fact that it tastes even better than the one he had made.

"Ya need a place to crash?" Atsumu asks as Osamu ushers them out of the restaurant.

"No, the firefighters said it should've taken an hour or so to clear up. I need to make sure they haven't puked in the dishwasher too."

"I'll drive ya back. 'Samu, gimme your keys."

"That was not one of the favors ya-"

"Gimme the keys!"

Osamu drops a key fob into his palm, mumbling out "forty hours" before turning to go back inside.

"How is he getting home?" Kiyoomi asks when the door is locked behind them.

"He lives up the stairs, the car's just for deliveries," Atsumu explains, leading him to the vehicle.

He opens the door for Kiyoomi and clasps a hand on the top of the car to prevent the taller man's head from banging against it when he gets in. And they have a comfortable silent drive back to Kiyoomi's apartment.

Kiyoomi wakes up to his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He weakly picks it up and is met with his cousin's profile picture taking up his screen, where the top right corner reads '9:17'.

It's a Saturday, meaning no classes, along with a rare day off of both work and practice. So he was really planning on sleeping in, but go ahead Motoya, wake him up before ten am.

"What?" he grits into the phone.

"Is that picture legit? 'Cause if so, thanks a lot for telling me. Jerk."

"What picture?"

"Ooouu, just waking up huh?"

Kiyoomi sits up, rubbing at his eye with his free hand.

"I had an eventful night."

"Eventful how? Go home with someone or…?

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at his cousin's odd tone.

"No, my apartment almost burned down and my roommate puked in my sink."

"Oh. So it's an older picture that's circulating? That actually makes it worse that you didn't tell me, how long have-"

"What picture?" Kiyoomi demands for a second time.

"Don't freak when you see it. I gotta go to practice, but call me later if you want to, just don't freak."

Telling him not to freak twice in breath has the opposite effect, but he hangs up before Kiyoomi can interrogate him further. Then there's a tapping on his door,light, as if the person on the side is scared to be knocking in the first place.

"What?" Kiyoomi grinds out through his teeth, not yet over the happenings of last night.

The door slowly creaks open, only halfway, and his evil roommate and his girlfriend hesitantly peek in. Tamura holds up her phone to display a picture, but Kiyoomi can't make it out, so he forces himself to stand and walk over. Once he gets a look at the contents of the image, he snatches the phone from her hand.

On the screen is a picture of him and Atsumu from the back, taken last night— Kiyoomi clinging to the setter's arm while wearing a sweatshirt with the name Miya and the number thirteen printed in bold yellow on the back.

He skims the short paragraphs above and below that talk about the young starting setter's first known relationship with a mystery man.

"Are you okay?" Kubo asks at his silence.

Kiyoomi doesn't really know. One one hand, it's not so bad that there's a rumor that he's dating someone he has something akin to a high school crush on. On the other hand, the article is a total misread, a violation of his privacy, and a humiliating spotlight on him. Especially for those like Motoya who are able to tell who he is by his sneakers and the back of his head.

And worst of all, he has no idea what Atsumu's reaction to this is. Is he struggling to even give a damn, telling himself it'll go away soon? Is he weirded out or angry that Kiyoomi would be latched onto him in such a way that would create a misunderstanding?

"So he's not a YouTuber, but a boyfriend?" Tamura asks in a hopeful tone.

Kiyoomi sighs.

"No," he says, handing the phone back.

He buries his hands into the pocket of the hoodie that he still wears. He had been too tired to take it off last night, and now he'll have to wash his sheets.

"Oh… we bought cinnamon rolls for you."

Kiyoomi takes in their faces now— annoyingly apologetic and pitying. At least they know they were wrong for last night, and at least they had the decency to show him the article when they found it. His stomach growls, not quite filled from the single onigiri he had last night, so they make way for him to walk through the doorway.

The scent of bleach burns his nose as he gets closer to the kitchen, and he sees the white substance lining the sink that had been violated last night. Thankful that Kubo is already taking care of his mess, he gets a glass of water and goes to sit at the table where a light blue box sits.

He recognizes the logo. Given that their school is so close to this particular bakery, it gets crazy busy on weekends. They must've gotten up early to retrieve it, too early considering their conditions last night. And based on the bowls of cereal that they pour for themselves, they only got them for Kiyoomi.

The couple does a terrible job at hiding their wary looks at him from the other side of the table while he takes a roll out, but he doesn't have the energy to tell them to fuck off, so he ignores them and eats in silence.

An urgent knocking on the door interrupts their meals, and Kubo stands to get it.

"Oh," he says after he's creaked it open. "It's the blondie. Should I let him in?"

"How'd ya sleep barf boy?"

"I'm not letting him in."

Atsumu shoves past him anyway, disheveled hair and urgency in his eyes. And after making eye contact with Kiyoomi, he immediately heads to loudly sit in the chair beside him.

"Omi, this is on me, I'm sorry. I dunno what I was thinkin', I should've considered the possibility of this happenin' but I was distracted- it doesn't matter. It's my bad, I mean, you had a reason to not be thinkin' straight, bein' drunk and all. But I was sober and should've-"

"Hey! You didn't take advantage of Sakusa in his vulnerable state did you?"

Tamura nods beside him, and they glare at Atsumu as if he was the reason Kiyoomi had a bad night, to Atsumu's severe dismay. "What the hell is he still doin' here?"

"I live here jackass. The plaque by the door reads 'Sakusa and Kubo' not 'Sakusa and Bad Dye Job'."

"Huh?!"

"I can see your roots," Tamura sneers.

"I can see the dried puke in your hair."

"What?!"

"He's lying babe, you got it all out."

"Stop. Yelling."

The flat order from Kiyoomi, whose eyes are shut tight while he rubs at his temples with elbows propped on the table, shuts them all up. After a minute he opens his eyes and glares across the table.

"Get out."

That's all it takes for the couple to scoop up their bowls and retreat to the bedroom.

"Omi, the PR team's already doin' damage control but if ya want me to post any-"

"I'm sure they'll handle it fine. Just let me know what they plan to do."

"Oh. Uh, yeah, right now they just want me to stay quiet. But if we're spotted in public again I'm s'pposed to mention that we're just friends in my next interview or somethin'."

Kiyoomi is so fixated on the 'just friends' part of the sentence, he almost misses the part before it.

"If we're spotted in public again?"

Atsumu shifts in his seat, glancing away.

"Well, yeah, but I guess I get it if ya don't wanna do anythin' like that again. We can stick to textin' about food."

"I do. Last night was fun."

Atsumu perks back up.

"Yeah?"

Kiyoomi nods, staring at the table.

"I see ya like the sweatshirt."

"It stinks."

"Sure. Well I gotta get goin', I have practice in-"

He checks his phone and pockets it slowly.

"-ten minutes."

"Are you stupid?" Kiyoomi scoffs. "Why would you come all the way over here if you have practice half an hour away?"

"'Cause I wanted to have this conversation in person! 'Scuse me for bein' a considerate friend."

"It could have easily happened over the phone."

"I wanted it to be sincere."

"So your sincerity level changes based on your location?"

"Alright, I get it! It was stupid and I didn't hafta drive over here! My bad, once again."

He stands with no real animosity, and Kiyoomi nods in agreement as he watches him walk towards the door.

"Wait."

It comes out hesitant, and Atsumu turns around with a brow raised in question.

"There's a game. Tomorrow. In case you're interested."

He doesn't give Atsumu time to reject his offer before continuing.

"Though you probably want your off-day to actually be an off-day. Nevermind."

"No! I-"

He cuts off to clear his throat and speak in a quieter manner.

"I'll go. I wanna go. I'll get a ticket now."

"It's cheaper if I get it for you. And anyone else who might want to go."

Atsumu smiles. Not an annoying or smirking smile, but one of the charming smiles that accentuate his dimples and scrunch up his honey brown eyes.

"I'll ask around and text ya. Thanks!"

He waves goodbye to which Kiyoomi returns with a short wave of his own before the door closes behind the setter.

Chapter Text

"There he is! Practice started half an hour ago!"

"Boyfriend make you late?"

"More like kept him up late."

"Oh ha, ha," Atsumu says flatly with the roll of his eyes to his teammates' teasing. They had seen the picture way too quickly, spamming the group chat with screenshots of the few articles already including it. "Not a boyfriend."

"It was Sakusa right?" Bokuto chirps.

The curse on Bokuto that Atsumu cites in his head is lethal.

"Sakusa?" Tomas repeats. "Like our buddy college team's ace?"

"Yep!"

"Nice score Miya," Inunaki says. "Very unexpected."

"I didn't score any- wait, why is it unexpected?"

"Miya! What the hell took ya?!"

He stiffens at his coach's voice booming across the gym, reluctantly jogging over. While he gets a mouthful, it takes every last drop of self control in him to not flinch at the spit that lands on his face.

Practice goes fine, besides the extra yelling directed at him by Foster, but the interrogation from his teammates resumes in the locker room.

"He's not a boyfriend, so it was just a date gone well?"

"No," Atsumu snaps at Tomas. "Not a date. Not a boyfriend."

"Then what?"

"I got it," Barnes chimes in with a finger in the air. "It's complicated."

The locker room echos with understanding 'ah's while Atsumu slams his locker.

"It's not 'complicated'," he insists with air quotes. "We're just friends, plain and simple."

It almost stings coming out of his mouth. Just friends. As if his heart wasn't pounding against his sternum when Sakusa clung to him, bumping his cheek against Atsumu's cold shoulder.

As if his goosebumps from the cold air hadn't gone away at the heat that flushed up his neck at Sakusa letting out a breathy 'Miya' every time he wanted his attention.

As if he hadn't lost his breath the first time Sakusa smiled at him and committed the expression to memory. Not a smirk at his expense, not a quirk of the lips at Bokuto landing wrong and falling on his ass, but a genuine smile directed only at Atsumu.

He's fallen. Hard. And the process started long before their fateful 7/11 encounter.

They knew of each other through reputation by the time they started high school, but didn't properly meet until their second year at the All-Japan Youth Training Camp. Atsumu found Sakusa odd and, quite frankly, rude.

Turning down high fives after plays, actively avoiding everyone but his cousin, and frequently gritting out insults about people who didn't necessarily do anything to deserve it.

But then Atsumu had to hold back a laugh when Sakusa commented on how Kageyama's hair made him look like a cockroach, and he was reminded that he's quite the jerk himself, so who is he to judge? In fact, he loves insulting people at random. Getting on their nerves. Keeps life interesting.

He practiced this past time of his when they started playing against Kiyoomi's college team. The spiker's play was never affected by any of Atsumu's taunts, but he certainly reacted. It amused Atsumu to watch his face scrunch up in annoyance or drop into a straight faced glare.

Sometimes he would quip back in ways that tended to hit just the right spot on Atsumu, and those would maybe sometimes affect Atsumu's play. It got to the point where Meian would order him not to let Sakusa's comments get to him in their huddle before their games started. It never worked.

Atsumu had played a few matches against the college's team before Sakusa showed up for the first time. Bokuto had sprinted over at the familiar face, talking his ear off like he was a close friend. Whereas Sakusa had looked very perturbed by the situation, slowly leaning away from Bokuto as yelled about how excited he was.

Atsumu walked over to drag Bokuto back to their side of the court for warmups, waving at Sakusa with a "hey Omi" as he did so. He thinks he got a tiny nod returning the greeting, but he couldn't be sure.

"Tsum-tsum! Wait!"

Atsumu slows his gait to let Bokuto catch up to him. They normally wait for each other to walk back to their apartment building together, but Atsumu was in a rush to get out of that locker room today.

"What's going on with Sakusa?" Bokuto asks.

"Nothing's goin' on, that picture was taken totally outta context."

"What was the context?"

Atsumu sighs. Bokuto is fully aware of his feelings for Sakusa, more than anyone other than Osamu. Walking the same route home after every practice or home game meant that Atsumu would mention that he's hungry and going to his brother's to eat, and Bokuto would recognize the invitation to join.

And once Atsumu got a little of Osamu's secret stash of sake in his system, he absolutely had to woe about his feelings for Sakusa.

It started off with mild things; mostly just recognizing that Sakusa is a good-looking guy. He had gotten better at styling his hair, and his school's dark blue color suited him. Atsumu liked the funny faces he made when anyone, on his team or not, got on his nerves.

Then one day it hit.

They had just finished a match with the college, and the team was walking towards the exit from the locker room when Atsumu spotted it— a bright green and yellow Tamagotchi.

He picked it up, inspecting the little creature on the screen. It was hungry, so he clicked the button to feed it with Bokuto peeking over his shoulder.

"Where'd you get that?"

"The floor."

"It's one of those fancy ones," Inunaki added, popping up on Atsumu's other side. "Instead of dying of old age, you can keep them alive indefinitely if you take care of it properly."

Atsumu had to yank it away from Bokuto's grabby hands, shoving it in his jacket pocket while the other continued to reach for it.

"Lemme feed it! Just once!"

"You'll kill it! Get offa me!"

Atsumu ran the rest of the way out of building with Bokuto on his tail, despite their captain's warning to set a good examples as professionals. Once he burst out out the doors to the stair case, he came to an abrupt stop. Bokuto crashed into his back, almost knocking Atsumu off balance where he was distracted by an odd scene.

At the bottom of the concrete stairs, Sakusa was sitting on the last step with two of his teammates standing over him talking about something. He looked distressed, and the other two were glancing at each other helplessly between sentences.

Atsumu started to catch parts of the conversation as he headed down.

"Give me your bag," Sakusa insisted, holding out a hand to one of his teammates.

He obeyed, only to let out an angry "hey!" when Sakusa dumped the contents of his bag. Atsumu and Bokuto stopped a couple steps behind him, watching as his fingers sorted through all the items on the ground.

"He lost some toy his niece gave him in high school," one of the players explained having noticed Bokuto and Atsumu's curious stares.

"Dude, if it wasn't in the locker room, it's probably in the halls somewhere."

"It'll have starved to death by the time I find it," Sakusa said, flicking a key across the sidewalk to his teammate's annoyance.

Atsumu took the Tamagotchi from his pocket and glanced between it and Sakusa before taking the couple steps down to his level.

"Hey, this it?"

Sakusa looked up at the question, and the furrow in his brow disappeared the second he caught sight of the key chain dangling from Atsumu's finger. He stood quickly, immediately taking the toy, brushing fingers with Atsumu as he did so.

"Where was it?"

"By the water fountain. I think it's fine, I fed it a minute ago."

Sakusa fiddled with the toy, flipping it around to check for damage, Atsumu supposed. Then he finally looked up, and Atsumu was officially done for.

The corners of his lips curved up as he looked at Atsumu. It wasn't a big cheek splitting grin or anything; just a small, simple, earth shattering, beautiful smile accompanied by deep eyes looking right into Atsumu's.

"Thanks."

He had quietly uttered one simple word, but Atsumu couldn't even return it. His mouth was already open, gaping stupidly, and he couldn't form a single word to come out of it.

Sakusa hadn't taken any notice to his state, head ducked down to look at the toy while he turned to leave. His teammates, however, definitely noticed, leveling Atsumu with judgemental stares before crouching to repack the bag that Sakusa had emptied.

Atsumu stood there staring at Sakusa's retreating figure like a lovestruck idiot until Bokuto waved his hands in front of his face wildly.

Very similar to now, where Atsumu has zoned out for the past minute.

"Hello, earth to Tsum-tsum!"

"What dya want?"

"What were you doing with Sakusa last night? Are you sure it wasn't a date?"

"Yes I'm sure. We were just goin' to get somethin' to eat. He was makin' dinner at first but his roommate almost burned the place down so we went to 'Samu's instead. Platonic dinner."

"Why were you holding hands?"

"He was holding my arm," Atsumu corrects. "'Cause he had a stressful night, so he ended up a little drunk and needed assistance in walking."

"Why was he wearing your sweatshirt?"

"He was colder than me."

"Do you still like-like him?"

"God you're just a book of fuckin' questions today! No, I don't like-like him 'cause I'm not nine years old! I like him 'cause I'm twenty-one years old and he's-"

He cuts off with a groan, detouring to a streetlamp so he can drop his forehead on the cold metal.

"He's got a face you'd go to war over."

"Like the Trojan horse?"

Atsumu lifts his head with a sigh. No, the beauty of Sakusa Kiyoomi should not be compared to a horse.

"No, they hid inside the horse to get into the city. Helena was the face they went to war over."

"So, Sakusa is Helena."

"Yeah, sure. And he invited me to his game tomorrow. Wanna come?"

"Yeah! I'll wing-man."

"Don't."

"I'll be the horse, and you can be inside me."

A couple with their child passing from the other direction glances at them with concern, and Atsumu doesn't deign him with a response.

"Keep the hat on! You're the most conspicuous person on the fuckin' planet."

Bokuto reluctantly flattens his hair with the Onigiri Miya baseball cap Atsumu brought him, while the latter adjusts his own beat up blue cap that he dug out of his closet.

"I wanted to wear my Jackal's hat," Bokuto whines as they squeeze past people to make their way down the bleachers.

"The whole point of wearin' the hats is so people don't realize we're players. We can't risk people connectin' the dots between the picture and me bein' at Omi's game."

They agreed over text beforehand that Atsumu would leave right after the game. When he has a new rumored mystery boyfriend and then shows up at a college volleyball game, fans might figure out who the dark haired man in the picture was. It probably wasn't a great idea to come to the game in the first place, but was Atsumu really supposed to turn it down? He'd jump into traffic if Sakusa asked nice enough. Actually, he wouldn't have to be nice about it.

"It's ruining my hair," Bokuto complains as they bump past people's knees to get to their seats. Atsumu rolls his eyes, scanning the court for Sakusa.

"I'll buy ya a beer so stop mopin' already."

"Get me one too."

Atsumu jerks his head up at the voice, and audibly groans at the source of it. Right there, right beside his seat, is the roommate-girlfriend tandem from hell.

"What're you two doin' here?"

"Sakusa-kun got us season passes for cheap at the beginning of the year," Tamura smiles. Infuriating smile, by the way.

"What about you?" Kubo asks. "Season tickets? Or just one? Aww, you only got one ticket?"

They jut their bottom lips out to mockingly pout at Atsumu as forces Bokuto in front of him. He will not be sitting next to this freak.

"Yeah, I got specifically invited to this game. Did you get invited to any games, or didya hafta beg for those passes?"

That straightens their stupid faces out immediately, and Atsumu smiles at his victory as he sits.

"I'm Bokuto," his teammate introduces after sitting. "You guys are Tsum-tsum's friends?"

He gets three denying "no!"s in response. Atsumu turns his attention to the court, ears filtering out the process of Bokuto becoming fast friends with the couple Atsumu had become fast enemies with.

His eyes find Sakusa quickly, and his gaze forms a sort of auto-lock on him for the rest of their warmups, not even tracking any of his hits to see where they landed. How could he look away when he looks like that?

With those soft curls of his bouncing and landing back on his forehead with every jump, flowing with every turn, framing his perfectly sculpted face. That perfect skin, the light complexion only ever interrupted by a stray beauty mark, whether it be on his sleek hands or alluringly seated above his neat brows.

He's handsome, but not in a rugged or charming way. There's more elegance to his looks. He has a graceful beauty to him. If you had told fifteen year Atsumu he would be using the word 'beautiful' to describe another man, he'd strongly deny it. Yet how could he not? Kiyoomi is a beautiful, athletic, striking, work of nature.

And yes, he's now 'Kiyoomi' in Atsumu's mind. And Kiyoomi finds his eyes for just a second, not showing any reaction in response to Atsumu's small smile before turning away.

Atsumu is starting to gain hope for this formerly fruitless crush of his. When he walked into that 7/11, it felt like the starts aligned. It was his in; his chance to get closer. To slowly fix himself into Kiyoomi's life. And he's been doing a pretty good job of it if he does say so himself.

By halftime, Bokuto has become best friends with the two nuisances next to him, and they agree to get him popcorn while they shove past Atsumu's knees to get to concessions.

"He's playing a really good game," Bokuto remarks, and Atsumu nods in agreement.

His playing is superb. He's the leading scorer, though he tends to always be as the ace of his team. His serves are doing particularly well at keeping the opposing team off rhythm.

You don't get to that level of good by playing volleyball as a past time; it has to be your every waking thought. It has to be the love of your life. Atsumu would know. Kiyoomi is undeniably dedicated. Disciplined. Just more aspects for Atsumu to be entranced by.

Atsumu sighs, leaning his cheek onto his fist propped up by an elbow on his armrest.

"What's wrong?" Bokuto asks.

"Nothing's wrong, everything's right," Atsumu replies wistfully. "He's the most beautiful man on earth and he loves volleyball more than life. The gods sent us both to Osaka after high school so I could bewitch him into my life. One day you'll be watchin' us on the altar while he agrees to have me the rest of our lives."

"…Woah. Can I be a groomsman?"

"Sure."

"What about me?"

With his stomach dropping, horror flowing through his veins, Atsumu slowly looks up at the voice. Kubo looks down at him, an evil grin on his face as he obnoxiously smacks on his snack and holds out the bag.

"Popcorn?"

"I'll Venmo ya fifty bucks right now if ya take what you heard to the grave."

"Make it sixty."

Atsumu groans as the couple shoves past him again and start chatting it up with Bokuto. The traitor. Even after the whistle blows to start the second half, they're still laughing out loud with him.

"You're fun," Kubo tells him.

"Yeah," Tamura agrees. "Why can't it be your rippling pectorals that Sakusa's into?"

That gets Atsumu's attention real quick. He turns his head so fast he thinks he feels his brain bounce off his skull.

"What?!"

"Nice goin' T, we're already on Sakusa's shit list 'cause of Friday night."

"Um, if I recall correctly, I wasn't the one who threw up in the-"

"Whose rippling pectorals is he into?!"

He braces a hand on the seat in front of him so he can lean forward far enough to look at the two of them. He gets a few concerned looks from other spectators and the couple flinches at his volume before fixing him with what he thinks are condescending looks.

"What? What're those face for?"

"You don't know who we're talking about?" Tamura asks warily.

"Should I?"

The couple shares a look. Based on his relationship with them, it can't be a good look.

"It's not our business to share," Tamura says to Atsumu's dismay. "But I can tell you he plays volleyball too."

That's something. Atsumu leans closer.

"On this team? Is he on the court right now?"

"No, he plays pro. Someone he knew from another team in high school."

Atsumu nods, slowly leaning back into his seat. He slouches and taps his fingers on his thighs as he racks his brain for professional players with impressive chests that Kiyoomi played against in high school.

He ticks the Kamomedai and Karasuno players off the list. He doesn't think Kiyoomi knew anyone on Fukurodani besides Bokuto, and he won't even entertain the idea of that.

Then it hits him. It's obvious.

"Ushiwaka."

He seethes out the name and drops his head into his hands with a groan.

"What the hell," he mumbles through his hands. "What the hell?!"

"You don't know it's him for sure," Bokuto says in an attempt to comfort his distraught teammate.

"Wedding's off Bokkun. You can ask Ushiwaka if if you can be a groomsman for him. I'll be standin' on Omi's side pretendin' to cry of happiness."

"Don't give up already!"

"Why not? I can't hold a candle to the cake that is Ushiwaka's pecs…"

"But maybe it's your pecs. You play pro, and he knew you in high school."

Atsumu freezes, lifting his head with his hands still hovering. This is a possibility.

"Is it Ushiwaka or me?" he demands, looking at the couple once again.

Tamura doesn't even look away from the court, and Kubo slowly puts another handful of popcorn in his mouth, holding up a finger. Atsumu and Bokuto lean towards him in anticipation as he chews at a devastatingly slow pace. When he finally swallows, he clears his throat and lowers his finger.

"No comment."

Atsumu could strangle him. He might be around the same height, but Atsumu is a professional athlete. He could jump over Bokuto and strangle him to death. But he will choose peace and maturity instead, flopping back into his seat.

The phone in Kiyoomi's hand barely reaches the second ring before the call is answered.

"Yellow."

Gross. Gross that a stupid greeting like that is so Atsumu and therefore endearing.

"It's me."

"Yeah, hey! I was just about to call ya."

"Oh. Why?"

"Tell ya what a good game ya played. Also, ya didn't tell me that dickhead roommate of yours and his little lady were gonna be right fuckin' next to us."

Kiyoomi glances from the fridge to the kitchen table where the couple is timing how long it'll take them to finish a large pizza. The personal record to beat is seven minutes and twenty-two seconds.

"I just always buy tickets in that section. I didn't know they'd be right next to you."

"Yeah, whatever, they loved Bokkun so I didn't hafta deal with 'em too much. So have ya talked to Ushiwaka recently?"

Kiyoomi squints at the phone before bringing it back to his ear. What a sudden question.

"No?"

He thinks he hears a bit of rustling on the other end, but no response.

"Hello?"

"Uh, so you guys don't talk anymore, or..?"

Kiyoomi shuts the door of his bedroom that he made his way to.

"Has anyone ever told you you're too nosy?"

"Just curious. I mean you guys were all buddy-buddy in high school, so."

"So?"

"So, I thought you'd be texting buddies or somethin', I dunno. You don't text after watchin' each other's games or anythin'?"

The point of this conversation has long flown over Kiyoomi's head, but there's probably no harm in answering Atsumu's questions.

"If I catch a game he plays particularly well in I might text him. And he does the same to me sometimes."

"Ah, gotcha."

"There's… a very select amount of people I text regularly."

There's a pause on the other end.

"Yeah?"

What's he doing? Why is he about to tell Atsumu in some round about way that he's one of he only people Kiyoomi bothers keeping in touch with?

"I respond to my teammates and family when I need to, and Motoya and I text a lot. But other than that…"

He sits gingerly on his bed, waiting for Atsumu to get to gist of what he's trying to convey.

"But other than that ya just text me 'bout food and stuff."

Kiyoomi lets out a breath, loosening his shoulders than he didn't know had stiffened up so much.

"Speaking of food," he starts, lounging more comfortably in bed, "I need your help. My mother called."

"Who died?"

"If someone did die, you'd regret making an insensitive joke."

"I don't think so."

"My parents are visiting on Thursday, so I have three days to learn how to make a meal that will convince them I'm not helpless."

"Ah, need some help Mister 'Not Helpless'?"

His grip on the phone tightens in annoyance.

"Yes," he grits out. "The only thing I've mastered is the ramen bowl."

"That can't be the only thing ya know how to make. What'd ya eat before ya had to cut down on groceries?"

"Chicken. With rice and vegetables on the side."

"What kinda chicken?"

"Just… chicken. Salt and pepper. Sometimes a little sauce."

"Salt and pepper… And that's all ya ate. Ever."

"I ordered a lot of takeout. Healthy takeout."

Atsumu chuckles through the phone, and Kiyoomi hates that he likes the sound of it despite it being directed at him.

"So ya want me to come over and make somethin' before they get there?"

"No, they're getting here in the early afternoon. They'd be suspicious if I already had dinner ready."

"So?"

"So… if you have some free time in the next couple days…"

He waits for Atsumu to figure out the rest of the sentence on his own, but there's only a smug response in return.

"If I have some free time…"

Kiyoomi huffs.

"I need you to come over and teach me."

"All ya had to do was ask, Omi."

Kiyoomi doesn't point out to his chipper tone that he had not asked, but demanded.

"Practice ends at six tomorrow. You?"

"I have morning practice. My last class ends at three, so you can just come over when you're ready."

"What're we makin'?"

"I'm not sure. You can pick."

"I know just the thing. I'll bring the stuff too."

"You don't have to-"

"Ope, phone's ringin'. I gotta go, night Omi!"

"…Bye."

The hours after Kiyoomi's last class pass agonizingly slow, but he takes advantage of the time to tidy up. He does a quick sweeping job and vacuums the living carpet and couch, then goes to sort out the fridge and cabinets, despite most of the food being Kubo's.

As he puts all the vegetables in one fridge drawer, the front door opens and he hears keys clatter onto the counter.

"Thanks," Kubo says upon seeing how Kiyoomi is busying himself. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know."

"T and I are watching the new Love Island later, if you wanna join."

Kiyoomi cranes back to look at his roommate from behind the open fridge door. The man is chugging the orange juice from the counter straight out of the bottle.

"Do it in your room. I need silence in the kitchen."

"Why?"

"Miya is teaching me how to make something for when my parents visit on Thursday."

"Ugh."

He ignores the reaction and continues to clean. Clearing the dishes from the sink while Kubo answers the door to get the pizza he ordered, wiping down the counters as Tamura arrives with a six-pack(is she even allowed to have a key?), and using the remainder of his time to clean his bedroom. For whatever reason.

Eventually, he hears a faint knock at the front through his closed door. By the time he gets there, Kubo is already there, angling his body to block out the crack of space he's allowed the door to open to.

"He's not here. He told me to tell you to leave."

"Huh?! Lemme in!"

Kiyoomi snatches the door handle to pull it all the way open and scowl at Atsumu.

"Were you raised in a barn?" he grits out through his teeth. "Stop yelling."

"Wh- he was the one that-"

"Just come in."

The grocery bags in Atsumu's hold rustle as he steps in, and Kubo retreats to his room after exchanging one more dirty look with the blonde. Atsumu follows Kiyoomi into the nearby kitchen and deposits the bags on the counter. Then he takes his jacket off so he can work in his tight t-shirt… great.

"Everything ya need for negimaki," he explains, unloading the contents onto the counter. "Ya have soy sauce and sugar, right?"

"Yes," Kiyoomi responds, taking them out of a cabinet.

"Vegetable oil?"

"Mm… yes."

"Okay, and I got flank steak, scallions, sesame seeds, green beans, rice, sake, mirin, and—"

He thunks two bottles of peach tea on the counter.

"—our favorite."

Our favorite? The statement shouldn't give Kiyoomi butterflies as extensively as it does.

"Okay, dya have a shallow dish kinda thing? Like a pie dish?"

Kiyoomi pulls one out while Atsumu scrubs his hands and then does the same. Atsumu pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and smooths it out on the counter.

1. Add soy sauce, mirin, sugar, and sake in shallow container. Stir until sugar is almost dissolved, then set the marinade aside.

Atsumu watches Kiyoomi carefully measure out each ingredient over the sink before pouring them into the dish and stirring lightly with a spoon.

2. Cut pound of beef in half against the grain. Cut with the grain into 24 slices, about 1/2 inch thick each. Arrange a few slices cut-side up on plastic wrap, leaving space between each slice. Cover with more plastic wrap and pound with meat mallet until slices are 1/8 thick or less.

"Against the grain?" Kiyoomi wonders aloud. "Like, the grain of the cutting board?"

"The grain of the steak," Atsumu explains, hovering a finger in a line down the meat. "Cut it in the same direction as the lines."

Kiyoomi does his best, but Atsumu makes a protesting noise when he's halfway through the first slice.

"Like this," he says, taking the knife from Kiyoomi's hands, brushing over his fingers.

His broad left shoulder bumps against Kiyoomi's right when he scoots over to get a better angle of the steak. He cuts it differently than Kiyoomi, but the latter doesn't really catch it, too busy trailing his eyes down Atsumu's forearms to his hands.

"Got it?"

"Yeah."

Yeah, sure. He did not get it, and starts the same way he had done it before.

"What the hell are ya doin'?"

"This is exactly how you did it."

"No it's not! Look, just- hold on, here."

He takes a step back from the counter, and angles himself behind Kiyoomi, reaching his right arm over to hold the knife over Kiyoomi's hand.

"Hold it in place," he says in the low gravelly voice that Kiyoomi has only heard a few times. Having it murmuring so close to his ear, the breath of Atsumu's words hitting his neck, he can't help his mind from wandering to another context in which he'd like Atsumu pressed firm against his back, void of clothes and-

"Chill your death grip on the knife."

He obeys the instructions that rumble against his back, praying Atsumu can't feel the heat inevitably flushing up his face.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"'S fine. Start up here… up and down a little as ya go."

They cut five slices or so like that, until Atsumu takes his hand off. But he barely steps back, watching closely over Kiyoomi's shoulder while the other tries not to slice himself under the gaze.

"Look at that, you're a natural."

"Clearly not."

As he finishes on his own, Atsumu lays out the plastic wrap for him to arrange the steak slices on.

"Got a meat mallet?"

"…No."

"'Course not. Good thing I anticipated your barren kitchen."

Kiyoomi frowns while Atsumu pulls a meat mallet out of one of the plastic bags and hands it to him.

"Don't go too crazy. Ya might rip the plastic and get it all in the meat."

"I know that much," Kiyoomi mumbles before banging the mallet against the steak.

3. Lay out 3 slices with the long sides slightly overlapping by about 1/4 inch. Cut 3 piece of scallion the same width as the beef and arrange them across the meat at the end. Tightly roll the meat around them, securing the roll in place with two toothpicks.

Kiyoomi's rolls are definitely questionable. His fingers fumble around the steak, and he ends up pushing the scallions out halfway through each roll and having to start over.

"You're not too keen with those fingers."

"Oh and you are?" Kiyoomi snaps back instinctively.

"Watch it and weep Omi."

He assorts three slices of meat out and places the scallions on them. Then he rolls them, fingers bending at odd angles to keep the roll as tight as possible, pinching it together as he pushes the two toothpicks in.

"Good huh?" he asks, holding up his work.

Kiyoomi's mind is nowhere near the rolls, instead wondering what else Atsumu can do with those fingers.

"It's fine."

"Oh let's see you do better then."

4. Coat the rolls into the marinade and let them marinate for about fifteen minutes, turning them about halfway through. Transfer to a plate and let any excess marinade to drain off. Set leftover marinade aside.

5. Heat oil in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add rolls and brown on all sides, for three or four minutes total. Middle should still be rare. When flipping rolls for last time, reduce heat, add the reserved marinade, and simmer. Turn rolls until sauce thickens, for about two minutes.

Atsumu keeps an eye on the rolls while instructing Kiyoomi on how to make the green beans.

"You should be making these," Kiyoomi says, glaring at the darkened beans.

"Nuh uh, I'm here to teach, not do. Turn the heat down."

6. Transfer rolls to cutting board. Remove toothpicks once cool enough to handle, and using sharp knife, cut rolls crosswise into 1 inch thick pieces wide. Plate rolls and drizzle with sesame seeds and sauce.

As they plate their food and add the sauce, a door opens across the apartment.

"What's the smell?" Tamura chirps from the other side of the counter.

"Negimaki," Atsumu answers, scraping the beans onto their two plates.

"Can I try?"

Kiyoomi looks up with a frown. He watched this girl scarf down half of a twenty-four inch pizza less than two hours ago. "Just one," he agrees, using chopsticks to place one on a paper towel.

She scarfs it down immediately, eyes widening as she chews. "Hey, this is actually good!"

Kiyoomi grimaces at the sight of the food still in her mouth as she responds.

"'Actually good'?" Atsumu repeats. "Like you could make somethin' this good."

"If I put my mind to it."

"The roll was to convince you to leave me alone," Kiyoomi says, and she takes the hint and bounces back into the bedroom.

"Your first relatively positive review," Atsumu smiles, picking up their plates to take to the kitchen table.

Kiyoomi follows with their tea, sitting adjacent to Atsumu where his plate was set. They take a bite at the same time, looking up at each other to gauge the other's reaction. Atsumu gives him a thumbs up as he chews, and Kiyoomi nods in agreement.

"I'll have to spend Wednesday night studying."

"That's cool, Rin is visiting anyway so I probably get dinner with 'im."

Kiyoomi glances up, then straight down to his plate with a bland expression. "Who's Rin?"

"Suna Rintarou. He was on my high school team, now he plays for Raijin's."

"Hm. Come over again tomorrow."

"Do I get a please?"

"Don't make me laugh."

"I'll be here, but only to make sure ya don't burn the place down."

A burnt bean smacks against his forehead.

Motoya takes way too long to answer the call, considering he's been actively blowing up Kiyoomi's phone with reels for the past half hour. But the second Atsumu left, he didn't have a moment to spare before seeking information.

"Hey."

"Does Suna talk about Atsumu a lot?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me."

"Well it was a sudden question with no greeting, so gimme a sec. No, he doesn't talk about Atsumu more than I would deem acceptable."

"And how often is that?"

"Does Atsumu talk about him a lot or something? Is this jealousy? I'm sensing jealousy."

"You're sensing impatience."

"I don't think Suna is into Atsumu, if that's what you're asking."

Kiyoomi scoffs. "What would you know?"

"I'm gonna hang up."

"He's visiting Osaka on Wednesday. And they're getting dinner."

"Yeah, we have a three day break. I was gonna ask if I could tag along to see you, but my sisters have been bugging me to-"

"Do you know where he's staying?"

"Yeah, I miss you too."

"Motoya."

"No, I don't know where he's staying. Probably one of the Miya's."

"Which one?"

"I. Don't. Know. These calls were a lot more tolerable when there were less questions and more rants about his muscles."

"Can you take this seriously?"

"You know, Suna's never called to ask if I thought Atsumu sending a video without a shirt on was some kind of hint. Didn't we agree he was giving out hints?"

Kiyoomi lets out a groaning sigh, collapsing face first onto his bed. They did, but sue him for being a little paranoid that he's been reading into this wrong. It's a perfectly reasonable assumption to think Atsumu might have feelings for someone he's known since high school. Someone he played on the same team as and hung out with after school.

"What'd you say? You're muffled."

"He calls him 'Rin'."

"And I call you Kiyo sometimes. Trust me, I don't have a crush on you."

Kiyoomi grimaces at the reasoning, rolling onto his back. "I was reading into it too much. He's just being nice."

"I don't know him that well, but to my knowledge, no one has ever used the word 'nice' to describe that guy."

"Everyone down here is overly nice. In their own weird way"

"You're nice in a weird way too. One more thing in common."

"You're not as helpful as you think you are."

"Do you want me to come on Wednesday? I could convince him to let us crash their dinner."

"I already told him I have to study that night. And I do."

"Mm, okay. I could try and pry some information out of Suna if you want."

"Don't do that."

"Alright, geez, I don't know how to be helpful then."

"Just… answer the phone faster next time."

"Okay, okay. Lemme tell you about this new play my team's been fucking up."

Chapter Text

"Hey!"

A few heads turn from their lunch conversations at Atsumu's loud entrance, but quickly mind their own business as he stomps towards the counter.

"Why didn't ya answer the phone last night?!" he demands, leaning over the counter where Osamu cuts a piece of salmon, barely glancing up.

"I was sleepin'."

"Why didn't ya call back this mornin'?"

"'Cause I knew ya'd come here."

"What if I didn't? What if I was dead in a ditch on the side of the road?"

"I was gonna call if ya didn't come in by one."

Atsumu looks over to the clock on the wall behind the counter. 11:48. Okay.

"Well, wedding's back on. Get your tux ready."

"Only the groom wears a tux at a wedding."

"Whose wedding?"

Atsumu whips around at the familiar voice, faced with his two favorite seniors.

"What're ya doin' here?!" he exclaims at the smiles from Aran and Kita directed at him.

"They came for lunch," Osamu supplies before turning to call over his shoulder to an employee. "Hey, I'm takin' my break."

"And ya didn't tell me?!"

"Again, I knew ya'd be here by now."

"Ya couldn't have known for a fact!"

"Quit yellin' in my restaurant!"

Aran tells the two of them to calm down while Kita guides them to an empty booth. "Atsumu, are ya eatin' well?"

Atsumu stiffens, memories of his year on his own when he'd get too lazy to go to the store and end up hungry. Of course Osamu had snitched on him and Atsumu received multiple passive aggressive rice shipments.

"I am, actually!" he answers from across the table. "And I'm even passin' on my cookin' wisdom to help someone in need."

"Don't make it sound like Sakusa's your charity case," Osamu says, sliding their plates on the table before sitting down.

"Sakusa, like, Itachiyama Sakusa? So that's who was in that picture that went around this weekend?" Aran asks after a bite.

"Total misconception," Atsumu says. "He was just a little inebriated and needed some support. But it's not like that."

"How'd ya get to hangin' out with 'im anyway?"

"He goes to school here. Ran into him in 7/11 ready to eat a pack of the shittiest instant ramen in the store and saved 'im."

"Sakusa's run into some financial trouble, so 'Tsumu's been teachin' him how to eat on a budget," Osamu explains. "And cook better food in general."

"Exactly," Atsumu beams, "'Cause I'm a good Samaritan and a reliable adult."

"And he's got a fat crush on 'im."

"'Samu!" the blonde practically whines at his brother's betrayal while his friends chuckle at him.

"Is that the wedding we overhead about?" Aran asks.

"Yeah, wanna be my best man?"

"Ya don't mean that," Osamu says seemingly unbothered.

"Atsumu," Kita starts, "tell us about 'im."

Any of Atsumu's previous embarrassment leaves him, and he gushes about his infatuation for what must be the fourth time this week. He pulls out his phone to show them some of the texts they've exchanged, and upon doubtful looks, he has to convince them that's just Kiyoomi's way of typing and he doesn't hate Atsumu's guts.

"Beauty, brains, and brawn all in one," he sighs, putting the phone down on the table. "The definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He's the perfect match for me, I'm tellin' ya. He's gorgeous, and not a wimp either— he can dish it and take it. He's a mean, intimidatin' work of art, but eventually ya start to notice he's got a little softness to 'im. And volleyball's the first love of his life as it should be, but I'm gonna be the second, swear on it."

"Voice memo sent."

He picks up the phone so fast his hand blurs, and he looks at the screen with wide eyed horror before slamming it back down.

"You're kiddin'… you're kiddin', you're kiddin', you're kiddin', you're kidd-"

"Just delete it," Aran says hurriedly as Osamu picks the phone up.

"Can't delete it when it's already sent," he says, not nearly as freaked about this as Atsumu thinks he should be.

"How long was it recordin'?" the setter asks, eyes shut while he rubs at his temples.

"A few seconds. I'll play it."

"-not overly enthusiastic, but that's just his manner of speakin' most of the time. Anyway, I dunno how I didn't see it all in high school. Beauty, brains, and brawn all in one. The definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He's the-"

"Turn it off, I can't!"

"Shut it, I'm listening to see if ya mentioned his name."

"What does it matter," Atsumu groans, burying his head in his arms on the table as the memo continues. "Who else could I be talkin' about?"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Kita says calmly. "Just text that you sent it by accident."

"I got it," Osamu mumbles, typing while Atsumu continues to wallow on the tabletop.

"Kill me. Get the knife I used to cut his onigiri ingredients that night and stab me in the heart with it."

"Relax Atsumu," Aran says with a comforting pat on his arm. "Ya didn't say his name or-"

"Oh, he answered already."

Atsumu zips back up, snatching the phone from his brother and bringing it an inch from his face with a lethal grip from both hands.

Atsumu
12:02 pm

*voice memo*

Sorry didnt mean to send that

Omi
12:03 pm

It's fine

I forgot I have late practice tonight. I won't have time to make the negimaki again

I'll text if I have any questions on Thursday

Atsumu
12:04 pm

Ok I'll send u a pic of the recipe when I get home

Lmk how it goes with your parents :p

"He's never havin' me over again," Atsumu groans, dropping the phone on the table somberly and slouching into the booth.

"If he's a good friend like ya said, he wouldn't let somethin' like this break the two of ya apart so easy," Kita says. "And that's only if he realized you were talkin' about 'im."

"Who knows? Can we talk about somethin' else before I get that knife and do the stabbin' myself?"

"Rin's bringin' his new cat when he visits."

"Jesus. Great, yeah, let's talk about Rin and his dickhead of a cat."

"He's the perfect match for me- he's the perfect match for me- he's the perfect match for-"

"Play that fucking memo one more time Sakusa, I swear to god!"

Kiyoomi flops his arm to his side where he lays flat on his back on the couch, letting the phone topple onto the rug while he heaves out the fifth dramatic sigh of the hour. "Go away."

"It's my apartment too," Kubo retorts from the kitchen where he forces down the stale salad Tamura brought over for them.

"Have some salad Sakusa-kun!"

She only gets a grunt in response.

"What's that voice memo anyway? Who's it from?"

He doesn't respond, looking at the ceiling like it'll take pity and fall and smother him if he stares hard enough. In any other case of Motoya being wrong, he'd have texted or called to gloat about it. But it's too depressing when it's at his own expense.

He considers who else he could call. Iizuna, Wakatoshi, his sister maybe. The first two options are discarded from his mind immediately; it'd be wholly too humiliating to admit to either of them that his woes are due to unrequited feelings for the likes of Miya Atsumu.

His sister might be helpful. Or her older sister syndrome might kick in, telling her that Kiyoomi is the most naive stupid little boy on the planet, causing her to only worsen his mood. It's always a fifty-fifty with her.

With a very visible amount of reluctance, he convinces his body to get up from the couch and drag his feet to the kitchen. After grabbing a cup the bottle of sake Atsumu brought for the negimaki, he plops himself in the seat next to Tamura, across from Kubo.

They're surprisingly patient, only not-so-subtly staring at him while he pours himself a little cup of sake and downs it before pulling out his phone.

"How would you describe this man?" he demands, laying the phone flat on middle of the table.

The couple leans forward in their seats, craning their necks to better view the image from Suna's Instagram that Kiyoomi pulled up.

"He's buff."

"Attractive, but a little intimidating."

Well that's beauty and brawn. And the voice memo definitely used the exact word 'intimidating'. "Is he gorgeous? Tall, dark, and handsome?"

"I'm not answering that," Kubo says unhelpfully, while Tamura zooms in on his face.

Kiyoomi snatches the phone back before she can accidentally like the post.

"I would say so," she says. "You like him?"

"I don't really know him."

"…Wanna fill us in on what the problem is here?"

"No."

He pours another little cup of sake.

"Don't waste a nice bottle," Tamura scolds at the sight of him downing sake as shots. "Take some of the vodka from the freezer."

"Don't encourage this, T. I've only seen him drink twice, and both instances were in the past five days."

"Then obviously something's wrong, and he just needs a little something in his system to be able to talk about it."

"The first thing wrong," Kiyoomi starts with an accusing finger pointing at her, "was you two being puking messes in my apartment while I was trying to cook, and almost burning the kitchen down."

"Whatever, that was ages ago. What's wrong now?"

"None of your business."

He stands to put away the bottle to her dismay, coming back to snatch his phone. "Remember my parents are coming tomorrow. Don't come back before ten."

They both salute, leaving him to go to his room and wallow in private. He can't believe himself, getting so upset over this that he would flat out lie to Atsumu about having a late practice to get out of seeing him today. And since he also hates himself for some reason, he plays the voice memo again after flopping onto his bed.

"—dunno how I didn't see it all in high school."

"—the perfect match for me, I'm tellin' ya."

"—mean, intimidatin' work of art—"

"—volleyball's the first love of his life as it should be, but I'm gonna be the second, swear on it."

Why Kiyoomi continues to torture himself with the message, he doesn't know. Maybe it's because he's come to really love that twangy voice over the past couple months. Maybe he likes to pretend he's the high school love that shares the passion for volleyball Atsumu's talking about.

Kiyoomi's tall. He has dark hair, he likes to think he's handsome, and he has enough self-awareness to know that he's mean. Volleyball was the first love of his life too. Unfortunately, it turns out he was about six years late to the second love of his life.

But as much as he'd like to mope about this for the next three weeks, he's better than that. He's a D1 college athlete with straight A's and a well sought internship. He has plenty of work to distract himself for however long it takes him to get over this, so he pulls out his laptop to immerse himself in anatomy until his eyes can't stay open.

Tsumu
10:06 am

Day 2, no Omi

I'm losing hearing in my right eye

And Meian yelled at me in practice

Rin
10:08 am

wah wah

my train arrives in an hour don't be late

Tsumu
10:08

Heartless freak

No cats in my car sry

Samu
10:09

It's my car that I let u borrow free of charge so pick him up without whining abt it

Tsumu
10:09

I hate this family

"So, Omi is Sakusa Kiyoomi I take it," Suna says as he straps in the passenger seat. "Why are you going through withdrawals from him?"

"'Samu didn't tell ya 'bout all that?" Atsumu asks as he gears into drive, genuinely surprised his brother didn't already spill the beans to his boyfriend.

"I mean, I know about your little cooking dates, and crashing the Onigiri Miya kitchen. Did you have a fight yesterday or something?"

"Worse," Atsumu sighs, narrowly dodging a curb while he scrolls on his phone. Then he holds it between them, playing the dreadful memo.

"…Okay."

"I didn't mean to record all that. But I did, and I sent to him, and he canceled our plans 'cause he had 'late practice'."

"It's a weirdly on brand thing for you to do."

"Don't even start. I'm gonna wait it out a couple days before I try and make plans with him agai-"

A loud screech in the back seat cuts him off, and his hands swerve a little too much for comfort on the wheel. "Will ya make that thing shut up!?"

"Maybe she'd be calmer if you eased up on the turns," Suna says, reaching back to stick an already bandaged finger into the crate.

"Where we eatin' tonight?"

"I thought you guys would've picked already."

"The guest picks, obviously."

"Mm… then I'd rather just have his cooking."

"Great. Comin' all this way just to have dinner in a lame apartment."

"You don't have to join."

"Yes I do. Leave me alone."

After dropping Suna and the car off, Atsumu fills up his day the best he can. Run home, change, run to the gym. Run home again, shower, clean, eat leftover negimaki that he was permitted to take home. Reread texts from Kiyoomi. Yell in frustration so loud that the old lady downstairs knocks on the door out of concern. The typical stuff.

The time comes for dinner, and by now Atsumu is used to third wheeling. He's pretty good at it actually (despite Osamu claiming it isn't a skill as much as it is a condition). But tonight proves more difficult than anticipated.

It's not that he can't handle watching them be all gross and lovey dovey. He's long given up on caring, and will more likely make fun or ignore them than get uncomfortable. But listening to Osamu quietly describe the correct way to dice an onion while pushed up shoulder to shoulder with Suna reminds him of what he fucked up.

To the couple's credit, they do try to be helpful rather than only make fun of his predicament. But by the time Osamu's suggesting getting the ice cream out, Atsumu's mood isn't salvageable.

"Wanna ride home?" Osamu asks as Atsumu throws his jacket on over his hoodie, and the offer is how he knows he did a poorer job than he thought at keeping his despondence at under wraps.

"'M good. I'll drop by for lunch tomorrow."

When he clicks the door shut behind him, he tries to ignore his brother admitting to Suna, "I didn't know it hit 'im this bad. We should let 'im over for dinner tomorrow too." If Atsumu ever did receive that invitation, he'd decline it despite the good intentions.

He makes the mistake of rubbing at his itchy eye, and his allergies from the cat that were already acting up only worsen as he walks through white flurries in the cold. Just his luck the first snow of the year happens when he's not at a capacity to enjoy it thoroughly.

By the time he gets to his street, he's a red-eyed sniffling mess. And it's one hundred percent only from allergies.

"Are you sure you don't want an extra hand Kiyoomi?"

"I'm fine," he answers from the kitchen, intent on not messing up a single slice of the steak.

Yesterday was a little odd, not exchanging a single text from Atsumu. Though with his potential high school sweetheart in town for once, it's easy to piece together that he would be busy with him rather than taking time to text Kiyoomi a picture of his lunch with unnecessary details about his day included.

"Really, I could help if-"

"You can cut the scallions if you need to something," Kiyoomi says impatiently.

He knows his mother isn't truly deserving of his attitude, but he'd just spent the past four hours touring his parents around in the snow that builds up in nasty, brown mounds at the curbs, only to come home and have to make a meal he will forever associate with Atsumu.

His mother finds a knife while his father scrolls on his phone at the table. The silence from the older man is a good sign— it means Kiyoomi hasn't done or revealed anything throughout the day worth critiquing. And his mother seems relatively convinced by now that her son is able to sustain himself without their hard earned money.

He secures the rolls in a less efficient manner than his mother while she complains about her daughter not visiting home enough, therefore depriving her of her only granddaughter. He tries to give intelligent responses, but he isn't experienced in multitasking with cooking like her.

"Moment of truth for Kiyoomi's homemade negimaki," she says when the meal is finally complete and plated at the table.

Her husband nods, placing his phone down to say the blessing with them before picking up his chopsticks. Kiyoomi holds his breath, not able to take his first bite before observing his parents' reactions. His mother is still chewing next to him when his father swallows, taking a sip of wine.

"It's good Kiyoomi."

His shoulders sag in relief from the other end of the table. "Is it?"

"Take pride in your work."

"Thank you."

Dinner goes by easier than expected. It would seem that, though they aren't going to say it outright, his parents are convinced that he's holding up more than fine on his own. He doesn't tell them at any point during the meal that he owes more of his success than he wants to Miya Atsumu.

"I think I'll have you make this one night at Christmas," his mother says after taking her last bite, dabbing her red lips with a napkin. "Did you find the recipe online?"

"It's… from a friend," he answers.

"Oh? A blonde friend?"

Kiyoomi chokes on a scallion. He pounds on his chest a couple times while his father, of all people, smirks from across the table.

"What?" Kiyoomi croaks, eyes watering from the mishap in his throat.

"I told you not to tease," his mother scolds, though she's doing a poor job of hiding her smile behind her napkin.

"What are you talking about?" Kiyoomi all but whines, praying they didn't see what he thinks they saw.

"Yukichi sent us an article—"

Thirty-three years old, and sending a gossip column concerning his younger brother to his parents. How could one have a steady career and yet act so unemployed?

"—and it really did look like the back of your head in the picture. I guess that reaction of yours is confirms our suspicions."

"Your susp-"

"Our suspicions," his father interrupts, "that you are seeing someone with bleached hair."

There was a whole fiasco in the Sakusa household over a decade ago. When Kiyoomi's older sister was in her second year of high school, she got her friends to help her dye chunky blonde highlights in some rebelling act against her parents. It didn't tone well and the sections were horribly uneven. Her parents grounded her, to no one's surprise. What she hadn't expected, was for her four year old baby brother to give her the silent treatment for days.

Kiyoomi does slightly remember his disdain for the look. He had been so against it that even all these years after, his family will still point out an obviously bleached head of hair in a crowd and ask him if it bothers him. And he will admit, they usually do. Especially Atsumu's horrific, practically orange mess that was on his head in high school.

It's not so horrific anymore. It's fluffier, and a toned, sandy blonde that contrasts nicely against his tan skin. And it suits him so well that Kiyoomi doesn't even want to imagine him with the same dark brown as his brother. And he likes it. Kiyoomi likes his bleach blonde hair.

"I'm not seeing anyone," he retorts, holding eye contact to cement the fact.

"Really?" his father asks, brows raised.

"Yes, that picture was taken out of context."

His father shrugs as if to say 'sure' while his mother rolls her eyes.

"What context could there possibly be?"

"I had a couple drinks and he was helping me keep my balance."

She hums. "Just the two of you out drinking?"

"No it was- I'm an adult, I don't have to explain myself."

"And wearing his last name on your back. What implications are behind that?"

"There are no implications," Kiyoomi grinds through a clenched jaw.

"Just make sure to be safe when-"

"Are you going to say anything?" he demands to his ever silent father sipping on his wine.

"Yes," the man says, putting the glass down. "Watch your tone with your mother."

Kiyoomi groans, running both hands through his hair with elbows on the table, the manners his parents conditioned into him be damned. This is not how he thought this dinner would go. He would have preferred a lecture on how he should be spending his free time over this.

"We aren't anything," he finally says, stern and to the point. It does well to shut his parents up, but they send each other a look that tells him the conversation will continue without him later.

Then there's a knock on the door, and Kiyoomi suppresses another groan. He stands, preparing to send Kubo away for a few minutes because it's definitely not ten yet.

But when he opens it, he's met with the sight of Miya Atsumu, drenched from head to toe in nothing but shorts and a transparent white t-shirt clinging to every divot of his body. He must be hallucinating.

Yet the sight is all too tangible. His broad chest and shoulders rise and fall from exertion. He holds a soaked, gray sweatshirt crumpled into one hand while his other forearm rests up on Kiyoomi's doorway. His hair appears a little darker, some of it plastered against his wet forehead as water drips from every part of him into a small puddle on the floor. And seriously, that shirt is completely see through. What kind of movie is this?

"Omi," he pants, looking up through wet lashes. "Can we-"

"Oh my."

Kiyoomi tears his gaze away from the man, turning to see his parents now standing away from the table. His father has one brow raised at the sight, while his mother's almond nails cover her mouth as she stares at Atsumu's abs. Or are they staring at her?

"Oh shit- I mean shoot. I totally forgot they were comin' today Omi, I swear."

He leans to look into the apartment a little more just as Kiyoomi turns back around, giving latter an eyeful of bicep.

"Sorry, Omi told me his parents were visitin', I just blanked before I came."

"'Omi'?"

Kiyoomi can feel the flush from his neck all the way up his ears and face at his father's repetition of the nickname. Atsumu gives a tight-lipped smile in response to Kiyoomi's glare on him.

"Well, I'm just gonna go now, but-"

"No, no! You can't go back out like that, dear," Kiyoomi's mother insists.

"No, really, I don't wanna intrude."

"We were just about to head back to our hotel anyway," Kiyoomi's father says. "Please come in, Miya, is it?"

Atsumu nods, glancing at Kiyoomi when he's given enough space to step in.

"Shoes, hurry."

Atsumu does as he's told, and is then ushered towards Kiyoomi's side of the apartment before he can properly greet the other two adults. Kiyoomi quickly shoves him into the bathroom with a clean towel and change of clothes.

"Omi-"

"Just shower. We can talk when you're done and my parents aren't here to eavesdrop."

Atsumu nods as the door is shut it his face, and Kiyoomi walks back out faster than he should have, completely unprepared on how to explain that this is the man that he supposedly isn't 'anything' with.

"Kiyoomi," his father starts, helping his wife into her coat. "We were very impressed with what we saw today."

His wife nods in agreement, fastening her buttons. "You're doing very well on your own; you're balancing your responsibilities, the place is clean, you're cooking substantial meals and whatnot. And that budget sheet you showed us was a pleasant surprise."

Kiyoomi shifts on his feet at the change in subject from before. He hasn't always been the best at receiving his parents' rare praise like this. They've always been more of a pat on the head or 'keep it up' family.

"Thank you," he finally responds at their questioning looks. "But…"

"Hm?"

"The food… and the budgeting sheet. It was Miya."

His parents' brows furrow at him, and he quickly fixes his mistake. "Not that he did it for me. But he helped me."

"Helped you?"

"He taught me how to make the negimaki. He taught me how to make a lot of things, because I wasn't doing well at first. And actually, he did make the budget sheet for me, I've just been following it."

He resists the urge to squeeze his eyes shut as he waits for a disapproving response.

"Well, make sure to thank him properly. Maybe you should see if you can add another seat to our brunch reservation."

Kiyoomi's eyes shoot up from where they were staring at the floor, completely blindsided by their reactions. His mother is only nodding her head at her husband's suggestion, pulling out her phone.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well he's been a big help to you, as you said. We did teach you to properly thank people, didn't we?"

"I can thank him. I can buy him a meal if he wants, I don't need my parents doing it for me," Kiyoomi insists, though they're both staring at the phone instead of taking any notice to his distress.

"There, edit reservation."

"Yes, yes, I can read."

"Hello?!"

"Excuse me," his mother says, and he stiffens at his mistake of raising his voice. "But for weeks on end I've been worrying to the point of bags under my eyes over not knowing whether or not my son was stubbornly keeping the fact that he was struggling from me. So when I find out that he was, but there was someone else able to convince him to accept help, then I'd like properly thank that someone else and maybe have a conversation with him."

He zips his mouth shut as she steps into her heels.

"The only way this rain is going to let up is if it gets cold enough to snow again, so you probably need to let him crash on the couch for the night," she continues.

"…Right."

"And it seems you need to be having a conversation soon if a man you have no romance with is showing up to your home like that, helping you cook, making you-"

"Please don't start, he's not-"

He remembers the voice memo, raking a hand through his hair. They already know more than he'd like them to, so there's not reason to add to the flurry of information.

"He doesn't feel that way. And, there are reasons that I know that for a fact."

They seem doubtful, but instead of continuing the painful conversation, his mother steps forward to plant a kiss on his cheek, which tells him he must be looking pretty pathetic right now.

"Still consider inviting him to brunch, okay?"

"Fine. He'd probably like to."

"We'll see you tomorrow," his father assures, opening the door so they can leave for the night.

He nods in goodbye, and is left in his empty apartment. Almost empty apartment. He's still standing at the door when these hears the faint sound of water stop, and he waits a couple minutes to head over and and check on his guest.

Just as he's about to knock on the bedroom door, it's swung open by Atsumu wearing Kiyoomi's navy university sweatpants and a t-shirt gifted to him for donating blood. It's white, and previously shrunk a size in the dryer. Kiyoomi doesn't know why he does this to himself.

"I uh, found a trash bag under the sink," the blonde says, holding up a grocery bag tied with his wet clothes.

His hair is still wet, but the hand towel around his neck catches most of the water. Kiyoomi wordlessly takes the bag, and goes across the hall to throw the items in the dryer.

"I'm really sorry 'bout crashin' dinner with your parents," Atsumu says as he comes back out. And he does sound genuinely sorry, but Kiyoomi's reservations towards him are due to something else entirely.

"It's fine," he assures, walking back to clear the kitchen table. "They really were about to go back to the hotel, so they weren't upset by it."

"Still… I probably looked like a…"

Kiyoomi pauses where he's stacked the bowls on the table. "Like a what?"

"A total tool."

Kiyoomi huffs out a hint of a laugh, bringing the dishes to the sink. Atsumu follows, haphazardly rubbing the towel in his hair. To say his visit was spontaneous would be an understatement.

"Tsum-tsum, are we still getting Myaa-sam's?"

Atsumu closes his locker with a sigh. He forgot that Thursdays are their day for Onigiri Miya. And given he already told his brother he'd drop by, he might as well push through his bad mood and go with Bokuto.

"Yeah, sure. Let's make it quick."

They do not make it quick. Bokuto obviously has a gift for talking people's ears off, and for some reason Suna and Osamu are very receptive of it today, dragging on lunch for over an hour.

At some point Atsumu goes to the bathroom, and when he comes back he gets not so hidden looks that raise suspicion. "What? Ya talking about me?"

"Let's go to the gym after this Tsum-tsum."

"We just got outta practice dude."

"Please? Pleeeeaaa-"

So Atsumu goes to the gym. And then accompanies his teammate to the pharmacy because he claims it's always so confusing. And he convinced Atsumu to take the train all the way across town so they stop to see a new crappy action movie that came out. Atsumu recognizes the streets they walk, being close to Kiyoomi's place, and his mood drops yet again.

It becomes increasingly obvious that Osamu had told Bokuto what a heart broken wimp Atsumu was being, therefore his teammate took to distracting him all day long rather than let him melt into the couch in his apartment while rereading texts again.

And he hates to admit it's working. There are big chunks of time where he almost forgets why he was in such a mood in the first place. But when the sun is starting to set and the snow has seeped through Atsumu's sneakers, he denies Bokuto's suggestion to get dessert after the large popcorns they had at the movies.

"I get what you're doin', I know my scrub brother snitched on me," Atsumu says, shivering in his hoodie. "But I'm all outta juice for the day."

"Wanna get a drink instead?"

"No. I wanna go home and pretend Omi isn't ghostin' me."

"How do you know for a fact he is?" Bokuto asks, putting a little pep in his step next to Atsumu as it starts to drizzle.

"I don't know for a fact," he admits. "But I can assume. He got a voice memo where I talked about how perfect he is in a very un-platonic sense, and now he's not textin' after cancellin' dinner last night."

"It's only been a day," Bokuto says, chewing a piece of the popcorn he shoved into his jacket pocket.

"Alright, yeah, I'm a big dramatic wimp, whatever."

"I'm just saying, you never said his name. Maybe he didn't know you were talking about him."

"I'm past wishful thinking."

"Maybe he thought you were talking about someone else and got upset that you weren't talking about him!"

Atsumu freezes, and a raindrop smacks right in the tip of his nose. He had not considered that. He had not considered that Kiyoomi maybe return these feelings at all. He only just brought his A game for the first time Monday night with the whole 'lemme hold your hand while we cut meat together' thing.

"…Hm."

"Something to think about huh?"

He hates when Bokuto's right. But there's no time to try and deny it, because the impulsive bones in his body are working overtime to turn him around towards Kiyoomi's apartment, barely bidding Bokuto a goodbye.

If there's a chance, even the slightest tiniest chance that Kiyoomi returns a fraction of these feelings, he needs to know and he he needs to know right now.

So that's how he ended up sprinting through pouring rain and at the door of Kiyoomi's apartment where the Sakusa's had just finished a nice family dinner. Great thinking Atsumu.

Chapter Text

"Want help?" Atsumu asks as Kiyoomi brings the dishes to the sink.

"I've got it."

Atsumu walks with him, standing a bit away to lean on the counter beside him. Kiyoomi's wearing what's not quite a sweatshirt but not quite a sweater, Atsumu doesn't know. The cuffs are pulled up to sit just below his elbows, and he's wearing nice jeans that might've cost more than Atsumu's rent. His hair is styled even neater than usual too.

"Ya look nice."

"Thought I should with my parents visiting. They liked the negimaki."

"Yeah?" Atsumu gives a small smile as he walks to the other side to the sink, reaching for the first bowl from Kiyoomi to dry it with a nearby towel. "Were they impressed with how finance savvy ya are?"

Kiyoomi lets him take the bowl. "Yes."

"And ya told 'em it's all thanks to your great friend Miya Atsumu."

"Yes."

Atsumu's hands fumble around the next bowl as it's handed to him, dropping it back into the sink with a loud clatter.

"Don't break my dishes!"

"Is that how they knew my name already?"

Kiyoomi still hasn't made eye contact with him since before the shower, scrubbing more than necessary on a single chopstick.

"No. They saw the picture. From Friday night."

"Oh. Sorry again about-"

"It's fine. I just had to explain to them that it wasn't…"

Atsumu waits for the end of the sentence that never comes, only getting the chopsticks shoved in his direction.

"So why are you here?"

Atsumu had knocked on the door with the confidence to straight up demand to know what his thoughts on the voice memo were, but after a shower to put solid thoughts back in his head, he doesn't know if he can even accomplish that tonight. He'll at least hold off for a minute or two.

"I was watchin' a movie in the area, and then it started pourin' so. Just came to the closest place I knew."

Not totally a lie. Also not really helping his original goal. But Kiyoomi hums in understanding, apparently not too bothered by the sudden visit.

"How was your date with tall, dark, and handsome last night?"

Atsumu drops the third bowl in the sink.

"Would you stop doing that?!"

"My what with who?!"

Kiyoomi looks away from the bowl he held up to check for damage, narrowing his eyes at Atsumu. Finally some eye contact.

"You said you were getting dinner with Suna-san last night. And in that voice memo you-"

"Aw, ew Omi! Ew!"

"What?!"

"That's- you're so wrong. In so many ways. That's just- eugh!"

"Why are you being so dramatic?"

"He's datin' my brother! I'd jump offa fuckin' building before talkin' about 'im like that!"

Kiyoomi looks back at the bowl, pursing his lips at the information.

"…Sorry."

That's it. That adorable pout, that little blush on his cheekbones, those dark eyes he attempts to hide under his long lashes with a ducked chin. Atsumu is going to do this now.

He takes out his phone and turns the faucet off as he places it on the counter beside the sink.

"-not overly enthusiastic, but that's just his manner of speakin' most of the time. Anyway, I dunno how I didn't see it all in high school. Beauty, brains, and brawn all in one. The definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He's the perfect match for me, I'm tellin' ya. He's gorgeous, and not a wimp either, he can dish it and take it. He's a mean, intimidatin' work of art, but eventually ya start to notice he's got a little softness to 'im. And volleyball's the first love of his life as it should be, but I'm gonna be the second, swear on it."

Kiyoomi taps two fingers from each hand on the counter as it plays. When it's done, he does his best not to shrink under Atsumu's prying gaze.

"I heard it already."

"Yeah? What'd ya think?"

Kiyoomi's brows furrow when he looks back up at the blonde leaning on the counter next to him.

"What did I think?"

"Yeah, I'm obviously obsessed with this great guy to the point that I went on a whole rant about 'im to my friends. What dya think I should do?"

Kiyoomi snatches the towel from him, hanging it back on a drawer handle. "I think you should stop bothering me about it and do whatever you want."

He damps a paper towel and all but stomps over to the other side of the kitchen, wiping down the counter.

"Whatever I want?" Atsumu asks from the other counter as Kiyoomi wipes vigorously. "Like, I should go and tell 'im how I feel right now?"

"I don't care."

"So ya wouldn't mind if I left already, and went-

"I don't care," he snaps.

"Really?"

Kiyoomi flinches at how close his voice has gotten, and turns around to Atsumu less than a foot away from him. Then there are two arms caging him in, hands on the counter on either side of him.

"So ya wouldn't care if I went and said all of that to someone else's face?"

Kiyoomi's back presses uncomfortably against the counter in his effort to create more space between them, but Atsumu only leans closer, his brown eyes gazing through his messy, damp hair.

"What does my opinion matter?" Kiyoomi mutters into the limited air between them. "And what the hell are you doing with that hand?"

"Adjustin'. Your boxers are tight on me."

Oh my GOD.

"Why do you care what I think?" Kiyoomi asks, using every bit of self-control he has to not look down at the inevitable print visible through the borrowed sweatpants. "Do I know them or something?"

"You tell me," Atsumu all but whispers, both hands back on the counter. "How many people dya know of that fit that long ass description?"

"I don't know, a coup-"

"Well I only know one."

Kiyoomi sucks in a breath as subtly as he can under the hooded gaze. Atsumu's dark brows furrow in determination while Kiyoomi stays arched against the counter.

Kiyoomi knows who it is now. Though he has the urge to pinch himself at the realization. And he takes too long to open his stupid mouth to say anything, because Atsumu drops his gaze with a quiet breath, lightly pushing off the counter.

"Sorry," he mumbles, resolve gone and suddenly feeling like a classless idiot. "I'll get outta your hair and-"

The last thing Kiyoomi wants is this man out of his hair, so he reaches forward pull Atsumu back to him with two palms planted on his cheeks and long fingers digging into his undercut. Their mouths collide as Atsumu stumbles to blindly find purchase on the counter again, but he soon moves his grip to hold below Kiyoomi's rib cage and pull him closer. Kiyoomi's arms wrap around his neck, the damp towel dropping to the floor as their lips open and move against each other.

Eventually Atsumu hikes one of Kiyoomi's legs up with a strong hand under an even stronger thigh, and his fingers squeezing the flesh through the jeans earns him a short whimper into his mouth. He returns it with a vibrating groan, clutching under Kiyoomi's other leg to lift him up on the counter while the slippers fall off his feet.

With Kiyoomi's strong legs locking around his waist to keep him close, Atsumu's hands find their way under his shirt. Kiyoomi moans into the kiss when thick fingers skim up his ribs, stopping to grip his sides just below his chest. It reminds him of what he has waiting in front of him, and he unwraps his arms to drag his hands from Atsumu's shoulders down to his firm chest.

"Whoa," Atsumu smiles against his lips when two hands squeeze his chest through the shirt.

"Shut up," Kiyoomi pants with his fingers now tugging at the bottom of the shirt. "Off. Now."

He obeys and gets halfway through pulling the shirt off before they hear a faint cheer behind Kiyoomi. Atsumu freezes, head hidden in the shirt, while Kiyoomi's eyes widen.

"Did ya just 'woo hoo'?"

"No."

"Didn't think so."

"I'm going to check-"

"It was just the wind," Atsumu says, finally throwing the shirt to the ground. And Kiyoomi can't find it in him to say how ridiculous that statement is when that body is begging him to start getting handsy again.

Atsumu mouths at his jawline, wrapping an arm around his waist while his other hand slowly squeezes further and further up his thigh. Kiyoomi rolls his hips forward, smiling at the desperate groan he gets out of Atsumu, who tilts his head to suck on Kiyoomi's neck with more vigor.

Only for Kiyoomi to push a hand hard against his shoulder to break them apart.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Kubo."

"See, even that dickhead's name couldn't get rid of my hard on right now."

"He could be back any minute."

"No, we're just gonna spend the night at my place!"

They jolt at the feminine voice calling in from the other side of the wall, freezing to stare at each other like the other will confirm they did indeed hear that. Kiyoomi quickly shoves Atsumu off completely, sliding off the counter to storm towards the front door.

He swings it open and looks down the hallway on the other side of his thin kitchen wall, and is met with the sight of Kubo covering Tamura's mouth while she clearly grins beneath his hand. At least he has the decency to look guilty about listening in for god knows how long.

"What are you doing?" Kiyoomi demands as Atsumu comes to lift onto his toes and peek over his shoulder.

"Oh, just… How was dinner?"

"Leave."

"Yeah, okay."

He slams the door, missing the taunting tongue that Atsumu had stuck out at the couple as he presses an ear up against the wood. When Atsumu holds his hips with a grind against him, Kiyoomi swats one of his hands away.

"Wait a minute until they're definitely gone."

"Oh c'mon, I've been waiting like a year for this."

Kiyoomi whirls around, successfully getting Atsumu to take a half step back. "What?"

"What?"

"You said 'a year'."

"Did I say that?"

"Atsumu."

"Ow, fuck."

Kiyoomi looks down at where Atsumu grips his hardened crotch, wholly unimpressed.

"Are you serious? All I did was say your name."

"That's all it takes from ya."

"Stop avoiding the subject."

"Yeah, it's been a year. More or less."

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath at it being confirmed, brain scrambling to think of every interaction they've had since then, during which he was apparently being sought after— the free meals, the shirtless video, the sweatshirt.

"That's- " He waves his hands to bat away his thoughts as if they're tangible things he can set aside. This is almost too much. "Was there a specific instance when you…?"

"Mmm, I guess, yeah."

Kiyoomi lifts his brows to signal him to continue.

"Remember when ya lost that Tamagotchi after a game and I gave it back?"

"Vaguely."

"It was then. I gave it back, and ya said thanks and smiled at me."

"…"

"…"

"What?"

"Huh?"

"That's it?" Kiyoomi asks in disbelief. "I've been spending an extra twenty minutes on my hair any time I see you, and all it took was me smiling at you over a fucking toy more than a year ago?"

"It was a nice smile! And your teammates said your niece got it for ya, so that kinda gave ya points. Good with kids."

"I'm really not. Just her."

"That's somehow better. So how long have ya been takin' extra time on your pretty hair for me?"

Kiyoomi scoffs with the shake of his head, causing said pretty curls to swish across his forehead.

"No, really. Tell me," Atsumu insists, reaching up to hold him in place by his arms. "When'd ya start feelin' the same way as me?"

Kiyoomi avoids his gaze, staring at the man's shoulder instead. His recently realized crush doesn't seem too major next to Atsumu's infatuation of months on end. He feels like he's coming up short in comparison

"Unless ya don't feel the same way, and you were just in the mood for makin' out in-"

"No! Don't put words in my mouth," Kiyoomi snaps back, and the smug look on Atsumu's face conveys that he knew that wasn't the case. His hands glide down Kiyoomi's arms, leaving goosebumps as he takes hold of each hand.

"Tell me. I don't care if it just clicked ten minutes ago, as long as ya know it for sure."

"It was more than ten minutes," Kiyoomi mutters out through pursed lips, and Atsumu grins at his pouting. "A couple weeks ago. When you invited me over for curry."

"Yeah? Was it the free meal or the financial advice that got ya?"

"It was… "

He trails off, trying to find the right wording while Atsumu's thumbs smooth back and forth over his hands.

"I was burnt out. So, going to your quiet place, sitting for dinner free of charge, drinking my favorite tea that I wasn't able to buy for weeks— it was like coming up to breathe for a minute. And going back under was easier knowing you'd be with me every once in a while."

Atsumu squeezes his hands a little tighter and Kiyoomi finally looks him in the eye again. He's fighting a blush, with his brows curved into each other ever so slightly before he drops his head onto Kiyoomi's shoulder.

"Didn't expect ya to get all poetic about it," he grumbles into the fabric, securing his arms around Kiyoomi's torso.

"You need to read more books if that got you."

Atsumu lifts his head while Kiyoomi's arms lift to fold over his bare shoulders.

"Everything ya say gets me. And I'll be with ya a whole lot more than every once in a while, if you'll have me."

"If I'll have you?" Kiyoomi repeats with an amused smile. "Maybe you do read books, heathen."

"Heathen?! I call ya Omi and I get heathen in return?"

"What else is there to call you?"

"Sweetie?"

"My parents call each other that."

"Babe? Honey?"

"No."

"Your knight in shinin' armor."

When Kiyoomi doesn't shoot it down, Atsumu tilts his head with a smile.

"Ahhh you like that one," he says in a teasing tone.

"It's a mouthful," Kiyoomi says flatly, though he doesn't deny it.

It's a pretty accurate description, all things considered. A sweatshirt in the cold, free cooking lessons, a bottle of peach tea after a long shift. Atsumu has been there, fighting off the evil forces that were Kiyoomi's real-life responsibilities haunting him.

"Y'know what else is a mouthful?" the blonde smirks.

"Gross," Kiyoomi mumbles, but there's a small smile on his lips as he leans in for another kiss.

It's slower, not as desperate or heated as before. Kiyoomi's back is gently pushed flush against the door while Atsumu's chin tilts up for that extra inch necessary to keep his lips pressed firmly together with the taller man's. They separate with a tiny wet smack and mutual breaths bordering on gasps of awe, slowly reopening the eyes that had so comfortably fallen shut for the kiss.

And with the honey brown highlights in Atsumu's eyes shining directly into Kiyoomi's, he wonders how much longer he would've been able to take those gazes without anything more.

"I'm totally fine if ya just wanna chill out for the night," Atsumu says in his low, Kiyoomi-arousing tone, "But with the way we were grindin' on the kitchen counter, I thought maybe-"

"I want it. Now."

Don't have to tell Atsumu twice.

Kiyoomi is pushed back against the door, Atsumu's fingers pressing into the denim covering his hips as their faces mold back together. Atsumu grinds into Kiyoomi's erection with a hand moving to grip his ass, and the latter arches his back so fully their abdomens can't press any further into each other.

"Bed," Kiyoomi manages through the kissing, and Atsumu grips under his thighs to lift him into his hold.

Kiyoomi moans into his mouth at the display of strength, crossing his ankles behind the man as he walks them to the bedroom with way too much ease. He deposits Kiyoomi onto the bed, pulling his sweater off over his head before he can lie down all the way.

His hands are back on Kiyoomi quickly, running up his thighs with thumbs pressing just below his crotch as Kiyoomi's hands grip onto his shoulders.

"Oh fuck," he breathes, taking in the bare torso in front of him.

He presses a knee onto the bed between Kiyoomi's legs and leans down to kiss a mole on his sternum, then another on his rib cage. Then another and another, and he doesn't stop until every mole from Kiyoomi's neck down to his waist has been properly acknowledged, kisses scattered all over his collarbones. Kiyoomi hadn't even noticed the hand going down to unbutton his jeans in one movement before they're completely yanked off his body.

"Atsumu-"

"Have ya done this before?" Atsumu asks, hands back to gripping on Kiyoomi's thighs, his eyes trailing up the expanse of his legs to his boxers.

Kiyoomi props himself up on his elbows, giving a slight shake of his head. The new information floods blood straight into Atsumu's groin while Kiyoomi glances to the side. "I still have stuff, though."

"Stuff?"

He stares pointedly at the nightstand, and Atsumu stands to open the top drawer.

"Other one."

The bottom drawer. With lube.

"You bought this thinkin' of me?" Atsumu breathes.

"No. I bought it months ago."

Kiyoomi is very unsympathetic about crashing Atsumu's little fantasy, but the blonde's disappointment soon leaves when Kiyoomi is sitting up and fiddling with the strings of his sweatpants.

"Have you done this before?" he asks, looking up at Atsumu.

"Uh, a couple times," Atsumu manages to get out through his clouded mind of arousal.

"Girls?"

"Yeah."

Kiyoomi hums, hooking a finger on the hemline of the boxers and sweatpants to pull at them, then releases to let them hit the skin with a snap. "I think I know my way around a dick better than a girl."

He yanks Atsumu's pants down before he has a chance to respond, slides onto his knees, and wastes no time in mouthing at his bulge through the too-tight boxers.

"Fuck!" Atsumu exclaims at the sudden contact, a hand flying into Kiyoomi's curls with a tight grip.

Kiyoomi drags his tongue over the fabric, making Atsumu groan, bucking into the touch and curling his fingers deeper into Kiyoomi's hair. Kiyoomi detaches just enough to give room for him to pull the boxers down Atsumu's thighs, letting them fall to his feet.

"Ya don't have to," Atsumu assures.

Kiyoomi barely hears the comment over the sight in front of him. He's played a sport since elementary school, been in a locker room too many times to count, and therefore seen way more dicks than he's ever wanted to. And yet this is by far the biggest he's ever seen.

"Omi?" Atsumu says, his hand now soft on Kiyoomi's head, ruffling his hair slightly for the other man's attention.

Kiyoomi comes out of his stupor, curling long fingers around the member and giving a couple smooth strokes. Atsumu stiffens at the contact, taking an audible breath.

When he licks a strip on the side, Atsumu lets out another deep breath. Fingers tighten in Kiyoomi's hair as he continues to lather up the member with his tongue, and he eventually starts mouthing around Atsumu's dick, letting his lips drag along its sides along with his tongue. When he's finally satisfied with the amount of saliva, he brings his tongue to the tip to swirl around it.

"You sure ya never done this before?" Atsumu grunts, unintentionally bucking into the feeling.

Kiyoomi only takes a minute more before opening his jaw to let the member in. He slowly bobs his head, letting in just barely more length with each nod of his head. When he's around halfway, Atsumu tilts his head up with a groan, his hand still on Kiyoomi's head to help guide his movements.

Atsumu's eyes are shut until there's an annoyed pinch on his thigh where Kiyoomi braces his hands. He looks back down to see Kiyoomi's eyes up on him, lips puffy around his dick, cheeks tinted red, and the slightest wrinkle in his brow. Then, before Atsumu can make fun of him for wanting his attention, Kiyoomi slides the entirety of his member in, feeling it hit the back of his throat.

Atsumu curses, eyes screwing shut in an attempt not to blow his load on the spot. But he opens them quickly to take in the sight below him— eyes prickling in Kiyoomi's big eyes, his nose pressed against Atsumu, his fingers digging into Atsumu's thighs, and spit glistening his lips. He hums, or moans, with the member in his mouth, making Atsumu groan at the vibration.

"You can slow it down," Atsumu suggests, but Kiyoomi ignores him, starting to bob his head back and forth again. He continues with Atsumu's grip tightening, starting to do a little more than just guide his head.

"Fuck, Omi," Atsumu pants, dragging out the 'f' with teeth digging into his lip. Kiyoomi chances a look up, and the sight of Atsumu biting his bottom lip has him moving faster, more motivated to get a release from him. But just as Atsumu's fingers start to tremble in his hair, he tugs at Kiyoomi's curls, pulling him off.

He reaches down immediately, grabbing Kiyoomi just above the waist to lift him back onto the bed with way too much ease, considering he's a six-foot-three D1 athlete. He scowls at Atsumu as the man stands over him.

"I was just about to make you-"

"I wanna do that while I'm in you," Atsumu explains with a smile, pinching at the waistband of Kiyoomi's boxers. The latter lifts his hips enough for them to be pulled off of him, scowl still on his face as he props himself up on his elbows again.

"You're so gorgeous," he states, holding one of Kiyoomi's ankles as he stares at the naked sight laid out on the bed.

Kiyoomi props himself up on his elbows to watch as Atsumu gently lifts one of his long legs to press a delicate kiss on his ankle. Kiyoomi flushes, pulling his foot back down when the kiss lingers too long for his taste.

"Just get on with it."

"Ooo, impatient," Atsumu smirks, pushing Kiyoomi's legs so that he's lying properly on the bed, head on one of the fluffed pillows. Then he's moving to be between Kiyoomi's legs, leaning down to kiss him. Kiyoomi's arms wrap around his neck and back as the kiss deepens, and Atsumu's forearms lie on the pillows beside his bed to keep him up.

Kiyoomi arches into him, but is soon flipped onto his stomach. He glances back over his shoulder to where Atsumu has already grabbed the lube to slick up his fingers.

"Ya ready?" Atsumu asks just above a whisper, leaning back down to say it right into Kiyoomi's ear.

Kiyoomi nods, folding his arms under his head and hiding the bottom half of his face in his arm. Atsumu uses a knee to push Kiyoomi's legs open further, and looks down between their bodies to get his hand in the right spot. His middle finger finds Kiyoomi's hole, only touching it, yet eliciting a jolt from Kiyoomi.

"Relax," Atsumu says, still right next to his ear. "It's just one, it's not gonna hurt too bad."

"What would you know?" Kiyoomi snaps, muffled in his arm.

Atsumu chuckles. "True. But I do know it'll be better if ya relax."

Kiyoomi takes a breath, letting all of his tense muscles loosen as Atsumu places a kiss behind his ear. "That's better," he murmurs.

Then the finger is no longer just touching, but pushing. Kiyoomi tenses up again, eyes shutting at the feeling of the thick finger penetrating his rim. Atsumu kisses at the nape of his neck slowly as he pulls the finger out just a bit, going back and forth until it reaches in fully, the palm of his hand pressing against him.

"Good?" he asks, smoothly pumping the finger in and out, not too fast and not too harsh.

Kiyoomi nods, letting his eyes open again. "Do another."

He doesn't see the brows raised in surprise at the demand, but Atsumu does as he's told, slowly adding his ring finger. Kiyoomi's shoulders hunch at the bigger feeling, and his hips start to rock back and forth against Atsumu's movement.

He's just gotten used to the feeling as Atsumu curls the fingers slightly. Kiyoomi jolts at the feeling with a squeak, his fingers gripping the pillow case and his thighs flexing.

Atsumu smiles against his neck, curling his fingers further and pushing. Kiyoomi buries his face to bite the pillow, holding back another noise.

"Aw, c'mon," Atsumu chides, "what happened to that cute sound?"

"Shut u-"

Kiyoomi cuts off with a mix between a whimper and a moan, his hips jerking off of the bed as Atsumu pushes again. He pistons the two fingers in and out, aiming for that same spot until separating them. He scissors them inside, turning his wrist to properly stretch Kiyoomi apart while the latter continues to writhe and moan quietly into the pillow. Atsumu lets it slide for now, sucking hickeys along his shoulders and upper back as he adds a third finger.

When Kiyoomi bucks his hips back again, Atsumu suddenly lifts himself from where he was draped along his back, gripping at Kiyoomi's hips and lifting them so that Kiyoomi is on his knees. He finally turns his head from the pillow, looking over his shoulder with a furrowed brow as Atsumu gives a squeeze to one cheek.

"Last stretch here, Omi," he says, plunging all three fingers back in at once.

Kiyoomi can't help the moan that suddenly comes out, clamping a hand over his mouth as Atsumu continues to move them in and out at a faster pace than before. His whimpers leak through the cracks of his fingers, and his back arches further into the warm feeling pooling in his stomach as Atsumu finds his sweet spot again, the tips of his fingers pressing into it over and over.

He moans Atsumu's name after removing his hand, one knee practically vibrating on the bed as Atsumu's hand refuses to let up.

Kiyoomi gasps at the wet feeling of Atsumu's mouth as he licks and kisses around his rim, fingers still pumping in and out. When the fingers are gone, he swirls his tongue inside despite Kiyoomi's trembling legs and protests.

"Ya taste good," he says, finally pulling back when the other man reaches back to slap him.

"'S the lube," Kiyoomi somehow mumbles in response.

"No, I think ya got a natural flavor goin' on here."

Before Kiyoomi can retort that stupid claim again, he's flipped onto his back and pulled further down the bed.

"Need a minute?" Atsumu asks right before diving down to suck at his neck.

Kiyoomi hums at the feeling, fingers carding through Atsumu's hair as he slows his breathing.

"Kiss me."

Atsumu detaches from his neck immediately, moving in a fast blur to connect with Kiyoomi's lips. It's firm and slow, and he wishes to permanently engrave the feeling of Kiyoomi humming against his lips into his mind.

"Okay," Kiyoomi mumbles, pushing him by the chest to break the kiss. "I'm ready."

"How dya want it?" Atsumu asks quickly, hands placed on either side of Kiyoomi's head.

Kiyoomi looks up at him. Atsumu's eyes are wide in anticipation as he stares down at Kiyoomi through his mostly dry, ruffled hair. Kiyoomi wouldn't be surprised if he saw a big, fluffy tail attached to the man, wagging back and forth in excitement.

Like a puppy dog, he thinks.

"Like this," Kiyoomi says, bending one knee to bring it to his chest. "For now."

Atsumu nods, batting away Kiyoomi's hand so he can take the leg himself. He straightens it to hook Kiyoomi's ankle over his shoulder after giving it a quick kiss. Then he leans over, using his other hand to pump himself a couple times before lining up.

He pushes in slowly, simultaneously pushing Kiyoomi's leg further and further as he leans down. They let out matching moans as Atsumu bottoms out and Kiyoomi's knee presses onto his own shoulder.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Atsumu grits out as Kiyoomi shifts below him, getting used to the length inside of him.

After receiving a nod in permission, Atsumu pulls out slightly to grind back in again. Kiyoomi's chest rises and falls with each grind, his arms wrapping around Atsumu to pull him down into the crook of his neck. He lets out breathy moans as Atsumu grinds in and out, no doubt leaving marks with his mouth as he's smothered into Kiyoomi's neck by the tight grip around his own.

Atsumu groans at a particularly good angle he finds, and decides he's given Kiyoomi enough time to ease into the sex. He pulls out almost all the way, allowing just the tip to threaten to leave Kiyoomi's hole. The latter loosens his grip at the feeling, allowing Atsumu to lift his head so he can look at him questioningly.

"Ready?"

"Wh-"

He practically shouts at Atsumu sinking back in instantly, hitting impossibly deep inside of him. One of his hands claws at Atsumu's bicep while the other slaps over his mouth, eyes wide in a mixture of pleasure and shock at the noise that came out of him.

"Take that off," Atsumu says, "everyone rentin' here is a college student anyway, they hear it all the time."

Unfortunately, he's right, and Kiyoomi knows that firsthand as one of the college students who has had their sleep interrupted by lewd noises above, below, and beside him. So he lets Atsumu pull his hand away as he pulls out all the way again, and slams back in.

Kiyoomi doesn't hide his moans, his body jostling up the bed, and his leg bouncing in the air with every thrust from Atsumu. His nails dig into the blonde's broad shoulders as his face contorts with pleasure, letting out breathy 'yes's between moans. Atsumu's eyes never leave his flushed face, determined to keep that expression intact and burn it into his brain.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he grunts out, watching Kiyoomi's open mouthed pants.

Kiyoomi bites his lip, letting out a continuous moan that bounces up and down in octave with every movement from Atsumu while tears prickle in the corners of his eyes.

"Harder," he insists.

Atsumu obeys, deepening his thrusts and putting more effort into each one.

"You're so good Omi, so fuckin' good."

"Ats- There! Go back!"

He recreates the same angle that made Kiyoomi flinch and slap his shoulder, starting to hit that same spot in him over and over, not slowed down by the harsh scratching on his back.

"Good?" he pants through his pleasure, keeping a steady pace.

He breathes and whimpers out 'yes's and 'more's, continuing to make noise with less and less shame by the second. One of his hands leaves Atsumu in favor of gripping the sheets above his head. He doesn't have to verbalize that he's close— Atsumu can tell by the way he starts becoming unable to use his words, loose syllables falling from his mouth as his limbs start to flex.

Atsumu doesn't slow down, and Kiyoomi's body tenses as he finishes with a loud moan. Atsumu finishes just after, a throaty groan leaving his mouth as Kiyoomi's fingers dig just as deep into his back as they do in the sheets. Atsumu slowly moves in and out a couple more times, both of them tensing at the overstimulation when he finally pulls out with a lewd sound.

He falls onto Kiyoomi, resting his head beside his as long fingers find their way into his undercut.

"Done already?" Kiyoomi asks in a teasing manner.

"Who said that?" Atsumu retorts, sliding a hand up Kiyoomi's ribs. "Just gimme a sec."

They stay there for a few minutes, their heaves slowing to normal breaths and finger tips dancing over each other's skin.

"Okay," Atsumu breathes, bracing himself above Kiyoomi by his elbows. "Ready?"

Kiyoomi doesn't respond, but rather shoves him off onto his back and swings a leg over to straddle him. Atsumu sits up, trying to wrap an arm around him, only for his wrist to be grabbed to stop him.

"Lean back," Kiyoomi orders.

Atsumu leans onto the pillows propped up on the headboard behind him and prepares himself for Kiyoomi to immediately ride him, but is caught off guard by two hands flying up to his chest.

Kiyoomi gropes at his chest, sucking at the flesh below his collarbones as his fingers push into the muscle, and his thumbs flick over his nipples.

"So it was my ripplin' pectorals that ya wanted."

Kiyoomi's head shoots up at that, and his grip takes a turn for painful, making Atsumu wince.

"What are you talking about?"

"Kubo and Tamura-"

"You're not actually mentioning them right now."

"They said ya were into someone's 'ripplin' pectorals'! Exact words."

Kiyoomi's grip loosens, and he drums his fingers on the pectorals in question.

"…Okay."

"Well don't leave me hangin', what's that about? How'd they know?"

"Lucky guess," Kiyoomi claims, leaning in for a kiss. But Atsumu turns his head to dodge it, and he takes Kiyoomi's wrists to pull them off of him.

"Can't touch until ya tell."

Kiyoomi tries to level him with an intimidating glare, but it comes off as more of a pout. After a moment, he relents with a reluctant sigh.

"It was that video you sent me. Where you stripped half naked. Pervert."

"Pervert?! Well how'd they know about that?"

"Because they're morons who intrude on people's personal space and watched over my shoulder while I zoomed in! Can we continue now?"

Atsumu releases Kiyoomi's wrists, so he takes the chance to lift up on his knees, steadying himself with a hand on Atsumu's chest. His other hand reaches behind him, taking hold of Atsumu's dick to align it

He lowers just enough to push the tip in, hissing in through his teeth at the intrusion. But he pushes a little further through the pain.

Atsumu is out of it, but not too out of it to not appreciate the sight before him. He's still in a stupid, blissful state over the knowledge that Kiyoomi had actively zoomed in on his muscles. His.

"Take that Ushiwaka," he grumbles, planting his hands at Kiyoomi's hips.

"Did you just-"

Kiyoomi doesn't get the question out, cut off by a surprised yelp at the feeling of Atsumu pulling him fully down on his dick. Kiyoomi's thighs tremble as he adjusts, and he slaps at Atsumu's chest in retaliation.

"What the hell does Wakatoshi-kun have to do with anything?" he mutters as he balances himself with hands on Atsumu's chest.

"I thought they were talkin' about his pecs."

"Stop bringing up other people while we're having sex."

"Yessir."

With that, Kiyoomi rises halfway up and drops himself back down harshly, pulling a groan from both of them. He rolls his hips and he rises and falls repetitively, and Atsumu's fingers dig into his hips with bruising pressure when he starts to bounce with more effort.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Atsumu grunts. "So fuckin' good Kiyoomi."

Kiyoomi's eyes widen for a split second at the sound of his real name finally being spoken from Atsumu's mouth, and he starts to ride him with a newfound vigor. He moves his hands up to Atsumu's shoulders, using them as leverage to rise even higher up each time.

Atsumu takes in his arch, his mussed hair bouncing, his brows curving up into each other, his open mouthed pants and moans, and his flushed body with marks from Atsumu scattered around it. He might be dreaming.

To make sure he isn't, he sits up fully, wrapping arms around Kiyoomi to feel him more, and to give himself a better angle. Strong arms cling around his shoulders as he starts thrusting up at a quicker pace.

The new angle makes Kiyoomi let out a surprised mix between a gasp and a moan, throwing his head back to leave his neck exposed for Atsumu to suck on for a minute.

"You're so fuckin' gorgeous, Omi."

"K- Kiyoomi," the other corrects.

"Kiyoomi," Atsumu breathes like a praise, chin almost on the other's chest as he looks up at him with allured eyes. "You're so beautiful. Perfect. Is that good? Ya feel good?"

Begging for Kiyoomi to reassure that he's doing alright. It's horrendously endearing.

"It's good," he stutters out in response, pushing fingers up his undercut and to his blonde hair. "It's good."

Kiyoomi's longer moans have turned into shorter whimpers, and his knees can't keep up with the new pace Atsumu sets. So he lets himself be handled, practically whining and scratching at the setter's back.

Atsumu finally shows sings of reaching his peak, his thrusts becoming less methodic and his groans and pants morphing into borderline whimpers. Finally with a few more thrusts, he pulls Kiyoomi off, finishing in between them.

"Fuck," he pants into the crook of Kiyoomi's neck, voice trembling as much as the rest of his body.

His arms keep Kiyoomi up in a firm hold as he plants little kisses on his shoulder until he manages to lift his head again. Then Atsumu starts kissing his cheek, the tip of his nose, and starts a trail of them just above his jawline.

He rolls them onto their sides and Kiyoomi tunrs in his hold. Atsumu's arms encase him from behind, his sweaty chest pressing against Kiyoomi's strong back. They just lay there for minutes, feeling each other's heaving breaths start to calm while Atsumu kisses Kiyoomi's curls and neck.

Good?" Atsumu murmurs into his hair.

"Mm… it was fine," Kiyoomi responds hoarsely.

The answer earns him a bite to the shoulder, and Kiyoomi turns in bed so that he can face Atsumu and meet his lips.

"Okay, off," Kiyoomi says after a while of their lazy make-out. "I need to shower."

Atsumu obeys, getting up on weak legs to follow only to be pushed back down on the bed.

"Wait your turn."

"Wh-"

"Change the sheets. There are spares in the closet."

He walks out to shut the bathroom door behind him before Atsumu can protest. So he gets up to go to the closet instead. He throws the dirty sheets in the washer after changing them, and his clothes from before are ready in the dryer.

Kiyoomi doesn't take long to come out with a towel around his waist. He dodges a kiss, insisting that Atsumu shower before he inevitably wraps sweaty arms around him.

Atsumu comes out in his own boxers that actually fit him, and almost drops the towel drying his hair at the sight awaiting him— Kiyoomi leaning up against the pillows, scrolling on his phone in nothing but boxers and Atsumu's black MSBY sweatshirt.

He crawls into bed, immediately snaking hands under the sweatshirt and positioning himself to lie half on top of Kiyoomi with his cheek resting on his chest where the Jackal's logo sits.

"Shit," Kiyoomi mutters, and Atsumu looks up at where he squints at his phone.

"What?"

"I'm getting brunch with my parents before my shift tomorrow."

"So?"

Kiyoomi sighs, putting the phone down on his bedside table and turning the lamp off.

"When I told them about you helping me out, they added a seat to the reservation and told me to invite you."

"Invite me. I wanna go."

"I was also pretty adamant about the fact that we weren't 'anything'."

Atsumu intertwines their hands to plant a kiss on the back of Kiyoomi's. "Well, now we'll just tell 'em we're 'something'."

Kiyoomi melts out a small smile as he hums at the statement.

"And they'll see how I helped ya in other ways tonight."

Kiyoomi takes a moment to figure out what he means, then smacks a hand over his neck on the few marks that Atsumu had left high enough to be visible, no matter how thick a sweatshirt he wears. Atsumu just smirks.

"Who raised you?!"

"I really like ya Omi."

Atsumu presses another slow, gentle kiss to his knuckles, and Kiyoomi finds it hard to stay frustrated at him.

"This isn't how I expected my night to go, but I'm glad. There's no better way it could've gone."

Kiyoomi can't find the words, or maybe he'd just prefer not to. He cups Atsumu's smiling face barely visible in the dark, and places a deep kiss on his tiny smile, rubbing thumbs on his cheekbones as the kiss is returned.

"You like me too," Atsumu says into the kiss.

"I guess," Kiyoomi murmurs.

"And I'm meetin' the parents already. Did I screw up my first impression?"

"Surprisingly not," Kiyoomi answers. "Just watch your language tomorrow and you'll be fine."

"Even if they see your neck?"

"…Go to sleep."

"'Night Omi."