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This is not a date , Kyoomi tells himself as he buys some snacks for the evening.
This is not a date , he tells himself later, in front of the mirror, while trying to fix that unruly curl that always falls on his forehead.
This is not a date he reiterates when the doorbell rings. Before opening the door, he checks one more time his reflection in the mirror beside it anyway.
"Come in," he says.
“Thank you for having me,” Atsumu answers, stepping inside.
Atsumu takes off his shoes by the door. His socks are black with white drawn whiskers and a pair of yellow eyes to resemble a cat. They are stupid, and Kyoomi hates how cute he finds them.
“This place is amazing,” Atsumu says, awestruck, as he watches the inside of Kyoomi flat.
The room Atsumu steps in is a small open space, with a big white and violet couch and a kitchenette with a breakfast bar not even large enough for a single person to sit comfortably. Kyoomi’s parent had insisted on him getting a bigger place, but Kyoomi had fallen in love with it the moment he had laid eyes on that little, cosy flat.
“You can sit wherever you want,” Kyoomi says. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Atsumu says, like a man who is offered water in the middle of the desert.
Kyoomi switches on the coffee machine. For a moment, the only sounds filling the room are the low buzzing of the coffee machine and the rustling of Atsumu searching for something in his bag.
Atsumu is already seated on the stool at the bar, tablet ready in front of him, when Kyoomi turns back and offers him his cup. He chose a white one with a black, old-fashioned moustache drawn on it - the least embarrassing he has, thanks to his cousin Komori’s obsession for buying him the most embarrassing cups he could find whenever he goes on a trip.
Atsumu huffs a laugh looking at it and Kyoomi feels his stomach relax. He takes a sip from his own cup.
“Thank you again for this,” Atsumu says. He doesn’t smile, he stares at Kyoomi with his eyes firm. Kyoomi has never seen him being so serious.
“You can thank me after you have passed your exam,” Kyoomi says off-handedly. “You're right,” Atsumu gives him a firm nod. “So, where do we start?”
Oh, Kyoomi is so going to kill Komori.
-
It had all started the Friday before. Komori had invited him to drink with some of his friends.
Miya Atsumu was in between them.
It wasn’t the first time Kyoomi had been invited, and Komori's invitations had only gotten more frequent after he had caught up with the giant crush Kyoomi had on his friend - one more reason not to drink again in the presence of his cousin.
But Kyoomi didn’t have anything better to do that evening, and he definitely needed a beer after the week he had had.
“I don’t get it,” Atsumu was complaining.
“What’s new about that?” Osamu, Atsumu’s twin brother, interjected.
“ — why I,” continued Atsumu, raising his voice and ignoring his brother, “an engineering student, have to take a literature exam. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Then why are you doing it?” asked Komori.
Atsumu groaned, “Companies look for people who’ve taken at least one humanities course. For empathy ,” Kyoomi can hear the way he rolls his eyes at the word.
Komori’s eyes gleamed in a way Kyoomi didn’t like when he looked at him. “Well, aren’t you lucky?” he said to Atsumu. “Sakusa here is one of the best of his year. I bet he’d gladly help you.”
Kyoomi glared at him, but Komori completely ignored him. He opened his mouth, a denial ready on the tip of his tongue, but then Atsumu turned towards him, with eyes shining brightly.
“Would you? Help me.”
His resolve crumbled in front of those eyes. Kyoomi sighed. He looked daggers at Komori but handed Atsumu his phone. “Give me your number, we’ll arrange something.”
-
They had been exchanging text for most of the week. Kyoomi had asked Atsumu to at least read a couple of times what they’d need to study, while he also took out the right books to revise the subject.
Atsumu had the guts to reply with an “Already on it!” and a selfie, where he beamed with the book opened on his desk. The light entering from the window highlighted the sharp lines on his left made the blond of his hair look almost white.
It was unfair.
Kyoomi didn’t call Komori to panic. Not for the first five minutes, in which he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the picture.
-
“Do you have any questions?” Kyoomi asks as he’s done with his explanation. He finally raises his eyes from the book, afraid of what he might find.
The poet they are studying has always been one of his favourite authors, and he knows he can go a bit overboard when talking about his works.
But Atsumu is looking at him with his mouth slightly open.
“Wow,” he says breathlessly. “You are amazing.”
Kyoomi’s cheeks heat up as he tears his eyes away from Atsumu, searching in his head for an answer who'd take the attention away from him.
The breakfast bar is too small, and Kyoomi can feel Atsumu’s knees brushing against his legs. Kyoomi jerked back, like a kid touching a hot oven. He regrets sitting there in the first place, but it’s too late now to change seats.
Atsumu speaks again.
“How can you— I don’t know, know? all these things.”
“It’s all written here,” Kyoomi vaguely gestures at the book. “You just have to learn how to read it.”
It comes out harsher than he intended it to be, and Kyoomi wants to slap himself the moment the words stop coming out of his mouth.
But Atsumu just laughs, clean and bright. “You truly are amazing.”
Kyoomi jumps from his seat and turns his back at Atsumu, asking him if he wants another cup of coffee. He is not sure he managed to hide from Atsumu how red his face has gone.
-
They keep going late into the night. Atsumu asks a question, Kyoomi answers and makes him repeat to make sure he understood everything. Atsumu's voice has gotten drowsy, his yawning more frequent, and the notes he takes on his tablet messier.
Kyoomi is a strict teacher, he knows he is, but it’s in that way that he got his grades, and he wants Atsumu to do well too. Atsumu doesn’t seem to mind anyway.
Their heads are close enough that Kyoomi can scent his aftershave - it’s sweet, vanilla with something spicy, Kyoomi would have never associated it with him, but it suits him somehow.
Once they are done with the paragraph, Kyoomi leaves for a moment and heads to the bathroom. He splatters cold water on his face and looks at his reflection.
He looks tired, but, at least, it seems he's gotten used to Atsumu’s presence in his flat. It's nice, being with him. He makes Kyoomi feel strangely at ease. He's funny and clever and doesn't seem to mind Kyoomi's dry humour.
Kyoomi's crush has gotten even deeper, and he didn't think it was even possible. When he gets back to the other room, Atsumu is asleep, head on his arms, on the table.
Kyoomi stops mid-step.
Should he wake him up?
He slowly goes through the room and reaches his seat once again. He looks at Atsumu’s sleepy face for a moment. He looks calm, his features softer. His lips are lightly pouting, probably because of the uncomfortable position. Adorable.
In the week they spent texting, Kyoomi has come to learn that Atsumu works two jobs to help his family pay for his studies, and he still manages to get good grades. It’s completely different from Kyoomi, whose family can even afford to pay for that flat other than his tuition.
If someone in that room is amazing, that’s Atsumu.
Kyoomi knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t stop himself from stretching his hand and reaches for Atsumu’s blond locks.
When Kyoomi notices the single eye Atsumu has opened and that's looking at him, it is already too late. Kyoomi’s hand jerks back before he could touch Atsumu’s hair.
“You can say ya like me,” Atsumu murmurs, voice heavy with sleep. The accent he usually manages to cover is more prominent in his state. “Like ya too.”
Atsumu's eyes are still closed, but his sly grin is back in place.
Kyoomi blinks, “You what?”
“Like ya.”
“Why?”
Atsumu puffs a laugh that makes his shoulders shake. “You’re clever and funny. Beautiful. And make me like literature.”
He’s probably just sleep-talking, Kyoomi rationalizes, not daring to believe him. “You should get to sleep,” he says.
Atsumu nods. “Move me.”
“I’m not bringing you back to your dorm,” Kyoomi says flatly.
“Couch,” Atsumu said. Kyoomi could see how he was now entirely awake, even though he still wasn’t raising the head from his arms. He’s still not taking his confession back.
With a sigh, Kyoomi gets closer to Atsumu, makes his arm pass under his shoulders. Atsumu sprawls himself against Kyoomi’s body, still keeping his eyes closed and trying to hide his laugh. When they reach the couch, Kyoomi lets him go, but Atsumu drags him with him, his laugh now spreads free as he circles Kyoomi's bigger figure with his arms.
“You have to tell too,” Atsumu says.
“What?”
“Why do you like me.”
Kyoomi would love to point out he has not admitted he likes Atsumu in the first place, but his heart is doing something funny in his chest.
“Isn’t it enough that I do,” Kyoomi swallows, “like you?”
Atsumu's smile is a soft one, an intimate one that makes Kyoomi’s chest swell. He puts an arm around Atsumu’s torso.
“For now,” says Atsumu.
They end up sleeping on the couch that night.