Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

By Monday, Atsumu’s feeling better than he has in a while, with his fever reduced to the occasional cough or sniffle now, and his ankle back to normal – the nurse just said he should take a little longer to warm up since he’s missed out on using it for the past week.

He goes for his morning jog, glad to be able to move again, and breaths in the fresh air and pretends as though the past few weeks didn’t even happen, just for now, for these few minutes. It’s good. It’s not insufferable, being alone with his thoughts, when the sun’s out and the flowers are blooming and it really, truly feels like spring.

He reminds himself to turn his thinking around, look at things differently, more positively, and just be himself. Mama and Osamu told him to do that, to be himself.

He gets to practice at his usual time, but the whole team is already there; before he can even set his bag down on the bench, Shoyo is running at him and hugging him.

“You’re a good friend, Atsumu-san. And we all like your sets,” he says, voice muffled; the words send a fuzzy feeling through his body, different to the panic from Tuesday. Better. It’s a nice fuzziness.

He slowly lowers his hands down around Shoyo and hugs him back, giving a little squeeze. “Thanks, Shoyo. I know. I’m sorry for getting so dramatic last week. I’m okay.” Sort of. Not as bad. I’m getting there.

He pulls away, looking hesitant, and then he hits him – he has the gall to wince as he does it, too. “Sorry. Osamu-san told me to do that.”

Of course, he did. Atsumu sighs and runs a hand through his hair, sitting down on the bench. “No worries… I deserve it. I suck when I’m sick.”

Meian grins as he walks past, already changed and ready to head off to practice. “Good to have you back, Atsumu.”

He beams at him. “Good to be back, Captain.”

“You better be able to do your hybrid serve; I need a challenge,” Inunaki hums on his way out, which prompts Barnes to yell at him as he follows. Atsumu really has missed them. It feels good to know that they missed him too.

“Spikes are too easy to hit when you’re not there to be annoying,” Tomas comments, finishing with tying his shoes and heading into the gym as well. Oh, how Atsumu loves having his ego boosted.

He rummages around in his bag for his clothes, and then pulls out the poorly wrapped present he’d done up last night before he went to bed. He takes a deep breath, then turns around to face Sakusa, who’s just pulled on his shirt and is working on his laces now. He tries to ignore Bokuto and Shoyo’s eyes on them.

“Hey, Omi-Omi, I got your gift,” he says, holding it out and shaking it a little. “Happy birthday.”

Sakusa’s eyes flick from him to the gift and back again, and then carefully takes it out of his hands. “I told you, Miya, I really don’t expect anything from you,” he says, eyeing it almost suspiciously; the wrapping paper has foxes on it. It’s Atsumu’s favourite. “Also, it’s not my birthday anymore.”

“Just play along. Anyway, just ‘cuz you don’t expect something doesn’t mean you won’t get it,” he hums, trying not to vibrate on the spot from the anxiety and excitement running through his veins. “It’s nice when people give you things or do things for you, even when they don’t need to. Like you bringing me soup.”

Sakusa looks up at him for a moment, like he’s thinking hard about something, and then he gently opens the gift, trying to keep the tears to where he’s cello-taped the paper down – of course he’s neat even when he opens a present.

“I knew ya wouldn’t like it if I had my sick germs on it, so I washed it last night before I wrapped it up,” he says, pulling at the hem of his own shirt just so that his hands have something to do. He’s never given anyone other than his family members something he’s made before, and certainly not something he’s knitted.

Sakusa, as careful and quiet as ever, gently takes hold of the dark green jumper and holds it out in front of him, eyes delicately raking over the item of clothing. Atsumu’s sure it will fit, seeing as he just used his own measurements with slight adjustments so that it would adhere to the height difference, but he still lets out a quiet breath of relief at the fact that it looks right when in front of him.

“Did you make this?” he asks after a suffocating amount of silence, and Atsumu, more nervous than he is shy, nods instantly, scooting forward on the bench just a little.

“Yep,” he pops the ‘p’. “I don’t actually know your favourite colour, but I thought the green would bring out your eyes, and that wool is insanely soft. Do you… like it?”

Sakusa stays quiet for another moment, and Atsumu would break it if he weren’t so taken by the soft pink blush spreading over his cheeks. He swears he’s blushing. There’s no way his eyes are playing tricks on him. Sakusa Kiyoomi is blushing. It makes Atsumu’s heart do a little flip that he pretends didn’t happen.

“Yes. Thank you… Atsumu.”

Holy fucking Gods.

Atsumu nods too fast, too much, his face too hot. Sakusa called him by his given name. What the fuck. Holy shit. “Sure, Omi-Omi,” he definitely doesn’t have to fight his throat to not crack. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bokuto and Shoyo grinning stupidly.

Sakusa nods once and folds the jumper up carefully, then slides it back into the wrapping before putting it into his bag. He keeps his eyes on it for a moment, and then finishes up with his laces and leaves the room. Atsumu swears he sees him smile.

He only manages to avoid his friends’ screaming by hurrying with his change of clothes and telling them that Foster will be annoyed if they take too long.

Practice goes pretty well that week, and by the end of it, Atsumu’s more confident that his teammates like him; if they didn’t, there’s no way they would have invited him out to the movies with him or stayed behind after practice on Monday to help him get back into it or send him random memes that just made them think of him. It’s the little things, stuff that probably wouldn’t mean that much to anyone else but means something to Atsumu. Like Sakusa’s soup.

And Sakusa, really, is the main issue here. Because Atsumu’s figured out that he really wants to be better friends with him. Sakusa’s nice in small ways, and he doesn’t get annoyed when Atsumu starts talking too much, and he’s surprisingly funny. He’s also pretty as fuck. But Atsumu still hasn’t been able to figure out if he actually does like him or not. He thinks he does, otherwise he wouldn’t walk home with him in the evenings, and he would probably just ignore his text messages instead of having full conversations with him… but he’s just so caught up in it. He can’t help it. Did he really mean what he had said that night after the interview, and if so, does he still think that? It’s been keeping him from letting himself get too close.

Then, on Friday, while the team is in the locker rooms and getting changed after a heavy practice, Meian tells them the big news. Yes. The Big News. “My wife and I are having another kid,” he says suddenly, and he’s beaming. Atsumu’s eyes go wide.

“Seriously?!” he yells, whipping around to face him, clean t-shirt hanging around his forearms.

“Yep,” he nods. “She’s nine weeks already.”

The whole team congratulate him by crowding around him and patting his back and yelling cheers, the older members laughing at him and telling him what a hassle it’s going to be with two little kids running around the house. Atsumu stays back, watching the scene unfold in front of him. It’s… nice. Even if it makes him feel pretty lonely again, because Meian is only six years older than him, which in the grand scheme of things isn’t that much, and he’s already got a whole ass family that’s continuing to grow.

He shakes himself out of it, not allowing himself to get caught up in his own feelings. This is about his captain, and he’s crazy happy for him; his smile just keeps growing.

He feels eyes on him and turns to the side to see Sakusa watching him, also standing away from the crowd, for obvious reasons. He doesn’t know why, or what he’s supposed to do or say, so he just smiles. Sakusa looks at the floor instead.

“Anyway… I say it ‘cuz I figured we could all go out drinking tonight. To celebrate,” Meian says once everyone’s given him his space back, and then adds on, “and also to just get shitfaced.”

Atsumu laughs. “I think that is a great idea, Cap.” He could do with a night out. Plus, he hasn’t had alcohol for months, usually opting for non-alcoholic beer or something similar; it might be nice to just let loose for a night. Whatever. He doesn’t have to explain himself. He’s a grown man, he can drink if he wants.

Bokuto and Shoyo nod enthusiastically, looking at Atsumu with mischief and excitement in their eyes. He matches it.

“Oh Gods, watching over you three is always a nightmare,” Barnes sighs, but he looks happy enough to tag along. Inunaki is practically vibrating on the spot.

“I’ll have a drink or two,” Tomas pipes in, smiling pleasantly while he puts his things in his bag.

There’s a moment of excited silence, electricity in the air, and then Sakusa speaks up, taking everyone by surprise. “What time and where?”

Meian’s face lights up. “You’re gonna come?!”

Atsumu’s also feeling unexplainably elated too; Sakusa doesn’t come to the group hangouts very often, especially not when they go to bars. “For real, Omi?”

He shrugs, turning away from them to mess about with his bag. He doesn’t really look like he’s doing anything with it though. “It’s a special occasion, so I’ll come along for an hour or so to celebrate with you.”

“HOLLYYYYYY SHITTTTTTTT!” Bokuto yells. Shoyo jumps up with his fists raised high and they both start running around the room like children, as if they can’t hold in their excitement. Atsumu thinks they’re probably the physical representation of his heart right now – for some reason, it’s doing flips in his chest. He decides it’s just because tonight could be a good opportunity for him to better understand Sakusa’s feelings towards him.

“I’ll text the team group chat once I’ve figured it out, Sakusa,” Meian says, pulling his bag over his shoulder and giving them all one last smile before he leaves. It feels special.

Atsumu shows up to the bar a little later than the given time, having spent too long at his mirror trying to pick out an outfit and do his hair; he settled on a loose button up – with the top few buttons undone because he’s hot ¬– and some jeans that he knows make his ass look good. He refuses to let himself question why he’s put so much thought into this. Maybe he just wants to feel good tonight. That’s totally, definitely the only reason.

The bar Meian picked was one of the less busy ones and was probably a decision made with Sakusa’s mysophobia in mind, though with it being a Friday night and all, by the time Atsumu gets there, it’s still pretty packed. He pushes his way through the people that are standing around the bar and finds the team crowded around a large table in the back, all of them laughing; he plops himself down in the spot next to Bokuto, right opposite Sakusa. He looks good. By that, he means that he doesn’t look stressed out or uncomfortable yet. That’s definitely all he means. Nothing else. Shut up, stupid heart.

“The star of the show has arrived,” he says, grinning and holding his hands out in the air, as if he’s Bokuto walking onto the court before a big game.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Meian, not you,” Inunaki says, almost as deadpan as Sakusa. Though, no one can beat him in that department.

He presses a hand to his chest. “Ya wound me, Wan-san.”

“Good.”

Atsumu gets back up to get a drink, sticking his tongue out at him, and the team goes back to telling random stories and fucking about; Sakusa joins in too, nursing his bottle of cider as if it’s some high-percentage drink. It’s good. And then Atsumu and Shoyo suggest that they play a drinking game, because who cares if they’re adults, it’s fun.

They get drunk fast.

“Okay,” he giggles, turning off his phone and shoving it in his pocket. “The phone game’s gettin’ boring. You give us one, Tomas.”

Tomas’s eyes go wide for a second, and then he starts stroking a non-existent beard on his chin; it sets off Shoyo, who devolves into laughter and has to lean against Atsumu so that he doesn’t fall off the booth.

“Hmm. Never have I ever… been infatuated with someone?” he says finally, shrugging.

“Infatuated? Really?” Meian asks, raising an eyebrow.

Tomas pushes at him. “I dunno, I think the people here are more likely to have had some crazy, deep-rooted crush than been in love. Love’s a pretty big thing, right?”

Shoyo takes a shot, then leans forward. “You’ve never liked someone that much, Tomas?”

“Oh, no. I’m aromantic-asexual, and personally I don’t get any of that,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m surprised you didn’t know, Hinata. I literally have a badge on my gym bag.”

Bokuto elbows him, laughing. “You’re so perceptive in volleyball, but when it comes to other stuff, you’re kinda clueless.”

Atsumu turns away from them and tips back a shot, grimacing as he puts the glass back on the table.

“You’ve been close to love, Tsum-Tsum?” Bokuto asks, leaning over the table to look him in the eyes.

Atsumu nods and shrugs. “Yeah. Really close. But like I said in the interview, I’m pretty hard to love, so nothing much came out of it.” Just a lot of shitty feelings and memories and insecurities.

Sakusa ‘pfft’s. Atsumu has no fucking clue what that means, and he’s way too drunk, so he leans in – still careful not to touch him or his side of the table – and smirks at him.

“What? Ya disagree, Omi-Omi?”

His cheeks flare up red and he leans back, crossing his arms. “I did not say that.”

He can’t help the laugh that bubbles up and out of his throat, and he leans over to rest his head on the table; he always laughs too much when he’s drunk.

“Geez, he’s gone already,” Bokuto snickers, poking him. Atsumu slaps his hand away, but it’s more like him just flopping his hand over his finger.

“Shut it, I’m fine. ‘M just tired,” he says, and fakes a yawn just to push his fact. Clearly, none of them believe him. “ANYWAY!” he shoots back up to sit straight and slams his hands down on the table. “I’m getting another round of shots.”

Atsumu should not have gotten another round of shots, or another drink after that. If he wasn’t gone before, he is definitely almost there now. His view is all… behind him. Like he’s going too fast. Or the rest of the world is too slow. He doesn’t know. Time is weird. Alcohol is weird. Atsumu’s starting to get too focused on being unlikeable again.

He looks up from his drink at Sakusa, who’s listening to whatever conversation Meian and Barnes are having that Atsumu hasn’t been paying attention to and occasionally chipping in. He’s got a little bit of pink in his cheeks, probably from the alcohol – Atsumu had always thought that was just a thing they did in anime – and he’s almost smiling.

He doesn’t have the sense to stop himself. “Hey, Omi-kun…” he reaches his arm over the table, wanting to poke him to get his attention but stopping himself just before he does. He’s not so drunk that he’s forgotten his boundaries. Sakusa seems to notice anyway.

“Yeah?”

Atsumu looks down at his hands for a second, gripping at the glass he’s holding. “Do you… really think I’m unlikeable?”

When he glances up to gauge his reaction to the question, he sees an expression on his face that he’s never quite seen before. He looks almost… sad.

“No. Gods, no, Miya, I—”

“Y’know you can just call me Atsumu, right? Everyone else does. It feels weird when people call me Miya; it’s like being mistaken for my brother.” He shudders. “That used to happen all the time before we dyed our hair. I mean… you called me Atsumu on Monday.” His head sways for a second, and then his eyes widen. “Ah! Sorry! I interrupted you.”

Sakusa watches him, hesitates for a moment, and then sighs. “Atsumu…” – holy shit that worked? – “I’m… sorry. For saying that.”

Oh. “Huh?”

“At the time, I only meant it as a joke, but it was the wrong moment, and I shouldn’t have. I also should have apologised sooner. I wanted to wait until you were… past the stuff you were going through, but I now realise that I was probably a catalyst for that. So, I’m sorry.” He sounds so genuine, and he’s looking at Atsumu only, nothing else, no one else. He’s even set his drink back down on the table.

He shakes his head, eyes back down on his own drink, away from Sakusa’s dark green ones; they really are mesmerising. “You weren’t the only thing that it set it off. Plus, I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up over a joke. It was dumb of me to get upset like that.”

There’s quiet for a moment, in this little bubble that was created as soon as Atsumu said his name and got his attention. And then Sakusa leans forwards a little, more into his space, so that he can look him in the eyes. He does.

“Just because it was a stupid, not thought-out plan, that doesn’t invalidate your reaction, Atsumu; you were hurt.” He absentmindedly starts messing with his wrists, like he’s warming them up before practice. “I usually think through my words and my actions, but… when it comes to you, I sometimes lose my inhibitions, I guess.” He must have drunk more alcohol at some point, because his cheeks are more flushed now than they were before. “You looked sad after the interview, and I suppose I wanted to try to make things… better. But I’m not good at coming up with jokes, so I resorted to our usual way of conversation. We both know how that went.” Stupid banter.

“So… you do like me?” Atsumu asks, and he thinks that for someone who’s had as many drinks as he has tonight, he’s doing pretty well for himself in the whole not slurring department.

“Yes. Of course, I do.” Of course. He says it like it’s obvious. Obviously, he would like Atsumu. Of course, he does. It’s simple. It’s just a fact. Everyone else knows it. Of course.

“Oh.” He doesn’t say anything for a minute, instead taking a few sips of his drink. His stomach and heart are doing weird things to his body. It must be the alcohol. It really has been a long time since he last drank this much. “Why?”

“Hm?”

“Why do you like me?”

Sakusa frowns. Like the answer should be obvious. He takes a few gulps of his cider; he likes the bottles because he knows the inside is clean, so he only has to wipe the outside down when he drinks it. Atsumu doesn’t quite know where he got that information from.

“You’re fishing for compliments, aren’t you?”

Atsumu laughs again, then hiccups. That’s embarrassing. “Not completely. I did kind of think you hated me a bit. Maybe.”

“Well… I did a little, before we even met. I had heard that you were a good setter and sucked to go up against in a match, and then at Nationals when our teams did go against each other, you kept sending those smug looks my way, like you were trying to rile me up. It was annoying.” The look on his face shows his distaste and it makes Atsumu laugh harder.

“You looked so nervous. I thought that if I treated you the same as I did with other people, then you would feel less… obvious in the crowd,” he says, remembering back to that day. He had seen the neon Itachiyama jacket hiding in the corner of the lobby, giving anyone that looked at him a death stare; he had been planning on going over to ask him if he was a murderer, but then Komori appeared out of nowhere and dragged him away.

“Then there’s a reason why I like you.”

Atsumu’s head jerks up. “What?”

Sakusa shrugs. “You go out of your way to make people feel comfortable. I mean, when I first joined the team, you told everyone about my mysophobia so that I didn’t have to; that was just a thought you had and followed through with.”

Oh. He hadn’t thought that was a big deal.

What might be small to someone, could be big to someone else. That’s what Mama always said; it’s what he still tells himself.

Atsumu thinks for a moment about him. How he had been described, before. ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi, untouchable and uncaring and unkind.’

Sakusa Kiyoomi, who deep down only wanted to make Atsumu happy when he was sad, even if he was a complete idiot about it. Sakusa Kiyoomi, who left him tea when he was cold and brought him soup when he was sick. Sakusa Kiyoomi, who listens to Atsumu even when he talks complete shit. Untouchable, maybe, but most certainly not uncaring or unkind.

“Y’know, Omi-Omi, you’re real different to what I thought you would be.”

Sakusa puffs out a laugh and it’s like magic to his ears. Gods he loves his little laughs. Atsumu ignores that thought. “Ditto.”

They watch each other for a moment, and then Atsumu starts laughing once again, at nothing. Or maybe at the happy feeling that’s spreading through his body, like magic dust being sprinkled over his heart.

“Why are you laughing?” Sakusa asks, and he even leans forward a little bit, and he’s still not quite smiling, but he’s not frowning, and there’s something special about that. The fact that he still feels comfortable and at least somewhat happy, too.

He shrugs, and he really does think he feels good. Better than he has in a while, at least. Surrounded by people that he knows are his friends, people that he’s come to realise do like him, flaws and all. “I think I’m just relieved, Omi-kun.”

And then, like the stars appearing one by one in the night sky as the clouds pass by, Sakusa smiles. It’s small, just a slight quirk of his lips, but Atsumu decides this is way more special than his not-smile. It feels like he’s getting to see something new. Something important. “Me too; I’ve been meaning to apologise for a while, now.”

Atsumu’s own smile stretches from ear to ear.

They keep talking for a while, with Bokuto and Shoyo joining in every now and then, as well as their other teammates, and Atsumu knows that tonight isn’t for him by any means, but it makes him stupidly cheerful. Each conversation that happens around the table is cheerful, and Meian is having a great time, and other than his moment earlier, Atsumu doesn’t feel upset or stressed out. He’s being pulled into games or conversations by different people, and even better, Sakusa seems happy to be talking with him. He just keeps repeating the same thought in his head, because there’s nothing else up there right now. I’m happy. I don’t feel bad. He thinks that’s likely to change soon enough, but maybe that’s okay; that’s just how life works.

After a bit, Sakusa leaves for the bathroom, and Atsumu gets roped into playing another drinking game; part of his subconscious tells him not to join in, but he decides to ignore it. That can be a problem for ‘tomorrow Atsumu’.

He’s tipping back a shot and sticking up his middle finger at Shoyo, who’s laughing almost maniacally at him, when Sakusa comes back to the table. Though, when Atsumu looks up, his seat’s been taken, thanks to Bokuto getting up at some point to get another drink, and everyone moving around the booth from laughing too much. His eyes linger on the stolen seat for a moment, hesitation clear on his face, and then he gently pushes Atsumu closer to Shoyo, who scoots further down the booth, and sits down next to him, taking his place at the end.

It takes Atsumu a moment to process that. And then…. “OMI?! YA TOUCHED ME?!”

The whole table’s heads swivel to stare at them in shock. Atsumu does not have the brainpower currently to tell them to mind their own business. He is also in shock.

Sakusa observes him, eyes raking over his face, and he can’t really tell if he’s deadpanning him or just… well, looking at him. He sighs. “It’s worrying how much alcohol you’ve drank tonight.”

“Hah?”

“You’re being louder than normal, Atsumu.”

Oh. He forgot that was a thing now. Sakusa calling him by his given name. It makes his stomach go all fuzzy. Though, that’s probably the alcohol. Almost definitely.

“Shut it,” he mumbles, then leans forward, grinning – idiotically, Sakusa would probably say. “You touched meeeeeee.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes but doesn’t look away, doesn’t scoot further away from him on the seat. Atsumu’s arm bumps into his, and he doesn’t even frown at it.

“You are being annoyingly dramatic about this,” he says, but if Atsumu looks close enough at his pretty green eyes, and tiny little almost-smile, he would say he looks amused.

“Omi-Omi touched me before all you losers,” he sings, turning to everyone else, and then he tries to stand up, just to show them how above them he is now. He trips over his own feet and bangs his forehead against Shoyo’s shoulder.

“Ouch…” he mumbles, rubbing at where he had hit him, and looks up to meet Shoyo’s eyes. They both pause for a second, and then laughter rips out of the latter’s chest, and he starts laughing too, and they’re leaning on each other, desperately trying to catch their breaths because that was so funny for no reason.

Bokuto barks out a laugh too. “Tsum-Tsum you’ve stolen Meian’s role as the shit-faced one.”

Atsumu leans back slightly, hitting something soft. “Well maybe if he had taken more risks in high school then he would have gotten to drink more in Never Have I Ever.”

Meian eyes him, then shrugs. “No, I think I’m pretty glad I didn’t do some of the stuff you did back then. Or like, last year.”

Atsumu lets out a whine, sliding down his seat a little more. “Your new name should be Mean Meian. My mama would never insult my lifestyle.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not your mum then.”

Atsumu whines again, slipping further down. Hands grip gently at his arms and pull him back up. Instead of turning around to see who it was, he lifts up his head, directing it to the ceiling; Sakusa looks down at him.

“Hi,” he giggles.

“Be more careful,” he scolds, letting go.

Atsumu nods, still leaning on him, then turns back to Shoyo, who’s still next to them and is trying to take a photo of him without him seeing. So much for that. Though, he’s not boring, so he grins and sticks up a peace-sign at the camera. Shoyo laughs.

“Just so you know, Tsum-Tsum, that’s not the only photo he’s taken of you tonight,” Bokuto pipes up, setting down his now-empty glass. He must have downed the rest of it.

“Wha--?”

“They’re all in the group chat,” Inunaki says, trying his best to hold in his laughter.

“There’s also some great ones of our captain that I think his wife will love to see,” Barnes adds on, scrolling through his phone. Meian yelps and pulls his own out of his pocket, presumably to see what his life has amounted to.

Atsumu doesn’t even have the sense to be even slightly worried about what kinds of angles have been captured. He just snickers. And then yawns.

“I can’t believe this your last night of freedom,” he sighs, looking at Meian.

“He already has a kid, Atsumu,” Tomas says, raising an eyebrow.

“She’s also not due for, like, another 31 weeks,” Shoyo states, holding a finger up in the air. Then his eyes widen, excited. “WOO. BOOM. I JUST DID THAT MATH SO FAST. GET HECKED ON TSUKKI.”

Atsumu recognises the name as the other middle blocker from his old Karasuno team. He also knows that he used to help tutor him in maths. Obviously, the competitive drive in his soul has not dissipated.

“It was simple subtraction, Hinata,” Sakusa says, sounding almost worried, as Bokuto leans over the table and high-fives him.

“Maths is hard though!” he cries, looking far too pleased with himself. Atsumu looks up to see Sakusa directing a disappointed, somewhat disgusted look at Shoyo; he snickers.

“I worry for you two.”

Bokuto’s eyes light up a little. “That’s what Keiji says!”

Sakusa’s face morphs into something tired. “I fail to see how you think that is a good thing, Bokuto.”

Atsumu yawns again, cutting off their conversation accidentally. “Sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. It’s come on suddenly, but now that he’s realised it, Gods does he want to go to sleep.

“Don’t apologise for being sleepy, Atsumu-san,” Shoyo says. “You should go home.”

He hesitates for a moment, not wanting the night to end yet, not when he’s having so much fun and is enjoying just listening to his friends talk around him, but… the idea of his bed does sound nice. “Yeah, probably.”

He tries to push himself up out of his seat but wobbles a bit. Bokuto stands up.

“I’ll go get you some water.”

Atsumu smiles gratefully, but groans once he’s out of earshot, flopping back down on his seat. “Why do I feel like everyone is way less drunk than me?”

“I think Bokuto is just better at handling his alcohol than you are, Atsumu-san,” Shoyo says with a shrug.

“You’re a fake ass hoe, Shoyo.”

“I think it’s more so that you don’t drink as often as the others do,” Sakusa corrects, pulling his jacket on. “I’m walking you home.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m walking you home,” he repeats. “There’s no way I’m trusting you to get back safely on your own. You’ll probably pass out in an alleyway or get hit by a train.”

Atsumu snorts. “A train? The tracks are like, miles away.”

“Exactly,” he deadpans. “I’m walking you home. Drink up.”

Bokuto places the tall glass of water on the table in front of Atsumu and he carefully takes it, worried about spilling it everywhere. “Thanks, Bokkun.” He gulps it down; he forgot how dehydrating alcohol is.

He puts it back down. “There. All done.”

Sakusa nods, then gets out of his seat. He’s about to reach for Atsumu but he yelps, stopping him, when a thought occurs.

“Wait! Gimme your sanitiser!”

“What?”

He flaps his hands. “So ya don’t have to touch all my germs or whatever. I’ve been touching everyone at the table and a bunch of glasses.”

Sakusa hesitates, something flashing in his eyes, and then hands him the bottle of sanitiser he takes everywhere with him. He slides on his mask while Atsumu squirts the liquid in his hands and rubs it into them and his arms. He grins once he’s finished.

“Alright. Let’s go,” he says and holds his hands out to be helped up. He’s enjoying Sakusa’s touch way too much.

He rolls his eyes at him, exasperated, and takes hold, pulling up and out of the seat; Atsumu fights very hard not to fall into him. It’ll be way too embarrassing if he can’t walk on his own, and even if Sakusa’s for some reason suddenly okay with touching him, he doesn’t want to overdo it or make him uncomfortable.

He turns to the table and waves at them all. “See ya. Good luck with your baby, Meian.”

“Once again, we’ve still got another 31 weeks.”

“See you tomorrow, Tsum-Tsum,” Bokuto grins, waving back. Atsumu forgot they were going to meet up. He prays to the Gods that his hangover isn’t too bad.

The walk back is nice, with the fresh air helping Atsumu to sober up and the street surprisingly empty considering it’s a Friday. Though, he does keep tripping over his own feet and the pavement, somehow.

The silence is comfortable, and truth be told, Atsumu doesn’t mind it, but after a while he can’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “Hey, Omi?”

“Mm?”

“So… you know my big deep secret: I knit. I was wondering… what kinda stuff do you do out of volleyball? Do you just read a bunch?”

Sakusa glances at him, then back at the empty path ahead. “Hm, mostly; I’ve got a lot of books at home. I enjoy astronomy and history as well.”

Astronomy? “Really? Is that what ya did in uni?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I actually majored in Biology, then took some Japanese Literature courses on the side, for my own personal enjoyment.”

Atsumu leans in, intrigued. He trips over again, though, and Sakusa reaches out a hand to grab onto his arm; he only lets go after a few seconds, like he’s making sure he’s steady enough to keep walking on his own.

“Sorry. I get Japanese Lit, since you like books so much, but why Biology?” he asks, taking his hands out of his pockets and instead swinging them at his sides, just in case he actually falls – though, part of him thinks that maybe Sakusa would catch him before he hits the ground.

He looks at him properly now, frowning slightly. “You know, you really don’t have to pretend that you’re interested, Atsumu.”

Huh? “I’m not pretendin’!” he insists, then walks into him a little, a full body nudge; it feels natural. “I actually am interested. I like learning things about you. And just learning in general. It’s fun. School sucks though. I dunno why you decided to keep going; that was a fucked-up decision. I was so annoyed when I found out I wasn’t gonna get to fight you more, but it was pretty cool when ya showed up at the try-outs. A real college MVP on the Jackals.” He grins, then shakes his head; he’s getting off topic. “Anyway, Biology. Tell me about it; I wanna know more.”

He’s been so caught up in his own head the past few weeks that he’d forgotten other people have their own insecurities; he doesn’t want to do that anymore. He’s trying to be better at listening to people, and he thinks listening to Sakusa could be really nice.

He looks at him, eyes wide and green as they pass by a streetlight, like they’re secretly crystals. “Well…” he hesitates, then looks down at the ground below them as they walk. “It’s not really that interesting. I always liked Biology as a subject in school, and I was good at it, especially since I knew so much about bacteria and cells due to my… obsession with them; it just seemed like a sensible decision. And my parents wanted me to get a degree before I pursued volleyball as a career, so that I’ll have a back-up if anything goes wrong.”

Atsumu laughs at the word obsession. “Yeah, well, ya certainly do know a lot about it, that’s true. You’re always super clean and healthy; I guess that’s an upside to havin’ mysophobia, as opposed to all the shitty stuff that comes with it.”

Sakusa pauses for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Oh no. “Shit, sorry, did I say something wrong?” He didn’t mean to. Idiot.

He shakes his head. “No, not at all, I’m just not used to people talking to me about it. My… mother used to tell me that I shouldn’t tell anyone about it unless it was necessary. Plus, people usually pity me for it; it’s disgusting.” He pulls a face just to prove it.

Oh. What the fuck? “That’s dumb. It’s not like it’s something to be ashamed of. I mean, if anyone knows you well enough, they can pretty easily figure out it’s more than just a germ thing; it takes like, one Google search.”

He puffs out one of those little laughs. Sakusa should trademark his laughs, they’re so unique. “True. Though, she was partly right; there’s not much need to tell people the ins and outs of it as long as they respect my boundaries.”

Atsumu nods. Then laughs at the memory that comes into his head; it goes on for too long, little giggles spilling past his lips. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at him, curious.

He smiles. “Sorry, it’s just, one of the first things you ever said to me was that the average human adult carries, like, 1,500 germs on each square centimetre of their hand; that scared the shit out of me. It really does make sense that you chose to study Biology.”

“You remember that?”

“Yep; it’s pretty hard to forget.” He puts his hands back in his pockets, shivering a little; the alcohol’s stopped keeping him warm. He’s glad when he sees his apartment building come into view. “So, what got you into astronomy?” He looks up at the stars in the sky, not super visible thanks to the pollution of the city, but not so depressing that there’s none.

“Be careful; you’re too drunk to not be watching your step,” Sakusa warns, pulling him closer to him so that their shoulders bump. He realises he was about to walk straight into a light-pole.

“Whoops. It’s okay, though, Omi, ‘cuz I know you’re here to stop me from doing dumb shit like that.”

Sakusa keeps his eyes on him now, and his cheeks are a little flushed again. “Right. Because every morning I wake up with delight and look in the mirror only to say to myself, ‘oh how I love to be Miya Atsumu’s babysitter’.”

Atsumu has to hold himself back from shrieking. Instead, he leans closer to him. “Didn’t know ya liked spending time with me so much, Omi-Omi. I guess I’ll have to drink more often, just for you.” For extra measure, he bats his eyelashes a few times.

Sakusa rolls his eyes, but he smiles again, so Atsumu takes it as a win. He thinks this is going really well. A lot better than most of their conversations have gone recently.

“For real, though, you’re avoiding the question. Why do you like astronomy?” Of course, he was going to bring it back to that. He has to know before they get to his apartment; part of him is afraid that if he doesn’t find out now, he never will, and he really does like learning new things about him.

“My aunt got me into it, actually; Motoya’s mother,” he explains. “She works in an observatory, and occasionally does lectures at different universities across the country, so she has a lot of astronomy books at her house. I read them a lot when I would go to his house when my parents were busy, or when practice went on late; he lived closer to the school.”

Atsumu hums, looking down from the sky and back at Sakusa; he’s got a peaceful look on his face. He likes it.

“Sometimes, she would take us and Motoya’s sister away from the city with a telescope and we would stay there until the late hours of the night looking up at the sky, and then we would go back, and she would tell me more stories about different constellations and planets while the other two slept in the car. They… weren’t as interested as I was.”

He closes his eyes and imagines little Sakusa sitting in the front seat of his aunt’s car and kicking his legs back and forth, eyes sparkling, as she told him stories about the galaxy. It almost makes him laugh.

“That’s pretty cool, Omi,” he says, and he means it. He likes hearing Sakusa talk so much. It’s weirdly soothing, listening to him recount stories of his childhood or talking about university.

“It was nice. I haven’t gone stargazing for a few years now, not since I left Tokyo, but I still read a lot of books related to astronomy… and other books.”

Atsumu hums, and when he opens his eyes, his apartment building is in front of him, and Sakusa’s beside him, and he feels like he must be dreaming; the world is spinning around him and people are living and he is living. It feels special.

He thinks both too much and not at all when he’s drunk.

“Atsumu?” Sakusa calls, and it snaps him out of whatever dimension he went to in his head.

“Hey, you should come with me sometime to Hyogo. It’s not far, and the stars there are crazy nice. Y’know, when we’ve got a holiday or something.” He averts his gaze and swings back and forth on his feet a little. “I also heard you like dogs. I’ve got one. So….”

Sakusa considers him, then starts walking up the stairs towards Atsumu’s apartment. “Maybe. Come on, we’re almost there.”

He stares at them, the intimidating steps that lead to his home, his bed. “Uhh… Omi-kun, I don’t think I can walk up them.” He is not stable enough on his feet right now to get up there on his own.

Sakusa turns around to look at him, raising an almost teasing eyebrow, and then walks back down, sticking his hand out. “What you do when I’m not there on your nights out, I have no idea.”

Atsumu takes it. It’s soft. Stable. Safe. It’s Sakusa. “I don’t usually drink. I’ve been sad though, and I’m starting to feel better now. So… it was a celebration, of sorts, I guess.”

Sakusa keeps his eyes on him as they walk up, by his side, making sure he doesn’t fall on his face like an idiot. “I’m glad.”

Atsumu sways a little and Sakusa’s grip on his hand tightens, pulling him up the next step. “You’re a mess.”

A mess for you. What? He shakes away the thought. He doesn’t know where that came from. “Mean, Omi-Omi,” he laments, bumping into him.

“I only speak the truth.”

He huffs. His vision’s swaying a bit more now. “Are ya sure you’re comfy with this? You don’t have to touch me if you don’t want; I’m not gonna die.” He’s been feeling guilty all night, alongside the pure joy that he’s also been given from the touch.

“I don’t do things I don’t want to,” he says with a shrug. “You’ve shown me that you’re trustworthy.”

Oh. Wow. Warmth spreads through his body, accompanying the fuzz that’s running through his bones. “Cool. That’s cool. Swag.”

“Swag?”

Idiot. “Yeah… swag. I’m bringing it back?” He does not want to bring back the word swag.

“Please don’t.”

“Yeah, no. I won’t.”

They walk the rest of the way up, Sakusa helping him out when he trips over his feet – it happens an embarrassing amount of times – and them enjoying the silence between them. It’s comfortable.

Atsumu fumbles with his keys, trying to unlock the door, and then trips into his apartment, switching on the light. “Home sweet home.” He turns back around to face Sakusa. “Thanks… for walking me back.”

He nods. “Of course; we can’t have our setter passing out or dying in the middle of the road because he got too drunk. It would be a PR nightmare.” A light smirk rests on his face.

He slouches over slightly, leaning on the doorframe. “I’m not that drunk.” He giggles. To prove it.

Sakusa sighs, rolling his eyes, exasperated, but… no. There’s no way it’s fond. “Drink at least two big glasses of water before you sleep. Also, you should shower if you think you can manage it; you don’t want to know how many germs are on you right now.” He shudders at the thought of it. It honestly makes Atsumu melt a little; Sakusa knows that Atsumu is obviously not the cleanest person after spending the night surrounded by bodies, but he still touched him despite that. Took his arm when he fell, took his hand when he needed help walking. Sakusa’s way kinder than the public gives him credit for.

“I’ll do my best, Omi,” he hums, taking a step back into his apartment and holding onto the door to keep steady. “Thanks again.”

Sakusa nods and takes a step back too. “Goodnight, Atsumu. Sleep well.”

Atsumu wonders if the world would explode in on itself – implode? – if he started thinking of Sakusa as Kiyoomi. “Have good dreams.” He shuts the door, slowly, smile growing wider as his vision of the outside world gets smaller and smaller. Once he’s locked it, he starts jumping on the spot. Then he realises that’s weird, because what’s he so happy about? Sure, it’s really nice that he’s finally sure that Kiyoomi likes him, that the whole team likes him – tonight was all the confirmation he needed, really – but… this is a bit much, he thinks.

In the kitchen, Atsumu gulps down four glasses of water, just so that he has something to brag about to Kiyoomi, despite the exhaustion that is fully starting to seep itself into his bones now.

In the bathroom, Atsumu brushes his teeth, swishes some mouthwash around in his mouth, and showers, scrubbing his whole body down and washing out the product in his hair – not that there’s a lot in there.

In his bedroom, Atsumu wraps himself up in his blankets and duvet, flopping down on his pillow, and he sends Kiyoomi a picture of his face, wet hair included, and types out followed your instructions, Omi <3. He backspaces, then retypes the exact same message, and sends it. He sends sarcastic love-hearts to people all the time; there’s no reason for him to be second guessing himself now.

In his dream, Atsumu sits in a quiet, relaxing field, with all of the people he loves, and for the first time in a long while, he feels truly, completely, at peace. Despite being asleep, he just knows Osamu would make fun of him for that.

Atsumu wakes up to a loud ringing in his ear and pain in his head. Also regret.

He pulls his covers up over his eyes to shield him from the light coming in through the curtains that he definitely did not close, and uselessly flaps his hand around in the direction of the alarm, trying to find his phone without having to open his eyes. His hand hits it and he grabs onto it, tapping all over the screen until the noise stops; he either turns it off or snoozed it, but either way he doesn’t care. It’s too early. And his head really does hurt. He shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.

Last night. Gods, last night. He smiles a little at the thought of it. Some parts a bit blurry in his head, but he remembers his teammates, his friends, laughing at his jokes and making conversation with him and dragging him into more drinking games. He remembers Kiyoomi apologising properly this time, telling him that of course he doesn’t hate him. He remembers talking to Kiyoomi all night, being touched by Kiyoomi, being walked home by Kiyoomi. How could he forget Kiyoomi? Wait. When did he start calling him that? He should check his phone.

He groans to himself, then turns on his side and opens his eyes – it hurts. The room is bright and he’s way too hot, which is probably because of the sheer amount of blankets piled on top of his duvet. He pulls his phone towards him and switches it on.

“Fuck.” It’s already 10am. There’s a text waiting for him.

Bokkun: hey Tsum-Tsum !!!!

Bokkun: I hope your hangover isn’t too bad :((((

Bokkun: we can talk another time if you’re feeling too sick

Thank the Gods for Bokuto. Atsumu’s about to text him back and say that yes, today probably isn’t the best, but then he remembers how Bokuto had looked when he’d approached him and asked if they could hang out and talk about something; he had been so nervous. He’d looked like he was about to vomit. Bokuto’s a pretty straight-forward guy nowadays, and he doesn’t usually overthink much anymore, or at least not like he did when they joined the team, so he figures it must be something important. He doesn’t really want to make him wait if he’s this worried about whatever it is that’s bothering him.

Atsumu sighs, resigning himself to this fate, and backspaces what he’s already written of his previous reply. Bokuto’s always there for him when he needs someone, whether that’s doing his best to stay up late after a bad interview or talking to him in a locker room while he develops a fever. Atsumu will be there for him too.

Me: I’m okay

Me: might be a bit late tho, that okay?

Bokuto’s reply is instant.

Bokkun: cool !!!!!!

Bokkun: see you soon !!!! :DDDD

Atsumu takes a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, and slowly sits up. The room doesn’t spin, and he doesn’t feel nauseous, so he figures he’s okay; he swings his legs out of his bed and pushes himself up. He doesn’t wobble, doesn’t almost fall. Good. It seems like this hangover is mostly just exhaustion and a migraine; he can deal with that.

So, he follows through with his usual morning routine, though skipping his jog, and downs some paracetamol. He’s on the way out, checking his phone to see if he should run to Bokuto’s – he probably should – when he sees a text notification waiting for him on his phone screen. It is not from Bokuto. No, it’s from Sakusa, a message left for him last night.

Omi-kun: Sweet dreams.

Oh. Okay. So, he’s trying to kill Atsumu. That’s cool. That’s fine. His heart is not currently beating against his chest like it’s trying to break free. Just because Sakusa is nice to him, and he likes the stars, and he reads books about astronomy in his free time, and he knows an unending number of facts about germs and bacteria and stuff, does not mean that Atsumu likes him. He is not into Sakusa Kiyoomi.

He takes a deep breath. Be chill. Be cool. He’s cool.

Me: I did ty ;)

Okay. Yeah. That’s cool. He breathes again. Okay. Time for Bokuto.

Atsumu both can and cannot believe his ears. He blinks, then runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry, Bokkun, say that again?”

Bokuto, anxious, cracks his knuckles, shifting in his spot where they’ve both stopped walking in the shopping centre; they’ve been walking around aimlessly for ten minutes, him seemingly psyching himself up and Atsumu being confused as to why they even met here.

“I’m…” he swallows, then looks around himself as if Akaashi’s about to appear out of nowhere, even though he’s in work until 2pm. “I’m going to propose to Keiji.”

Well holy shit. A grin spreads over Atsumu’s face. “Congrats, Bokkun!” He claps a hand on his shoulder.

He smiles back, and even though it’s still nervous, it’s genuine. “I’m excited, but… I don’t really know what to do. What if he says no?”

Atsumu thinks back to all of the times he’s seen Bokuto and Akaashi together, all the hours he’s sat listening to the former talk about his partner, grinning from ear to ear, looking more in love with him that Atsumu’s probably ever seen from any other relationship. There’s no doubt in his mind. “He’ll say yes, Bokkun. There’s no way he wouldn’t.”

He perks up a little, but still doesn’t look satisfied. “How do you know?”

He smiles a little smaller, trying to ignore the little bout of jealousy at the back of his mind, the bottom of his heart. He’s happy for Bokuto. He loves his friend, and he wants him to be happy too. “I can tell from the way he looks at ya. Like… you’re the thing he goes to when he’s had a hard day that he knows will make him feel better. Didn’t you say you guys had an argument a few weeks back, and you were super anxious and upset ‘cuz he had shouted at you, but then when you were in bed that night, he came in and hugged you and apologised a couple minutes later? That. Even when you’re both upset with each other, he still comes to you because he knows you’re what makes him happy. He’ll say yes.”

Bokuto looks at him, eyes watery, and then rushes his arm up to his face to rub at them. “Aw man, thanks Tsum-Tsum. I never really thought about it like that.” He sniffs. “Damn, I wanna give him a massive hug now.”

Atsumu laughs, and it might be a little sad deep down, but he knows it’s mostly joy. “Later, Bokkun. Now, why exactly are we here?” He gestures to the shopping centre they’re currently stood in the middle of.

Bokuto perks up completely now. “Oh yeah! Well, I thought maybe you could help me get some stuff for me to do it? Kuroo’s coming with me to help pick out a ring tomorrow, but I wanted to get some books and a basket and stuff.”

Books? Basket? “What kinda proposal needs books and a basket?”

“I’m taking him out for an evening picnic,” he hums, looking off into the distance like he’s already imagining it. “I saw this post where someone cut a square in a book and put something in it, so I thought I would get one of those fancy hardback-covered versions of one of his favourite books, y’know the ones with like gold flowers all over them or something, and then put the ring box in and tell him to open it up and look at the pages. Do you think that’s… okay?”

Atsumu’s heart squeezes. That is so fucking adorable what the hell. “Bokkun. I’m gonna be sick. I’m gonna literally vomit. That is so cute.”

His face goes a little pink and he laughs. “Really?”

“Yes. Definitely. Yes.”

Bokuto practically starts vibrating on the spot. “Well, let’s go then! I know a bookshop that he likes to go to that will sell them.”

They get there soon enough, after Bokuto gets lost only once, and then they spend almost an hour in the shop because he’s so indecisive on which book to choose – he couldn’t decide between Fancy Pride and Prejudice and Fancy Song of Achilles. In the end he goes with the latter, rambling on about how he had loved watching Akaashi and his facial expressions when he read the book for the first time – even though he ended up crying into his shoulder – and how he loved listening to him go on about the characters and the plot, even long after he had finished the book; he says he’s read it another two times already since then. Atsumu wasn’t quite sure on how him using a tragic romance for a proposal would go down, but Bokuto was adamant that Akaashi would love it, and he knows his soon-to-be-fiancé better than anyone, so Atsumu just shrugs and nods.

Truth be told, he doesn’t mind spending so long in the bookshop. He’s never been much of a reader before, but he likes the occasional graphic novel or manga, especially when he’s been knitting as much as he has been recently, and he needs something new to do. So, he spends a while looking through the different ones they have on show, wondering to himself if Kiyoomi ever reads graphic novels, and then decides on a thick one called On a Sunbeam. He’s a simple man, really; he sees pretty art, sees that it’s based in space, and decides to buy it. He figures if it’s good, maybe Kiyoomi will want to read it.

The lady at the cash register tells them about how much she loves both of the books, and then Bokuto tells her about how it’s his boyfriend’s favourite, and Atsumu just listens to the both of them talk, drifting in and out of their short conversation.

He’s finding it a bit hard to believe that Bokuto is going to get married; he’s only a year older than him, yet he’s been in a happy and stable relationship for years, and now he’s moving on even further with his journey through life. Meian’s only six years older than him and he’s already going to have two kids. And here Atsumu is, probably forever single and forever alone. It hurts a bit. A lot.

He sighs. He knows Osamu told him to ignore all the shit Ryo said back then, and he knows, deep down, that he really was just an asshole, but… ‘you’re not really the type of guy people stay with.’ That one really did do a lot of damage.

He tries to shake the thoughts and the memory out of his head, refusing to let himself fall back down into the water, into the glass cage, that makes everything look blurry and sound fuzzy, not now when he’s finally starting to feel a bit better.

“All good Bokkun?” he asks, looking up from the floor and at his friend, who’s staring down excitedly at the books in his hand. Wait. “Why did you buy two of the same book?”

Bokuto tilts his head, then his lips quirk up – he really is always smiling – and carefully places them in his bag, waving goodbye to the worker as they walk away. “Well, I thought he might want one of the fancy copies anyway, and it’s not much use when it’s got a huge hole in the middle of it. Plus, I thought maybe after the wedding – if he says yes—”

“He will.”

“- then we could put a picture of us on the day in the hole. Like a picture frame.”

“Bokkun, I’m tellin’ you. You have to stop being so good or I’m gonna vom.”

Bokuto laughs, loud and bright, still holding the books as carefully as he can. Then he pauses, a comfortable silence settling around them, before he speaks up, a little softer now. “Thanks for coming today, Tsum-Tsum.”

“Huh? Of course.” Bokuto’s more important than a hangover.

He shrugs. “I know I didn’t really need help with any of this, but you always make me feel sure of myself, so I knew I could count on you. I wonder if that’s some setter thing.”

Seriously. He’s going to start crying if he keeps being so nice to him. He really does have him partly to thank for his better mood recently; maybe Atsumu’s not found his Keiji, and maybe he never will, but he still appreciates Bokuto telling him about it, wholeheartedly believing that he will. He’s genuinely one of the best friends he could ask for.

“Thanks, Bokkun. I’m… glad ya think of me that way.” He tries not to sniffle. He is not going to cry. At least, not in public.

“Of course, I do! You’re great!” he says, elbowing him. “Plus, you talk to Sakkun a bunch now, like when you walk together after practice, and he reads all the time, so I figured you’d probably talk about books sometimes, right?”

He hums. “Yeah, I guess. He was telling me ‘bout a book he read the other day.” He stops himself before he starts talking about all the symbolism Kiyoomi had noticed; now isn’t the time to be thinking about their developing friendship. “Anyway, let’s go get the other stuff. This is going to be the best proposal to ever exist. I can just feel it.”

They stay at the shopping centre for a while longer, with Atsumu occasionally having to re-psyche Bokuto up – he can’t imagine how bad it’s going to be for Kuroo – and helping him to pick out different candles and picnic blankets and bottles of wine. While it does continue to remind Atsumu of how very single he is, he has fun, and he doesn’t mind being there and helping his friend through it all.

For some reason, Kiyoomi comes to mind a few more times throughout the day, He tries to pretend he doesn’t, because it doesn’t make sense why he would.

It takes them about another hour or so by the time they’re finished and Atsumu’s leaving Bokuto at his apartment with a good luck and a hug, telling him everything’s going to be fine and that it will all turn out okay. He also insists that he lets him know how it goes ASAP. Bokuto, a ball of nerves, nods at him and then waves him off.

He starts heading back to his own apartment, ready to take another paracetamol to combat the pounding that has returned to his head and also to maybe sulk a little, but just as he nears his door, his phone vibrates.

Omi-kun: Are you busy?

Huh? Why does he want to know?

Me: not really,, just got back from seeing Bokkun

Omi-kun: Do you want to go to the museum with me? If your hangover isn’t too bad.

He snorts; it makes too much sense that Kiyoomi texts with proper grammar. Then he processes the question.

His eyes go wide, and he pulls his phone closer to his face, rereading the message to make sure he got it right. He did. Why does Kiyoomi want to go to the museum with him? Sure, Atsumu’s happy to learn new things or listen to him talk, but he’s not exactly the smartest – isn’t it smart people that go to museums? Though… this means that Kiyoomi wants to hang out with him. He could have asked anyone else, but he’s asked Atsumu. He wants to go to the museum with Atsumu.

His hands fumble trying to type out a reply.

Me: srue

Me: sure*

Me: if you’re sure

Me: lol

Fucking nailed it.

Omi-kun: Of course, I’m sure. Is 3pm okay?

There it is again. Of course. It’s obvious that Kiyoomi would want to go with him. It’s obvious that he would be the chosen person. He doesn’t do things he doesn’t want to do. Of course.

His face goes hot and instead of thinking about that, he checks the time; he’s still got over half an hour until then. That’s plenty of time for him to clean himself up and take some more paracetamol.

Me: yep I’ll come get u

Me: :)

He doesn’t get a response, so he unlocks the door and walks into his apartment, flipping on the light switch, but then his phone vibrates again.

Omi-kun: :)

Holy fuck.

Atsumu clears his throat, then runs a hand through his hair, then stares at his hand like it’s done something to offend him because why is he so bothered about his looks right now? Why is he so nervous about this whole outing in general? It’s just him hanging out with his friend – friend. He literally did that an hour ago. This is not a big deal. Why does it feel like a big deal?

He knocks.

The door opens.

Atsumu’s breath hitches.

Kiyoomi stands in the doorway, grabbing a mask from a table somewhere nearby, and he’s wearing the jumper that Atsumu knitted for him. He— Kiyoomi— Atsumu— no one should look that good in just a jumper and jeans.

“Atsumu,” he says by way of greeting.

His name sounds nice in Kiyoomi’s voice; he’d forgotten that. “Hi.” He feels almost breathless. Which really is dumb. It’s not like he’s actually into him, well, other than physically, but that’s just a given. How can anyone look at Sakusa Kiyoomi and not be attracted to him?

“Are you… okay?” he asks, his eyebrows knitting together slightly, as he takes a step forward. Atsumu steps back, giving him more room. He really does look cute. Wait. No. Cute is— nope. Bad choice of words. Of thoughts? He can’t think of him as cute. That’s not… that’s not normal. For him. For them.

“I’m great, Omi,” he says, and wow, he almost wants to pat himself on the back for that one, because that was some really good acting.

He nods, locking his door, then turns to him. “I apologise for asking so last minute.”

Atsumu in turns shakes his head. “Like I said, no worries! I was just back from shopping with Bokkun, anyway.”

“Oh? What were you buying?” he asks and starts walking; Atsumu hurries to catch up with him, walking right by his side.

“Not much for me, really. Just a graphic novel that looked real pretty,” he shrugs, but then he smiles. “Y’know… Bokkun’s proposing to Keiji-kun soon, he said maybe tomorrow. Can you believe it?”

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows raise, but other than that he doesn’t react much. “Wow. That’s….”

“Wild? Exciting? Terrifying?” he finishes for him, voicing aloud some of the thoughts he’s had.

“Terrifying?” Kiyoomi repeats, questioning. He turns right at the bottom of the stairs and Atsumu follows him – truth be told, he has no idea where the museum is.

“Well, yeah. Bokkun’s only a year older, and Keiji-kun’s the same age as us, and they’re gonna get married,” he says it almost breathlessly, jealousy caught up with admiration. “What I would give to be in love like them.”

Kiyoomi side-eyes him, then looks down at the path ahead. “You envy them?”

Atsumu thinks his response warrants an ‘of course’ moment. “Well, yeah, course I do! I’m out here all single and stuff, and they’re off bein’ lovey-dovey. Obviously, I’m crazy happy for them, but don’t you ever wish you had someone too?”

He swears he sees pink dust the skin just where Kiyoomi’s mask ends; he continues to avoid eye contact. “I suppose… sometimes. It will be interesting to see how married life changes Bokuto.”

He laughs. “They’ve been together for ages; I think if he was gonna change, he would’ve already. Plus, they already act like a married couple.”

“Probably,” he huffs out a breath of a laugh. “Though, I wouldn’t mind if he were a bit quieter at times.”

Atsumu lets a smile settle on his face and looks up at the sky as they walk, letting himself get lost in the sound of the birds singing to each other; it reminds him of last night, Kiyoomi pulling him back when he almost walked into a light pole. Several times. “I dunno. I kind of like his loudness. If he went all quiet suddenly, I’d be worried.” He likes quiet himself, sometimes, but it wouldn’t feel right around Bokuto; the only person he’s ever actually seen him fully calm around is Akaashi.

Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything for a while, and Atsumu takes a deep breath of the comfortable silence they’ve settled into, happy to just be outside and be with someone. That week stuck in his apartment while he was sick was awful.

They get to the museum after walking for another fifteen minutes or so, with Atsumu eventually bringing up the conversation topic of different movies, asking Kiyoomi what his favourite genre is, and then rambling on about his own. He starts to worry that maybe he’s annoying him, but when he looks to the side, he sees Kiyoomi watching him intently, and he genuinely seems interested and happy to just let him talk, so he keeps going. It’s nice.

He stops talking once they near the building and Kiyoomi leads them in, saying that it’s free entry, but donations are appreciated. Atsumu pulls out a couple thousand yen; Kiyoomi looks at him like he’s crazy, but he just shrugs.

“What? It’s for a good cause, right? Plus, there’s two of us!”

He keeps staring at him for a moment, then shakes his head a little, exasperated, and starts walking. “Let’s go; there’s a few exhibits I wanted to see.”

“Ooooo,” Atsumu hums. “I’m gonna get to see an insight into your mind. I’m excited, Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi puffs out a laugh. “I’m afraid it’s not all that interesting, Atsumu.”

“Hmm, I’ll be the judge of that. I think you’re very interesting.”

The tips of Kiyoomi’s ears go pink, almost red, and Atsumu’s heart does a little flip, proud of himself. He’s gotten pretty used to those recently. He doesn’t like it. Last time his heart did flips for someone, he got fucked over – literally – and heartbroken.

“Where are we going first?” he asks, deciding to change the topic. He bounces a little where he stands, just to get rid of some of the nervous energy he can feel building in him.

“Hm… I wanted to look through the art exhibits and the space exhibit. I thought you might like to look at the dinosaur exhibit as well.”

“Oh, how you know me so well, Omi-Omi.”

He rolls his eyes and starts off towards where the signs point to the paintings and sculptures.

They walk around for a bit, looking at different art pieces; Atsumu admires the nice colours and pictures, while Kiyoomi admires the symbolism and meaning behind them. Altogether, it feels like they make a pretty good team at showing each piece of artwork the love it deserves. Occasionally, Atsumu makes the odd joke if a specific one makes him laugh, and Kiyoomi lets out little snickers that make his stomach go all funny.

For each painting and sculpture, Atsumu will ask Kiyoomi what it means, and sometimes, Kiyoomi will ask him what he thinks; he always gives a dumb answer to that question, but it makes his friend smile and roll his eyes, so he doesn’t mind too much.

They move through the museum with a flow that seems to only really follow them, with other people walking back and forth, some of them quite obviously lost and staring down at their maps with confusion, mumbling in a circle with their friends. He figures Kiyoomi must come here a lot, seeing as he didn’t even pick up a map when they came in, yet he knows exactly where everything is. That, or he’s just really good at reading signs.

Occasionally, while on their way to the dinosaur exhibit, they’ll stop and look at something else that catches their eye, like some of the goofy fashion items from centuries ago, or when Atsumu sees a machine that compares your weight to that of an animal; he gets a baby elephant. Kiyoomi refuses to touch it even with his shoes.

As expected, once they actually do get to the dinosaur exhibit, Atsumu does have a lot of fun peering up at the large creatures’ skeletons, trying to touch them every now and then before being pulled back by Kiyoomi who rattles on about how he’s not allowed to do that and how unsanitary that is, Atsumu.

He tries to offer his own facts, fun little tidbits that he’s found out from the internet that are probably mostly not true, asking Kiyoomi what colours he thinks dinosaurs were, because personally he bets they were bright pink or neon.

All in all, walking around the museum with him is a lot of fun, and he really does learn a lot, especially with Kiyoomi by his side. He gets flustered a few times, his hands going a little sweaty and his cheeks turning especially red, but he just blames that on the fact that a pretty man is touching him. A pretty man that doesn’t touch anyone else, other than his cousin. It’s nothing more, nothing deeper. Atsumu’s just a bi mess, that’s all.

It's clear to him, though, once they get to the space section where the walls are black and covered in pictures and projected videos of different constellations and stars and galaxies, with planet models hanging from the ceiling, that it probably is something deeper and maybe he should stop denying it.

Kiyoomi sits on a bench beside him – which he had of course wiped down before doing so – watching a video of a big ball of fire imploding, and his eyes are shining with the reflection of the stars on the screen, as a voice reads out information from the video; he’s gorgeous.

He pulls out his last text conversation with Osamu and sends him a quick, panicked message.

Me: I SURE DID FUCKING TURN MY THINKING AROUND CUZ NOW I’M SCREWED ASSHOLE

He pockets his phone.

He swallows.

Act normal.

“This guy’s more monotone than your mornin’ voice, Omi-Omi.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes flick to him for only a second, then back to the video, and he snickers, his eyes crinkling with the quiet sound, and Atsumu’s insides feel all… wiggly, like his bones are melting.

“Maybe, but he’s smart. I read an article once that I think you would find interesting.”

“Really?” he hums. “Tell me about it.”

“Well… did you know that supposedly we’ve all got stardust inside us?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for a response before he explains, his voice quiet but almost in awe. “When stars explode, especially if it’s a supernova, which happens if the star is heavy enough, the dust from that makes its way to Earth and onto the plants, on us. It’s like… a direct connection from us to the universe.”

Oh.

Atsumu’s heart explodes in a supernova.

He swallows, trying to keep his voice steady. He’s not even watching the video: he can’t take his eyes off Kiyoomi. “Maybe that’s how soulmates work, then. If you believe in them. Like, they’re born from the same stardust, y’know?” Could we be from the same star, Omi?

He turns to look at him now, and even with the mask on, Atsumu knows he’s smiling. “Maybe,” he almost whispers, and then he shifts just a bit closer to him on the bench, so that their shoulders are touching.

Yeah, no, this definitely more than physical attraction. It’s a lot deeper.

Fuck.

They walk back together after another half hour of wandering through the museum, Atsumu swinging his hands back and forth to keep them busy – he feels like if he doesn’t keep every body part moving, then all the pent-up energy in him will just escape him in bursts of colour. A couple of times, their hands brush and Atsumu has to hold back a flinch, but other than that, he thinks he does a pretty good job at acting natural.

Kiyoomi steps into his apartment, and when he takes off his mask, he gives him a little smile that makes Atsumu’s stomach act up, butterflies bursting inside of him, and tells him that he was glad he came along. His mouth goes dry, and he only manages to stutter out an agreement, saying that he had a really nice time. Kiyoomi’s smile is otherworldly. Kiyoomi’s smile is stardust itself.

“Well… I’ll see ya Monday, Omi-kun,” he says, and he raises his hand to rub at the back of his neck.

He seems to hesitate in response, but he only nods. “Yeah. Get home safe.”

He swallows, throat still dry, and steps backwards, towards the stairwell. “Will do.”

Once he’s out of sight of the apartment building, he fucking books it back home. He facetimes Osamu as soon as he’s through the door.

“What.”

“’Samu I’m ending my whole life.”

There’s shifting, and then a sigh. “What happened now? Also, you’re on speaker; Rin’s here.” The aforementioned man waves.

“Ughhhhhhhhh,” he groans, muffled by his hands covering his face.

“I’m hangin’ up if you don’t say anything,” his brother says, and Atsumu sticks up his middle finger at him. Asshole.

“Shut it! I’m having a whole fuckin’ crisis here!” he yells, then reaches over to the other end of the sofa where he’s flopped himself down and grabs a pillow, squeezing it in his arms.

“Yeah. I got your text,” he laughs.

“Are you gonna say anything of use, or do we have to read your mind? ‘Cuz I’d rather not,” Suna says, head resting on Osamu’s shoulder. Disgusting.

“I’m…” he feels the anxiety suddenly swell up in him at full force. He wishes they could read his mind. “I—” he sighs, staring down at his hands gripping onto the pillow.

Shifting sounds through the phone and he looks up to see Osamu sitting a little straighter now, eyebrows drawn together. “You…? Tell us what happened, idiot.”

He hesitates for another few seconds, then puffs out a breath of air. Just tell them. “I’m falling for Omi.” He can’t tell if it feels better saying it out loud or not.

The two dickheads through the phone share a look between them, and then Suna looks back at the camera, smirking. “That’s not a surprise. Why are you so nervous?”

He grumbles under his breath, cursing them both out. Of course, they don’t see how big of a deal this is. “Because! I—” he cuts himself off. He thinks of walking home after practice and talking about nothing, just making conversation because they can and because they’ll both listen to each other. He thinks of Kiyoomi last night, helping him around and talking about his interests and university. He thinks of Kiyoomi today at the museum, guiding him around the building and giving him fun facts about certain things and watching the star video like it was happening right in front of him. He thinks of Kiyoomi sliding closer on the bench beside him, so that their shoulders were touching. He thinks of stardust and ‘of course’s and drowning. His next breath shakes a little when he lets it out. “I think… this is deeper than Ryo.”

It seems so simple now that he’s said it. Ryo was nice, and Atsumu liked him, but… he didn’t ever seem that invested in anything he had to say, and well, after they had sex, that was enough for him.

Both of their eyes go wide, faces opening up slightly, and they sit up completely. “Really?” Osamu asks, voice quiet.

He nods, and his bones feel fuzzy and melty and tired. “I don’t know how to stop. I don’t…” he squeezes tighter onto the pillow. “I’m not the kind of person people stay with.”

“Tsumu, I swear to—”

“Atsumu, you know that’s not true,” Suna interrupts, nudging Osamu. It always takes Atsumu back a bit when Suna’s actually serious; he’s a bit like a whole different person.

You don’t need to stop loving him. That’s what Mama would say.

“But—”

“You’re being a coward, Tsumu,” Osamu starts, and he feels frustration bubble up inside of him. “What made you realise? Did something happen?”

“A lot.” He sighs, heart fluttering. “He brought me soup when I was sick. And yesterday when I was drunk off my ass, he helped me home and stuff, and he touched me— Omi-kun doesn’t touch anyone. He listens to me talk, and he makes jokes sometimes that are usually so unfunny that they are funny, and on the court he just kinda… gets me? Also, today,” his brain is running faster than his mouth, “we went to the museum together, and he was just so pretty and cool, and he talks about wacky shit even though I don’t get half of it and—” he sighs. He feels like he’s a teenager again, rattling on about his dumb crush. “I really like him, Samu.”

He looks at him through the phone with an air of exasperation, almost as deadpan as Kiyoomi can be. “You’re an idiot.”

“SAMU!” he cries, wanting to hit the phone. He doesn’t.

“Obviously he likes you back. I mean, he came to see ya twice when you were sick, and he’s been talking to you and hanging out with you, even though you’re fucking annoying sometimes,” he says.

Obviously. Of course.

Why?

“I just don’t get it. How am I supposed to know if I’m good enough?” It’s a truth he’s been holding in for years, avoiding saying aloud because he was too afraid to face it. He’s always just wanted to be good enough. More than good enough.

“For what?”

His voice goes small, and he wishes he could curl up even smaller, end the call without the very real threat of Osamu showing up in less than an hour and knocking his door down. “A relationship. Him.”

They look at each other, their expressions turning soft and patient. The asshole Atsumu’s had the pleasure of sharing his whole life with speaks up. “You have to believe that you are, Tsumu. You’ll never beat this if you beat yourself up about it. What did I tell ya? Go for the people that show you they care; it looks like Sakusa’s been doing a lot of that. So, go for him.”

It reminds Atsumu of what Mama used to tell them; although that was usually said in reference to getting them to eat their vegetables, he figures, as her words ring in his ears like a memory come back to haunt him, it’s still applicable in this situation. You’ll never know if you don’t try, and what if it turns out to be something amazing, and ya miss out because you were too afraid and stubborn?

He swallows, heart thumping in his ears; he doesn’t know quite how to feel. “I guess.”

There’s a frustrated huff from the speakers. “You’re actually infuriating sometimes, Atsumu,” Suna says. “Stop being a puss and go for it. Don’t talk to us until you have something to report back.”

“Wait, Rin—” Osamu gets cut off by Suna reaching for the phone and the call going dead.

Dickhead.

Atsumu puts in his earphones and blasts music all night.

On Sunday night, he gets a text message from Bokuto in the MSBY group chat. It’s a photo of him and Akaashi sitting on the picnic blanket that Atsumu had helped him pick out yesterday; the latter is wearing a ring. He’s sent two written messages along with it.

Baddie Bokuto: I’M GETTING MARRIED !!!!!!!!!!!

Baddie Bokuto: ALSO THANK YOU TSUM-TSUM FOR HELPING ME SORT IT OUT YESTERDAY !!!!!!!! :DDDDDDD

Atsumu’s face splits into a grin and he replies with a scream of congratulations. Literally. He sends a voice note.

His bowl of melted-chocolate-covered cornflakes he had made for himself in order to sulk successfully until practice tomorrow, is forgotten on his lap for a moment, his heart too overridden with excitement for his friend. He hadn’t been lying when he had said that he had no doubt Akaashi would say yes, but it’s still a relief and an overwhelming sense of joy to know that he did, in fact, say yes. It allows him, at least for a few moments, to forget about his own relationship – or lack-there-of – issues, and about how he’s too distracted by his own fears to ever get his own ‘Keiji’.

Monday morning forces Atsumu out of the apartment and into practice, an uncomfortable mix of anxiety and excitement running through his bones and chest. Anxiety to see Kiyoomi, excitement to see Kiyoomi. He wants to talk to him more, wants to find out more things about him, wants to see if he’ll let him touch him again – he wouldn’t dare without Kiyoomi doing it first – but he also fears that he’ll blurt something out when he does, that he’ll say something, or get too close, or have another fucking breakdown and run out of the gym. Heart on his sleeve, and all that.

He’s excited to see the others, too, and to play volleyball. Since his sick leave, the team’s on-court chemistry has felt a lot better than it had been, even before everything happened.

He’s already there when he gets to the locker room, along with most of the team, who’re all listening to Bokuto recount his proposal from last night. Atsumu listens with a small smile and tries not to think about how he will probably never get to do the same, if not for the lack of someone else’s feelings towards him, then because of his own fears of confessing and not being enough.

“Hey, Atsumu-san?” Shoyo speaks up after a while, breaking through his thoughts.

He looks up at him. “Hm?”

“I just got a text from Osamu-san.”

Oh Gods. He groans. “What is it.” He doesn’t trust him or Suna.

“He said… ‘tell Atsumu to stop being a fucking pussy’,” he recites, then looks up from his phone.

Atsumu whips out his own phone to text him back some choice words about what a loser he is.

“Hinata!” Inunaki yells, hand to his chest, feigning shock and upset. “Watch your fucking language!”

Shoyo snickers, then presses a hand to his own chest, feigning disappointment in himself. “Oh, Wan-san, I’m so terribly sorry! I’ll cleanse my mouth out with soap!”

Atsumu’s so busy spamming that fuckface with swears and insults that he doesn’t notice the face peering over his shoulder straight away, not until they huff out an ever-familiar laugh. He whips around to see Kiyoomi looking from his phone to him, a light smile on his face. He has been smiling way too much recently. Atsumu doesn’t have enough words for all of them. Also, it’s making him far too weak.

“What an intellectual conversation,” he says, gesturing to his phone by nodding; he scrambles to shove it in his locker. “Why exactly was your brother calling you a puss?”

Atsumu’s eyes go wide. He’s going to need to wash his ears out. “Sakusa Kiyoomi, please, Gods, never say the word puss again. It just doesn’t sound right. It hurt me. That just hurt me. Is that what you want? To hurt me? Your loyal setter and friend?”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and flicks the back of his head. “So dramatic.”

“Omi-kun! How could you insult me like that?” he cries, rubbing at the back of his head. He swats back at him, but he grabs his wrist – gently, as always – before he can hit him. Kiyoomi grins; it’s probably the biggest smile he’s seen on him.

“Too slow,” is all he says. Then he flicks him again, letting go and walking around the bench to sit next to him where his own gym bag is; he’s already changed and ready to go.

Atsumu groans, then nudges him and pulls up a leg onto the bench to tie his shoelaces. That’s when he notices everyone in the room is watching them. Seriously, their eyes are just stuck on them. Like they’re some intense action scene in a movie. Which they’re really not. He’s had much more intense fights with Osamu; they could probably find them if they searched far back enough on Suna’s Instagram or Twitter.

“What?” he asks, blinking, confusion settled into his raised eyebrow. Kiyoomi looks just as confused. Their teammates look even more confused than them, dumbfounded even.

“Omi-san lets you touch him?” Shoyo asks, breaking the silence. He looks almost like a kicked puppy.

Oh.

“Sakkun!” Bokuto cries, looking much less delighted than he had just a couple minutes ago. “Why don’t you ever touch me?! Do all those high school training camps mean nothing to you?!”

Atsumu winces, then looks at Kiyoomi. He honestly had forgotten them touching was a thing, or at least, he did in the moment. It feels special, like he did something right in order to be chosen by Sakusa Kiyoomi as someone safe to make physical contact with.

“Bokuto, I barely spoke to you at those,” he replies matter-of-factly, crossing his arms. Ah, good old Kiyoomi, refusing to let anyone know – including the subject of such affections – what makes him decide who he allows himself to touch.

Atsumu grins. “It’s ‘cuz he knows I’m super clean, Bokkun.”

“I’m clean!”

“Me too!” Shoyo chips in, looking equally as distraught.

“It’s not just about hygiene,” Kiyoomi corrects, then mutters under his breath, “idiots.” Atsumu can’t help but snicker at that. Then he realises what he just said. There’s something more to it than just hygiene? What’s something more? What does Atsumu have that means more to the team’s mysophobe than cleanliness? He feels himself blush.

Barnes and Meian share a look between them like they’re asking the same thing.

“We saw them touching on Friday, you two. It’s not exactly news,” the former says after a moment, looking at Bokuto and Shoyo.

“Yeah, but…” Shoyo trails off, sighing. “I thought that was just ‘cuz they were drunk.”

Tomas raises a brow. “Sakusa wasn’t even drunk.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Meian says then, hands on his hips. “I want a nice, normal day at practice for once.”

Atsumu laughs. “It’s never normal, Captain.”

“You can say that again,” Kiyoomi mutters under his breath; Atsumu nudges him lightly.

“Ya know you love it, Omi-Omi.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Very fortunately.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and stands up, offering his hand out to help him up. He takes it, grinning as he does, and follows him out the door. He can still feel Shoyo and Bokuto’s eyes on his back. He ignores them and the fluttery feeling in his stomach.

Practice goes well once again, and Atsumu feels good, and they’ve all decided to go out for dinner to celebrate Bokuto and Akaashi’s engagement. Bokuto had been a bit upset that they wouldn’t ‘get shitfaced like on Friday’ but Atsumu promised him that they’ll make up for it at the bachelor’s party whenever it happens; he even swore he would get Shoyo to contact Kuroo, the best man, to make sure he helps get enough alcohol. Bokuto had perked up instantly at that.

Atsumu showers once he’s home and spends an hour on his appearance, trying to pick out a nice suit – they’d all agreed to go somewhere fancy – and blow-drying his hair into its usual effortless style; he runs a bit of hair mousse through it, just to make sure it stays. He finally decides on the deep red suit he’s got hung up in his closet, which really shouldn’t have taken so long to do, considering he’s only got that and a black one, and once he’s got it on, he sprays some cologne, for extra measure. It’s weird; the only time they ever really have to dress up is for important events for volleyball, like meeting high-ups.

He’s just setting his phone back down on his dresses after confirming to Kiyoomi that he hasn’t left yet – who knows why he wanted to know – and is putting on a watch, when there’s a knock at his front door. He eyes it suspiciously, because he really doesn’t have time to stop and chat with anyone right now, especially if it’s Osamu coming to yell at him for, in fact, being a coward, but he finishes adjusting his watch and walks over to it.

As soon as he pulls the door open, his breath hitches.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is standing there in a deep jade three-piece, hands in his pockets, wearing a black facemask instead of the usual white ones. He’s fucking stunning.

“Hey,” he says, the picture of calm and collected. He looks him up and down, and Atsumu’s heart does a flip; he feels his face go bright red.

“Hi,” he squeaks out. He clears his throat. “Hey, uh, what’re you doin’ here?” Nice save.

“I thought we could walk there together, since your place is on the way anyway,” he explains, and then looks to the side slightly, seeming a bit nervous. “I can, um, leave though, if you’d rather go on your—”

“NO!” he yells, then clears his throat. Idiot. “No, um, that’s, uh, we can walk together. For sure. Let me just grab my phone. And stuff.”

“And stuff,” Kiyoomi repeats, amused.

“And stuff,” Atsumu confirms. Then he runs back into his apartment, leaving the door wide open, and stumbles into his bedroom. Kiyoomi came to pick him up, to walk to a fancy dinner together. Gods, it’s like the universe is trying to make him feel like he’s going on a date. Which he’s not. He will not make this night about him. But still… it’s… somewhat nice. Plus, Kiyoomi really is fucking gorgeous. Atsumu doesn’t think there’s enough words in the dictionary to explain how he feels right now.

“You don’t have to rush, if you’re not ready. There’s nothing wrong with being a little late,” Kiyoomi calls, now standing in his living room, upper body tilted slightly to look at him through the doorway.

Atsumu lets out a whine, like a child, digging through his drawer in an attempt to find the old necklace his mother gave him at his high school graduation; he likes to wear it to special events. “Yeah, but then we might not be able to sit together. I swear, Inunaki or Tomas will split us up, just to be assholes.”

“Oh? You wanted to be next to me?” Kiyoomi asks in an almost teasing tone. Atsumu’s face gets even hotter.

“Shut it,” he mumbles, then lets out a cheer as he finds the old opal pendant; it’s only small, but it’s his birthstone, and Mama always had a thing for special things like that. Osamu has a matching one.

He pulls it out, glad that it’s not tangled up, and places the silver chain around his neck, careful to keep the crystal facing the rest of the world, even though it will be hidden behind his shirt, and fumbles with the clasp at the back of his neck. He’s so focused on the task that he doesn’t realise Kiyoomi has stepped closer to him until hands are gently swatting his away and there’s a voice behind him.

“Here, I’ll do it, dummy,” he says, voice so close to the back of his neck and his ear and oh fucking Gods, Atsumu’s going to die.

Atsumu lets go of the chain, deciding he should put all of his focus on staying upright and not turning to jelly right then and there, and Kiyoomi carefully takes it, fingers brushing the back of his neck as he joins the two ends together. Atsumu’s holding his breath.

They’re quiet for a few seconds, and he swears he feels electricity or something between them – which really, is dumb, because Atsumu’s not the kind of person people get to know on a deeper meaning and then decide to get to know on a romantic meaning – but then Kiyoomi lets go and takes a few steps back.

“There,” he says, voice sounding a little strained. Atsumu turns around to look at him, then in the mirror, and smiles, one that’s probably far more honest and open than most of the ones he shows.

“Thanks,” he almost whispers, then turns back to him. “It was a gift from my Mama.”

The tips of Kiyoomi’s ears are pink. “It’s pretty.”

You’re pretty. “Thanks. Let’s go, yeah? Keiji-kun’ll probably be stressed if we’re too late.”

They get to the restaurant maybe ten minutes after they were supposed to be there, but Atsumu lights up when he sees that the team’s left two seats beside each other for them, and Akaashi doesn’t even look upset that they’re late. He’s practically glowing. He’s never seen him this happy.

“Heya, sorry we’re late,” he says, bowing slightly as they approach the table, then turns to Akaashi, eyeing his ring finger. The one Bokuto picked out really is amazing: it looks even better in person. “That’s beautiful, Keiji-kun.”

He smiles, and honestly, Atsumu might tear up just from looking at him; he’s not even that close with the guy, but he’s got no idea how he’s going to get through the wedding if Akaashi’s this happy.

“Thank you, Atsumu-kun; it’s good to see you looking well. You too, Sakusa-kun.”

Kiyoomi nods politely, pulling out both of the empty chairs and sitting in one. “Thank you, you as well.”

Atsumu plops himself down in the other seat, grinning to himself. The whole table feels… well, happy. Ecstatic. He doesn’t think there’s a word in the dictionary for this feeling, either.

Atsumu really doesn’t think he’s felt this good for a while. He’d thought getting drunk at that bar was the best, but this, tonight, enjoying his time with his friends and teammates without alcohol, is even better. He could talk about this forever. He might be as happy as Akaashi. Probably not. He looks really fucking happy.

They’ve been here for a couple of hours now, even though they finished eating a while ago, just talking now. None of them are even tipsy, considering they’ve all got work tomorrow. He’s enjoying this though, the light conversation that spreads over the table, the laughter from them that’s probably annoying some of the other people in the restaurant that are actually fancy; he doesn’t really care.

Kiyoomi clears his throat, reaching into his pocket for his mask. “I apologise for leaving early, but I should get going now.”

Atsumu grins, grabbing his phone from where he’s place it on the table. “Yeah, if Omi-kun doesn’t get a full eight hours, he’ll be all grumpy at practice tomorrow.”

Kiyoomi looks at him with a question in his eyes, so Atsumu smiles up at him. “I’ll walk back with ya, Omi; I’m tired, anyway.”

“Oh. Alright,” he says, voice quiet, and the corners of his mouth quirk up ever-so-slightly as he pulls on his mask. “Congratulations again, both of you.”

Atsumu nods, beaming at the happy couple. “I’m real happy for you guys.” Jealousy doesn’t even leak into his tone, because he’s a God.

“THANKS!” Bokuto shouts, far louder than necessary.

“Get home safe,” Akaashi says, nodding goodbye to them. Atsumu gets up and follows Kiyoomi out, giving the table a wave.

The fresh air hits him, making him feel even more alive; he hadn’t realised how it was in there. It’s dark out now, a few stars shining in the sky, and it’s quiet. Peaceful.

Atsumu takes a deep breath and finally decides to say the thing that’s been on his mind all evening. “Y’know… I like your suit, Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes go wide and the tips of his ears pink. “Thank you. I… like yours, too. You look smart, for once.”

“Of course, you manage to make a compliment an insult,” he cries, nudging him. They haven’t touched all night and he feels starved of it; he might be growing an addiction to Kiyoomi’s touch. It might be a slight problem.

“Just for you.”

Atsumu bumps into him again, softer this time. “Shut up. I was trynna be nice. You really do look good, Omi.”

“Well... thank you.” He is so pretty.

He nods, swinging his hands back and forth at his sides; it’s been getting warmer recently, so there’s really no need to shove them in his pockets as a way to keep from getting too cold. His suit is surprisingly comfortable, too.

He’s about to speak up again, just to fill the silence, when his hand brushes against Kiyoomi’s knuckles, soft; it sends a friction through him. He doesn’t comment on it, inwardly shaking it out of his head. “I’ve never seen Keiji-kun so happy.”

“Me neither,” Kiyoomi agrees, looking up at the sky.

“Makes me wish I could have that someday, y’know?” He sighs. “Too bad that probably won’t happen.”

He looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Why’s that?”

He shrugs. He might as well be honest, now that he’s started. “Like I said at that interview, Omi, I’m not very easy to love. I’m…” a pang in his chest, “I’m not really the kinda guy people stay with.”

Kiyoomi sighs, rolling his eyes. “You should really stop bringing up that stupid interview. Everything Saito-san said was shitty and wrong.”

He shrugs again. “I dunno. Though, she was wrong when she said you only care about volleyball, I know that much. She made ya sound like a robot or some shit.”

“You’re right. I care about a lot more than volleyball,” is all he says to that. Atsumu’s not sure how to respond, so he keeps his mouth shut, instead continuing to swing his hands back and forth, just so that he’s got something else to focus on.

“It must be nice… to be that happy,” Kiyoomi says after a moment, and he doesn’t sound sad, just contemplative, maybe. Atsumu nods.

“Yeah. Osamu always says I’m too much of a coward ‘cuz I don’t, like, go after stuff I want.” Their hands brush again. They start walking up the stairs to his apartment. The last time he remembers really going after something was volleyball. It’s the only thing that’s worked out for him.

“Maybe he’s right,” he teases, bumping into him lightly. “Why don’t you go after the things you want?”

He shrugs, looking down at the ground. He’s blushing too hard to make eye contact. Or even look at him. Kiyoomi really does look unfairly attractive in that suit. “I dunno. Bad past experiences and stuff. Some asshole in school kinda…” he sighs, “fucked me over.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine. I’m trynna get over it. ‘Samu got annoyed with me for stressing over it,” he laughs, and honestly, he doesn’t think he’s lying too much anymore. It is fine. Or… it will be. Maybe. He’s starting to feel better. He’s starting to get over it. Sort of. Though, it is still true that he really doesn’t see anyone deciding that he’s worth a dedicated relationship.

“Is his relationship with Suna anything like Bokuto and Akaashi’s?” he asks, and he genuinely seems interested in the topic. Atsumu honestly hadn’t thought he would care much about relationships and love.

“Nah, not really. I mean, they’re disgusting and in love, but they’re more like a nightmare duo; they’re annoyingly perfect for each other. I don’t think their love is any less passionate than Bokkun and Keiji-kun, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone like those two. Bokkun just… shines when they’re together; I think he genuinely sees him as his world.” They approach his door, and he smiles. “Y’know, I think Shoyo’s plannin’ on confessing to his crush soon, whoever it is. We’re gonna be the only single ones in our little group. How depressing.”

Kiyoomi puffs out one of those cute little laughs. “Well. Maybe you should follow your brother’s advice and stop being a coward, then.” He says it like he means something by it. What does he mean? Is he hinting at something? Atsumu’s way too dumb to know what he’s trying to say right now.

“Mean, Omi-Omi,” he mumbles, then pulls out his key, deciding to ignore his crypticness; he’s probably reading too much into it, anyway. He unlocks the door and swings it open, stepping inside and turning around to face him. “Well, thanks for walkin’ me back.”

Kiyoomi looks at him, gaze stuck on his face, and Atsumu tilts his head, confused. He doesn’t say anything, though; he looks like he’s trying to figure out what to say himself.

“On Saturday… I invited you to the museum because I wanted to talk to you about something, but then I was a bit of a coward myself,” he says, and his lips quirk up a little in a shy smile. “I suppose I should follow your brother’s advice, as well.”

“Huh?” is all he can intelligently say. What does that mean?

Kiyoomi looks hesitant. Nervous, even. There’s pink skin peeking out of the top of his mask. “Well, Atsumu… I know that you’re adamant on the fact that you’re unlovable, or not easy to love, but honestly, I disagree.”

What? “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just that I think you’re honestly quite easy to love. Annoyingly so.”

How— what? How does he know? How does he— wait. No. “Omi….”

Kiyoomi takes a step forward. “You see, Atsumu, you seemed so focused on believing that you were unlikeable or unlovable, but… you do realise that you’ve always been kind? Just because you can be frustrating sometimes doesn’t mean that you’re not kind or caring. Someone like you is very easy to love, in my opinion.”

Oh. What? Holy shit. What? “Omi, I—”

“I had no difficulties with doing so, at least,” he says, and his voice is so soft and so gentle. “Loving you, that is.”

There’s no way. There’s— there’s no way he thinks that Atsumu has always been kind, even before he started focusing on it – Bokuto was only believable because he thinks everyone is nice. This must be some kind of joke. There’s just no way. “Omi are you—” he swallows. “Are you being for real right now?”

“I don’t think I would joke about something so serious. Not about you,” he steps even closer, then pulls his mask down. He’s smiling, and it’s beautiful. “You shouldn’t change yourself just so that someone likes you. You shouldn’t talk less or spend more time alone for someone else.”

Oh. Maybe that’s what all those looks were about, then. He must have realised what Atsumu was doing, what he was thinking. He’s not thinking now. He’s just staring in shock. He doesn’t know what to say.

Kiyoomi’s eyes drift to the ground now, shy, and he’s so fucking pretty and cool and interesting and Atsumu really can’t believe this is happening. “Obviously, it’s fine if you don’t feel the same. But I would rather you just tell me, if you can. You know… be the impulsive idiot that you are on the court.”

Impulsive idiot. Honestly, with the turn this conversation has taken, he’s not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment. Maybe a bit of both? He swallows. “Omi. I—” what can he possibly say right now? Sakusa Kiyoomi genuinely thinks he is a good, loveable person. Sakusa Kiyoomi likes him. Loves him? Sakusa Kiyoomi is standing so close to him, and he’s pulled his mask down, and he’s watching him. He’s still smiling, even through the slight nervousness that is evident in the way his hands tap at the sides of his legs.

Atsumu didn’t think he would get this. Ryo said— “I’m not really the kind of person people want to stay with, Omi-kun. You’ll probably get fed up, eventually.” He thinks of Kiyoomi bringing him soup when he was sick, Kiyoomi inviting him out the museum, Kiyoomi sharing information about his past with him. Kiyoomi touching him.

“I haven’t so far, have I? None of us have. And I think I’ve got a pretty good grasp on my feelings; it’s mainly yours that I would like to hear about. Even if you’re going to be self-deprecating, I’ll listen, and then I’ll tell you why you’re wrong,” he says. He takes another step closer, looking down at him. “I mean, you said some asshole said something shitty to you. Well, he’s just that, then. An asshole.”

Atsumu doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know that he’s blushing like crazy. His whole body feels like it’s on fire, even in the cool night air. Kiyoomi likes him. Loves him? Kiyoomi has just confessed to him. Atsumu thinks of ‘of course’s and soft touches. Atsumu thinks of ignoring his feelings for so long because of fear. Atsumu thinks of listening to facts and stories about stars and bacteria. Atsumu thinks of hands helping him up the stairs, hands clasping a necklace together, hands that fit perfectly around a volleyball. Kiyoomi is far more than just a pretty face. He’s far more than someone who was just nice to him. He’s Kiyoomi.

“I—” he swallows, clears his throat, swallows again. Embarrassing. “I, um, feel the same.” His breath hitches again, a mix of anticipation and also just pure fucking desire because Gods, Kiyoomi is so close to him right now. “GIVE ME ONE SECOND!” he screams them, and runs into his apartment, into his bathroom. He knows that this is probably the wrong move, running away from the guy confessing to you, but if he doesn’t brush his teeth right now, he might regret it for the rest of his life. He frantically reaches for his toothbrush and distantly hears Kiyoomi calling his name, still from the doorway. He brushes like he’s never brushed before, then gargles some mouthwash, almost swallowing it accidentally, and then runs back to his place in the doorway.

Kiyoomi looks at him like he doesn’t know whether to frown or raise his eyebrows. “Are you… okay?”

Atsumu nods and clears his throat. “I brushed my teeth.” Just in case. Just to make you feel more comfortable. “I really like you, Omi.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes go wide, and he blushes, and then he slowly reaches a hand out and places it against his jaw. Just that alone is enough to make him feel like he’s going to fall into a pile on the floor. “Atsumu Miya. I’m going to kiss you, if you’ll let me, because you are too kind and also you look really good in that suit.”

Holy fucking shit. “Not as good as you do, Omi.” He leans in slightly.

Kiyoomi’s smile gets a bit bigger, and his eyes even crinkle slightly, and Atsumu’s never seen this expression on his face, never seen anyone look at him like this. “I’m going to need a proper answer from you. Yes, or no?”

Ryo hadn’t asked him. He’s just kissed him. Which, yeah, Atsumu was fine with, because he had wanted to kiss him, but… this is nice. It’s really fucking nice. He nods. “Yes,” he whispers, because they’re so close now and he can feel his breath on his lips and he honestly, genuinely, might die right here.

Kiyoomi takes that as his cue, and pulls his jaw just a little closer, and he kisses him. Sakusa Kiyoomi, who cares for nothing but volleyball, kisses Miya Atsumu, who is adored by all but loved by none, and it’s amazing. It’s not fireworks, it’s not his first kiss by a bonfire at some high school party with the guy he likes from his maths class. It’s so much better. It’s his first kiss with Sakusa Kiyoomi, someone who seems to really, actually like him, at his front door on a random April night, and it’s gentle and kind and beautiful and Atsumu has never been kissed like this. Like he’s precious, like he’s someone worth being gentle with. His first kiss had been passion and desire and charged with alcohol and excitement. His other kisses had been for fun, for the hell of it. This is more. This is everything he’s ever wanted. And it’s with Kiyoomi.

His arm snakes around Atsumu’s waist, pulling him in closer, and he slides his hands around the back of his neck, into his hair. It’s soft, just like his lips and his touch, and he steps as close as he can to him, pressing deeper into the kiss, fingers carefully latching onto the deep black curls. He tastes like mint, even though he didn’t brush his teeth just a minute ago, and also a little like lemons; Atsumu had learned at the dinner table that on the odd occasion that he indulges himself, Kiyoomi really likes the taste of lemon.

He pulls away after a moment, still so gentle, to catch his breath, and he presses his forehead against his, arm still wrapped around his middle, hand still on his jaw, just watching him. His lips are a little pink, but Atsumu thinks they could be even more so.

He smiles, looking into his eyes, and lifts a hand from his hair, pulling back slightly to tenderly run his fingers over the skin around his eyes. “Y’know, Omi, your eyes are like, insane. I swear, they’re drivin’ me crazy.”

He breathes out a laugh and lifts his hand from his jaw to instead hold Atsumu’s, fingers curling around his own. He doesn’t say anything.

“I’m serious, Omi, it’s not a laughing matter. I think I might develop a dangerous addiction to them,” he warns, a grin spreading on his face. “I didn’t realise they were green for so long, and then I couldn’t stop looking at them. Like, they’re green. They’re like, the colour of, like, some kinda crystal. Emerald. Jade. Other… green… crystals.” He doesn’t say they’re like grass in the moonlight. Because that’s stupid. And not romantic at all.

He laughs, louder this time, and his eyes practically sparkle; Atsumu’s knees must be wobbling – the only thing that can be holding him up right now is Kiyoomi. “I like your voice. I could listen to you talk for hours.”

Oh. Oh, fucking hell. Atsumu looks back down at his not-pink-enough lips and surges in, holding on tighter with the hand he’s got curled in his hair. Kiyoomi lets out a noise of surprise, and he swallows it down, swiping his tongue at his lip; he opens his mouth and presses deeper, hold getting even tighter around Atsumu. Then, all of a sudden, the hand holding his own has let go – he returns it to his hair – and he’s being lifted up. He wraps his legs around his waist. Gods, that’s impossibly hot.

He pulls away briefly, hands going around his neck to keep him close. “Inside?” is all he can get out, too eager to kiss him again. Kiyoomi is really fucking good at this. He nods, then lifts him up a little higher, pressing a kiss to his neck, before walking inside like it’s fucking nothing, like he’s not carrying an 80kg man the weight of a baby elephant with him, and he shuts the door behind him. Atsumu tilts his head back a little, almost daring, and is rewarded when more kisses are pressed along his neck, somehow a beautiful mix of soft and passionate. He cannot believe this is fucking happening right now. What the hell. Sakusa Kiyoomi likes him. Loves him?

He dips his head back down, almost desperate for the taste of mint and lemons, and captures his lips in his own again, and somehow, it’s even better this time, even sweeter. Gods, Atsumu has never been held like this. Literally. He pulls on his curls once again, and Kiyoomi lets out a quiet moan, which he swallows down too, spare hand reaching down to direct him to tighten his hold on him; he’s hoisted up and his shirt rides up a little and Kiyoomi’s fingers make contact with the skin of his waist and fucking fuck holy fuck how is this happening right now he must be dreaming holy shit.

He doesn’t even realise Kiyoomi’s moving until he’s sat down on his couch. Atsumu places both hands on either side of his face, both legs on either side of his hips, and keeps kissing him. This is literally heavenly. This is better than anything ever in the whole history of existence. Kiyoomi is beautiful and kind and interesting and he’s so fucking hot.

Kiyoomi grabs his collar and pulls him in closer, and a bubble of laughter shoots out of Atsumu as he keeps kissing him. Kiyoomi breathes it in, one hand still on his collar, wrapped around his tie, the other holding onto his waist, skin on skin, cold on hot. He laughs again, and it’s just because he’s so happy right now. Someone thinks he’s lovable. Someone wants to be with him.

Kiyoomi pulls away, and he’s fucking pouting. Atsumu laughs even harder at that, leaning down and pressing his head to his chest, one hand dropping from his jaw to his shoulder.

“What?” he asks, almost defensive, and when he pulls away from his chest to look at him, his lips are red and his cheeks are red and his hair’s messy.

He tries to contain his laughter, smiling bigger than he can probably manage, but when he opens his mouth again, another bubble of laughter escapes. “Sorry, I just—” he swallows, sitting back and wiping his eyes. Kiyoomi’s hands fall to his thighs. “I’m just really happy. And you looked—” he tries to play off this giggle as a cough, but it’s too high-pitched, “you look so upset with me for laughing.” He’s really trying not to cackle right now. That would be embarrassing.

“Oh.” Kiyoomi’s eyes go slightly wider, and then a small smile spreads across his face and he lightly flicks his forehead. “Dick. I thought you were making fun of my kissing.”

Atsumu shakes his head, chest filled with butterflies and this time, the fuzzy feeling in his bones is good, a complete opposite to the anxiety he had grown used to last month; it’s been getting better since he talked to Bokuto.

“Definitely not, Omi. I’m pretty obsessed with your kissing, honestly. Not as much as your eyes, though.” Which, speaking of, are shining from the light above them, making them look even more vibrant. The green looks like it’s moving. His pupils are dilated. “I can’t believe this is happening. I didn’t think ya would actually kiss me, back there.”

“Well, you’ve been wrong about a lot of things recently,” he says with a shrug, right hand drawing small patterns on his thigh. “No one has ever thought to brush their teeth before kissing me.”

“I thought you would feel more comfortable if I was all clean.”

He smiles, then lifts up his hand and pushes the mess that his hair has become out of his eyes. “I did. Though, I think I might have kissed you anyway. I’ve been having a good day.”

He shakes his head again because he doesn’t know what else to do and runs his fingers through his hair once more. “I can’t believe you actually… like me.” Love me?

“Of course, I do.” Of course. Of course, he does. Obviously, he would. He says it like it’s obvious.

Atsumu thinks about being the only person on the team he touches, about soup when he’s sick and help when he’s drunk and quietly told stories about hobbies and childhood trips, and Osamu looking at him like he’s the biggest idiot on the planet. Maybe it was obvious.

The look he’s being given now makes him feel like it is. “Why? What is it that you like about me?”

Kiyoomi opens his mouth without hesitation and answers easily, like the thoughts were right at the front of his mind, like he doesn’t think one bit that Atsumu’s only asking in order to tease him or have an ego boost. He answers like he knows it means more than that. “I like that you made me a birthday present, even when you could have just gotten something boring from a shop, or nothing at all. I like that you told the team about my mysophobia before I had to, because I really hate that: it’s always awkward or embarrassing. I like that you tried to reassure me that you weren’t sick, even though you really were and were just too stubborn to admit it. I like that you helped your brother start up his restaurant when he was struggling to do it himself – Hinata told me about that. I like that you helped Bokuto plan out his proposal, even though you were so upset over not having anyone yourself. I like that you’re the best setter I’ve worked with, and I like that you’re honest. I like your smile and your laugh, and I like that you fucking knit, because I never expected that from you.”

Oh. His eyes are definitely not stinging right now. He’s only burying his face into the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck because he wants to be closer to him, not because he doesn’t want him to see him start crying.

It’s his turn to laugh. “Atsu, look at me.” Atsu. He looks at him. He’s smiling so openly, so tender. “You’re beautiful, and I really, really like you. I will dispute anyone that ever tells you that you are not worth loving.”

Gods. Atsumu leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips, then pulls back. Kiyoomi raises a hand and wipes away the few tears that have made an appearance with his thumb.

No one’s ever said anything like that to him. He didn’t… he didn’t think anyone would ever think of him that way. Of course. Atsu. Atsu. He called him Atsu.

“I seriously can’t believe this is happening,” he laughs, and he slides forward a little where he’s still sitting on Kiyoomi’s lap, which by the way, is an incredible experience.

“I’m a little in shock myself,” he hums, moving his hand to run through his hair; he leans into the touch. It really does feel different, extra special even, when it’s Kiyoomi. He’s never been held like this, so kind, so gentle, so loving.

“I like it though.” He gazes into Kiyoomi’s eyes. He likes this, being able to look at him from this angle. He may only be a couple inches or so shorter than him, but sometimes it feels like a lot, and Kiyoomi really knows how to use his height. “I like you. A whole lot, Omi.”

He slowly pulls him in and kisses him again. It’s somehow sweeter this time. “Me too.” Then his face does a funny thing, and he looks down at his lap, looking almost guilty. “I’m… sorry. For telling you that you were unlikeable and unlovable. I didn’t… believe that. Not one bit.”

Oh. Atsumu softens, melting into him a little more. “I know. It’s okay. You already apologised, Omi, plus that cup of tea you left me. I don’t need more than one. Not for something like that.” He pulls his head to face him, catching his eyes with his own. “I mean it. Ya don’t need to feel bad about it. I know it was a dumb joke, and you won’t say it again.”

“But—”

“Omi,” he presses, placing his forehead against his. He sighs. “I accept your apology. Thank you.”

That seems to help him calm down a little, so Atsumu presses a kiss to his forehead, then his cheek, then the tip of his nose and the corner of his mouth. “Thank you,” he repeats.

Kiyoomi laughs, finally, and catches his lips in his own again. Atsumu kisses him back, tender and soft and happy. He thinks he’s starting to forget again, a little, how lonely he can be. He doesn’t feel alone right now. He didn’t feel alone at dinner, or at practice, not when he’s surrounded by people who he thinks do love him. No. People he knows love him.

I haven’t so far, have I? He’s not fed up with him yet, and they’ve known each other for years, seen each other almost every day for the past few months. He’s looking at him now like he’s something special and precious.

I will dispute anyone that ever tells you that you are not worth loving. Kiyoomi’s kissing him and touching him, and he believes that Atsumu is lovable. He believes that Atsumu is easy to love. He believes that Atsumu is worth loving.

Of course, I do. Of course, Kiyoomi likes him. Of course, Atsumu is someone who people want to spend time with.

He thinks of Mama teaching him how to knit after his heart was broken. He thinks of his teammates apologising to him after upsetting him. He thinks of Shoyo including him in games and conversations, complimenting him on his volleyball playing style. He thinks of Bokuto trying to cheer him up, telling him that he’s a good friend and that he’s talented, trusting him to help with something as big as a proposal to the love of his life. He thinks of Osamu and Suna, being there for him when he’s being stupid or upset or self-destructive, looking after him when he’s sick. He thinks of now, of Kiyoomi telling him all of the good things about himself, showing him through touch and affection how worthy he is.

Knowing all of this, knowing he has these people here with him, liking him and loving him, being there for him when he really needs them and when he doesn’t really, well, yeah, that’s it. He was never actually alone. He was never hated by any of them. He was never not good enough.

You’re not really the type of guy people stay with.

Miya Atsumu, adored by all but loved by none.

Miya Atsumu, adored by all and loved by some.