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The game show that's playing is the same one that airs every time they have dinner. Challenges designed to make a fool out of its contestants, a prize Kiyoomi hasn't blinked at.
Atsumu loves watching this show, and Kiyoomi loves watching Atsumu.
The premise of it is so simple, but it makes Atsumu's face glow with laughter, nearly choking on his food, a strategic water placed nearby—by Kiyoomi, with a coaster. The water splashes and laugh tracks continue to fill the ambiance of Atsumu's living room even when it's the last thing on their minds, talking about practice, the weather, Kiyoomi's siblings, Atsumu and Osamu's mom, has Bokkun found a ring yet? No, but he's shortlisted a couple of designs.
It's utter nonsense—a mindless chattering to accompany the thump, thump, thumping of Kiyoomi's heart.
Like the fiend he is, Atsumu only ever opens half the lights in his apartment. The TV's coloring is bright and warm as the shapes blotch across Atsumu's face, but it washes out the natural sepias of his skin, pales him closer to Kiyoomi's own complexion. Under these lights, Atsumu shines differently. But the glint in his eyes never dims, not when they flit around the screen or roll at something Kiyoomi's said, because all he does is yap about nonsense, according to Atsumu.
"Ya think the cash prize comes tax-free?"
Kiyoomi glances momentarily back to the program. The host explains the final challenge to the last two contestants. "Probably not. They're stingy like that."
Atsumu hums. "Greedy fuckers," he gulps down his food. "Would ya ever join a game show, Omi?"
And Kiyoomi tries to think about it. Going out in public, his dignity on the line for a chance at victory. It's less about his skill and athleticism than it is about pure luck and nerves. He'd have to be completely focused; no use getting distracted if he really wanted the prize.
Atsumu's expression is open; childlike curiosity, molten like liquid gold. Captivating. Captivated. His eyebrows raise. "Hm?"
Kiyoomi shakes his head. "No. I'd be bad at it."
The setter scoffs lightly. "It ain't about skill anyway! I personally think I'd ace that shit."
"Do you," Kiyoomi echoes.
Atsumu makes an affirming noise, "Hell yeah! I've seen every episode of this show," and details how he would win it.
And if he really thinks about it, Kiyoomi thinks Atsumu really could do just that. He's that type of person, after all.
Because Atsumu plays at high risk, high reward; pushing himself to every limit, riling people up just near enough to spite, getting ready at the last possible minute. He says he's born with the "how bad can it be" gene, unfeeling of the sense of urgency when things go awry.
Because Atsumu lives like he's got nothing to lose. Realistically, Kiyoomi knows that's not true—they've got so much at their fingertips, ready to burn to the ground with a bad landing, a freak accident, the wrong words.
And yet, Atsumu plays with fire.
Kiyoomi doesn't know how he does it. He wishes he could, though. Be like Atsumu sometimes. Unafraid, hands wide open.
"Whaddaya say we give it a try, Omi? You an' me, just once?" Atsumu suggests.
Kiyoomi's pulse jumps. He wants nothing more.
"No," he answers. “Your clumsiness would drag us down," he takes his last bite.
Atsumu chuckles, "Real funny, Omi, 'cuz last time I checked ya were the clumsy one between us!" He takes Kiyoomi's plate and goes to do the dishes. Kiyoomi's hands clench painfully.
He watches Atsumu's back, illuminated under the kitchen light. He tries to find the words. He doesn't know how they'd tumble out, how Atsumu would react.
Yes, he is clumsy. Which is exactly why. "All the more reason not to take any chances, then," Kiyoomi decides.
Atsumu deadpans him over his shoulder. He goes back to his task. "Ya haven't even tried, ya scrub!" He sighs, hands in pink gloves, "C'mon, whaddaya have ta lose?" He asks, looking at Kiyoomi expectantly.
Still cleaning, still scrubbing.
Everything—Kiyoomi has everything.
His ribcage holds his heart back. He settles. "My public image, for one."
And Atsumu laughs then, eyes crinkling, head lolling, voice high up in the air, falling back into his chest naturally. Would he react like this, too? "Yer real funny when ya wanna be, ain'tcha? Got any more of those jokes fer me?"
Kiyoomi turns back to the TV. A winner has been crowned, both contestants equally dripping wet on the platform. He rubs at his aching knuckles.
"Yeah. Wanna hear another?"